17. Frankie

SEVENTEEN

Frankie

Frankie's House

8:48 am

I'm pouring my first cup of mediocre coffee, trying to wrap my head around everything that happened this weekend, still reeling over the fact that Hunter left without a word and I haven't heard from him since.

I don't have to be at the hospital until 11:30 for my meeting. So I have time to ease into my day, thank goodness, because I need it.

My phone, charging on the stone countertop, buzzes loudly. I reach for it, wondering if it's him. Before I look, though, I already know it's not him. It has to be Carly. She always checks in about this time if she isn't working.

Good morning, sunshine! How about I bring coffee and bagels? We need to catch up about the gala!

I sigh, the tight knot in my stomach twisting a little more. Carly's not going to let me off the hook. She's going to want every detail, and after the way last night ended… I'm not sure I'm ready to talk about it. But this is Carly. She knows me too well, and there's no way I can avoid this conversation.

Vanilla skinny latte. I have cream cheese for the bagels. Come on.

I'm happy to pour out this weak ass coffee for something a little stronger—and tastier. Her response is immediate.

On my way!

I drag myself to the bathroom to change out of my robe and into real clothes. The house is too quiet, too empty after Saturday night. I try not to think about how I woke up alone yesterday, how Hunter was already gone. I can't let myself dwell on it, not with Carly on her way over.

By the time I've set the table and gotten everything ready, I hear the knock on the door. Carly, even nursing her aches and bruises always brings her full energy. I open the door, and there she is, grinning at me with two cups of coffee in hand and a bag of fresh bagels balanced on top.

"Morning!" she chirps, pushing past me into the house. "If I know you, you haven't had a bite to eat yet today." She hands me the coffee, smiling, pleased with herself that she is taking care of me.

"Thanks," I mumble, taking a sip and letting the warmth spread through me. It's a small comfort, but it helps.

"Let's take this outside," Carly suggests, nodding toward the screened-in porch. "It's too nice a morning to stay cooped up in the house." I grab the napkins, butter knife and cream cheese.

I nod, following her out to the porch. The air is fresh. With the ceiling fan, there is the perfect amount of coolness that makes it perfect for sitting outside. We settle into the chairs, and I watch as Carly arranges the bagels on a paper plate in the bag on the table, her movements quick and efficient.

"So," she says, leaning back in her chair and giving me a pointed look. "Let's hear it. I want all the deets."

"First, how are you feeling? I think you made the right decision staying in, by the way. You didn't miss a thing."

Carly sighs dramatically. "Oh, for sure. I hated missing the gala, but there's no way I could've handled it. My head was pounding just from watching TV. Staying in was definitely the right call. And I'm finally starting to feel like a human again. Just in time to go back to work this week. Yippee!"

Her sarcasm is infectious and lets me know she is getting back to her old self.

"Good," I say, genuinely relieved. "I'm glad you're doing better."

"Me too," Carly says, and then her eyes narrow playfully. "But enough about me. I need you to tell me everything about last night. And I mean everything. Best dressed, worst dressed, and all the juicy details in between."

I take a deep breath, trying to steel myself for the barrage of questions I know is coming. Carly doesn't miss a thing, and there's no way I'm going to get out of this without telling her at least some of what happened. But for now, I can keep it light, focusing on the gala itself and not… everything else.

"Well," I begin, trying to sound casual, "the gala was beautiful. They really went all out with the decorations, and the food was amazing. The band was so-so, but full transparency, I wasn't out of the dance floor."

Carly waves her hand, dismissing my attempt to stall. "Please, I don't care about the food or the music. Who had the best dress?"

I can't help but smile at her enthusiasm. "Okay, okay. Let's see…"

Carly's eyes are trained on me, sharp and focused, as I try to keep the conversation light. I'm giving her the rundown of the best and worst dressed at the gala, but I can tell she's not buying it. She knows me too well, and her suspicion is growing with every passing second.

"And then there was Mrs. Pembroke," I say, forcing a smile as I recount the over-the-top feathered dress she wore. "I'm pretty sure she was going for ‘glamorous peacock,' but it came off more like ‘escaped from a Mardi Gras float.'"

Carly laughs, but her eyes don't leave mine. "Okay, that's a good one," she says, leaning back in her chair. "But enough with the distractions. You're holding something back, Frankie. And don't even try to deny it. How did your ‘fuck me' green dress perform?"

A little too well, I should say. But I'm still hoping to avoid that…

I take a long sip of my latte, trying to buy myself a little more time, slurping dramatically. But Carly's not letting up. She's got that look in her eye—the one that says she's not going to stop until she gets the truth out of me.

"What are you talking about?" I ask, attempting to play dumb, but the words come out too quickly, too defensive.

She raises an eyebrow. "Oh, come on. I know you better than that. You're avoiding the biggest news of the night. You guys secured a sponsor, didn't you? That's huge!"

Oh, phew! She was pushing about the news about the sponsor!

