Her Brother’s Best Friend

Slipping away

Cade:

Logan was rambling about bacon being the cure for everything, but I wasn’t listening. My head was still caught in the way Riley’s smile had been sharp when she left the table.

And then I heard it—the rapid tread of her feet on the stairs.

I looked up.

The world stopped.

Scrubs. Pale blue. Her bag slung over her shoulder. Hair pulled back to expose the clean line of her neck. She moved quick, efficient, the kind of stride that said she had no time for anyone.

And God help me, I nearly went down. My boot clipped the chair leg, balance tipping for one humiliating second before I caught myself.

Logan barely noticed, too busy scraping his plate. “Save me some coffee before you drain it, man,” he muttered without looking up.

I wasn’t looking at the coffee. I wasn’t looking at anything but her.

The scrubs weren’t supposed to be dangerous, but on Riley they were lethal. Every line of her body was sharper, defined, purposeful. She wasn’t the girl drowning in my hoodie anymore—she was something else entirely.

Something I couldn’t stop staring at.

Her eyes flicked to mine, caught me in the act. And she knew. That tilt of her mouth—barely there, not quite a smile—was enough to tell me she’d seen the stumble, the way my chest locked, the fact that for once, I was the one undone.

She adjusted her strap. “Don’t wait up,” she tossed over her shoulder, casual as anything.

Then the door shut behind her.

The rumble of her car starting was the only sound in the silence that followed.

Logan grunted, finishing his eggs, completely blind to the storm still rattling through my veins.

I leaned back against the counter, every muscle tense, pulse racing.

Riley was gone, off to interviews she hadn’t explained, wearing scrubs that had nearly taken me out at the knees.

And all I could think was that she was slipping further out of my control.

And that I wanted her more than ever.

Riley:

The drive felt longer than it was. I kept checking the rearview, half expecting Logan or—worse—Cade to pull up behind me, demanding to know where I was really going. But the road stayed empty, the silence broken only by the hum of tires and the chatter of the morning news station I wasn’t listening to.

The truth was simple: I wasn’t going to any interview.

I was reporting for a twelve-hour shift with the traveling nurse agency I’d signed up with weeks ago. The pay was better than I had any right to hope for, and every hour meant another brick in the foundation of what I needed most—freedom. My own place. My own life. Somewhere I wasn’t just Logan’s sister or Cade’s… temptation.

The hospital came into view, glass gleaming in the late morning sun. By the time I parked, nerves had settled into focus. I’d done this before. I could do it again.

Inside, the familiar rush hit me immediately. Scrub-clad bodies moving in every direction, clipped orders, the beep of monitors and the squeak of rolling carts. I signed in, clipped on the badge that marked me as agency staff, and dove in.

The hours blurred. Charting vitals. Hanging IVs. Reassuring a terrified teenager before surgery. Laughing softly with an older patient who kept insisting I reminded him of his granddaughter.

This was where I belonged. Here, I wasn’t anyone’s sister, anyone’s distraction. I was competent. Needed. Strong.

But no matter how hard I worked, my mind kept slipping.

Every time I passed a reflective surface, I saw not just the scrubs, but the way Cade had looked at me in them. Shock. Heat. Like I’d knocked the breath right out of his chest.

And the stumble. God, the stumble. The image of him—always composed, always dangerous—almost tripping over a chair because of me… it made something in my chest twist tight.

I told myself to focus. To breathe. To care for the patients in front of me and forget the way Cade’s eyes had burned into me.

But in the quiet moments—washing my hands at the sink, waiting for a chart to print, walking down a too-empty hallway—my thoughts betrayed me.

The way his lips had curved when he thanked me. The rare softness in his voice. The heat that rolled off him in waves, even when he tried to hide it.

I gripped the counter, knuckles white.

I couldn’t afford to think about him. Not when I was scraping together the money I needed to build a life that didn’t revolve around anyone else’s chaos.

And yet…

Even as the hours ticked past, as I stitched myself into the rhythm of the hospital, I knew the truth: no amount of distance, no twelve-hour shift, no paycheck was going to keep me from remembering the way Cade had looked at me before I walked out the door.