Visibility Low

---

General Hospital — Bay / Clearing

Caleb pats me on the shoulder as he heads away. Back to work, saving lives and keeping people comfortable while they wait.

I hear my partner, Snodgrass, tonight, opening up the passenger side of the rig. I move to take my spot in the driver's seat. My coffee Caleb had brought me still half full. I'll probably forget about it till later. I'm so used to cold coffee I probably may as well start with iced coffee.

Snodgrass nods to me as I get my seatbelt snapped into place. He radios in that we are clear of General, headed back to the station unless another call comes in. It's 4 am, but that means nothing for emergencies. Some guy making his way home, ignoring how drowsy he is. Or some parent goes to check on their baby through the night, and heaven forbid they aren't breathing.

Snodgrass and I are ready for anything, between the two of us, we might have seen it all.

As I ease the rig out of the bay, an all-too-familiar voice comes over the radio.

Noah’s—measured, professional, softened just a little by exhaustion.

“Copy that, 309. Marking you returning to station. Be safe.”

Snodgrass keys up immediately.

“Sure thing, Dispatch… though your brother’s driving, so that ‘safe’ bit might be hard.”

I can hear the smirk in Noah’s voice.

“Copy that, Danny. Remember—ambulances are expensive. The last one you broke cost more than your salary.”

I shake my head, easing us onto the road.

“Noted, Dispatch. Your shift almost over?”

“Negative, 309. Picked up another.”

I grimace at that. The streetlights along 64 flicker across the cab in steady intervals.

“Careful, Dispatch. People are gonna think you’re trying to outwork me.”

“Impossible,” Noah replies. “There are only so many hours in a week.”

I laugh at that and immediately regret it. The now weeks old familiar sting as my ribs protest me daring to use them.

Snodgrass gives me a knowing look as he says, “Don't worry, dispatch, I'll take care of ‘crash’; let us know if anyone needs us.”

“Copy that 309, we will be in touch.”

I see the Montrose exit come up and take it. Sighing a bit as I see yet more construction. Sure, the roads need it desperately, but construction means delays and detours. A detour could steal away those 2 minutes that could mean life or death.

We pull into the parking lot. We aren't in a fire station like most medic stations. Just a little building that gives us a space to sleep between calls. As if sleep is something I actually do anymore.

Used to be the pain meds took the choice, but I stopped those as soon as I could tolerate. I have seen too many times what happens when those little pills take over your life. In my profession its far too easy to get them too.

So now I do my best to rest when I can, even if its broken. The flashes of memories from the crash. The woman in the fog always reaching, commanding. My body has to be rested so I can keep people breathing.

I'm restocking the rig when I hear the tones.

Noah’s voice, measured and professional: “Station 309, respond to I-64 East near mile marker 58.5, Exit 58C Washington Street area, for a two-vehicle collision. Minor damage reported, both drivers ambulatory. Charleston Fire is on scene. Time out 05:15.”

Snodgrass comes out saying, “get your ass in a seat.”

He doesn’t have to tell me twice.

As I get into the passenger side, clicking my belt—

Adkins screaming from the back—the rig rolling—equipment slamming loose—

Echoes in my mind.

I pull myself back before I get lost in it—

the antiseptic, the antifreeze… the iron.

I ground myself by grabbing the MDT. Something real, getting my mind back where it belongs. Charleston Fire on scene already. I already know who I'm going to see. Last I saw him was as I left the loft for work. He was snoring loudly on the couch.

I find myself glancing to the side mirrors, checking our surroundings even though I'm not driving. Part of me expects the sight of a Mack coming right at us.

I‑64 East — Exit 58C / Collision Scene

We arrive on scene no issues. I hear Marcus laughing as I get out.

“Well look at who bribed someone to get back”

I ignore him. I approach the nearest patient. A tired looking young woman. The car she's near has side damage. Looks like someone didn't check their blind spot.

She eyes me, her gaze lingering on my neck, my arms. She steps back ever so slightly. I’m used to it. I lead with:

“Morning, ma’am. Can you tell me if you’re in any pain? Did you lose consciousness at any point?”

She hesitates, probably not expecting the familiar cadence of a local coming out of a guy who looks like me.

She sighs and steps closer. “My arm hurts a little…”

she holds up her left. Yep, she was the one who merged. Her arm is already sporting a good sized bruise from the door.

I tilt my head, keeping my movements slow. “May I?”

