9. Buster

NINE

Buster

11:42 am

I scrub in, my heart pounding as I prepare for one of the most challenging surgeries of my career so far. James Harrison's life is literally in my hands. The abdominal aortic aneurysm he's dealing with is a ticking time bomb. If it ruptures, he'll bleed out within minutes. The stakes couldn't be higher.

As I enter the OR, the sterile scent of antiseptic fills my nose. The team is ready, their faces masked with professional calm. But I know they feel the pressure, too. This isn't a routine procedure.

"Alright, everyone. This is a complex case," I say, my voice steady. "We need to stay focused and sharp. Let's save this man's life."

The incision is made, and I can see the aneurysm pulsing dangerously close to bursting. I steady my hands, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. As I carefully navigate the delicate arteries, my mind races through every possible complication. One wrong move, and it's over.

"Clamp," I order, my eyes never leaving the surgical field. Sweat beads on my forehead, and I can feel my pulse quicken. This is it. This is where all those years of training come into play.

Hours pass like minutes, each second fraught with tension. The room is silent except for the steady beeping of monitors and the soft clink of instruments. I can feel the team's eyes on me, their trust and hope pinned on my skills.

Finally, I place the graft, securing it with precision. The aneurysm is repaired, but the danger isn't over. We still need to ensure everything holds and there's no leakage.

"Alright, let's close up," I say, my voice betraying none of the anxiety churning inside me. As the final sutures are placed, I step back, releasing a breath I didn't realize I was holding. "Good job, everyone. Now we wait."

I trudge to the elevator, my scrubs still damp with sweat. The adrenaline from the surgery is fading, leaving me drained. As I reach the top floor, the smell of coffee hits me, a welcome respite from the sterile hospital air.

Ordering a double espresso, I slump into a chair by the window—the city sprawls below, oblivious to the life-and-death drama that just unfolded in my OR. I take a sip, letting the bitter warmth wash over me.

Mr. Harrison's face swims in my mind. A man with a family, with two teenage daughters who still need their dad. Just like I needed mine. The memory of my father hits me like a sucker punch. I was eighteen when an aortic aneurysm took him from us. Too young, too sudden.

I close my eyes, willing the image away. Today, we caught it in time. A routine scan for something else entirely saved Mr. Harrison's life—that and a precise surgery.

But the nagging voice in my head won't shut up. What if we missed something? What if he bleeds out despite our best efforts?

I shake my head, trying to dispel the doubts. The surgery was a success. I did everything by the book and then some. But still, the weight of responsibility presses down on me. It's not just about medical skill; it's about giving a family more time together. Time my family didn't get.

The bitter coffee goes down, giving me a jolt of energy. I'm lost in thought, the uncharacteristic anxiety over a single procedure gripping me. I can usually shut each case on and off as needed, but this one has me. It's been twelve years since I lost Dad, but it is just as raw as ever.

I down the last bitter sip of espresso, the jolt of caffeine finally starting to clear my head. As the cup clinks against the saucer, my mind drifts from Mr. Harrison to Cole. Damn, I still haven't stopped by her cafe. Some neighbor I'm turning out to be.

This morning's chance encounter flashes through my mind. Rushing out with her daughter, Cole looked effortlessly beautiful even in her hurry. Her chestnut hair was slightly tousled, framing her face in soft waves. Those clear blue eyes, usually so guarded around me, were warm today. Maybe our balcony chat is exactly what we needed to start off our new friendship as neighbors.

I can't shake the image of her in that flowy sundress, the fabric clinging just right to her curves. Focus, Buster. This is precisely the kind of thinking that'll mess up our fresh start as neighbors.

But there was something else in her eyes this morning. Worry. The health inspection. She brushed off my offer to help, but I can't get it out of my head. Before I can talk myself out of it, I pull out my phone and text my cousin, Aric.

Hey cuz, got a favor to ask. Friend's cafe got dinged on inspection. Hoping for insight.

