Page 13 of Doctor One Night

Twisting a strand of her short, blonde locks, which she does constantly, Carly blows out a breath.

“Well, that little scare she gave us last month is still getting her the side-eye from the folks upstairs. They want to be sure that one of their best ER nurses is still able to do the job without collapsing while on duty.”

I nod a bit absently as I think about the issue Carly talked to me about a while back. When she told me she had a minor heart attack, part of my expertise, I’ve been keeping tabs on her.

“She’s not working with any restrictions any longer, is she?”

“No,” Carly replies, shaking her head as she stretches her legs, “They cleared her completely, but they’re still watching. You know, company policy.”

“Sill no idea what caused it?”

“Nope. Even bringing it up is a good way to get her growling, so I don’t bother asking questions. A motherly Grace is better than a menacing one. Plus, I look forward to her home-baked goodies, so I’m not rocking that boat.”

“So you do have some self-control when it comes to that mouth. Good to know.”

“Rarely, but yes. She brought in apricot crumble cheesecake about a week ago,” she says with a grin, licking her lips as she closes her eyes.

“And you didn’t save me any, did you?”

Her shrug is answer enough. Meh, I don’t blame her. I wouldn’t save her any, either.

Just saying.

FOUR

Hunter

Hunter’s Condo

8:12 am

The weights clink softly as I finish another set of deadlifts, the familiar burn in my muscles grounding me, pushing everything else out of my mind.

My home gym is quiet. The only sound is the rhythmic thud of my heart in my ears and the occasional rustle of fabric as I move. I can’t find my Beats, so I’m going a cappella this morning.

The floor-to-ceiling windows in front of me offer a sweeping view of the city, the early morning light just beginning to creep over the skyline. This view never fails to remind me why I work as hard as I do and why I push myself to the edge every day.

I drop the weights and stand up straight, rolling my shoulders to shake off the tension.

There’s no early morning surgery today, so I’ve got a little more time than usual. I could have slept in, but that’s never really been my style. Instead, I’m here, sweating it out, trying to clear my mind before the day starts.

The workout helps—it always does. It’s a way to keep everything in check, to control the things I can before I head into the chaos of the hospital.

My mind drifts once again to the email I got last night from Theo Bench, the head of research and development at the hospital. He asked me to collaborate on a pacemaker trial study they’ve been working on for years. I’m thrilled to be involved with something like this and honored he thought to include me.

He wants my input to push it over the finish line, to get it ready for FDA approval so we can start human trials. Being part of something like that, something that could change lives on a massive scale is exactly why I became a surgeon in the first place.

I’ve been involved in plenty of cutting-edge procedures and pioneering techniques that push the boundaries of what’s possible. But this is something different. This is about creating something that could save thousands, maybe millions of lives, long after I’m gone. The idea of it sets my blood pumping harder than any workout ever could.

I grab a towel and wipe the sweat from my face, my mind already racing ahead to the late afternoon meeting I have with him after my last surgery.

I’ve got clinic patients to see first, a few routine cases, nothing too taxing. It’s going to be a full day, but my brain shouldn’t be too fried.

I’ve pushed myself just far enough this morning. Standing up, I grab the towel again, wiping the sweat from my face and neck before tossing it onto a nearby bench. I walk over to the mirror that spans one wall of the room, catching a glimpse of myself.

The reflection staring back at me is familiar—broad shoulders, defined muscles, the result of years of disciplined training, both physical and mental. But it’s not just about staying in shape. It’s about control, about having something in my life that I can command, something that’s entirely mine.

My gaze drops to the ink covering my arms, dark lines and intricate designs that start at my wrists, wrap around my biceps and trail onto my chest and back. Most people don’t know about the tattoos, I like to keep them to myself.

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