Before moving to get a more physical exam of her arm. She hesitates again. and

Snodgrass speaks up.

“You’re in good hands, ma’am. Danny’s been doing this for ages. And the stripes just make him easier to find.”

I give her a gentle smile. No teeth. Just the tired lift at the corners of my mouth—non-threatening.

The stripes are bad enough, my teeth don't need to make things worse.

The patient allows me to complete her assessment. She refuses transport, she will probably change her mind later when the adrenaline wears off. For this moment though, I get her to sign the refusal as Snodgrass finishes with the other patient. An older gentleman seems more agitated than injured. His truck has barely a scratch.

I'm getting my bag back into the rig when I feel a strong hand clap my shoulder.

“How did you get mom to let you leave her sight?”

I sigh, shake my head a little. “Marc, I have been back home a week now, and worked several shifts.”

Marcus huffs “I know that, hard to miss that little crappy car of yours in the lot. But still man, it really smart you back on the road?”

I turn to look at him. He's much taller than I am, I have to look up some to look him in the eyes. Emerald green, filled with his usual sarcastic charm.

“I am fine. Now don't you have work to be doing?”

He laughs some. “Giving you hell is my full time job. Cleaning up wrecks is just the hobby”

I get myself back into the passenger seat as Snodgrass radios us clear. Through the window I can hear Marcus already giving someone else grief. I don't catch the words. Just the laugh.

Some things don't change.

Snodgrass pulls us out and I watch the scene shrink in the side mirror until it's just lights and Marcus's silhouette getting smaller.

---

As I shift in my seat, getting my tail in a better position, my ribs remind me they exist.

I ignore them.

My brothers all show it differently.

Caleb feeds me, checks in often. Noah casually jokes and tries to act like he wasn't on shift that night and took the call.

Marcus is loud, abrasive and refuses to admit his crew had to physically restrain him on the scene when the truck driver was up staggering.

Snodgrass takes us back toward the station without either of us needing to say it. The city is starting to wake up around us, that particular grey-blue of early morning when the streetlights haven't decided if they're still needed.

I think about Marcus laughing on that scene.

Noah had told me about it maybe two weeks into my recovery. Sitting in my hospital room like he was giving a briefing.

"I'm lucky Caleb works in a hospital. It kept him out of that shit show. You nearly dead, and Marcus doing his best to end up in prison."

He'd said it to the window. Not to me.

I hadn't asked for details. I don't think I needed them.

The end of shift finally arrives. By pure luck, no call comes in last minute.

I sit in my car—small, reliable.

I pull out my phone. Habit takes me straight to messages.

Sammy’s name is lower on the list than I expect.

“Hey, babe. Off work. Gonna make a stop, then head home. See you at the restaurant soon.”

I sigh, then scroll further down.

This one, I call.

It rings twice before he picks up.

Scott sounds better today—there’s more of him in his voice.

“Hey, Danny.”

“Hey. I’m headed home from the station. Need anything from the store?”

There’s a pause. His voice shifts—something familiar, almost parental.

“How long you been on shift?”

“Long enough. I’m already out. Delivery’s expensive.”

He laughs, then groans—his body reminding him he’s not ready yet.

“Fine. You wanna just grab some chicken and deli sides for the kids?”

“What about you and Rich?”

“Rich’ll eat chicken. I’m not really hungry today.”

“Got it. So your usual.”

“Dan… money’s tight—”

“Did I ask that?” I cut in, not harsh—just firm.

“You need food. Your body’s healing.”

Adkins doesn't argue after that. We end the call, and I get the car started.

The engine has that familiar 2014 hum—present, but not loud.

I glance at the rearview. Clear.

The little crochet figure Caleb had given me for good luck stares at me with the oversized red eyes of a local cryptid. The side of my mouth curves in fondness, thinking how only Caleb could see an omen as a good luck charm.

Riverwalk — Grocery Store / Deli

The drive to the store isn't long. The Riverwalk has a good-sized grocery store that always has a good stock of rotisserie chickens and pre-made sides.

The air is unreasonably chilly. It gives me a good excuse to slip on my hoodie. It covers the uniform and the stripes.

For a while, I just get to be what they see—a foreign-looking guy with weird eyes…instead of the one with weird body tatts. Thankfully the tail tucks into my slightly oversized cargo pants.

My feet take me to the deli on habit.

