Page 74 of Doctor One Night

My voice falters, and I can’t finish the sentence. Frankie shifts closer, wrapping her arms around me in a hug that’s warm and steady. The kind of hug that holds you together when everything feels like it is falling apart all around you.

“I’m so sorry, Hunter,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry.”

I let myself cry. Dr. Momford is the only person until now that has heard me cry since I was a boy. It’s a strange but freeing sensation, letting myself be vulnerable like this with her.

The tears come and I let them, let the grief pour out of me. And Frankie is there, holding me, not saying anything, just allowing me to get it out. And somehow, that’s enough. More than enough.

After what seems like an eternity, I pull back and wipe my eyes. “I didn’t mean to unload all of this on you,” I say, my voice still shaky. “I had every intention of completely avoiding even talking about it. That's how I typically deal with shit like this.”

“You never have to apologize,” Frankie says, her eyes locked on mine, full of understanding. “You don’t have to go through this alone, Hunter. I’m here.”

Her words hit me deep, cutting through the pain. For the first time since I got that call, I feel like maybe I’m not drowning. Maybe, with her help, I can keep my head above water.

I reach out, take her hand, and squeeze. The connection between us is stronger than ever. “Thank you,” I manage to say, my voice still rough around the edges.

She just nods, her thumb brushing lightly over my knuckles, a silent reassurance that she’s here and not going anywhere. We sit there for a while longer, just holding on to each other, the quiet filling the space between us.

“I have an idea. Do you like ramen?”

I nod, not sure where this is going, but I appreciate her taking the reins.

“Whenever I feel crummy, I call Uber Eats and order ramen and Jeni's Ice Cream. My favorite is Brown Butter Almond Brittle, and I sit in front of the TV and eat until I'll burst. What do you say?”

I nod as a wave of gratitude washes over me. “That sounds perfect,” I say, my voice still a tad hoarse from crying.

Frankie smiles softly and reaches for her phone. “Any preferences? I usually go for the Tonkotsu ramen, but they've got a great miso option, too.”

“Tonkotsu sounds good,” I reply, realizing I haven't eaten since... I can't even remember.

As Frankie places the order, I lean back into the couch, completely drained but somehow lighter. The significance of everything that's happened today still presses down on me, but it’s more manageable being here with her, knowing I’m not alone.

“Alright, food's on the way,” Frankie announces, setting her phone down. “Now, let's find something mindless to watch.”

She grabs the remote and starts scrolling through Netflix. I watch her, struck by how effortlessly she's created this bubble of comfort around us. There's no pressure to talk, no expectation for me to be anything other than what I am right now - a mess of grief and exhaustion.

“How about this?” she asks, highlighting some action movie I've never heard of.

“Sure,” I nod, not really caring what we watch.

As the movie starts, Frankie settles back next to me, close enough that her warmth radiates through her clothes and onto me. We sit in comfortable silence, the movie's dialogue a distant hum in the background.

TWENTY-FIVE

Frankie

11:34 pm

I wake up to the soft glow of the television as the credits of something, I’m not sure what, roll silently across the screen. My body is curled into the warmth of Hunter's, his arm draped protectively around my waist.

The steady rise and fall of his chest against my back is soothing. Beneath that, the firm evidence of his arousal presses into me. He's asleep, lost in dreams, and I can't help but wonder if those dreams involve me.

Slowly, I reach my hand around, my fingers brushing against the fabric of his boxers, absorbing the heat he puts off even through the soft, thin cotton.

I trace the outline of his erection, a surge of desire coursing through me as it twitches in response to my touch. I'm turning myself on while stroking his pleasure, the sensation of his hardness growing under my caress too tempting to ignore.

As I continue to explore him, his breathing changes, becoming shallower, and I realize he's waking up. His hand finds mine, guiding it more firmly against him, and when I look back over my shoulder, I see the smoldering look in his eyes.

“Frankie,” he murmurs, my name a soft pleading on his lips.

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