3. Buster

THREE

Buster

UAB Hospital

1802 6th Ave S

12:10 pm

I spot Shep in the cafeteria and make my way over to his table, tray in hand. The usual spring in my step is missing today.

"Hey, man," I say, sliding into the seat across from him.

Shep looks up from his salad, brow furrowing. "You look like hell, Buster. Long morning?"

I nod, pushing my food around on the plate. "It's been a hell of a few days, actually. Did I tell you what I saw at Alabama Adventure on Saturday?"

"No. But I'm glad to know you're still enjoying the roller coasters on your days off. What happened?"

I lean in, lowering my voice. "Guy fell from a hundred and fifty feet up—massive cranial trauma. Occipital bone shattered on impact, temporal lobe exposed. A pool of blood and gray matter on the pavement."

Shep winces. "Jesus. Was he DOA?"

"Didn't even need to check for a pulse. Skull was split wide open, fixed, and dilated pupils. Catastrophic brain stem injury, no chance of survival."

"That's rough, man. You see it happen?"

I shake my head. "Heard the impact. I turned around, and there he was, sprawled out like a broken doll. I had my niece with me; thank God she didn't see it."

"Christ," Shep mutters. "How'd you handle it?"

"Went into doctor mode, I guess. Checked for other victims and talked to the first responders. But man, I can't shake the image. All that blood, the way his body was twisted..."

Shep nods, understanding in his eyes. "Trauma like that stays with you, even for seasoned docs like us. That's messed up. Do you know what happened?"

I sigh, pushing my untouched food aside. "I got a call from the authorities on Sunday."

Shep raises an eyebrow. "About the accident?"

"Yeah. Turns out, leaving my info with the first responders meant I had to declare a time of death officially. Detectives are involved."

"Detectives? For an accident?"

I lean in closer, lowering my voice. "That's the thing. It might not have been an accident. The guy was working on something at the top of the Rampage when he fell."

Shep's eyes widen. "Working on something? During park hours?"

"Apparently. But here's the kicker—they're not sure if he fell or if someone pushed him."

"Pushed? You're kidding."

I shake my head. "Wish I was. They're doing a full investigation now. Asked me all sorts of questions about what I saw, if I noticed anyone or anything that looked suspicious around the scene."

"Did you?"

"Nah, just a bunch of shocked bystanders. But man, it's messing with my head. I keep replaying it, wondering if I missed something."

Shep leans back, running a hand through his hair. "That's heavy, Buster. No wonder you look like you've been hit by a truck."

"Tell me about it. And to top it all off, I ran into someone I'd rather not have seen right after it happened."

"Oh yeah? Who?"

I hesitate, not sure if I want to get into the whole Cole situation. "Just... someone from my past. It was awkward as hell."

"That sounds fun. Speaking of awkward, how are things with Lara? Is there any movement on her part to take her name off the deed of the house? I know this has been weighing on you."

I let out a heavy sigh, grateful for the change in topic, even if it is about the bitch threatening to end my by sheer malice. "Man, where do I even start?"

Shep leans forward, his food forgotten. "That bad, huh?"

"Worse. If you can believe it, Lara has gotten even more antagonistic."

"I didn't think that was possible," Shep says, shaking his head. "I was thinking y'all would be going on your merry ways by now. All the beer you've been drinking."

"Shit. That was to get as far away from her in body and spirit as possible. I wish we were going on our merry ways. She is going to fight me as long as she can just to fuck with me and make me miserable."

"Damn. She is a special kind of evil."

"Yeah, leave it to Lara to find new ways to make my life hell." I rub the back of my neck, feeling the tension in my shoulders. "I've been camping out in the basement of that million-dollar monstrosity I financed. You know, the one we were supposed to build our future in?"

Shep winces. "Ouch."

"Tell me about it. But I can't do it anymore, man. Even if we don't see each other, just knowing she's up there, devising more plans to twist the knife in my pancreas one more turn. It's driving me crazy. I wouldn't be surprised if she comes down and goes through my shit when I'm gone."

"So what are you gonna do?"

"I bit the bullet and bought a condo close to the hospital. Closing's this afternoon, actually."

Shep's eyebrows shoot up. "That was fast."

I nod. "Had to be. I looked at five places and put a contract on it the same day. Contract to closing was two weeks since I didn't go through traditional financing. I pulled it out of my 401K. I'm moving out this weekend. Can't wait to get the hell out of there."

"And Lara?"

"Oh, we'll keep duking it out through the lawyers. It's like a full-time job at this point." I shake my head, feeling the frustration bubble up. "I never thought I'd be that guy, you know? The one with the messy, drawn-out divorce. Especially since we never even got married."

"Hey, it happens to the best of us," Shep says, offering a sympathetic smile.

"Well, it sucks. But at least I'll have my own space soon. No more tiptoeing around my own house."

Saturday, August 10

X ? Downtown BHM

1801 2nd Avenue North, Birmingham

8:03 am

I push through the gym's door just after it opens, the familiar scent of sweat and disinfectant greeting me. The place is nearly empty, just how I like it. There is no waiting for equipment, no small talk, just me and the weights.

First, I approach the bench presses, loading up the bar with more weight than most guys can handle. As I push it up, the metal clangs, my muscles straining: one rep, two, three. I feel the burn, but it's nothing compared to the fire Lara's lit under my ass.

Moving to the squat rack, I load up even more weight. My quads flex as I lower myself, thighs parallel to the ground. I push back up, feeling the power in my legs. It's a rush, this control over my body when everything else is spinning out of control.

Sweat drips down my face as I hit the pull-up bar next. I crank out set after set, my back muscles rippling with each rep.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The tattoo on my peck gives me comfort. Then I check out my physique. I always focus on my problem areas, but I take care of my body overall. Yeah, I look good. Too bad Lara couldn't appreciate it.