It’s an easy place to grab something warm that isn’t fast food.

Caleb does what he can to give us home cooked, but life as an ER nurse means that doesn’t always happen.

Mom sends food every Sunday—even if we don’t make it up the holler. Emma Sato has been feeding her four boys and husband for 27 years; no amount of “we're fine” will get her to stop.

I smell the rich, meaty aroma of the chickens in the warmer as I get closer. The steady heat from the stand radiates outward, a stark contrast to the cool air filling the store. I spot a few chickens. I've beat the 9-5 crowd. I pick up two, hesitate a moment, then grab another two.

A medic’s pay isn’t great, and six months of no work is wrecking their finances. Mine aren’t great either after my time off, but I don't have kids to feed. Probably never will.

After I check out, I make my way to the doors.

Cool air rushes in as they slide open—river smell, exhaust, the city waking up.

In it, I hear her.

It’s background noise now, most days.

But sometimes… it gets louder.

“Come to me…”

I exhale and keep walking.

Then I notice something.

She’s louder when I’m facing west.

West Side — Scott & Rich’s House

I pull up to the little house tucked away from the road. Like many houses on the west side of Charleston, it looks like it grew from the hillside itself. A dozen concrete steps that look more like ruins lead up to the porch. I gather the food, chickens, mac and cheese, green beans, some good smelling bread that was on the discount rack.

I step over a plastic dump truck as I get to the door, nudging it to the side so no one trips.

The sound of the doorbell is greeted with the familiar excited voices of Haley and Hunter “who's here?!”

The tired but warm voice of Scott chiming in “Guys, let Rich get it.”

Rich opens the door with a cautious glance out the window first. “Oh hey Danny, good to see you.”

I offer the food as I say “Bet the kids are driving you nuts, maybe this'll settle them some”

Rich takes the bags, his face showing he wants to protest out of politeness, but he knows his kids deserve it. “Come on in, Scott is going stir-crazy, only seeing nurses.”

Scott chimes in “They are wasting the good looking ladies, sending them to me.”

I chuckle as I step in. “They probably like seeing you the best, they get to do their job, not dodging hands.”

Scott smiles, clearly trying to not move too much. I can see the tension in his posture even as he lies back on the hospital bed that takes up most of the small living room.

Rich moves to the kitchen. I hear bags rustle, plates clink softly.

I ease onto the chair next to the bed, staying near the edge so he doesn’t have to turn to see me.

“How you feeling today?”

I keep my voice normal—none of the clinical tone I use on shift.

Scott smirks a little “I'm better. They say I might be able to start using a walker soon.”

I smile genuinely, “Hey, that's great progress.”

He shrugs a little “If you say so, but look at you, back in the saddle. “

“Like they say, you have to get right back on, and you will too.”

Scott looks toward the kitchen, something heavy in his eyes. I can hear the kids arguing over how much mac and cheese they’re getting.

“Dan… they’re talking about disability.” The company is fighting it.”

I can't help how my brows lower and tense as I say “That’s not right. You weren’t even driving.”

“The lawyers are always going to try an save a buck or two. They don't care what's right.”

“Well, plenty of desks that need a guy who knows what he's doing. “

“You know as well as I do, only the chosen ones get the comfortable jobs. Those of us in the field just work till we drop.”

“Well, no matter, you guys are going to be okay. I got you into this…”

Scott cuts me off.

“Bullshit.”

“Daniel Sato didn't run a red light while drunk. He did his job by the book.”

I have no response. I've pushed back before; it doesn't move him. So I nod and say. “You and your family are gonna be okay. Long as I’ve got breath.”

Scott nods; Rich calls out, “Danny, you want some?”

“Nah… I’m good. Gotta head out. Dinner with Sammy.”

I begin standing, pause a moment as my ribs sing.

Scott gives me a knowing look, then says the thing I always hope doesn't come up. “You ever gonna marry that girl? You’ve been dating longer than I've known ya.”

“She’s got her career. She doesn't need me holding her back.”

Rich walks in with a plate for Scott, direct as always. “Then why even date?”

Saved by Hunter “Uncle Danny, when can we go fishing again? And can Uncle Marcus come?”

I ruffle his hair. “I’ll check my schedule—see when Uncle Marcus is off too.”

Hunter smiles and nods, then takes off, probably to pester his sister.

Rich helps Scott get his tray set over the bed.

