Joanne blinked groggily, her gaze drifting around the dimly lit room. Nothing looked out of place, yet something felt off. She shifted beneath the sheets, her muscles still sore, her head pounding like a relentless drum.
How long had she slept?
She turned toward the window, watching as the first hints of golden sunlight bled across the horizon. Morning.
Her fever had broken.
Almost like clockwork.
Every summer, around this exact time, it came. The searing heat. The aching body. The exhaustion so deep it dragged her under like waves pulling her into the ocean's depths.
Ever since she broke up with him.
Her breath caught as her eyes flicked to the date on her bedside clock.
Yeah. Right around the time she left Liam. A sharp, familiar pang lanced through her chest.
Her biggest regret—Breaking up with him.
The ache in her body was nothing compared to the hollow, gnawing pain inside her heart. Liam.
She let out a shaky breath and pressed her fingers to her temples. "Oh, you're such trash, Jo," she muttered under her breath as she forced herself to stand.
Her legs wobbled slightly, but she steadied herself, dragging her tired body toward the bathroom.
The face staring back at her in the mirror was pale and drawn, her dark eyes shadowed with exhaustion. But it wasn't just the fever that had drained her.
It was him.
It had always been him.
The cruelest part?
She had no right to grieve.
Liam was married now. And she was the one who pushed him away. She was the one who hurt him. He begged her to stay, and she shoved him out of her life like he meant nothing.
So what right did she have to miss him?
To yearn?
To wish fate had been kinder?
Or maybe… maybe it wasn't fate. Maybe it was karma.
She inhaled sharply, shaking the thought away, and turned on the faucet.
The cold water stung her skin, grounding her, pushing away the memories clawing at the edges of her mind. She scrubbed away the fever sweat, changed into fresh clothes, and dropped JD's shirt into the laundry basket without a second thought.
Then, she headed downstairs.
The scent of something warm and familiar filled the air. She wasn't surprised to find Mary—Patrick's wife—moving around the kitchen with practiced ease.
Of course. Patrick must have brought her here to take care of her. She must have been the one to look after her last night.
Joanne swallowed the strange disappointment that settled in her chest.
"Your breakfast, Jo!" Mary's warm voice rang through the kitchen as she placed a steaming bowl of porridge on the table.
Joanne sank into the chair, exhaustion still clinging to her limbs. "Ah, thank you, Mary." The first spoonful melted in her mouth, soothing and filling all at once.
She hadn't realized how starving she was until now. As she ate, the kitchen door swung open, and Patrick strode in.
"Good morning, Paddy," Joanne greeted with a small smile.
Patrick grunted in response, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement.
By the time she finished eating, her strength had begun to return. Her mind, sluggish before, kicked into full gear.
There's work to do.
After thanking Mary and Patrick, she pushed herself up and headed back upstairs.
She had things to take care of. She couldn't afford to dwell on the past. Or the dreams that still clung to her skin like phantom touches.
***
"Don't tell her Liam's wife came," Mary said firmly.
Patrick nodded. Joanne didn't need to hear about that—not with everything else going on.
Mary still didn't know why Fiona Sullivan had shown up so early, demanding to see Joanne. When Mary tried to turn her away, the woman pressed the doorbell like a madwoman, her desperation palpable. Fortunately, Liam arrived just in time to drag his wife back before she caused more of a scene.
At that moment, Jeffrey came downstairs. Patrick greeted him with his usual easygoing smile, but Jeffrey looked worn thin. The dark circles under his eyes, the sluggish way he moved, all told Patrick what he already suspected. JD had stayed by Joanne's side the whole night.
Good kid, Patrick thought.
"Did Joanne come down yet?" JD asked, hesitance laced with hope.
He wanted to hear that she was better. But at the same time, he couldn't bring himself to face her. Not after last night. He wasn't sure how much she remembered—if anything—but if she did… she'd judge him for what he did. Hell, he was already judging himself.
Patrick opened his mouth to respond, but Mary stepped in first. "She's fine now. Just a little seasonal fever." Her voice was calm, reassuring.
Patrick returned to drying the dishes, watching out of the corner of his eye as Mary scrambled eggs for JD. That was his wife. No one in her watch went hungry.
JD lingered at the foot of the stairs, staring up. He was worried. Joanne had been out for nearly a full day, and he'd never seen anyone react that way to a simple fever. Patrick had insisted she didn't need a doctor, but JD wasn't so sure.
"Come, sit. Eat," Mary called gently.
JD hesitated, then forced an awkward smile and joined them at the table. He picked at his food, but he ate every bite.
Mary kept the conversation going, asking about him and his family, but JD gave little in return. He had learned, after spending so much time alone, how to sidestep prying questions from overly curious old women.
Patrick, watching from the side, knew exactly what his wife was doing. And he knew that JD wasn't ready to share. That was fine.
After breakfast, JD stood, casting another glance toward the stairs.
"You going to check on her?" Mary asked, her tone unreadable.
"…Yeah," JD admitted.
Mary caught his arm, her grip warm, gentle—almost motherly. "Oh, sweetheart. She asked not to be disturbed."
Patrick stiffened. That wasn't true. Joanne hadn't said anything of the sort. He saw the flicker of disappointment in JD's face before the boy masked it. But Mary… Mary was smiling.
Oh.
Patrick knew that look. He had lived with this woman for thirty years, known her for almost fifty. She was up to something.
JD looked startled, then something else flickered in his eyes—something Patrick couldn't quite name. He turned away, shoulders heavy, and left through the door like a dog turned away from its master's house.
Patrick narrowed his eyes. "What are you planning?"
Mary waved a dismissive hand. "Who, me? Nothing at all." But her gaze was fixed on the door.
And then, outside, a car pulled up.
Jonathan Meyer.
Patrick exhaled slowly. Ah. Now it made sense.