28. Hunter

TWENTY-EIGHT

Hunter

8:01 pm

Frankie's fingers tug at the hem of my shirt, pulling it like a leash to bring me closer. Each touch sends bolts of electricity through me. In return, I slip my hands under the fabric of her top, ensuring it remains in place in case of a sudden need to leave. I cup her full breasts, the warmth and roundness almost undoing me.

The thrill of our surroundings, the risk of being caught, is intoxicating, adding an edge to our desire that's as sharp as it is sweet.

The softness beneath me contrasts with the hardness pressing against my jeans. I can't help but grind against her as a low growl escapes my throat.

I unzip my pants and free my engorged cock, which springs out, looking for work. We're laughing and gasping, the sound mingling with the rustling of leaves and the distant call of a night bird.

Then I pull aside her shorts to find she isn't wearing any panties. She must have planned ahead. I rub my finger over her slick opening. Swiftly and with ease, I place my dick just inside of the opening I created in her shorts and thrust it into her.

The heat of our bodies creates a steam that seems to rise into the night air. It is quick and urgent, both of us obviously turned on by the danger of it all. I'm like a teenager, sneaking it in before someone might catch us.

It's invigorating.

We both come, quietly, but wantonly. Her lace bra presses into my skin. When I pull myself out I'm not done yet. I trace a path down her stomach with my tongue, my fingers teasing the edge of her shorts before pulling them down just enough to lick the top of her opening.

She's panting now, her fingers threading through my hair as I explore her with my mouth, her taste as addictive as the way she quietly moans my name, the sound echoing in the quiet of the park. Her legs wrap around me, pulling me closer, urging me on until she's shuddering beneath me, her cries of pleasure swallowed by our kisses.

Once she shudders, I know I've done my job. I'm growing again, but I don't want to be greedy. We've had our naughty sex without getting caught, foreplay for later. I scoot up to join her, face-to-face.

For a moment, we lay there, our bodies connected, the world around us nothing but a distant memory. The only thing that exists is the two of us, the beating of our hearts slowly returning to normal, the gentle caress of the night breeze cooling our heated skin.

I roll off her and slide one arm under her head, holding her close. We're quiet now, lost in our own thoughts, the adrenaline of our lovemaking still coursing through my veins.

In the distance, the city continues on, oblivious to the intimacy we've shared in its shadow. Here, in this hidden corner of the park, we found another way to make this park a part of us.

Thursday, June 13

UAB Hospital

10:14 am

As I sit down at the conference table with Dr. Tim Calloway, Jonah Bellinger, and the PA who received training on the new pacemaker, I feel the significance of what we are about to do settling over me.

This isn't just another patient, this is Grace Petit, someone we all care personally about. This is the first time we'll be using the new pacemaker, even before we've conducted the trial. Stressful doesn't even begin to cover it. Thankfully, there's also an undercurrent of excitement humming in the room. We're on the brink of something big, something that will change lives.

Calloway, ever the calm professional, opens the meeting. "I've reviewed Grace's latest scans and blood work. Her condition has stabilized somewhat, but we're still seeing those intermittent arrhythmias. I'm concerned about her ability to tolerate another episode, which is why I'm glad we're moving forward with this."

Jonah, sitting across from me, nods, his expression a mix of determination and worry. "We all know Grace. She's tough, but she's been through the wringer. I want to make sure we're doing everything possible to give her the best shot at a good outcome here."

"Agreed," I say, leaning forward. "The new pacemaker has shown promising results in simulations and preliminary trials, but this is uncharted territory. We need to have a solid plan in place, not just for the surgery, but for the post-op care and monitoring."

The PA, a young guy who's been training with us for weeks, speaks up. "I've reviewed the protocols we established for the trial, and I think we can adapt them for Grace's situation. The main concern will be how her body reacts to the device initially. We'll need to monitor her closely for the first forty-eight hours, especially for any signs of rejection or complications."

Calloway nods, tapping his pen on the table thoughtfully. "We'll need to ensure round-the-clock monitoring, with someone on standby to address any issues immediately. Jonah, I assume you want to stay updated on everything?

"Absolutely," Jonah replies. "Grace may not be my biological mother, but she's been like one to me. I want to know every step of the way how she's doing."

I glance at the clock on the wall, noting the time. We've been discussing the logistics for a while now, and it's clear we're all on the same page. "I think we're ready to schedule the surgery for tomorrow. Calloway, you'll handle the pre-op checks?"

"Of course," he says. "I'll start her on the necessary medications tonight to prep her for the procedure."

"Good," I reply, relieved that he is on top of it. "I'll be in early to go over everything one last time and scrub in. Let's make sure we're all set before we go in tomorrow. This has to be perfect."