It’s good to see his arms moving right. For a while there, his coordination was off.

Now he’s holding a fork just fine.

“I'll let y'all enjoy your dinner. I better get home and changed so I'm not late.”

Rich gives me his signature look he's developed as customer service, the one he uses when he’s got plenty to say but can’t.

Scott gives me a wave. “Be careful.”

Coming from him, I hear every bit of feeling under it.

I step back out into the cool air, letting the door close behind me.

---

Loft — Drive Home / Building

My drive home to the loft is a short one.

We found a loft on the east end near the Capitol—real steal. The owner didn't want to renovate it, and between the four of us and our semi-retired dad, we were happy to do the work. We got a steep discount. After a couple years of working between shifts, we now have an updated space for half the cost of the ones around us.

I make my way inside.

The hall smells like every old building I’ve ever been in—must, maybe mold—buried under lemon cleaner. The elevator was beyond our capabilities, so its still a panic attack waiting to happen.

I sigh as I eye my options. The questionable elevator, or three floors worth of wincing each step.

Closing my eyes a moment I reach back and unfasten the velcro at the back of my pants, mom made sure every pair had it.

My tail—white with black stripes, just like Dad’s—slides free. I can balance without it, but when given the opportunity and privacy, it really is much easier.

I give myself a moment to stretch. Twenty-four hours of confinement is its own special kind of hell. My tail flicks and sways as I start up the stairs. I grip the railing and try to breathe evenly. The memories from physical therapy help—one foot in front of the other, just like they taught me.

By then I was already so well-known at the hospital that I’ll never know exactly which nurse broke HIPAA by telling everyone about my “unique physical attributes.”

I’m halfway through remembering the one who was entirely too flirty when the voice cuts through again.

“Come to me…”

I’m tired and annoyed, so for once I answer out loud. “Unless you’re up these stairs, that’s not happening.”

As always, the reply is immediate.

“Obey…”

“Really freaking hard to do when I don’t even know where you are.”

I reach the top with my pulse racing and my breathing labored—not doing my ribs any favors. The voice keeps looping, unmoved. My head pounds the way it always does when she gets louder.

I lean against the cool tiled wall, forehead pressed to one of the big river-rock tiles Dad suggested. The stone feels good. Grounding.

Through the heavy steel door I can hear Marcus and Caleb inside. The door is thick, but it’s no match for Marcus’s laugh.

My keys jingle in the lock. The heavy latch clanks.

As I walk in, the voices stop. Caleb is in casual clothes. A very worn tee with some game character on it. His orange and black tail flicks behind him. Marcus looks fresh from a shower, deep copper hair slicked back and wet. I can smell his cologne across the room. Though to be fair, all four of us tend to have a better sense of smell than others. Marcus is adjusting the buttons on his shirt, much more put together than his usual tank top and jeans when he's relaxing.

I hang my keys on the hook by the door as Marcus speaks up. “Well look, the cat drug himself in.”

“Nice to see you too. Going out?”

Caleb cuts in “oh just his fourth date this week.”

Marcus just smirks “Y'all wish you were as popular “

I pause by the counter, looking at Caleb then back to Marcus “I prefer dates with the same woman, when's the last time you had a second date?”

Marcus laughing, running a hand through his hair “I like the thrill of the chase. No fun when they chase you back.”

I shake my head, a small smile there as I open the fridge and grab a bottle of water.

Caleb tries to redirect. “So you going out too, Danny? You sure you're up for it?”

Before I can answer, Marcus cuts in. “Man, forget Samantha already.”

He draws out her name, hitting each syllable just a little too hard. I take a long drink of my water, trying to ignore him. It just leaves him more room to talk.

“Come out with me. I’ll find you a girl who won’t give a damn about the stripes.”

“Don’t worry about me. Caleb needs a date that isn’t pixels.”

Caleb begins to protest then shrugs. “Fair…”

Marcus laughs and drops a hand on my shoulder “We can pry Noah out of his desk chair and make it a brother’s night. “

I drink the rest of my water, pulling gently away.

“I’m good to go out. Not tonight—and no women.”

I leave myself open, and I know it the second Marcus grins. “Fine, we'll get you a nice guy.”

I toss the empty bottle at him and head for my room.

Loft — Getting Ready

My room is quiet. My head is not.

The woman’s voice keeps up its quiet commands, but something else festers there too.

