Page 50 of Doctor One Night

I nod, swallowing hard. “Of course. Thanks for stopping by.”

He hesitates for just a second, then adds, “Hey, I was wondering if you might be up for dinner tonight.”

The question catches me off guard, and I blink at him, not really sure what to make of it. My heart does a little flip, but my brain is already racing, trying to figure out how to respond. Is this about the trial? Or… something else?

Before I can think myself out of it, the word is out of my mouth. “Sure.”

Hunter’s eyebrows raise slightly, surprised, perhaps. Maybe he expected me to say no. “I was planning to grab some tapas and a beer at The Southern Kitchen & Bar downtown around seven. Would you be up for joining me? I can pick you up so we both don’t have to find parking.”

The directness of his approach throws me off balance, but I recover quickly, shaking my head. “I’ll meet you there,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. I’m not sure what this is about, but staying independent allows me to roll with it easier and gives me an out.

“Alright,” he says, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. “See you then.”

He turns and walks out of my office, leaving me staring after him, my mind a whirl of conflicting emotions. I should have said no—clearly, decisively, no. But, I didn’t And now I’m going to dinner with Hunter Parrish tonight.

5:16 pm

I gather my things, shoving my laptop into my bag and trying to ignore the sense of impending doom that seems to surround me. It’s been a long day, and the thought of going home to shower and get ready for dinner with Hunter seems more like an obligation than a treat at this point.

I know I should check Bill's message. I'm sure part of it is worrying about what it contains, not wanting to get more bad news I won't know how to process.

My finger hovers over the screen, hesitating for a moment. I don’t want to listen to it, but I also know I won't stop thinking about it until I know what the update is. Taking a deep breath, I tap on the notification and bring the phone to my ear.

“Hey, Frankie. It’s Dad.” It still gets me every time he refers to himself as that. I haven't used any such title to his face, because calling him “Dad” is so disingenuous.

“I just wanted to let you know that I got my labs back today, and… well, it looks like the latest treatment is working. It’s still early to tell for sure, but the good news is, things aren’t getting worse. And best-case scenario, it might actually be improving.”

There’s a pause, and I can hear him take a breath, as if he’s unsure of what to say next. I follow suit and fill my lungs with a relieved breath.

“I’ll be getting labs again in two weeks, so we’ll know more then. But I just wanted to share the positive news with you. I hope you’re having a good Monday.”

The voicemail ends, and I’m left standing in the middle of the office, the phone still pressed to my ear, the importance of his words resonating with me. I lower the phone slowly and stare at the screen.

The name “Bill” taunts me as if somehow, miraculously, something will pop up, giving me direction on what to do next.

I exhale the full breath slowly, trying to push aside the confusion and the tangled mess of emotions that always seem to surface whenever he’s involved. He’s still the man who walked away, the man who left my mother and me to fend for ourselves. But he’s also the man who’s now fighting a battle I can’t ignore.

And maybe I don’t want to ignore it anymore.

I tuck my phone into my bag and sling it over my shoulder, grateful for some good news. At least some of the weight on my shoulders is a little lighter.

EIGHTEEN

Hunter

The Southern Kitchen & Bar

6:55 pm

I arrive at the restaurant a few minutes early, scanning the space for a good spot. It’s a casual, trendy place. The lighting is dim and there’s a bit of indie music playing in the background. It’s a mix of people chatting over drinks and appetizers, the perfect place for us to meet without feeling like we’re on display.

I find a couple of open seats at the bar and take one, ordering a whiskey neat while I wait for Frankie.

My mind’s still on the protocol we discussed earlier today, but more than that, I keep replaying Saturday night—or rather, yesterday morning—in my head. Leaving her house before she woke felt like the right call.

I couldn’t afford to complicate things more than they already are. But now, sitting here, waiting to see her again, I can’t shake this feeling that I’m about to bulldoze all the good I did by leaving.

Soon I thankfully spot Frankie walking in. Her eyes scan the room before they land on me. She’s dressed casually, in a light sweater and jeans, but she looks ridiculously beautiful, like she always does. She spots me and heads over, offering a small smile that I can’t quite read.

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