Madison's POV

  A few months ago

  I wasn't expecting anything new that day. Same hospital, same chaos, same tired smiles. I had three hours of sleep and a tray of meds in my hand when I first saw him — tall, calm, a little out of place in the ER waiting area. His suit jacket was wrinkled like he'd been wearing it too long, and his expression? Unreadable.

  I glanced up just long enough to clock him staring at the wall like it insulted him. Weird. But not bad, weird. Just... intense.

  "Are you lost?" I asked, pausing by the nurses' station. My tone was casual because I had no energy for small talk. Or charm.

  He turned toward me, slow like he was deciding if I was real or not. "No. Just waiting. Thought the wall might start talking back."

  I blinked. Did he just—?

  "That... was a joke, right?" I said, raising an eyebrow.

  He cracked the tiniest smile. "Barely."

  "Okay, dry humor guy," I muttered under my breath, turning to check his chart on the clipboard. No major injuries, just some kind of workplace checkup.

  Still, he watched me like I was a puzzle, and for some dumb reason, that made my face feel warm. Ugh. Not now, Madison.

  "You're here for a routine?" I asked, trying to stay in nurse mode.

  "Yeah. Don't worry, I'm not dying. Yet."

  "Good to know. I already hit my dying person quota for the day."

  He laughed — soft, low. Not loud or awkward. Just easy.

  "Name?" I asked, glancing at the form again.

  "Woodrow," he said.

  I blinked. "Like the president?"

  He rolled his eyes. "Unfortunately. But I go by Woody."

  I smirked. "Of course you do."

  And I don't know. Something about the way he said it, the way he didn't try to impress me or flirt or be overly serious — it kind of stuck with me.

  WOODY'S POV

  After that day at St. Andrews, I went back. Every day.

  It started simple—"I was in the area," or "Just finished up a meeting." Nothing serious. Just small conversations, maybe five or ten minutes at most. Madison was always sitting in the front lot of the hospital during her break, sipping iced coffee, and scrolling through her phone. It became routine—my routine.

  She didn't question it at first. Most women don't question interest when it comes wrapped in a clean shave and a confident smile. But Madison wasn't like most women.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  By the fourth day, she squinted at me mid-conversation and tilted her head.

  "You sure you're getting that check-up you mentioned last time?"

  I paused.

  Shit.

  I chuckled and rubbed the back of my neck. "Okay... no. Not really."

  She blinked, unimpressed. "So what exactly are you doing here?"

  I let out a breath and smiled at her, one that was a bit more boyish, less rehearsed.

  "Alright. Confession time," I said. "I like you. I think you're beautiful. And I guess I'm kind of a coward when it comes to telling women that. I figured if I showed up enough, you'd either get annoyed and tell me off or... talk to me."

  She raised an eyebrow, clearly trying to hide her amusement. "So you leave your house every day just to come talk to me for a few minutes?"

  I gave her a half-shrug. "Yes."

  There was a pause. Then she laughed. Not a polite laugh. A real one, throat-deep and surprised.

  "I mean," she said, shaking her head, "You're weird. But I guess... persistent."

  I leaned forward slightly, smirking. "And I plan to keep being weird and persistent until I finally get the confidence to ask you out. Which is kind of... now."

  She rolled her eyes, but there was a flush to her cheeks. "Fine. But I swear, the moment you turn out to be crazy, I'm ghosting you and telling every nurse in this hospital."

  "Fair."

  The next few months moved fast.

  We went out for drinks. Then dinners. Then brunch. She liked her eggs poached and her pancakes burnt. She talked about her patients like they were her younger siblings. She hated the night shifts but loved seeing the sunrise after a long one.

  I listened. Laughed at the right times. Paid for everything. Gifts, coffee, rides, and flowers on her night shifts. Anything that made her smile.

  Because every moment I spent with her... was a step closer to Lily.

  That first image of her never left my head. Her sadness. Her skin is in the sunlight. That tear. That fucking tear.

  I kept tabs.

  She usually left school at 3:45 p.m. sharp. Always walked with the same best friend—Camila, that's her name. They'd chat the whole way back, splitting a meat pie or laughing at something dumb.

  She'd stop at a bookstore on Thursdays.

  Sometimes she walk alone on Fridays.

  Home by 6:00 p.m. on the dot, every single day.

  I watched from a distance. I wasn't stalking. Not exactly. Just... making sure I understood her patterns. Studying. Preparing. I needed to know everything before making my next move.

  And Madison?

  She made it easier.

  The more time I spent with her, the more she let slip—stories about her sisters, the dynamics in their house, who came home and when. I didn't push. I knew better. I played it slow.

  One night, I brought it up casually.

  "So, you've got a big family, huh?"

  Madison nodded, eyes still on the road. "Yep. Six girls total. My parents deserve medals."

  "Must be chaotic."

  "It's worse than chaotic. It's loud," she smiled. "But they're good people. Exhausting, but good."

  "Have you ever brought guys home?"

  She side-eyed me. "Why?"

  I shrugged. "Just wondering. You talk about them so much, I figure it'd be nice to meet the whole circus someday."

  She smiled, but there was hesitation. "Maybe. Eventually. My family's... a lot."

  "I like it a lot."

  "I know. Just... give it time."

  I nodded and pretended I was cool with that.

  But inside, I was pacing.

  I needed to get into that house. I needed to see her face-to-face. In a room where I could breathe the same air and not feel like a ghost hovering behind a tree.

  Weeks passed.

  Then one day, just like that, she gave me the in.

  "Hey," she said after her shift, her cheeks pink from the cold. "Dress up. Pick me up at 6 on Saturday."

  I blinked. "That's oddly specific. What's the occasion?"

  She smirked and tossed her car keys into her bag.

  "You're meeting my family."

  Time stopped.

  I kept my face straight. Maybe even a little curious. I tilted my head and said, "Really? That soon?"

  "Don't read into it. Just wear something that doesn't scream 'Wall Street.' I want them to like you."

  Inside?

  I was burning.

  By the time we arrived at their house, it was dark. I had been here countless times before, watching Lily every day she goes in. Now, I was standing right at the front door.

  Madison went ahead and took her house key from her pocket, opening the door. The door was finally cracking open.

  And on the other side?

  Lily.

  The girl who cried under the roses.

  She sat at the far end of the couch, her knees up to her face, her head buried into her book.

  The girl whose world I was ready to walk into—even if I had to do it through her sister's front porch.