I slide my hoodie off, then start unbuttoning my uniform shirt, careful with the movement. I showered before I got off work. As I reach for the long-sleeved shirt Sammy insisted I wear tonight, I see myself in the mirror.

The stripes along my sides are threaded now with scars that still look too fresh. My arms aren’t much better.

I close my eyes a moment and get the shirt on. Before I finish buttoning it up, I grab the foundation that Sammy also insists on. A thick formula, designed to cover tattoos. I smear it over my neck, cursing some as I get some on the collar.

Once I clean the shirt as best I can, I unbuckle my belt and step out of my pants; dark stripes along my thighs stand out against my pale skin. It has been far too long since my legs have seen sunlight. The dress pants Sammy got me are not altered. I never have my tail visible around her.

Marcus’s laugh carries across the loft. His words about finding a girl who wouldn't mind tug at me. I slide my good shoes on, then adjust my collar. I check myself once again.

Before I can stop myself, I mutter. “Might just buy some hair dye and contacts, complete the look.”

The voice gets louder in that moment. I hear Marcus curse, and I'm reminded I'm not the only crazy one.

I turn to go. My tail twitches against my leg as I walk into the kitchen again. Noah has emerged, a large tumbler cup I know he keeps filled with coffee, and the look of a man who stares at screens way too much.

He sees me and doesn’t bother hiding the look on his face—quiet assessment and disappointment.

Marcus doesn’t do quiet.

“You sure you’ve got everything covered? Wouldn’t want to embarrass Samantha.”

I look to Noah.

“Hey, how'd the extra shift go?”

Noah shrugs as he takes a drink from his tumbler. “People still are incapable of driving, and this valley has an abundance of people who get short of breath.”

I chuckle a little. “So… same old same old.”

Noah nods.

Caleb comes back into the room, headset now hanging around his neck. It's, clear that his pixel date will be beginning soon. “Oh, Danny. Glad I caught you. Wanted to tell you, Mom mentioned how you should bring Sammy to Sunday dinner.”

Marcus cuts in. “She might faint, cause I sure as hell ain't tucking my tail in my own goddamn parents' house.”

I smile softly at Caleb. “Sammy usually does Sundays with her folks.”

Caleb smiles back and nods. “After almost 10 years, she's pretty much family.”

Marcus heads for the door.

“Bullshit!”

He opens the door, grabbing his keys, and turns, saying.

“You ever try to propose to that woman, and I’m officially a triplet.”

The door slams behind him. The weight of the door adds to the solid punctuation of the thud.

Noah sips his coffee, purses his lips, and adds— “I do agree she would not make a good addition.”

I glare at him and sigh, hanging my head. “Anyway, I'm going to be late. You two have fun with your computers.”

Caleb gives a cautious, warm smile.

“Try to have a good evening. Text when you can—you know I worry.”

I grab my keys and tell him. “Of course.”

The door closes quietly behind me.

Restaurant — Entrance / Check-In

I check myself once more in the visor mirror after shutting off the engine. Aside from my white hair and pale blue eyes on a young man who looks like he comes from somewhere much more east than West Virginia, I appear normal. Just like she likes.

I step out of the car and spot Sammy’s SUV right away. She and her parents are already waiting near the entrance.

Her dad sees me first, gives me a polite nod. Her mom waves—bright as ever. I wave back, a real smile slipping through before I can stop it.

I forget myself for a second as I walk up.

Sammy clears her throat sharp and makes a quick motion across her mouth—cover it.

Right.

I press my lips together, pulling it back before it shows too much. The teeth are always the problem. People notice. They always do.

“Sorry,” I mutter when I reach them, keeping my mouth closed now. “Long day.”

Sammy’s smile snaps right back into place like nothing happened.

“Hi,” she says, stepping closer, easy and warm. “You made it.”

I lean and give her a polite kiss on the cheek in greeting.

Her dad, Antonio, clears his throat “We better check in, these tables are hard to get.”

Her mother, Ronda nods saying “Oh, they know better than to give away the table for the owner's brother. “

We’re escorted to our table, the host already moving like he knows exactly where we’re going.

A couple of the staff recognize me. I’ve been here a handful of times—mostly Sammy’s birthdays. Once on my own dime for our anniversary. That one took some planning.

“Good evening,” the host says, smooth as anything. He gives Sammy a little extra attention, like he’s supposed to.