"Yes, yes! You're right. How could I forget the biggest news of the night?"

"Hmmm. You've barely mentioned it. So it must be something surrounding that, or, maybe a certain hot doctor, hmmm," she says dramatically, narrowing her eyes and tapping her jaw.

I shrug, trying to keep my tone casual and not taking the bait. "Yeah, we did. It was a big win, but I just—" I pause, struggling to find the right words. "There's a lot on my mind, Carly."

She narrows her eyes at me, clearly not satisfied with my answer. "Uh-huh. And does this ‘lot on your mind' have anything to do with aforementioned hot doctor…?"

I bite my lip, as a crawling sensation rises under my skin, prickling with intensity. I should've known she'd go there. Carly can read me like a book, and there's no use trying to hide it any longer.

I sigh, setting my coffee down and meeting her gaze. "Okay, fine. Yes, it does."

Her eyes widen, and she leans forward eagerly. "I knew it! Give it to me, girl. What happened?"

I swallow, trying to keep my voice even, matter-of-fact. "We slept together. After the gala, we both had to go back to the lab to finalize some things, and… one thing led to another."

Carly's mouth drops open for a split second before she recovers. "Wait, you and Hunter Parrish? Slept together? Again?! Oh my god, Frankie! That lab is like an aphrodisiac for you two!"

I nod, forcing a small smile. "It was great, really. But it was just a heat-of-the-moment thing. Same as las time. You know how these things happen—adrenaline, excitement, a few drinks…" I leave out that we came back to my house for rounds two, three, four and five.

Carly's expression shifts from shock to something more concerned. "And what happened after?"

Shit.

I hesitate, then finally admit the part that's been bothering me the most. "He came back here. And then left early Sunday morning before I woke up. He didn't say goodbye. And he hasn't called or texted since."

Carly's face softens, and she reaches across the table, placing a hand on mine. "Frankie, I hate to say ‘I told you so,' but… I kinda told you so. Hunter's got a reputation, you know? He's not exactly the settling-down type. But you got a little fun out of it. You can never expect too much with him."

I nod, trying to keep my emotions in check. "Yeah, I know. And honestly, that's fine. I don't have time for a relationship, and I definitely don't want to get involved with a coworker. It was just a little jarring there for a minute yesterday, that's all."

Carly's eyes search mine, looking for any sign that I might be lying. "Are you sure? Because it sounds like maybe you were hoping for something more."

I force a laugh, shaking my head. "No, really. I enjoyed it, but that's all it was. A one-time thing. I'm not looking for anything more, and I'm certainly not going to get my hopes up about someone like Hunter."

But even as I say the words, a small part of me knows they're not entirely true. There's a sliver of disappointment, of hurt, that I can't quite shake. I thought maybe I was different to him. There was a part of me that thought there was something growing between us. Then I remind myself how foolish that thought is.

I give Carly a reassuring smile, trying to convince her—and myself—that I'm fine. "Really, Carly. I'm okay. It was just a little action, nothing more. Let's just focus on the fact that we secured the sponsor and move on."

Carly looks at me for a long moment, then nods slowly. "Alright, if you say so. But if you ever need to talk about it… you know I'm here."

"Thanks," I say softly, squeezing her hand. "I know."

UAB Hospital

11:13 am

The hospital is bustling with activity for a late morning on a Monday. It seems unusually lively, but maybe Mondays always are.

It's strange being here in the middle of the day when I'm usually working from home. I try not to come until later in later in the day if I need to for any reason. My visits to the hospital are rare and often brief, but today is different. Today is a big day.

I make my way to the admin office, where the sponsor's representative is waiting for me to sign off on some paperwork.

This is it—the moment we've been working toward for months, years, really. The FDA approval is just a signature away, and once it's done, the real work begins. There's still so much to do—recruiting hospitals, finalizing protocols, getting everything ready for the human trials. But this… this was the hardest hurdle to overcome. Without the money, nothing else can happen.

As I step into the office, the rep greets me with a smile, and we exchange a few pleasantries before getting down to business. The stack of paperwork in front of me is daunting, but I'm used to it.

I've been through this process before, and I know the drill. Still, as I start signing page after page, there's a heaviness in my chest that I can't shake. Maybe it's the weight of the responsibility, or maybe it's everything else that's been piling up lately.

I try to focus, pushing everything else to the back of my mind. I can't afford to be distracted right now. Not when something I have been dreaming about for so long is about to come to reality.

After signing the last page, I hand the papers back to the rep, who smiles warmly. "Congratulations, Dr. Renna. This is a huge step forward. We look forward to working with you and to a successful clinical trial."

I nod, offering a small smile in return. "Thank you. I'm just glad we've made it this far."

The smarter people who deal with the money and the financial side will handle all of those mundane details. My work has nothing to do with that part of it, but capitalism pays my salary and makes it all work, so it is an important element, too. It is all symbiotic.

