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but when she looked at Calder he could see the discomfort in her eyes; he knew she hated these scenes more than anyone.
    Pete started for the recovery rooms but Calder stepped in his path. “Hold up. They’re not releasing him just yet. They want to keep him here a while for observation.”
    Pete cast a condemning look toward the reception desk. “Just so they can pad the frigging bill, right?”
    Calder glanced back to the attending nurses behind the curved counter; young, caring women he’d gotten to know during the shifts he’d picked up here in the past few months. They gave him understanding smiles but it didn’t temper his annoyance with his brother.
    He turned back to Pete and said firmly, “Cool it, okay? Everyone here works their asses off taking care of people like our father. This isn’t some damn conspiracy.”
    “Says you,” Pete muttered, searching past Calder. “Where’s Greg? I want to talk to him—hey, Greg!” Pete found their friend by the soda machine and stormed toward him. “What the heck, man? Why didn’t you just bring him back to the house?”
    “Pete, your dad was passed out,” Greg said, his hands raised pleadingly. “I thought he might have had a stroke or something.”
    “He’s just tired,” Pete said. “That’s all it is. He’s seventy-three years old and he works all damn week and he’s tired. Since when is falling asleep a crime?”
    When someone falls asleep in a parking lot at three am with a blood alcohol of point three, that’s when, Calder could see Greg wanted to say but didn’t. Instead, Greg just looked at Calder, his old friend’s weary eyes blinking with bewilderment. Pete’s denial was becoming as well-known in their small town as their father’s fondness for alcohol.
    “Look, Pete…” Greg leaned in, his voice low. “Just be glad it was me who brought him in and not Reggie or Frank,” he said, referring to Magnolia Bay’s deputies.
    Pete glowered. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
    Greg sighed and patted Calder’s arm. “I’ll see you later, man.”
    “Thanks again, Greg,” Calder said as the security guard walked away and exited through the glass doors.
    “What the hell are you thanking him for?” Pete demanded.
    “Because he might have saved Pop’s life, that’s why.” Calder steered his brother away from the desk. “Greg isn’t the problem here. He’s not the one you should be mad at.”
    “No shit,” Pete said low, shooting Calder a condemning look before he stormed off down the corridor to find George Frye.
     
    * * *
     
    Three hours later, Calder helped load their father into Pete’s truck, gave Marie a hug goodnight, and watched the pick-up’s taillights slip out of sight.
    It was almost six, close to dawn. The roof of stars on his way here was gone, muted by the coming light of morning. Exhausted as he was, he’d love nothing more than to stay up and watch the sun rise from his deck. It was damn rare for him to find himself awake—and not in an ER—at this hour.
    Driving home, the crisis past, he turned on a Jack Johnson CD and let his thoughts slide into kinder, easier places.
    The pound of freshly-caught shrimp his buddy Chad had dropped off yesterday…
    Going for a hard run by the water…
    The motorcycle ride he hoped to take in the next few days…
    Thea Dunn …
    His drifting thoughts came into sharp focus.
    He shook his head at the road. Of all the crazy things. She’d been the last person he’d expected to see coming around the corner of the condo that afternoon. The look of shock on her face—first, that he’d recognized her, second, that he was a doctor—stuck with him.
    Of course, other images stuck with him more.
    Those yoga pants painted on those long legs.
    That t-shirt that was nearly see-through when she stepped into the sun.
    That smile.
    That lacy, pink bra.
    Those lips.
    He shifted in his seat and forced his mind back on the drive. But with nothing but the empty road in front of him