Page 17 of Doctor Second Chance

But the sad truth is, conceivably, an egocentric asshole might be all I am. A mediocre, greedy man. After all this time, even with my blatant attempts to help her, she still seems to want to keep me at bay. Maybe that is best.

As I head toward the elevator, lost in thought, I nearly collide with Hunter Parrish. He takes the resident bad boy general surgeon mantle, so I don’t have to. He has a shit-eating grin when I almost knock his coffee out of his hand.

"Whoa there, Duncan," he says, steadying me. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

I force a laugh. "Long morning. You know how it is."

Hunter nods, and then his eyes light up. "Hey, you won't believe this new rehab facility we've got. I admitted a patient there yesterday, and I just left there. That place is how rehab should be done.”

I raise an eyebrow, curious despite myself. "Yeah?"

"Man, it's top-notch. Right next to the hospital, state-of-the-art equipment. They've got this VR therapy setup that's mind-blowing." Hunter launches into a detailed description, his enthusiasm contagious. He almost makes the idea of going to a rehab facility sound like an enjoyable experience.

As he talks, a thought starts forming in my mind. Elle. She needs rehab. She’s not from here, and no one's looking out for her best interests.

"... and the staff-to-patient ratio is incredible," Hunter's saying. "Seriously, it's like a five-star hotel for recovery."

I nod, my decision solidifying. "Sounds impressive. Listen, I've got a patient who might benefit from that. Needs some pretty extensive hand rehab. Any chance you could put me in touch with the admissions team?"

Hunter grins. “I don’t have it, but I will have Marijka send it to you. She hooked my patient up, and I know she will take care of yours. But fair warning, there's usually a waiting list since they started taking patients not even a month ago.”

With those words, a heavy doubt settles on my shoulders. She isn’t my patient; I shouldn’t be butting my nose into this. But if I don’t, she could get lost in the process between insurance approval and open beds. When a surgeon gets involved, things happen. I would do this for anyone, right?

"Thanks, man. I appreciate it."

As Hunter walks away, I pull out my phone, already formulating a plan. I might not be able to fix the past, but I can at least make sure Elle gets the best care possible while she's here. It's the least I can do.

FIVE

Elle

3:52 pm

I stare at the stark white ceiling, my mind a whirlwind of emotions. This time yesterday, I was bubbling with excitement, meticulously arranging decorations for Isabella's engagement party. Now, I'm lying in a sterile hospital bed, five hours out of surgery, and my hand is throbbing with pain.

Isabella and her fiancé Mark got engaged ten months ago. And that is when the planning began.

They met at a charity event two years ago, and it was love at first sight. On their anniversary, Mark proposed with a scavenger hunt that led Isabella all over Birmingham, ending at the spot where they first met.

The party was supposed to be a grand affair, with all our college friends flying in from across the country. I can picture the twinkling lights, the champagne toasts, and the joyous laughter I should have been a part of.

Oh, and of course, the goddamned crystal vases on the outdoor fireplace.

Instead, I'm here, grappling with the possibility of permanent hand damage. Shep's words from earlier echo in my mind, each syllable a sharp reminder of how quickly life can change. I close my eyes, trying to shut out the beeping machines and antiseptic smell.

His face keeps flashing in my mind, and my heart clenches. I'd heard little things here and there about him over the years—the brilliant surgeon, the confirmed bachelor, the ladies' man. But I resisted asking anyone or trying to find him online.

After all this time, seeing him again is like ripping off a long-ago applied bandaid from my heart that I didn't even know was still holding it intact.

I tell myself it's just the circumstances. Being alone in a foreign city, hopped up on meds, the aftermath of surgery.

But deep down, I know better. My inner voice screams to keep my distance, to guard my heart. Yet here I am, feeling like I'm twenty-two again, hoping he will find a reason to stop in to see me again.

I shift in the bed, wincing as pain shoots through my hand.

A single tap on the glass sliding door pulls me out of my pity party. The door automatically slides open, and Dr. Hampton enters my room. His face is a mix of professional concern and cautious optimism. I try to read his expression, searching for any hint of what's to come.

"Ms. Klass, I'm pleased to report that the surgery went well overall," he begins, his voice steady. "However, we did encounter some complications during the procedure."

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