Page 33 of Doctor One Night

“Yeah, see you,” I reply, and as he walks away, I find myself watching him go, the way his broad shoulders move, the effortless grace in his stride. Dear Lord, he is a beautiful man.

When he’s out of sight, I take a deep breath, acknowledging a strange mix of sentiments. The heaviness from my talk with my father is still there. But it’s muted now, as if a softer, more manageable emotion has enveloped it. I realize that it was Hunter’s presence, his calm and unspoken support, that helped ease the turmoil inside me.

I walk back toward my house, my mind still replaying the unexpected encounter. It wasn’t anything monumental—just a walk, a shared silence—but it was the perfect buffer from my surreal sitdown and from reality.

And I can’t ignore the fact that Hunter, of all people, was the one who provided it.

It’s strange, this pull I have toward him. We’re colleagues, nothing more, and yet… there’s something there. Something more than a meaningless fuck six months ago. Whatever it is, it’s real, and it’s growing.

Tonight, the walls I’ve built up around myself since our encounter so long ago, feel just a little bit lower. And for the first time, I find myself wondering what it would be like to let someone in.

TWELVE

Hunter

Back Forty Beer Company

9:01 pm

I lean against the counter, and the familiar hum of the bar surrounds me. I take the final sip of my beer as the bartender slides my credit card back toward me. The cold, bitter last swallow goes down a little too easily. It’s a quiet night. There are just a few regulars scattered around, filling the space with the low murmur of conversation.

As I sign the receipt, my thoughts drift back to Frankie. Running into her tonight was… unexpected, but not unwelcome. I’ve always known she was naturally beautiful—anyone with eyes could see that—but seeing her tonight, outside of work, without the white lab coat and the usual professionalism that surrounds her, she was different. More relaxed, more… effervescent, if that’s even the right word.

But there was something else too, something that set her apart from other women I’ve known. Women I meet, whether in the hospital or outside of it, often seem to have this unnerving desire to fill every silence, constantly vying for my attention, as if the quiet makes them uncomfortable. They’re always trying to impress, to keep the conversation going, to make sure they’re the center of my focus. It gets exhausting, to be honest.

But Frankie… she’s different. She’s comfortable in her own skin, not needing to fill the silence with pointless chatter. She doesn’t fight for attention or try to dominate the space. She’s just there, present, and somehow that’s more engaging than any small talk could ever be. It’s refreshing, a breath of fresh air.

She had something weighing on her, though. It was in the way her shoulders seemed a little more hunched than usual, the way her eyes carried a heaviness that wasn’t there before. If I didn’t know better, she almost seemed emotional when we first ran into each other.

I don’t know if it’s the pressure from the trial or if it’s something more personal, but I could sense it. I didn’t bring up work because it didn’t seem right—not tonight, not with that look in her eyes.

She didn’t offer much, and I didn’t push. I’m not the type to pry, especially when it comes to personal matters. I wanted to know what was bothering her, what was making her seem like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, but I held back, and maybe that was for the best. Whatever it was, I’m sure she doesn’t want to talk to a coworker about it.

There was something nice about just being there, about walking through the park with her and not having to say much. It was a break from the usual grind, from the constant demands of the hospital, from the pressure of always having to be on. Of course, in our moments of silence, I couldn’t help but flash back to slapping her ass and the sensation of her warm skin on mine. I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t.

There’s more to her than that, more to my intrigue than our intense, unplanned soiree. Maybe there’s a side to her that I haven’t had the chance to explore yet. And maybe I want to find out what that side is.

As I push open the door of the bar, the cool night air greets me, a welcome change from the warmth inside. But something’s off. A murmur, a low, anxious hum that prickles the back of my neck breaks the usual quiet of the street. I step out onto the sidewalk, my eyes scanning the scene ahead of me.

A crowd has gathered, a tight knot of people clustered around something, or someone, on the ground. My heart rate kicks up, instinct taking over as I start toward the group, the distant sound of sirens reaching my ears. Someone is hurt, and judging by the way these people are huddled together, it seems to be bad.

“Excuse me,” I call out, my voice cutting through the noise as I push through the throng. “I’m a doctor. Let me through.”

The crowd parts just enough for me to squeeze through, and that’s when I see her—Carly Gunner, lying motionless on the pavement. The sight of her, so full of life and energy just hours ago, now crumpled and vulnerable, hits me like a punch to the gut.

“Carly,” I mutter, dropping to my knees beside her, my hands already moving to check for a pulse. Her skin is pale, her breathing shallow and rapid, which is a sign of shock. Blood pools beneath her head, staining the pavement dark. I quickly assess her, years of training kicking in as I check her airway, her breathing, her circulation.

“Carly, it’s Hunter,” I say, my voice steady despite the rush of adrenaline surging through me. “Can you hear me?”

There’s no response, just a faint flicker of her eyelids, and I feel a surge of urgency. This is bad, really bad.

I glance around, spotting a woman holding a phone, her face pale with worry. “Did anyone see what happened?” I ask, my hands still working as I try to stabilize Carly’s head, careful not to move her more than necessary. Any sudden movement could make things worse if she has a spinal injury.

“She… she stepped off the curb,” the woman stammers, her voice shaking. “A car… it came out of nowhere, hit her, and then just… drove off.”

A hit-and-run. My jaw clenches, anger bubbling beneath the surface, but I push it aside. Carly needs me to focus, not to get lost in the injustice of it all.

I lean closer to Carly, carefully checking her pupils for a response. One of them is sluggish, a sign of a potential head injury. Damn it. My mind races through the possibilities: a concussion, a skull fracture, internal bleeding. I need to keep her stable until the paramedics arrive.

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