12. Hunter

TWELVE

Hunter

Back Forty Beer Company

9:01 pm

I lean against the counter, and the familiar hum of the bar surrounds me. I take the final sip of my beer as the bartender slides my credit card back toward me. The cold, bitter last swallow goes down a little too easily. It's a quiet night. There are just a few regulars scattered around, filling the space with the low murmur of conversation.

As I sign the receipt, my thoughts drift back to Frankie. Running into her tonight was… unexpected, but not unwelcome. I've always known she was naturally beautiful—anyone with eyes could see that—but seeing her tonight, outside of work, without the white lab coat and the usual professionalism that surrounds her, she was different. More relaxed, more… effervescent, if that's even the right word.

But there was something else too, something that set her apart from other women I've known. Women I meet, whether in the hospital or outside of it, often seem to have this unnerving desire to fill every silence, constantly vying for my attention, as if the quiet makes them uncomfortable. They're always trying to impress, to keep the conversation going, to make sure they're the center of my focus. It gets exhausting, to be honest.

But Frankie… she's different. She's comfortable in her own skin, not needing to fill the silence with pointless chatter. She doesn't fight for attention or try to dominate the space. She's just there, present, and somehow that's more engaging than any small talk could ever be. It's refreshing, a breath of fresh air.

She had something weighing on her, though. It was in the way her shoulders seemed a little more hunched than usual, the way her eyes carried a heaviness that wasn't there before. If I didn't know better, she almost seemed emotional when we first ran into each other.

I don't know if it's the pressure from the trial or if it's something more personal, but I could sense it. I didn't bring up work because it didn't seem right—not tonight, not with that look in her eyes.

She didn't offer much, and I didn't push. I'm not the type to pry, especially when it comes to personal matters. I wanted to know what was bothering her, what was making her seem like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, but I held back, and maybe that was for the best. Whatever it was, I'm sure she doesn't want to talk to a coworker about it.

There was something nice about just being there, about walking through the park with her and not having to say much. It was a break from the usual grind, from the constant demands of the hospital, from the pressure of always having to be on. Of course, in our moments of silence, I couldn't help but flash back to slapping her ass and the sensation of her warm skin on mine. I wouldn't be human if I didn't.

There's more to her than that, more to my intrigue than our intense, unplanned soiree. Maybe there's a side to her that I haven't had the chance to explore yet. And maybe I want to find out what that side is.

As I push open the door of the bar, the cool night air greets me, a welcome change from the warmth inside. But something's off. A murmur, a low, anxious hum that prickles the back of my neck breaks the usual quiet of the street. I step out onto the sidewalk, my eyes scanning the scene ahead of me.

A crowd has gathered, a tight knot of people clustered around something, or someone, on the ground. My heart rate kicks up, instinct taking over as I start toward the group, the distant sound of sirens reaching my ears. Someone is hurt, and judging by the way these people are huddled together, it seems to be bad.

"Excuse me," I call out, my voice cutting through the noise as I push through the throng. "I'm a doctor. Let me through."

The crowd parts just enough for me to squeeze through, and that's when I see her—Carly Gunner, lying motionless on the pavement. The sight of her, so full of life and energy just hours ago, now crumpled and vulnerable, hits me like a punch to the gut.

"Carly," I mutter, dropping to my knees beside her, my hands already moving to check for a pulse. Her skin is pale, her breathing shallow and rapid, which is a sign of shock. Blood pools beneath her head, staining the pavement dark. I quickly assess her, years of training kicking in as I check her airway, her breathing, her circulation.

"Carly, it's Hunter," I say, my voice steady despite the rush of adrenaline surging through me. "Can you hear me?"

There's no response, just a faint flicker of her eyelids, and I feel a surge of urgency. This is bad, really bad.

I glance around, spotting a woman holding a phone, her face pale with worry. "Did anyone see what happened?" I ask, my hands still working as I try to stabilize Carly's head, careful not to move her more than necessary. Any sudden movement could make things worse if she has a spinal injury.

"She… she stepped off the curb," the woman stammers, her voice shaking. "A car… it came out of nowhere, hit her, and then just… drove off."

A hit-and-run. My jaw clenches, anger bubbling beneath the surface, but I push it aside. Carly needs me to focus, not to get lost in the injustice of it all.

I lean closer to Carly, carefully checking her pupils for a response. One of them is sluggish, a sign of a potential head injury. Damn it. My mind races through the possibilities: a concussion, a skull fracture, internal bleeding. I need to keep her stable until the paramedics arrive.

"Someone get me a towel or a jacket," I call out, and a man immediately steps forward, handing me his jacket. I roll it up and carefully place it under Carly's head, trying to minimize any movement. Her breathing is still shallow, but at least she's breathing.

"Stay with me, Carly," I murmur, glancing down at her face, so unlike the vibrant, peppy nurse I see at the hospital. Her energy is usually infectious, a bright light in the often dark and sterile halls of the OR. Seeing her like this, so fragile, feels wrong on every level.

The sirens are louder now, getting closer, giving me a small measure of relief. But I know we're not out of the woods yet. There's still so much that could go wrong.