We pass tables set close enough you can hear quiet laughter, forks against plates, the low hum of conversation that never quite gets loud. Everything smells like garlic and wine and something slow-cooked.

Our table’s tucked toward the back—good lighting, not too bright. Sammy slides into her seat like she belongs here. Her parents don’t even look around.

I take my seat a little more carefully.

Always do in places like this.

We look over our menus as the waiter asks “Shall I bring your usual wine and appetizers?”

---

Antonio nods. “Please.” then looking to Sammy. “Unless my little girl has a request. “

Sammy scrunches her shoulders, bowing her head as she giggles. “Daddy, please—I’m almost 30. But yes, I think I want some of that sweeter wine I had last time.”

I keep quiet. I'm not truly a part of all this.

I order something simple, four cheese lasagna. Sammy gets the lobster linguine, her favorite. Her parents never name what they order. It just shows up.

We begin eating. I am well aware of how easily the white tablecloth will stain if my food drops on it. Sammy chats easily with her parents. I listen and nod whenever Sammy looks my way.

“Daddy, I ordered that new desk for my office. You were right, I do love the look of that wood.”

Antonio seems pleased as he says “Oh good, we can see about ordering you a full set for the rest of your office.”

Sammy grins. Continues. “Thank you, got to give a good impression and can't have mismatched furniture.”

Ronda chimes in. “Danny have you got to see her new office?”

“Oh not yet, I only really got cleared for driving a week or so ago.”

Ronda nods, a look of concern in her eyes. “So terrible what happened. I do hope that driver is in jail.”

I go to answer, but Sammy cuts in. “It really was terrible, those coal truck drivers need much more regulations.”

I nod.

Ronda Continues. “Sammy told us your mom kept care of you. So sorry we didn't stop by the hospital but Sammy didn't tell us till you were out.”

I smile, keeping my lips closed. “It's ok, I wasn’t much to see or talk to, the pain medication had me pretty out of it.”

Sammy offers “Yeah, besides you had your brothers and parents there.”

Ronda gives Sammy a look that has an icy texture. “I know we are modern women these days, but whenever your father has a hospital stay, I don’t leave his side.”

Sammy has a moment where she looks like a younger version of herself, being told she's been caught sneaking out.

Then Ronda, satisfied she got her point across, turns to me again. “We really should arrange a get together with both our families. Your mother is such a lovely woman, and quite the cook.”

I give her a soft smile, chuckling a little. “That could be very fun. Though you haven't been in the same room with all my brothers at the same time.”

Ronda laughs a little. “You forget I used to volunteer for field trips and very much had to keep you boys in line on buses and that Washington DC trip where I had to personally escort Marcus through the Whitehouse tour because he would not be quiet. “

I can't help but smile as I remember how Marcus kept making loud remarks through the whole trip. Well… to be fair his whole life.

“Oh yeah… that was a fun one.”

Ronda gives a warm chuckle. “You boys have always been a handful. Sammy better hope when you have kids, they come in less than four at a time.”

At that Sammy takes a large gulp of her sweet wine.

I laugh a little

“Well… with Sammy’s career, kids haven’t really been on the table. I mean, we’d want to be married first…”

Ronda, not missing a beat. “Then maybe get to ring shopping, I can't wait to hold some grand babies.”

This is my turn to take a bit larger drink of my wine.

“He has to ask my permission first.” He gives me a good natured smirk and wink.

Sammy giggles. “Oh daddy, you are so old fashioned. “

Antonio laughs and smiles, motioning to the waiter.

“Who wants dessert?”

We finish dinner with more small talk. Thankfully, kids and marriage are not brought up again. Though as I wash my hands after a quick bathroom trip, I can't help but think of the smile on Ronda's face when she talked of grandbabies. My own mom teases me often that she can't wait to spoil kids rotten and give them back.

Restaurant — End of Dinner

I walk out of the restroom—must be facing west, because the whisper gets louder.

I shake my head, thinking—

Real dad material.

I’m probably schizophrenic.

Making my way out to the front I see Ronda and Sammy standing close, talking low. Antonio motions me over, he's a little away from them.

Once I'm close he says. “Yes, I'm old fashioned. But the Lord gave me one daughter to dote on, so I at least get to give her future husband a hard time.”

For a moment I can't think of a response, then trying to act as respectful as I can. “I'm honored you even consider me, Sir.”

“You have been nothing but good to her.”

“I couldn’t ask for a better match.”