I hit send, feeling like I'm walking a fine line. Cole made it clear she didn't want my help, but if Aric knows someone, that's just me being a good neighbor, right?

My phone buzzes almost immediately. Leave it to Aric to be glued to his phone.

Well, well, if it isn't Little Raymond! What's this about a cafe inspection?

I roll my eyes at the nickname. Some things never change. I am a junior, Raymond Charles Hankel, Jr., to be exact. Even though my father has long since passed, Buster has cemented itself as my name. Well, to everyone except Aric.

It's my neighbor's place. Got hit with some violations. Wondering if you know anyone who could help or give advice?

Ooh, a neighbor, huh? Is she cute?

Focus, Aric. It's not like that. Just trying to be neighborly.

I genuinely mean that. If I can help, I want to. It would be un-neighborly to have a connection there and not at least look into it.

Sure, sure. "Neighborly." Alright, I might know a guy. Give me the cafe name or owner's info, and I'll see what I can dig up.

I hesitate for a moment. Is this crossing a line? But Cole seemed pretty stressed. Fuck it. It can't hurt anything. He may not be able to do anything, anyway.

Brewed Awakening. Owner's name is Cole Johnson.

Got it. I'll make some calls. No promises, but I'll let you know what I find out.

Thanks, man. I owe you one.

Oh, I'll remember that, Little Raymond. Maybe you can repay me by introducing me to this "neighbor" of yours.

In your dreams, cuz.

I pocket my phone, a mix of relief and anxiety swirling in my gut. I hope this doesn't backfire. The last thing I need is for Cole to think I'm overstepping. Again. But if it helps her out of this jam, maybe it'll be worth it.

5:13 pm

I storm into my attorney's office, my blood already boiling. My lawyer, Jake, sits behind his desk, his face a mask of professional calm. I wish I could borrow some of that composure right now.

"What's this bullshit?" I spit out, waving the papers he'd just handed me.

Jake leans back in his chair. "Lara's attorney sent over an offer to resolve the situation."

"Resolve?" I scoff. "This isn't a resolution. It's highway robbery!"

I scan the document again, my anger rising with each line. "She wants half the equity in the house? Are you fucking kidding me?"

Jake nods, his expression unchanging. "They had an appraisal done. The house is valued at $1.6 million."

"I know what it's worth," I snap. "I'm the one who built the damn thing!"

"Lara's asking for $475,000 as her fair share," Jake continues, his voice maddeningly calm.

I explode, unable to contain my fury any longer. "How can she think she's somehow entitled to almost half a million dollars because we were dating when I bought the fucking lot and started construction?!"

I'm on my feet now, pacing the office like a caged animal. "This is insane! The mortgage is in my name. I financed the whole thing. She didn't put a single cent into that house!"

Jake waits for me to finish my tirade before speaking. "I understand your frustration, Buster. But we need to approach this rationally."

"Rationally?" I laugh bitterly. "There's nothing rational about this situation, Jake. She's trying to rob me blind!"

I take a deep breath, trying to rein in my anger. Jake's patience only irritates me more, but I force myself to sit back down.

"Alright, Jake. Explain this to me like I'm five," I growl.

Jake leans forward, his hands clasped on the desk. "Here's the situation, Buster. When you put Lara's name on the deed, you gave her a legal claim to the property. Even though she didn't contribute financially, that deed gives her leverage."

I clench my jaw, feeling like an idiot. "So what? She can just extort money from me now?"

"It's not that simple," Jake says. "But she can use her position on the deed to claim ownership. This offer is her way of getting her name off the deed in exchange for money."

"This is insane," I mutter, rubbing my temples.

Jake's voice softens slightly. "I know it feels unfair, but try to look at this as a starting point for negotiations. We can work from here."

"Work from here?" I scoff. "She wants half a million dollars for doing absolutely nothing!"

"I understand you're upset," Jake says, "but we need to approach this calmly. Take the emotion out of it and?—"

"Take the emotion out of it?" I interrupt, my voice rising again.

