Page 27 of Doctor One Night

“He sent you a letter?! Like, in the mail?”

The tears well up in my eyes as the pain of his abandonment hits me all over again. “Yes, a couple of weeks ago, but I just tossed it. I didn’t want to deal with it. But he’s being persistent and he’s wearing me down. So he stopped by Saturday and now I have a new letter, one I haven’t opened.”

Carly looks at me with a mix of shock and sympathy. “Frankie, why didn’t you tell me sooner? I’m so sorry you’ve been dealing with this all by yourself. This isn’t something you can just ignore. I mean, hearing from your estranged father who’s sick… that’s heavy.”

With a trembling voice, I wipe away a tear that slips down my cheek. Dealing with it was the last thing I wanted to do. I’ve spent my whole life trying to forget him, to move on. But now, he’s back, and I don’t know what to do.”

Carly reaches out and takes my hand, her grip firm and reassuring. “Frankie, you don’t have to decide anything right now. But maybe it would be good to talk to him. To at least hear what he has to say.”

I shake my head, the thought of letting him back into my life terrifying. “I don’t know if I can, Carly. He hurt us so much. I don’t know if I can forgive him.”

“I know,” Carly says gently. “And I’m not saying you have to. But maybe this is a chance for you to get some closure, to say the things you never got to say before. It might be healing, for you.”

The tears are falling freely now, and I don’t bother to stop them. Carly pulls me into a hug, holding me tight as I let out all the pain and anger I’ve been holding inside for so long.

“I’m here for you,” she whispers. “Whatever you decide, I’m here.”

I nod against her shoulder, receiving the weight of her words. I’m not ready to make a decision yet, but for the first time, I’m seeing that maybe I can find a way to let him in. Even if it’s just to say, “fuck you, you bastard.”

“Thank you. That means a lot. I’m sorry I got all snotty on you.”

We both laugh as Carly fake-wipes her shoulder.

“Come one. Let’s get moving. I have to work, and you have to laze around all day.”

“Good point.” With that, we stand up and head back. It’s freeing to have gotten that out. I realize I have been holding all of this in, trying to will it away. But I needed to talk, to process it out loud.

10:41 am

Frankie: Please give me fifteen minutes. I can’t give up, but if you’ll meet with me and you want me to leave you alone after that, I will. Please.

205-634-1144

Dad

Goddammit. I throw the letter in the trash can and walk out of the kitchen. It’s time to get back to work. I’ve procrastinated enough this morning.

The familiar glow of my computer screen is a comforting sight after the annoyance of having to deal with this bullshit drama. After reading it, diving into data is a welcome a relief—something solid, something that makes sense that fits neatly in a chart. I scroll through the latest results, noting patterns and anomalies, my mind slowly settling back into its usual rhythm.

Then, my email pings, the sound sharp in the quiet room. I glance at the corner of the screen where the notification pops up, and my breath catches when I see the sender.

Hunter Parrish.

I open the email, and as I read his words, I encounter that same inexplicable flutter in my chest I seem to get whenever anything Hunter Parrish-related comes my way. He’s telling me he identified some risks that he wants to run by me. He has everything listed, but the words are all running together.

My frustration is rising. This is why Theo wanted to bring him in. It doesn’t make it any easier when I feel like I have to defend my work.

Even with my defensiveness, I have an affection for Hunter’s mind and compassion in this space. He is truly a dynamic surgeon with so much knowledge about the personal side when all I look at are the lab markers.

I shouldn’t let myself get this way; I know that. There’s no reason for it, and yet… my heart skips a beat, and my pulse quickens. Am I angry or giddy? Apparently, the two emotions are indistinguishable for me at this juncture.

Why does he have this effect on me?

I lean back in my chair, staring at the screen, trying to figure it out. My logical brain knows there’s nothing between us—there can’t be, and I don’t want there to be. We’re colleagues, and that’s where it needs to stay. But he has this way of getting under my skin, of inducing things in me I can’t quite define.

I take a deep breath and start to type out a reply. Then I erase it, not quite sure how I want to come back. I know we need to address his concerns, but he can wait a minute while I figure out how, exactly.

My heart is still fluttering annoyingly in my chest. I tell myself it’s just the residual tension from talking about my father, from the emotional weight of that conversation with Carly. It has nothing to do with Hunter. It can’t.

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