The disquiet in the room is thick, but there's also a shared sense of purpose. We're doing this for Grace, for the chance to give her a better quality of life, and maybe even save it. It's a lot of pressure, but it's what we do, and I trust this team to handle it.

As the meeting wraps up, I stand, shaking hands with Calloway, Jonah, and the PA. "Thanks, everyone. Let's get some rest tonight and come back early tomorrow ready to make history."

Jonah claps me on the back as we head out of the room. "I'm glad we're doing this, Hunter. Grace is lucky to have you on her side. I only feel bad she will have to see that ugly mug of yours when she wakes up."

"The only uglier mug she has to put up with is yours," I give it right back to him, knowing humor is his way to get through this. Grace has always been a fighter, and tomorrow, we're giving her the best shot we can. But until then, all we can do is prepare and hope for the best.

As I leave the hospital, I can't help but think about Frankie. I'll need to update her on the plan and let her know that we're moving forward. Tomorrow is going to be one hell of a day, and I want her to be in the loop every step of the way.

Friday, June 14

10:24 am

The room buzzes with the usual symphony of beeps, each one tracking Grace's vitals with precision. The stakes are higher today. This isn't just any surgery. This is the first time we're implanting Frankie's pacemaker into a human being. The thought sharpens my focus even more, knowing that years of her work and passion have culminated in this moment. And I'm the one bringing it to life.

Frankie stands across from me, suited up and scrubbed in, her eyes locked on the monitors and then on Grace, focused and intense. It's not often you see a researcher in the OR, but there was no way I was doing this without her. This is as much her victory as it is mine—hell, probably more so.

"We're about to place the device," I say, glancing up at Frankie. Her eyes meet mine, and there's a flicker of something between us, an unspoken understanding of how monumental this moment is. She gives me a small nod, her expression a mix of determination and nervous energy.

"Let's make history," she says, her voice steady but laced with emotion.

I turn my attention back to Grace, every movement calculated, every decision precise. "Pacing leads are going in now," I announce to the room. "Prepare for a post-op echo to confirm placement and pacing thresholds."

The PA and nurses move in sync, but my focus is on the device, on making sure it's placed perfectly. Frankie's work, her years of research, all come down to this. I carefully position the pacemaker, checking the leads one final time.

"Leads are secure," I confirm, my voice steady, but my heart is pounding. "Frankie, want to take a look?"

She steps forward, peering over my shoulder as I finish the placement. Her breath catches—this is her baby, her design, now inside a human heart, doing exactly what it was built to do.

"Everything looks good," she says, her voice barely a whisper. But I can hear the pride, the relief, and the weight of the moment all wrapped up in those few words.

"Let's get that post-op echo," I say, more to the team than to her. "I want to confirm lead placement and pacing thresholds before we move her to recovery."

As we close up, I glance at Frankie again. There's something between us that's different now, a deeper connection forged in the heat of this moment. It's like we're the only two people in the room, even though the OR is bustling around us. We've shared something profound, something that goes beyond just work.

In the post-op room, Grace is still under anesthesia, her face relaxed, almost peaceful. I review the immediate post-op orders with the PA and nurses, detailing the importance of frequent vitals checks, ensuring her pain management is optimal, and keeping her on continuous cardiac monitoring for at least the next forty-eight hours.

Frankie stands beside me, her hand resting lightly on Grace's bed. "She's stable," I say, glancing at Frankie. "Pacing is stable, and her rhythm is solid. We'll keep her on telemetry and monitor for any signs of lead dislodgment or pocket hematoma."

Frankie nods, but her eyes are still on Grace. "I can't believe we did it," she murmurs. "I've been dreaming about this becoming a reality for so long, and now... it's real."

I place a hand on her shoulder, a gesture that is both natural and scary. "You did it," I correct her. "My humble job was to put it in, but you made this happen."

She looks up at me, her eyes shining with a mix of tears and pride. "Thank you, Hunter. I couldn't have asked for a better surgeon to do this."

"There was no way I was letting anyone else touch this," I reply, my voice softer than usual.

We stand there for a moment, letting the gravity of what we've accomplished sink in. But then reality pulls me back.

When Jonah and Tim Calloway walk in together, I turn to them. They know I'm leaving today to deal with some things with my mom's stuff in California. I'm torn about it, but it was planned before we got approval and I didn't want to put off surgery until after I returned.

"You know I'll be available any time, day or night, if anything comes up with Grace, while I'm gone."

"We've got this, man," Jonah says. "You go on to Cali and put your legs up, relax. We'll take care of Grace."

"Ha. If only."

"No, seriously, man, you know I'm just messing with you. You did the hard part, now we nurse her back to health. She's in good hands. You've assembled a good team. I really appreciate all you've done."