The crowd is still murmuring around us, but I tune them out, my focus entirely on Carly. "You're going to be okay," I tell her, more for myself than for her. "Just hang on a little longer."

Finally, the paramedics arrive, their blue and white uniforms a welcome sight. I quickly relay what I know, stepping back just enough to let them work but staying close, ready to assist if needed. They move with the same urgency I felt, carefully loading Carly onto a stretcher, securing her neck to prevent any further injury.

As they lift her into the ambulance, one paramedic looks at me. "You coming with us, Doc?"

I hesitate for a split second before nodding. "Yeah, I'm coming." I climb into the back of the ambulance, settling beside Carly as the doors close behind me.

The siren blares, and the vehicle lurches forward, speeding through the city streets toward the hospital. I keep my eyes on Carly, watching her every breath, every slight movement, ready to act at a moment's notice.

But as I sit there, I can't shake the image of her lying there on the pavement, so small and helpless. And I can't help but take on the weight of responsibility to make sure she gets through this.

"Stay with me, Carly," I whisper, more determined than ever. "You're not going anywhere."

The ambulance races through the city streets, its sirens cutting through the night. Inside, the paramedics work quickly, assessing Carly's condition with the same urgency I felt when I first saw her on the pavement. Her injuries, while serious, don't seem to be immediately life-threatening, but we're not taking any chances.

"She's stable for now," one paramedic says, his voice calm but focused. "Pulse is steady, blood pressure's a bit low but holding. Looks like she might have a concussion, possible fracture in the clavicle, and some bruising on the ribs. No signs of internal bleeding so far, but you'll want to confirm with imaging."

I nod, my eyes never leaving Carly. The sluggish pupil's response still worries me, but at least her vitals are stable. "We need to get a CT scan as soon as we arrive," I say. "Let's rule out any intracranial hemorrhage. And check for any fractures in the cervical spine, just to be safe."

The paramedic nods in agreement, making notes as the ambulance sways with the motion of the road. Carly stirs slightly, her eyes fluttering open for a brief moment before closing again. It's a good sign—she's responsive, even if it's only marginal.

"We'll need to keep her neck immobilized until we can rule out spinal injury," the paramedic adds, adjusting the brace around her neck. "Once we get her to the ER, we'll run the full trauma protocol."

A wave of relief washes over me, but I know we're not out of the woods yet. Head injuries can be tricky, and we won't know the full extent of the damage until we get those scans. But for now, Carly's stable, and that's something.

The ambulance pulls into the hospital bay, and the paramedics move swiftly, transferring Carly from the ambulance to a gurney with practiced efficiency. I stay close, my hands hovering near her as they wheel her into the ER, ready to step in if needed.

As we move through the bustling corridors, the familiar sights and sounds of the hospital fill the air—doctors and nurses rushing by, the beep of monitors, the low hum of conversations. But all of that fades into the background as we push through the double doors and into the trauma bay.

"CT scan, stat," I call out to the nearest nurse as we position Carly under the bright overhead lights. "Let's get a full workup—head, neck, chest. I want to know exactly what we're dealing with."

The team responds immediately, moving with the kind of precision that only comes from years of experience. I step back slightly, giving them space to work but staying close enough to monitor the situation.

Carly stirs again, her eyes opening for real this time. She blinks up at the ceiling, her gaze unfocused before it finally lands on me. "Hunter?" she murmurs, her voice weak but unmistakable.

I lean in closer, my heart easing at the sound of her voice. "I'm here, Carly. You're in the hospital. You were in an accident, but you're going to be okay."

She frowns slightly, wincing as she tries to move her head. "Accident…?" she echoes, her confusion evident.

"Yeah, a car hit you," I explain gently, placing a reassuring hand on her arm. "But you're going to be fine. We're just running some tests to make sure everything's okay."

Her eyes fill with tears, and she lets out a shaky breath. "It happened so fast… I didn't even see it coming."

I squeeze her arm, my voice softening. "You're safe now, Carly. We're going to take care of you. I'm going to stay with you until we know what is going on. Is there someone I can call to let them know you're here?"

She nods weakly, her tears spilling over as she tries to process what happened. "Will you please call Frankie Renna for me?"

"Of course," I say, leaning in closer. "I'll call her right now."

"Thank you."

The mention of Frankie sends a jolt through me, but I quickly push it aside. This isn't about me—it's about Carly. "I'll call her right now," I promise, reaching for my phone.

As I dial Frankie's number, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. Carly's voice is shaky, her usual energy replaced with a vulnerability I'm not used to seeing. She's always been so strong, so full of life, and seeing her like this—scared, hurt—twists something deep inside me.

The phone rings, and I pray Frankie answers quickly. Carly needs her, and right now, that's all that matters.

Frankie picks up on the third ring, her voice coming through the line with a mix of surprise and concern. "Hunter? What's going on?"

"It's Carly," I say, my voice steady but urgent. "She's been in an accident. She's okay, but she's asking for you. We're at the hospital. UAB."

There's a brief pause, and I can hear the shift in Frankie's tone as she processes what I've said. "I'll be there as soon as I can get there," she replies, her voice firm with determination.

I hang up and turn back to Carly, who's watching me with wide, tear-filled eyes. "She's on her way," I tell her, my voice gentle.