Page 44 of Doctor One Night

The room is quiet except for the sound of our breathing, still labored from what just happened. The sheets stick to my skin, not wanting to release myself from the warmth of her body pressed against mine.

My hand rests on her waist, fingers tracing slow, lazy circles on her back. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this close to someone, not just physically, but emotionally. Our first time was between two strangers who met during a perfect storm. We hardly knew each other, and it was purely physical, the end.

This time, it’s… different. And it’s terrifying.

She’s lying with her head on my chest, her hair fanned out over my skin, and I can hear her breathing start to slow. There’s a tenderness around us I haven’t felt in a long time, maybe ever, and it makes my chest tighten in a way that’s both comforting and unsettling.

I keep my hand moving on her low back, needing that connection, something to ground me. I don’t want to break the silence, but at the same time, I have to say something, to let her in a little more. It’s been so long since I’ve let anyone get this close, and it’s like a door has opened that beckons me in.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this… connected,” I murmur, my voice sounding like it belongs to someone else, but it’s the truth. I’ve been avoiding this, avoiding her, because somehow I instinctively knew she was different.

She lifts her head slightly, looking up at me with those green eyes that always seem to see more than I want them to. “Yeah,” she says softly, her voice carrying the same weight as mine. “I know what you mean. I think you and I are cut from the same cloth in that way.”

The silence stretches out again, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s filled with something unspoken, something that’s been building between us for months, and now that we’ve crossed this line for a second time, I can’t pretend it doesn’t exist anymore.

“Well, there was that one time in the lab...” She looks up at me with a mischievously devilish smile. I have to give her props for being the first to break the silence on that.

“Good point, there was that one time in the lab.”

We both laugh, but neither of us takes it any further. I guess she wanted to address it, so it isn’t the elephant in the room anymore. I’m not sure there is anymore to say on the subject. Nothing more than what we just did.

Something I didn’t talk about the other night at the bar because I wasn’t ready, seems appropriate now, to give her context. But now, with her here, in my arms, it’s like a natural opening.

“The other night… when you asked about Hodgkin’s…” I start, hesitant but also empowered. Her body tenses slightly against mine, and I know she’s listening, waiting, wondering where this is going. “It’s been on my mind ever since.”

She shifts, her fingers tracing patterns on my chest, and it’s like she’s instilling in me the strength to keep going. “My mom was diagnosed recently,” I finally say, the words heavier than I expected. “With Hodgkin’s lymphoma.”

Saying it out loud for the first time is a release. Like I don't have to carry it all by myself anymore.

There’s a pause, the air between us thick with unspoken emotion. She doesn’t say anything right away, just lifts her hand to my face, her touch gentle, grounding me in this moment.

“We aren't especially close, but she is a widow and there is something about her diagnosis, I don't know, it's just weighing on me.”

“Oh, Hunter, I'm so sorry.”

“You don't have to be sorry at all. I guess I'm just telling you since you brought it up. I told you not to worry, and I mean it. Hodgkins is relatively simple and curable, but it is scary when it is someone you love.”

“Yes, it can be scary, you're right.” Somehow she always says just enough to comfort me without pushing me or saying too much. It's a true talent.

“I’ve been trying to stay out of it,” I continue, my voice low, “to keep my distance, but… it’s not easy. She was always tough on me, pushing me to be better, to do more, and I’ve spent my whole life trying to live up to that. But now that she needs me, I don’t know how to handle it.”

Frankie’s fingers brush through my hair, and the simple act is enough to make the lump in my throat loosen, just a little. “I’m sorry, Hunter,” she whispers, and there’s no pity in her voice, just understanding. “That must be so hard.”

“It is,” I admit, my voice so quiet at this point, my body fighting against itself not to completely lose it. “I’m trying to figure out how to be there for her without getting pulled back into all that old stuff. But it’s hard, you know? It’s really fucking hard.”

“I get it,” she murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to my chest, right over my heart. “It's hard watching our parents get sick. I lost my mom, too. It's been years and I'm still grieving her loss. There’s something about moms that gets us right in the gut.”

“I bet she was a special lady to have raised such an amazing daughter.”

“She was pretty amazing. She was a single mom and we grew up together. I wish you could have met her.”

“Me, too.”

We hold each other, neither of us saying anything for a while. Another thread connecting us, pulling us closer. I've never opened up like this, and with Frankie, something seems so right about it.

I’ve been carrying this weight for so long, and now that I’ve let her in, it isn’t nearly as heavy. Not with her here.

“Thank you,” I say, my baritone thick with emotion I’m not used to sharing. “For listening and letting me tell you a little about my drama. It’s nice to talk to someone.”

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