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Other Titles by Rachel Robinson

Copyright © 2021 Rachel Robinson

All rights reserved.

Cover by Melissa Gill Designs

Cover photo by Lindee Robinson Photography

Editing by My Brother’s Editor

Editing by J. Wells

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

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For those who love selflessly. I see you.



Maeve Ahern

No one ever really starts over. They drag their overweight suitcase filled with a haunting, dead fiancé and unzip it in a new location. That’s just facts of life. At least, it’s my life. Sure, I moved to Colorado for a fresh start, but my past with Rexy looms in every corner light doesn’t touch.

My career as a pediatric physical therapist is the only thing I have left, and I pride myself on being the best in the field. It’s why I moved to Colorado to open my own practice. Men aren’t even on my radar, but then again, Turner isn’t a man, he’s my adorable, six-year-old patient. His father, though? He’s everything I swore off. A swaggering, muscle filled, creation similar to the one I lost.

He’s a Navy SEAL. A military man. A heartbreaking blunder I can’t make twice.

Unfortunately, whenever he steps into the room, all I see is light.

Lincoln Wilds

Single parenting isn’t for the faint of heart. It’s constant chaos, and the maddening sense of abandonment always lurks in the background. Turner’s mother left us a month after he was born—vanished into a dark, drug-fueled existence. My military career suffered during his infancy stage, but I’m finally working my way back to some semblance of normalcy.

I just got my own squad at the SEAL Team, when Turner falls off the monkey bars and shatters his leg. Just another hiccup in our complicated life. He needs a skilled physical therapist to help him walk again, but when I meet Maeve, something about her disorients me completely.

Maeve Ahern is a walking, talking flash bang.



He died a week before our wedding. Like a real schmuck. There wasn’t warning, or even time to cancel anything. His life got canceled first. Two years later and I’m working on being less angry. Instead of a simmering rage for breaking my own code and allowing a dangerous variable into my life, it’s now more of a pent-up aggression I feel in spurts throughout the day. Like now, staring at my laptop screen in my work office.

“Maeve, did you hear me?” Aspen snaps her fingers next to my ear, a graceful gesture that would seem rude done by anyone else. My attention flails when I sink into this headspace. Into the past. Here one moment and gone the next. The waxing and waning are tumultuous, and I can’t predict it. It’s maddening.

She clears her throat. “You have a patient in room three. They’ve been waiting for fifteen minutes.” My medical assistant, and friend, bears the full force of my blunt personality and mood swings. After Rexy died, I moved to Colorado. Way up into the mountains, far away from Cape Cod’s beaches and siren call. It was time to start my own pediatric physical therapy practice. Or at least that’s what I told myself to justify the fact I wanted to flee everything and everyone I’ve ever known. The mountains are more than a fresh start, I need them to bleach away my history. Growing up an orphan, I don’t have any real family to my name, aside from my best college friend who lives in Europe full-time now. The friends and the comradery I felt within the SEAL community was the closest thing to an actual family I’ve ever had. It didn’t feel safe. I never feel safe when I’m comfortable. Comfort means stability, and anytime I’ve felt stable, the proverbial rug gets pulled out from under me.

“Maeve. Did you hear me?” Another wispy snap.

I slam my laptop closed. One unread message. It’s been unread for two years. From him—my lost love, my fiancé, the Navy SEAL killed by friendly fire, Rexy. The last email. By refusing to read it, I’m giving myself more time to be furious. “Sorry,” I clip. “I’m on my way now. I’ve already gone over the charts, so I’m up to speed on the little guy. I read up before bed last night.” The upside of knowing no one is that I throw myself into my work most nights. That, or continuing my education, and obsessing about being the absolute best in my field. Because being comfortable or stable in my job means nothing, as long as I know I’m the best.

“The dad is a real looker,” Aspen says to my back as the cool air in the hallway hits me.

I swallow hard, ignoring her lighthearted teasing. She’s trying to be a friend, but if I stop being angry, I know what comes next, and I’m unprepared to deal with it. Sadness. Despair. The anguish of grief. Feeling sorry for myself. Gross. I grab the chart from the box outside the door and find the patient name: Turner Wilds. Aged six. Recovering from a broken femur. I glimpse the X-ray to familiarize myself with the injury. Ouch. Pushing the cool handle down, I enter the room with my brightest, I’m here to help you, and I have excellent bedside manner, smile. “Hi there, I’m Maeve Ahearn, the

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