Page 32 of Doctor One Night

I don’t respond, instead, I give him a brief nod before I push through the door and out into the none-the-wiser Birmingham air. The street is happy and alive as if a complete shitshow isn't going on in my life.

The soft glow of streetlights cast long shadows on the pavement. I start walking, not really paying attention to where I’m going, just needing to move, to get away from the heaviness that’s back there in the café.

I round a corner too quickly, my mind still miles away, and nearly collide with someone coming from the opposite direction. I’m about to apologize when I realize who it is.

“Hunter?” I say, my voice tinged with surprise.

He looks equally startled, pulling out his earbuds. “Frankie? What are you doing here?”

“I—” The words catch in my throat, the emotions from the meeting with my father suddenly too much to hold back. “I just…had a meeting and wanted to clear my head. It's a nice night so I thought a walk would be nice. I'm so sorry that I didn't see you. My brain must be somewhere else.”

He studies me for a moment, his expression softening. “No worries. I should say the same. Apologies. Rough day?”

I nod, sensing the tears that I’ve been holding back start to well up. “You could say that.”

Without thinking, I take a step closer, the need for comfort outweighing my usual caution. Hunter seems to sense it, his demeanor shifting from surprise to concern. He doesn’t ask any more questions, just takes a slow, steady breath, as if inviting me to do the same.

“Do you want to walk for a bit?” he asks gently, his voice low and comforting. “I've gotten my run in. I could use a cool down. Shain Park is amazing at night.”

I nod again, grateful for the suggestion. We start walking together, side by side, the silence between us not uncomfortable but rather calming. It’s nice to just be in the presence of someone who isn’t expecting anything from me, someone who’s just there.

We walk like that for a while, neither of us saying much, but his quiet companionship is exactly what I need. The night air is cool against my skin, and slowly, my lungs can finally expand to let more oxygen in, letting my shoulders gradually drop back into some semblance of healthy posture.

The paved path we’ve been walking on winds through a patch of trees illuminated by soft, amber lights. Hunter gestures to a bench, and we sit down, the world around us quiet and still.

He turns to me, his expression still full of that quiet concern. “This is my favorite spot in the park. I usually sit here after a run and watch people walk by. It's very soothing.”

“This is quite nice. I wouldn’t have pegged you for a people-watcher, Dr. Parrish. I’ve never done this, but I like it.”

“I'm glad to share,” he says kindly, even friendly. He is usually so rushed, so tense and busy. This is a nice side to Hunter. I'm enjoying the view of the passersby and my bench neighbor. Who knew he would be the one to rescue me after that face-to-face with my father? And he doesn't even know.

The evening air is lighter now, the weight of the earlier conversation with Bill slowly lifting as I sit beside Hunter on the park bench. We don’t say much, and somehow, that’s exactly what I need. The silence isn’t awkward, it’s…comforting.

After a while, Hunter stretches his arms, his muscles flexing under the thin fabric of his shirt. I admire the way his tattoos run the entire length of his forearms, intricate designs that enhance his powerful physique. I remember wanting to study them more carefully after our quickie all those months ago. They seem to tell a story, one I’ve never asked him about, but now I find myself curious.

“You’ve got some interesting ink,” I say, the question slipping out before I can think better of it. “Do they have any specific meaning?”

Hunter glances down at his arms, as if he’s forgotten the tattoos are even there. A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth and I can tell the subject interests him. He points to a particular design on his right forearm—a koi fish, beautifully detailed, swimming upstream.

“This one,” he says, tapping the fish with his finger, “is for perseverance. The koi fish is a symbol of strength in the face of adversity. There’s a legend that if a koi swims upstream long enough, it transforms into a dragon. It’s kind of a reminder that the hard stuff you go through can lead to something greater.”

I’m surprised by the depth of his answer, and I find myself leaning in slightly, intrigued. “That’s really cool. I don’t have any tattoos, but I love knowing the significance of them. Makes me imagine what I would get and where. Are you a koi?”

He shrugs, looking a bit self-conscious, but not in an uncomfortable way. “I guess I’ve always felt like I was swimming upstream. My parents had pretty high expectations, and there was always this pressure to be the best. But it wasn’t just about proving something to them—it was about proving it to myself. The koi is a reminder that the struggle is part of the journey, and that the end result, the ‘dragon,’ is worth it.”

His thoughtfulness and emotional depth catches me off guard. I see a glimpse of something more behind the gruff surgeon I know at work. This is a side of Hunter that’s thoughtful, introspective, and surprisingly open, and it’s hard not to be drawn to it.

“It suits you,” I say softly, my eyes lingering on the tattoo. “You’ve definitely got that perseverance thing down. You're a fighter, aren’t you?”

He chuckles, a low, warm sound that sends a shiver through me. “I guess you could say that. It’s a work in progress.”

We fall into a comfortable silence again, the air between us charged with something unspoken. I notice how effortlessly handsome he is, especially now, outside of the hospital, without the usual tension that seems to cling to him.

The athletic fit of his shirt clings to his chest and arms, and I can’t try not to stare at the definition of his muscles, the sheen of sweat making them glisten under the streetlights. His tattoos wrap around his biceps and forearms, and there’s something so effortlessly sexy about the way he carries himself—confident but not arrogant.

I find myself lingering, just a bit, as we walk back toward the main path. There’s something about seeing him like this, outside of the sterile environment of the hospital, that’s both disarming and almost inviting. He’s still Hunter—sharp, focused, intense—but there’s a warmth to him now, a side I haven’t seen before.

We reach a point where our paths diverge, and he turns to me, that same easy smile on his face. “Take care, Frankie. I’ll see you at work.”

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