The rep leaves, taking the signed paperwork with him, and I'm left alone in the small office. I should accept the sense of accomplishment, relief even, but only a gnawing anxiety in the pit of my stomach remains.

There's still so much to do, and now, on top of everything, I'm going to have to work with Hunter more closely than ever to finalize the protocol. The thought of spending more time with him, especially after what happened, is unsettling, to say the least.

This is why you don't sleep with your coworkers, no matter how hot and irresistible they might seem. Why do I keep making this mistake with him?

My phone buzzes on the desk, pulling me out of my thoughts. I glance at the screen and Bill, my father's name, flashes up. Talking to him could be the straw that will break my back.

We are making good progress, but I can't talk to him right now. Last we spoke he told me he would call to update me on his latest labs. I can't take any bad news right now, and I don't think I can be positive enough for good news.

So I send it to voicemail, the screen flashing one last time before it goes dark. I release a breath I didn't realize I was holding, but the relief is short-lived. The anxiety is rising, pressing down on me from all sides. The trial, Hunter, my father—it's all too much, all at once.

I stand up, pacing the conference room, trying to shake the feeling of being overwhelmed. This is turning out to be a very bad Monday. The kind of Monday where everything that could go wrong threatens to, just waiting for the right moment to come crashing down.

Taking a deep breath, I force myself to sit back down. There's no time to dwell on this now. There's work to be done, and I have to keep moving forward, no matter how heavy everything seems.

But as I open my laptop and try to focus on the protocol, my mind keeps drifting back to the inevitability of losing my father before I even have him, to Hunter and whatever the fuck is going on there, to the pressure of making sure everything is perfect for this trial. Everything is piling up.

This is going to be one hell of a week. There's no way around it, so I've just got to get through it.

1:51 pm

I'm hunched over my desk, the soft glow of my laptop screen casting a blue tint on my face as I work on the protocol draft. My fingers fly over the keys, trying to put together something coherent that we can start with, but my mind keeps wandering back to the voicemail I'm avoiding and the mess that is my life right now.

A light knock on the doorframe pulls me out of my thoughts, and I look up, my heart sinking as soon as I see who it is.

Hunter. Fuck. "Hello."

I offer a weak smile instead of speaking.

He's standing there, looking as composed as ever, but there's something in his eyes that makes my pulse quicken. I curse myself for not going home when I had the chance.

"Is this a good time?" he asks, his voice smooth, but there's an edge to it, like he's not sure how this conversation is going to go.

I take a deep breath, pushing aside the anxiety that's been gnawing at me all day. "Sure," I say, gesturing to the chair across from my desk. "Come on in."

He steps into the office, his movements measured, and takes a seat. The air between us is tense, thick with the things we're not saying. Neither of us addresses the other night or the next morning, and I'm grateful for that, even if it leaves the omission a little suffocating.

"I heard you signed the paperwork with the sponsor earlier," Hunter says, breaking the silence. His tone is professional, but there's an underlying tension I can't ignore.

"Yeah," I reply, forcing a smile. "It's official. Now we just have to get everything ready for the trial."

He nods, his eyes scanning the papers scattered across my desk. "You're working on the protocol?"

"Just a first draft," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "I figured I'd get started on it. But, of course, I'll ultimately defer to you. You've got the experience with pacemakers."

Hunter leans back in his chair. His gaze focused on me, making it hard to breathe. "We'll need to make sure the protocol is solid, of course. Everything has to be precise, every control exact. We'll have to outline the specific patient criteria—age range, severity of heart failure, and any co-morbidities that could affect the outcomes."

I nod, jotting down a few notes as he talks. "Right, of course. And we'll need to define the endpoints clearly. Whether we're measuring improvement in ejection fraction, reduction in hospitalization rates, or overall survival."

He leans forward slightly, his eyes narrowing as he considers the details. "We should also think about incorporating some novel features into the pacemaker itself. Maybe something like real-time telemetry for remote monitoring. If we can show that it not only improves patient outcomes but also reduces the need for in-person follow-ups, that could be a game-changer."

"That's a great idea," I say, genuinely impressed. "We could also consider looking at how the pacemaker interacts with other implanted devices, like defibrillators, to make sure there's no interference."

Discussing work, and the excitement of this all becoming a reality, is certainly making this interaction easier. Just like the last time, each work meeting will get easier, until there is no more tension.

Until we both find ourselves in the lab and fuck each other's brains out.

Hunter nods again, his focus intense. "We'll need to work closely with the engineers on that, make sure everything's seamless."

There's a pause as I finish typing up my notes, as the tension continues to shift, becoming something more palpable, more personal. I know his eyes are on me, and when I look up, there's something in his expression that makes my breath catch.

"Well," Hunter says, standing up, his tone casual but his eyes still locked on mine. "I should let you get back to it. Once you're finished, I can go over it with a fine-toothed comb and offer my thoughts."

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.