Jake sighs. "Buster, I know this is difficult, but?—"

"No, you don't know," I snap, standing up again. "You don't know what it's like to have someone you thought you loved try to screw you over like this. You don't know how it feels to see all your hard work and savings potentially go down the drain because of one stupid mistake!"

I'm pacing again, my hands clenched into fists. "I can't be calm about this, Jake. I won't be calm about this. She doesn't deserve a single cent, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let her walk away with my money."

I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. A thought strikes me, and I turn to Jake.

"What if I give her the house and take my name off? Then I ask her for the money I put into it. I don't even want to be greedy like her and ask for half the equity. Just the money I put down for the lot and building."

Jake leans back in his chair, considering. "That could be a counter-offer, Buster. But there's a catch. She'd have to qualify for a loan of about $600,000 to cover the mortgage. Can she manage that?"

I let out a bitter laugh. "Are you kidding? She could never afford that. That's why she attached herself to me in the first place." My voice drips with contempt. "She seduced me into putting her name on the deed. It was all part of her plan."

Jake's expression turns serious. "Buster, I know you're upset, but we must be careful about making accusations. Let's stick to the facts."

I lace my fingers behind my neck, frustration bubbling up again. "The facts? The facts are that one, she's a con artist, and two, she is manipulative, Jake. She contributed nothing to this house, and now she wants half a million dollars? It's insane."

"I understand," Jake says, his voice level. "But if she can't afford to buy you out, and you can't afford to buy her out, we might be at an impasse."

I slump back into my chair, feeling defeated. "So what do we do now?"

Jake leans forward, his eyes meeting mine. "We negotiate. We find a middle ground. It might not be perfect, but it's better than letting this drag on in court."

I nod slowly, the fight draining out of me. "Alright, Jake. What's our next move?"I run my hands through my hair, frustration coursing through my veins.

Jake's words echo in my mind, and I realize I'm at a crossroads. Half a million dollars to buy Lara out? It's not just about the money—it's the principle. Why should I have to go into debt for her greed?

The reality sinks in. If I can't—or won't—come up with that kind of cash, there's only one real option left. We'll have to list the house. The thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

At closing, the loans will be paid off first. Whatever equity is left after all the closing costs, we'll split. It's not ideal, but it's clean. It won't have to come out of my pocket, and Lara will get her precious money. Most importantly, I can move on and start over without her toxic presence in my life.

But damn, it hurts. This was my dream location, my dream house. I poured all my savings into it, envisioning a future that now seems like a cruel joke—years of hard work, saving every penny, all for nothing.

Yet, what other choice do I have? Taking out a loan to pay her off is out of the question. Every payment would be a reminder of her betrayal, fueling my resentment. I'd be shackled to that bitterness for years.

No, selling is the only way to make a clean break. It's a bitter pill to swallow, but it's the medicine I need to heal and move forward.

Before I leave Jake's office, a thought strikes me.

"Jake, wait. I bought that lot before Lara and I even got together. I had plans to build there long before she came into the picture. Can we back the value of the lot out of this? At least reduce her money grab by that much?"

Jake leans back in his chair, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "You know, Buster, that's a reasonable argument. We could get an appraisal done for the land value alone, then factor that into our counter-offer when we propose listing and selling the house."

I nod, feeling a glimmer of hope. "That sounds good. At least it's something."

"Absolutely," Jake continues. "We'll also need to agree on the sale price. I'd recommend getting three price opinions from different realtors to include in the offer. That way, we're working with solid numbers."

I stand up, extending my hand. "Thanks, Jake. I appreciate your help with this mess."

As we shake hands, Jake gives me a reassuring smile. "It's going to be a long road, Buster, but we'll get through this. At the end of it all, she'll be out of your life for good."

I leave Jake's office, a mix of emotions swirling inside me. I'm still angry—furious, even—but there's a sense of relief too. We have a path forward now. It's not perfect, far from it, but it's something concrete to work with.