Flann played basketball the way she did everything else, with an arrogant flair that sometimes appeared like recklessness but rarely was. She drove hard, took unanticipated shots, and often managed to win by doing the unexpected. Glenn was a precision player, feinting, cutting right and left, picking the percentage positions from which to shoot. Over the dozens, hundreds of games they’d played, they were almost dead even.

Flann sank a basket and backpedaled as Glenn retrieved the ball and dribbled.

“You’re off your mark today,” Flann called, the merest taunting tone in her voice.

Glenn ignored her, dropped her shoulder as Flann made a lunge for the ball, pivoted away, turned, and lofted a long jumper. It hit the rim, teetered, and fell back to the court without going through. Any other day she would have made that shot.

Flann scooped up the rebound, sped back out to half court, and one-handed an impossible shot that hit the backboard, angled down, and swirled around the rim before dropping through. Luck, nothing else, riding on the wings of supreme confidence and innate skill.

“So what happened with Mari?” Flann called as Glenn went for the ball.

Glenn ignored her, dribbling, driving, shooting. Sweat dripped into her eyes and stung, the burning oddly welcome.

“You two having problems working together in the ER?”

“No. Mari’s good. Fits right in.”

“Abby said the same thing.” Flann muscled Glenn from inside, shot out an elbow and caught her in the chest, stole the ball. She circled, dribbling casually, making no move toward the basket. “I didn’t think that would bother you. Her being strong.”

“Why would it?”

Flann shrugged, picked up speed, drove to the basket and hit a layup. “It’s pretty much been your show for a long time.”

“I’m not you.”

“True.” Flann grinned. “There can only be one captain, and we all know who that is.”

Glenn reflexively caught the ball Flann shot at her before it struck her in the chest. Ass. She dribbled, took a halfhearted shot that didn’t go in, and stalked toward the side of the court. “I’m done.”

Flann took one more lofting overhand shot, sank it, and retrieved the ball. She caught up with Glenn halfway to the truck.

“What’s Mari’s story, do you know?” Flann asked casually.

“What do you mean?” A prickling sensation started between Glenn’s shoulder blades, half itch, half irritation. She should have passed on the B-ball. Flann’s competitive streak never annoyed her, but then she wasn’t usually in such a black mood.

“Single, girlfriend, boyfriend, you know. A couple of people were asking.”

Glenn stopped, studied Flann’s face. Flann might have been baiting her, but her eyes said she was telling the truth too. And why not. Mari was beautiful, new in town, and everyone always welcomed the possibility that newcomers offered.

“If anybody wants to know, they should ask her themselves.”

“I kind of got the idea you were thinking along those lines yourself.”

“Let it go.” Glenn yanked the cab door open, tossed the ball into the narrow space behind the seats, and jumped in.

Flann sprinted around to the other side and hopped in.

“She shut you down?”

“What part of leave it alone don’t you get?”

Flann shifted until her back was against the door and she was facing Glenn. “Well, I’ve known you for what, three years now? I’ve spent more time with you than anybody I know, even Abby and Harp. I don’t think I’ve ever known you to have a date.”

Glenn started the truck, but left it in park. A tangle of angry frustration twisted in her chest. The last thing she wanted to do was talk about Mari, but something kept her pinned in place. Flann’s voice droned on, and all Glenn heard was Mari’s name. She could still feel her, as if the unique texture of Mari’s flesh had been tattooed beneath her skin. She could still taste her, that light teasing scent drawing her into a some long-forgotten, pure place where hope still lingered. The beer and the workout hadn’t drained the heavy pull of desire that thrummed in the pit of her stomach.

“There’s nothing going on between us.”

“Do you want there to be?” Flann’s voice had lost all its levity, had taken on the quiet, steady tone she used when talking life and death with the patients they cared for.

“Doesn’t matter what I want.”

“Bullshit, it doesn’t.”

Glenn shot her a look. “She’s not ready.”

Flann snorted. “So you just quit?”

“Yeah.” Glenn shoved the truck into gear and gunned the truck toward the street. “I do.”

