Page 42 of Under Southern Stars
She’s making eggs when her phone rings. “It’s Maria. I should—” She answers. “Hey, what’s—”
I can hear Maria’s excited voice from across the kitchen. Something about the news, viral video, the whole hospital talking.
“No, I haven’t seen—yes, he’s—Maria!” Sophia’s blushing. “I’m hanging up now.”
She sets the phone down, shaking her head. “The video’s gone viral. You’re internet famous.”
“Brilliant.” I steal a piece of toast. “Just what every paramedic dreams of.”
We’re eating in comfortable silence when the front door slams open.
“Sophia? I know you’re home. We need to talk about Madison’s nutrition—”
Troy. Fucking Troy.
“Ain’t this a pisser,” I mutter, standing quickly.
Troy rounds the corner into the kitchen, stopping dead when he sees me. His eyes narrow, taking in my obvious bed head, bare feet, the borrowed shirt.
“What’s he doing here?” Troy demands.
“Having coffee,” Sophia says calmly. “Inmyhouse. Which you no longer have keys to, by the way.”
“I still have keys. You never changed the locks.” He puffs up like an angry peacock. “And Madison’s nutrition is a serious concern. Tiffany says processed foods are affecting her athletic performance—”
“Madison’s fine.” Sophia’s voice could freeze hell. “And give me those keys. Now.”
“I have a right to—”
“You have a right to scheduled visitation. Not to barge into my house on Sunday morning.” She holds out her hand. “Keys.”
Troy’s face reddens, but he spots my uniform pants, the Metro General shirt. “Stayed the night, did you?” His voice drips disdain. “How professional. What kind of example is this for Madison?”
“A better one than you set,” I say mildly. “Least I have a job.”
“I’m an entrepreneur—”
“You’re unemployed,” Sophia cuts in. “Living off Tiffany’s trust fund while playing with imaginary internet money.”
“Cryptocurrency is the future—”
“Keys.” Her hand doesn’t waver. “Now.”
He slams them on the counter. “This isn’t over. My lawyer—”
“Your lawyer who you pay in Dogecoin?” I ask innocently.
Troy’s face turns purple. He storms toward the door, pausing to throw back: “It’s Solana, you idiot. Do your research. Doge is a joke. Sol’s up 40% this quarter. You think real men meme-trade?”
The door slams behind him.
“Charming bloke,” I say into the silence. “Really can’t imagine why you divorced him.”
Sophia laughs, but it’s shaky. “Sorry. He’s not usually that…actually, yes he is.”
“Hey.” I pull her into my arms. “You alright?”
“Yeah. Just…embarrassed. You shouldn’t have to deal with my ex-husband drama.”
