All Chapters of Two Brothers. One Ruin.: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

I’m running on fumes. Not the poetic kind of exhaustion—no, the ugly, bone-deep kind that makes time stretch into something shapeless and endless. Like I’ve been stuck in this shift long enough to forget there’s a world outside the hospital walls. Sleep feels theoretical at this point. If I really push myself, I can vaguely recall collapsing onto that narrow break room couch for three hours. Or maybe I imagined it. My body moves before I think too hard about it, carrying me toward the staff lounge like it’s operating on instinct alone. Food. Maybe that’ll fix something. Or at least make me feel less like I’m about to collapse. Inside, a few nurses and doctors from other departments are scattered around the small tables, mid-conversation, mid-bite, mid-everything. “Liana.” Jenny’s voice cuts through the low murmur of the lounge before I even register where it’s coming from. I turn toward it instinctively—familiar, grounding—and spot her at one of the small tables, already h

“That’s Shaun Stone,” Jenny murmurs against my ear. “Shaun? The son he already had?” “Yeah.” I glance back toward the small crowd, trying to get a better look. “Huh.” I tilt my head slightly. “Guess we’re not seeing the new son after all.” Jenny doesn’t answer. A smirk pulls at my lips as I shift my attention back to her—and there it is. Completely gone. Her eyes locked onto Evan like the rest of the room stopped existing. I jab my elbow into her side. “Hey. Pull it together.” She jolts slightly, shaking her head as if that’s enough to reset her entire brain, then looks at me with a borderline tragic expression. “I want to dance with him.” Oh, for fuck’s sake. If she goes out there with that look on her face—those actual heart-eyes—she might as well announce it to the entire room. Her hand grabs my arm, fingers tightening with exaggerated desperation. “Lianaaa,” she drags my name out, shameless. I already know where this is going. I yank my arm back, shooti

“Are you drunk?” Shaun murmurs near my ear, a note of confusion slipping into his voice. Drunk? Maybe. Maybe I am—maybe that’s the only explanation. Maybe my brain’s finally short-circuited from exhaustion and alcohol and whatever the hell tonight is. But the closer we get—the clearer it becomes. No mistake. No illusion. The same black hair I used to wind around my fingers without thinking. The same dark eyes I got lost in more times than I can count. The same face I used to hold between my hands like it was something I could keep. And those lips— God. I can still remember the heat of them, like it never really left. And his body— The memory hits harder than it should. The way we used to fit. The way heat built, the way his hands felt on my skin, the way his mouth— This is him. My Julian. And at the same time—not. This version isn’t rough around the edges. His hair isn’t a mess like it used to be, not falling carelessly into his eyes. There’s no trace o

Five days. Five fucking days since the party—and my entire system is still thrown off like it happened yesterday. Seeing him again didn’t feel like three years had passed. It felt like nothing had. Like everything just—snapped back into place. The ache. The restlessness. It’s all fresh again. Raw. Unsettling. My focus is shot. Completely useless. “Ahem.” The sharp nudge of an elbow into my side snaps my thoughts apart. I straighten instinctively, blinking back into the present—and walk straight into a stare. Nathan Hunt. Unblinking. Critical. Zero patience. New attending. Transferred to Bellevue three days ago, and already managing to make half the residents feel like they’re one mistake away from being erased from the program. Tall. Rigid. Controlled. And from the way he’s looking at me right now–very aware I haven’t been paying attention. “Let’s hope that when a patient’s life is actually in your hands, your focus isn’t this

“You didn’t answer my question,” he says after a moment. “I’m working here,” I reply, not looking up. “You’re good enough to do both.” “Now you trust me?” I ask, tightening the stitch. “I recognize skilled hands when I see them.” That—makes me pause. Just for a second. I glance up. He means it. No teasing. No edge. Just… straightforward. A strand of his dark hair has fallen loose, brushing against his forehead, just at the edge of his eyes— And it does something stupid to my brain. I look away immediately, focusing back on the wound. God—I really need to get laid. “Nothing to say?” he pushes. Does he ever shut up? “What do you want me to say?” I mutter. “Thank you?” A quiet chuckle slips out of him. “Touché.”After that, he finally goes silent. For a while. But the quiet doesn’t help. Because his gaze—it doesn’t move. Not even for a second. It stays on me, sharp and unrelenting, like he’s trying to peel me apart layer by layer, like he’s g