*

Glenn slept little, rose early, and didn’t have the energy to go for a run. Not that she was tired, only that her spirit was weary. She made a cup of coffee and sat out on the back porch, watching the sun come up and thinking about Mari. She would’ve liked not to, at least part of her would. A bigger part of her enjoyed thinking about her, recalling glimpses of her sitting in this very spot, her dark hair gleaming in the sunshine, her smile open and warm; the sight of her bending over a patient, focused and empathetic and just as warm and welcoming professionally as she was personally; gently taking Antonelli to task for leaps in logic, even though more often than not he ended up at the right conclusion. Discipline, Mari reminded him, would make him stronger. He understood that logic.

Glenn smiled to herself. So did she. Mari intuitively grasped the warrior spirit.

She drained her coffee cup and considered canceling her open invitation to Sunday dinner at the Riverses’. She hadn’t wanted to pull back into her own private bunker this much in a very long time. Walking wounded, they called people like her. No visible blood, a few scattered scars that didn’t amount to much of anything, but inside, an indefinable place that didn’t heal and only seemed to bleed when feelings got through. Mari had gotten through in the span of a heartbeat.

She stood abruptly, shoving her chair back. Enough self-pity. Flann and Abby were making their big announcement today. She said she’d be there, and she couldn’t back out. She’d never been one for that. She didn’t regret a single choice she’d ever made, except one. Except giving in to the sweetest enticement she’d ever known. The kiss stayed with her, still tingled on her lips, still simmered in her depths.

And she was glad.

*

Flann greeted her on the wide back porch that looked down over acres of green to the twisting river beyond when she pulled in a little after noon.

“Glad you made it,” Flann said.

Glenn hopped up onto the porch. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

Flann gave her a long look. “The thought crossed my mind.”

“Well, you were wrong.”

“One of those rare occasions,” Flann said, grinning.

“Uh-huh.”

Ida Rivers, Flann’s mother, was at her usual place by the stove, the pretty flowered apron, one of many Glenn had seen over the years, covering an even prettier dress she wore beneath. She was a statuesque woman in her middle years, with hints of all her children in her face—and more wisdom in her gaze than Glenn had ever known.

“Hi, darling,” Ida said, sliding a big cast-iron pot with an enormous roast into the center of the long wooden table set with a dozen places.

“Hi, Ida,” Glenn murmured, kissing her cheek when Ida leaned toward her.

“How are you doing?”

The question was innocent enough, but Glenn hesitated just long enough for Ida’s eyes to darken and search her face for a long moment.

Glenn lifted a shoulder. “Well enough, I expect.”

“Well, sit down,” Ida said gently. “I’m glad you’re here.”

And just like that, Glenn was surrounded by family. Edward at one end of the table, Ida at the other, Blake and Margie as usual joined at the hip next to each other, Presley and Harper, Abby and Flann, Carson and her husband Bill and their two-year old bouncing back and forth between them, Carrie and her across from each other. She didn’t have any trouble imagining Mari at the table. She’d fit in right away—effortlessly joining conversations, laughing, probably taking a turn at minding the toddler who thought it was such fun to walk from one lap to the other.

Talk as usual flowed in a dozen directions at once. Glenn had a hard time swallowing the most delicious food she’d ever tasted. Her insides echoed hollowly but nothing could fill her up.

As Ida cut the steaming fresh apple pie at the end of the meal, Flann said, “Abby and I have an announcement to make.”

Carson broke into a wide grin, and Harper chuckled.

“We’re going to get married before the end of the summer,” Flann said.

Ida glanced at Abby, who rolled her eyes ever so slightly.

“Have you actually discussed this with Abby?” Ida asked as she slid a wedge of apple pie onto a plate and passed it to Flann.

“Yeah. Mostly.”

“Before you set the actual date?”

Flann grinned. “Well, that was a little more vague.”

Abby squeezed Flann’s leg under the table, an obvious move apparent to everyone.

“She tends to skip over some of those things,” Abby said sweetly, taking a bite of Flann’s pie. “But this time we agree.” She looked at Flann and kissed her cheek. “I love you.”

Edward said, “That’s settled, then. Give us the details when the three of you”—he looked pointedly from Blake to Abby to Flann—“have worked them all out.”

“Understood.” Flann slid her arm around Abby’s shoulders, as happy as Glenn had ever seen her.

The pie disappeared in a flash, the kids took off for the tree house overlooking the river, and after Glenn helped clear the table, she wandered out to the back porch and sat down on the top step.

A moment later, Carrie joined her. “You’re quiet today.”