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He pushed into the house, instinctively caught the door so it didn’t slam, then didn’t waste any time doing what he always did—stripping down out of his scrubs, shoving them in the washer. His shoes hit a tub he kept in the mud room next to his dryer.
Only when he went to grab his sweats and tee—also something he kept in a tub, but this one ontopof the dryer—the bin was empty.
“What the fuck?” he muttered, spinning in a circle as though that would make the clothes appear.
Unfortunately, his magical abilities didn’t extend that far.
Putting in IVs, calming patients, managing meds and tests and the comfort of multiple patients, he had the magical touch.
But he couldn’t make his clothes reappear his with a thought or a spin.
“Damn,” he muttered.
The culprit was probably his mother—rearranging his shit into “something more functional” (which, of course, was the way his mom preferred things to be).
Regardless, he wasn’t putting his scrubs back on.
He’d spent twelve-plus hours in them. They had hospital ick on them.
And…Kim and Caleb had taken off twenty minutes before, leaving to get Cole into bed, since it was a school night. They’d reported that the feisty, smart pain-in-the-ass currently taking up space in his house was asleep in the guest room.
So, he decided to not worry about missing clothes and magical abilities, and just walked through the mudroom and into the kitchen in his boxer briefs.
Shower.
Sleep.
Take care of the stubborn beauty when he woke up.
Then off to work again.
The full moon would be over. Hopefully, that would mean a quieter day—though, he couldn’t lie. Part of the reason he worked in the emergency department was because he liked being busy. He liked the rush and the cases and being able to move quickly, to do it while helping people. All of that made the long shifts go by in the blink of an eye. All of that fueled the need inside him to do something productive.
“Stop thinking and shower, man,” he muttered, grabbing a glass from a cabinet and filling it with water, then deciding to take his own advice and head for his bathroom.
The good news was that both his mom and Kim had been here.
That meant his fridge would be full—and hopefully the foil-wrapped plate on his counter would contain Kim’s world—or at least, Stoneybrook’s—famous apple pie.
He didn’t peel back the foil to check.
Otherwise, he’d ditch the shower, grab a fork, and watch the replay of the Breakers’ game on TV while downing that pie.
That was his plan.
Afterhe showered off the ER germs.
He walked quietly down the hall, making sure to move on soft feet past Raven’s door, not wanting to wake her, especially when the door was open a crack.
“I told you that I’m not sending you any more money.”
He froze.
Connor should have continued walking, should have pretended he hadn’t heard that, andjust kept walking.
He didn’t.
So, he heard what he heard next.
