Page 19 of Doctor One Night

A spike of irritation flares up inside me, but I keep my expression neutral, taking another bite of my burger to buy myself a moment. The idea of Jonah going after Frankie doesn’t sit well with me, and that realization hits harder than I’d like. But I keep my mouth shut, knowing it’s not my place to say anything.

Still, Jonah’s eyes narrow, and I can tell he’s picked up on the shift in my mood. “Whoa, hold up. Are you actually pissed I just said that? I was just kidding, dude.”

I glare at him, more out of reflex than anything. “I’m not pissed, Jonah. Just saying we’ve got work to do, and I’m not looking to complicate things.”

He chuckles, clearly enjoying this more than he should. “Uh-huh. Sure, that’s all it is.”

“Drop it,” I snap, not in the mood to deal with his teasing right now.

“Alright, alright,” Jonah says, holding up his hands in mock surrender, though the smirk on his face doesn’t fade. “But seriously, Hunter, if you’re not interested, maybe I should?—”

“Jonah,” I warn, my voice low and edged with a tone that tells him I’m not going there.

He laughs, shaking his head. “Relax, I’m just messing with you. But you might want to figure out what’s got you so worked up before this project turns into a bigger headache than it needs to be.”

I don’t respond. Instead, I finish off the last of my green beans as my mind is already a mess of thoughts I don’t want to untangle right now. Jonah’s got a point, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to deal with it.

We finish lunch in relative silence, Jonah occasionally throwing me a look while I focus on getting through the rest of the meal without snapping at him again. I’m guessing he wishes he had invited someone else to join him.

By the time I get up to leave, I’m more than ready to get back to work. I’ll gladly embrace anything to keep my mind off Frankie and whatever the hell is brewing under the surface.

3:01 pm

Jill, my assistant, buzzes through to my office, jolting me out of my focus on the documents about the pacemaker and all of the impressive strides Frankie has made in these studies in a relatively short time. “Yes,” I answer, a little annoyed to be pulled away.

“Just a reminder, Doctor Parrish, that you have a three o’clock appointment with Mrs. Oppenstar. She’s already here waiting for you in the front lobby.”

“Great, send her into an exam room. I’ll be right there.”

“I’ve informed her, Sir. But, she insists that?—”

“—I come to meet her in the lobby. Yeah, I remember. Thanks, Jill. Can you please inform the front I’ll be right there?”

“Yes, Sir. So ten minutes?”

“Oh, you’re funny.”

Her girlish chuckle is cute, but it’s kind of lost on me right now. “I’ll let them know.”

Did I mention that I really care about the people I work with? They’re all sarcastic pains in the ass sometimes, but I appreciate the whole team.

Refocusing on what I was reading in Frankie’s notes before being interrupted, I start to get a boner. Fucking hell. Better make that fifteen minutes, Jill.

Thankfully the hard-on goes away the moment I get to my feet. I give Jill a sarcastic smile on the way out, and she returns it right back. See, I’m not all grumpy all the time.

Mrs. Oppenstar was seventy-four when she first came to see me a little over a year ago. Her primary care doctor referred her after a routine check-up revealed something off with her heart. She had been becoming increasingly fatigued, short of breath, and had this persistent tightness in her chest that just wouldn’t go away.

Tests confirmed what I suspected: severe aortic stenosis. Her aortic valve was narrowed, restricting blood flow from the heart to the rest of her body. It’s a condition I see often in patients her age, but that doesn’t make it any less serious. Without intervention, it would have continued to worsen, eventually leading to heart failure.

Surgery was the only option—a valve replacement. I’ve done it countless times, but every patient is different. And with someone like Mrs. Oppenstar, age and overall health add layers of complexity. We went over the risks, the benefits, and the expectations, and despite the gravity of it all, she remained calm and trusting.

The surgery went smoothly. I replaced her damaged valve with a new one, restoring the blood flow her body so desperately needed. But it’s not just about the surgery for me. It’s about what happens after. The recovery, the follow-ups, making sure my patients know they’re not just case numbers on a chart.

Mrs. Oppenstar is one of those patients who reminds me why I do what I do. She is tough and resilient, and despite her age, she had a spark in her that made me want to fight even harder for her recovery.

Her makeup is on point, as usual, as is her sense of style. She is wearing a deep-blue sweatsuit that is no doubt the hottest item among her friends at her assisted care facility.

In truth, she’s not bad-looking for a woman of seventy-five, and she’s incredibly ambulatory.

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