I finish with a punishing set of burpees, my heart pounding in my chest. By the time I'm done, the gym's starting to fill up. Perfect timing.

As I towel off, I think about the boxes waiting in my car. All my stuff is ready to be moved into the new condo. It's a fresh start; I've earned it with every drop of sweat here this morning.

Park Place Condominiums

300 18th Street South, Unit 2007

9:54 am

I hoist the first box from my Tahoe, muscles straining under the weight. The late summer heat hits me like a wall as I step out of the air-conditioned cab. Sweat beads on my forehead before I even reach the building's entrance.

Fuck, it feels like there is a wet blanket under a heat lamp over this city. The air is so thick and hot that I don't have to do anything, and I'm sweating like a pig.

The complex is nice enough—modern, with clean lines and a fresh coat of paint. It's not the million-dollar dream home I'd planned on, but it's outside of Lara's personal circle of hell, and that's what matters most.

I punch the elevator button, shifting the box in my arms. As the doors slide open, I catch a glimpse of my reflection. Tired eyes stare back at me, but there's something else there, too. Hope, maybe?

The elevator deposits me on the second floor, and I make my way down the hall. My new home awaits—unit 2007. I fumble with the keys, nearly dropping the box before I manage to unlock the door.

Inside, the condo is a blank slate. Bare walls, empty rooms except for the few pieces of furniture that were delivered yesterday, and the faint smell of fresh paint. It's smaller than what I'm used to, but it's mine—no ghosts of failed relationships haunting these corners.

I set the box down in the living room, taking a moment to catch my breath and look around. The kitchen stuff won't arrive until Monday, and the rest of the furniture in a few weeks, but I can already picture how I'll set things up—a fresh start on my own terms.

As I head back down for another load, a mix of emotions washes over me. There's relief, definitely—freedom from the constant tension of living under the same roof as Lara. But there's also a twinge of sadness. This isn't how I imagined my life would go. I keep thinking about the fact that my entire life savings are over there in a house that Lara is living in.

Still, as I grab the next box from the Tahoe, I can't help but feel a spark of excitement. It's a new chapter, a chance to redefine myself. No more walking on eggshells, no more suffocating under the weight of a toxic relationship.

I may be starting over, but I'm looking forward to what comes next for the first time in a long while.

Still restless, I take the stairs back down, figuring I can get in a few more steps. The late summer sun hits me full force as I push open the stairwell door. I squint, shielding my eyes, when something catches my attention.

Across the way, I spot the glimmering surface of a pool. How did I miss that before? Curiosity gets the better of me, and I walk toward it instead of my car to check it out. I saw it on the listing sheet. We didn't come over to look at it when we checked everything on my list to save time.

The pool area is nicely landscaped, with palm trees and lounge chairs scattered around the deck. It's not huge, but it's well- maintained and inviting. I can already picture myself unwinding here after a long shift at the hospital.

Nice… I approach the edge, dipping my hand in the water. It's cool and refreshing, a stark contrast to the Alabama heat. A few residents are lounging nearby, soaking up the sun or reading books under umbrellas.

"This'll do nicely," I mutter to myself, a grin spreading across my face.

I've never had a pool, but I always dreamed about coming home from work and chilling on a giant, pink flamingo float with a cupholder while I put down a few brewskis. It's not just about relaxation—I can see myself getting in some laps here, too, keeping up with my fitness routine without hitting the gym every day.

As I stand there, taking in the scene, I feel a weight lift off my shoulders. This place, this new start—it's exactly what I need.

I linger for a few more moments, letting the possibilities sink in. Then, remembering the boxes waiting in my car, I reluctantly turn away from the pool. There's still work to be done, but I already know where I will be after I haul everything up.

As I open the gate to leave, my eyes lock on a familiar figure walking toward me. It's Cole, heading straight for the pool. My heart skips a beat. Three times in a week after four years of radio silence? The universe must be having a laugh at my expense.

I freeze, unsure whether to bolt or stay put. But there's no avoiding her now. We're on a collision course, and I'm acutely aware of how awkward this is about to be.

As she gets closer, I notice she's not alone. A little girl, probably around four or five, skips alongside her. The kid's got a miniature version of the pink flamingo float I was daydreaming about tucked under her arm. Talk about cosmic irony.

"Hey, Cole," I manage, trying to sound casual. "Fancy meeting you here."

Cole's eyes widen in surprise, then narrow slightly. "Dr. Hankel. I didn't realize you lived here."

Formal greeting. Icy. Okay. I got this. Counteract the ice with casual friendliness. "Just moved in, actually. Today's moving day." I gesture vaguely towards the building.

The little girl tugs on Cole's hand. "Mommy, can we go swimming now?"

Mommy? My brain short-circuits for a moment. Does Cole have a kid? How did I not know this?

"In a minute, sweetie," Cole says, her voice softening as she addresses her daughter. She turns back to me, her expression unreadable. "Well, welcome to the neighborhood, I guess."

I nod, feeling increasingly uncomfortable. "Thanks. I, uh, didn't know you had a daughter."

"There's a lot you don't know," Cole replies, her tone clipped.

The little girl looks up at me, curiosity written all over her face. "Who are you?"

"I'm Dr. Buster," I say, crouching down to her level. "I like your flamingo. I was just thinking about getting one of those for myself."

She grins, holding it up proudly. "His name is Pinky!"

Her smile is infectious, and I smile back. "That's a great name."

Cole clears her throat. "We should get going, Maddie. The pool's waiting."

I stand up, suddenly aware of how awkward this situation is. "Right, I won't keep you. Enjoy your swim."