Page 21 of A Place Like You

He nods and then briefs me on everything that transpired in my absence, and a sense of gratitude washes over me. It’s a surreal feeling to realize that my clinic remained in capable hands while I was away. Moreover, he’s even managed to convince my child that lunch isn’t bad, after all.

“Why don’t you head back home? I’ll make sure everything is locked down. If you want, I can come in on Monday and open up for you,” he volunteers.

The words linger on the tip of my tongue, ready to reject his assistance, to assert my independence and self-sufficiency. However, wisdom prevails, and I realize that there’s no harm in accepting help when it’s offered genuinely. Besides, working with Drake wasn’t as daunting as I initially believed. In fact, it’s brought an unexpected sense of peace.

“I’ll be here at seven-thirty on Monday. See you then,” I mumble, my words laced with reluctant gratitude.

A beaming smile dances across his face, casting a radiant spell on his features. A magnetic pull envelops us, transcending the boundaries of the medical emergency. It’s in that poignant moment that I grasp the profound truth: Drake’s presence, against all my reservations, has brought a wave of peace that I didn’t know I needed.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice filled with genuine appreciation. “See you around, Milo.”

Milo waves cheerfully, a radiant smile adorning his face. “Bye, Drake.”

“Your friend is nice, Mom,” he murmurs as we make our way toward the car.

A chill runs down my spine because nice people with big secrets don’t usually hide in a small town under the protection of a high-security company. And maybe it’s imperative that I figure out what Drake and his family are doing here before the entire town gets too involved with them.

Chapter Twelve

Drake

“Rise and shine, doc,” Callahan’s voice echoes through the door of my bedroom, cutting through the thick haze of sleep that engulfs me.

I groan, my body aching with exhaustion. I cover my eyes with my arm, attempting to shield myself from the intrusive light. It feels like ages since I last pulled an all-nighter during my final year of residency, and the weariness clings to me like an unwelcome burden.

Cal’s persistence is unyielding as he pounds on the door once more, his urgency seeping into his words. “Come on, we have to go now.”

Where are we going? This situation triggers a sense of déjà vu from the time when that guy from Crait Quantum Shield dragged me out of bed in the middle of the night, claiming he was there to save my life.

That seems like years and not just days ago. Will I ever return to my normal life? Or get rid of these assholes who claim to be my family when all we share is a last name?

Do I even want to return to that life though?

There’s another round of knocks. I feel my annoyance surge, a muttered growl escaping my lips as I turn onto my stomach, burying my face in the comforting embrace of the pillow. “Fuck off,” I mutter, my voice muffled by the soft fabric.

But Cal refuses to back down. He persists, his tone taking on a touch of seriousness. “This is important. We’re having dinner at my mother’s,” he declares, as if that alone should be enough to motivate me. Yet, he couldn’t be more wrong.

A chuckle escapes me involuntarily, finding his futile attempt at persuasion rather amusing. “You actually think I’m going to join you for dinner?” I scoff. “And at your mother’s. Ha. That’s a nope.”

“It’s more like a family meeting,” he explains, and his response only fuels my resistance. Nothing will convince me to leave the comfort of my bed. If anything, it only serves as a reminder of the strained dynamics that exist between us—the people who despise me, and the ones I can’t help but reciprocate those feelings toward. “You have to be there.”

“So, is this the part of the show where you shoot one of us?” The sarcasm drips from my words, laden with a heavy dose of cynicism.

To my surprise, Cal’s laughter rings through the door, a sound that cuts through the tension. “Nope. If I wanted you dead, I would’ve left you in Los Angeles.”

“I’m pretty sure I’d be safer there,” I retort, my voice laced with skepticism.

“Actually, Finn told us that your house caught fire two days ago—it’s crispy, both inside and outside,” Cal announces, attempting to inject humor into his words, but failing miserably.

My body freezes, shock rippling through me. I push myself out of bed, the urgency propelling me to open the door, my heart pounding with apprehension. When I come face-to-face with Callahan, I implore, “Please tell me you’re kidding?”

Cal’s expression softens, the weight of the situation evident in his eyes. “Sorry, but it’s been happening with most of our properties,” he says, swallowing hard. “They’re probably trying to send us some kind of message, a warning. It’s a way to let us know that we’re next.”

“But who’s they?” I swallow hard. “Who’s targeting us?” I blurt out, the question hanging in the air, echoing the fear that grips my heart.

“Change. We’ll discuss it when we arrive at my mother’s place,” Cal responds with a certain finality that tells me he won’t continue this discussion, leaving me with more questions than answers.

A flicker of resistance sparks within me, a desire to find a more neutral ground for this discussion. “Can we be in a different location? What about that quaint bar and grill?” I propose, my voice filled with a mix of apprehension and caution.

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