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Chapter 1
Hudson
Thursday
The drive home from the clinic was supposed to be cathartic. It was my alone time, my personal time, the time of the day when I wasn’t Hudson, the dad, or Hudson, the doctor. No matter how much I loved my son and my job, I needed this moment of the day to decompress, to shift gears.
However, as I clutched the steering wheel with white knuckles in the thick Boston traffic, it felt anything but.
Things had been going well for too long. I knew that. I knew there’d be highs and lows, calm and unrest, but I just didn’t have the energy today. Not after I’d had to sit an optimistic woman down and tell her that the treatment wasn’t working, that it likely wouldn’t take, and watch as she cried against her husband’s soggy shirt. Not after I’d spoken to prospective parents who had lost their son—three years old, the same age as my Jamey—and wanted to try again. I didn’t like having to give bad news to my patients. It hurt, especially when most of my job was giving the best news that couples wanted to hear. That was the highlight of my day, my week, my profession. I lived for it, I loved being able to tell them they were expecting. But after today, I needed the promise of a relaxing evening.
Instead, I’d gotten a cryptic text from Jamey’s nanny. “I need to talk to you when you get home,” she’d said.
I knew the drill already.
Driving past row after row of flashy houses and fancy cars, I pulled into my driveway, pressing the button on the sun visor that opened up my three-car garage. Beyond the house, the sky was drenched in blood-orange, little strips of fleshy pink freckled between the thin clouds. The day was winding down, soon to be over, and I’d have to start all over again tomorrow, fresh in the knowledge of whatever Jenny was going to drop on me when I walked through the door. I positioned my Porsche next to my other two vehicles—a Range Rover for towing the boat and a Mercedes AMG. I dropped my forehead against the curve of the steering wheel, measuring my breaths to keep myself calm as I savored the last few seconds I had before having to switch back to dad-mode.
One. Deep breath in.
Two. Exhale.
Three. Deep breath in.
Four. Exhale.
My fingers found the handle of the door before I’d gotten to five. Clearly, my body had decided it was go-time.
I clutched my phone and its goddamn ambiguous text message in my palm as I walked up the driveway, sidestepping an upturned bucket and a miniature, plastic excavator. The latch on the door turned as it registered my phone in its proximity.
I blew out a breath as I turned the handle, the rush of air tickling the scruff that had grown on my upper lip. Definitely need to shave tonight.
“Daddy!”
“Hey, hey, finish your carrots first!”
Jamey’s little emerald eyes lit up in excitement as I stepped through the door. He sat at the kitchen island, his tiny feet swaying back and forth, thudding against the marble with each kick. He shifted in his seat, clearly making a move to hop down from the high-top chair, but Jenny flashed a single, pointed finger at him and he calmed.
“What did I say, Jamey? Carrots.”
“Sorry, Jenny,” he mumbled, picking up a baby carrot and dipping it into a tiny bowl of ranch before stuffing it in his mouth. He grinned at her with food between his teeth.
I chuckled as I dropped my keys into the basin by the door, kicking off my shoes with my toes. “Hey, bud,” I called, jogging across the wooden floor toward the two of them. Jamey’s carrot-ridden grin turned to me, little flecks of ranch dressing on his lips, and he giggled as I rustled his mop of dark brown hair. Almost as dark as mine. Almost.
I only hoped it would get darker.
“Hey, Dr. Brady,” Jenny said, lifting herself from where she leaned on the counter. Her skin wrinkled as she furrowed her brows at me. “Did you get my text?”
I plucked a baby carrot from Jamey’s plate and stuffed it in my mouth in an effort to seem nonchalant. Showing that I was nervous about whatever she was going to tell me wouldn’t help the situation. “Yeah,” I replied, speaking around the crunching between my teeth, “what’s up?”
The flesh of her cheeks turned a shade darker, pinkening the skin. “Can we talk in private?”
I nodded. Shucking my jacket off my shoulders, I threw the neckline of it over Jamey’s head, and he giggled playfully as he popped himself out of the collar. “Why don’t you go watch some PAW Patrol while Jenny and I chat, okay? You can finish your carrots later,” I said to him, giving him a little peck on the top of his head.
“Okie dokie,” he said. Before I could stop him, he scooted his butt to the edge of the chair and hopped off—something I’d told him numerous times not to do—and landed on shaky footing before taking off toward the living room.
His footsteps echoed through the quiet kitchen until they disappeared around the corner, the room instead filling with the distant sound of the PAW Patrol theme song. I sang along in my head as I looked across the counter at Jenny.
“The floor is yours, Jen.”