He reaches out his hand and I shake it. His grip is solid but not forceful.

Sammy walks over, tilting her head. “What kind of deals are we making over here?”

Before I can answer, Antonio smiles. “Future things, pumpkin.”

Then he turns to me. “Now you two get home safe. Do you need a cab?”

I think about the single glass of wine I barely touched and shake my head. “I’m fine. Next time I’ll save you some money and just stick to water.”

“Nonsense,” Antonio says.

Ronda appears beside him holding a gift bag, the necks of two bottles clearly visible at the top. Antonio takes it and presses it into my hands before I can protest.

“ My brother keeps me well supplied. Go have a nice night.”

The way he pushes the bag forward makes it very clear: refusing would be an insult. So I give him a polite smile.

“Thank you. That’s very generous.”

“Actually drink it,” he adds with a wink, slipping an arm around Ronda. “Life’s too short not to enjoy the finer things now and then.”

Her parents walk off to their car. Antonio still holding onto Ronda.

True relationship goals.

Sammy clears her throat, catching my attention. I offer my hand, but she's already walking to her car.

I follow her to the driver’s door, leaning casually against the steel-gray SUV.

“So my place or yours?” I playfully hold up the bag. “I have tomorrow off, and I can get Caleb to hook us up with something to curb a hangover…”

Sammy leans and kisses my cheek. “Maybe you and your brothers can share, I've got a girls night planned tonight. “

“Oh… sorry, thought we would hang out.”

Sammy gets into her seat, I lean in to see her better. I don't want to crowd her, but I want her to see I'm not just backing off.

“Dan…Gina has been insisting all week. We got to have dinner…”

I reach out to touch her cheek, softly inviting her closer. She turns her head. I pull my hand back.

“Right. Text me when you get home.”

“Sure thing. Have a good night.”

I close her door for her and watch her drive off.

---

Loft — Kitchen

I hear Caleb laughing before I even get the door fully open. He’s deep in his zone—carefree, shouting at the screen like the fate of the world depends on it.

“Get back over here so I can heal you!”

Even in games, he can’t stop being the healer.

I step inside and set the gift bag on the counter. That’s when I catch the glint of light off glasses in the dark.

“Shit, Noah… Practicing to be a stalker?”

I flip on the light. Noah closes his eyes against the sudden brightness and shrugs like it’s nothing.

“Kitchen’s easy to get around in the dark.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Is that so? Why?”

He reaches over and picks up one of the bottles from the bag, turning it slowly in his hands.

“Why waste electricity?”

He holds the bottle close, squinting a little at the label.

Noah lets out a low whistle—the closest he ever gets to dramatic.

“Barolo Riserva. 2016 Conterno. That’s a six-hundred-dollar bottle. He really likes you. Or he’s trying to buy future grandchildren. Possibly both.”

I put both hands on the counter and lean forward, hanging my head.

“Problem is… those grandchildren will look like me.”

Noah sets the bottle down carefully.

“Us, dear brother. But we actually don’t know that. Just because Dad passed on his unique traits doesn’t mean future generations will retain them. Genetics can be weird.”

I look up at him, grateful for the quiet logic.

“You always have just the right facts.”

I motion toward the bottle. “Care for a glass?”

Noah shakes his head.

“As much as I’d like the bonding experience, we both know it’s best I avoid wine…”

The mental image hits me instantly—Noah, three glasses deep, slurring slightly but still dead serious while arguing about the accuracy of Hollywood EMS procedures.

A genuine laugh bursts out of me. I wince at the pull in my ribs, but it only makes me laugh harder.

“Hey, you could be my entertainment for the night.”

He shakes his head again, a small smile tugging at his mouth.

“Happy to hang out. But I prefer sober.”

He pauses for a moment, then says, “I can be your designated couch buddy though. You relax. I’ll make sure you stay safe. I think you could use it.”

I consider his offer, picking up the bottle to inspect it myself.

The whisper sounds a little more forceful this time.

Come to me…

I see Noah wince at the same moment I do.

I shrug and move to find the corkscrew.

“Sure. Me, you, and Bossy Ass Bitch are gonna have an evening.”

Noah, dry as ever, reaches for some pretzels.

“Oh, she has a name now?”

I open the bottle. The aroma that wafts out is nothing like the cheap stuff we usually drink—rich, deep, almost floral and earthy at the same time.

“She does tonight.”