Frankie looks at me, a flash of concern crossing her face. She wanted to come with me but couldn't make it work with her schedule. I was disappointed, but I didn't make a deal of it because I know she would have made it happen if she could have.

The two men walk out, leaving the two of us alone again.

"Are you going to be okay by yourself?"

"I will be. I'll miss you, but I'll be busy meeting with the attorney, picking up ashes and signing the listing agreement. It won't be fun."

Before we walk out, I turn back to Frankie one last time. "Make sure Grace behaves herself, okay?"

She smiles, a real one this time, the kind that reaches her eyes. "I will. Someone has to take the hard-ass mantle with you gone."

As I walk through the corridors of the hospital, my steps are lighter, like a part of the burden I've been carrying has lifted. We did something incredible today, something that will give people a better shot at health and longevity. But as much as I want to focus on that, my mind is already racing ahead to California, to the past I need to confront.

Caldwell & Spencer Law Firm

4:26 pm PST

I sit across from the attorney, a middle-aged man with graying hair and an impeccable suit. The office smells faintly of leather and old books, a comforting scent that's at odds with the emotional weight I'm carrying.

The paperwork before me is straightforward. Everything my mother left behind was cleanly organized into a trust. She was meticulous, as always. She handled every detail, leaving no loose ends.

"Your mother made this as seamless as possible, Dr. Parrish," the attorney says, sliding the final document across the table. "All that's left is for you to sign here, authorizing the listing of the house and the estate sale of its contents. We'll handle everything from the listing to the final sale."

I nod, picking up the pen. "She was thorough. No surprises there."

He offers a small smile. "It's rare to see an estate this well organized. She must have been quite a woman."

"Yeah," I say, my voice catching slightly. "You could say that."

I sign the papers, each stroke of the pen another step in saying goodbye. The attorney watches quietly, giving me space to process. When I'm done, he gathers the documents and hands me a card.

"If you need anything else, feel free to reach out. I'll coordinate with the estate company to ensure everything goes smoothly. You mentioned wanting to go to the house yourself?"

"That's right," I reply, slipping the card into my pocket. "I'll go today. Just to pick up a few things, ship them back to Alabama. Whatever's left can be sold through the estate sale."

"Understood. Take your time, Dr. Parrish. There's no rush."

I thank him and stand to leave, the weight of finality pressing down on me. As I walk out of the office, the reality of what's coming next begins to settle in. Going back to her house, the place where she lived and breathed, where every corner holds a piece of her, I'm not sure how I'll handle it. But I have to go nonetheless.

1034 Benedict Canyon Drive

Beverly Hills

5:12 pm

The house is quiet, eerily so, as I unlock the door and step inside. It smells like her: a mix of the perfume she always wore and the faint scent of old wood and polished floors. I close the door behind me, the sound echoing through the empty house. Everything is exactly as she left it, down to the neatly folded throw on the couch and the stack of unopened mail on the entry table.

I wander through the rooms, picking up items here and there, small things that hold meaning—a framed photo of us when I was a kid, a few of her favorite books, the scarf she always wore in the winter. I pack them carefully into a box, each item a thread in the tapestry of her life.

It's when I enter her bedroom that I find it. A letter sitting on the side table with my name written in her precise, familiar handwriting. My heart skips a beat as I pick it up, my fingers trembling slightly as I unfold the paper.

My Dearest Hunter,

If you ' re reading this, then I ' m no longer with you, but I need you to know that I ' ve always been with you, even when it didn ' t seem that way. I know I wasn ' t the easiest person to live with or love. I pushed you hard, sometimes too hard, and I see that now. But I always wanted the best for you. I wanted you to be the man I knew you could be—the man you are now.

You were an exemplary child. You were more than I deserved, and I see that now, too. I know I made mistakes. I know I was harsh, that I asked too much of you, and for that, I am truly sorry.

But, Hunter, I need you to understand that everything I did was out of love. Twisted and wrong as it may have been, it was love. I wanted to see you soar, to reach heights I never could. And you did. You ' ve become a man I am so incredibly proud of, even if I didn ' t say it enough. But please know that in my heart, I was bursting with pride every time I thought of you.

I hope you can forgive me for the pressure, for the distance I created between us. I hope you can find peace knowing that, in the end, I loved you with everything I had, even if I didn ' t know how to express it outwardly.

I don ' t know how much time I have left, but if there ' s one thing I want you to carry with you, it ' s this: You were always enough, Hunter. More than enough. And I was the lucky one to have you as my son.

Take care of yourself. And please, be happy.

With all my love,

Mom

Tears blur my vision as I fold the letter back up, my chest tightening with the words I so desperately wanted from her my whole life. She wasn't a warm woman, and this letter isn't a warm embrace, but it's huge coming from her. It's closure. It's everything to me.

There's that lingering thought, the one I haven't been able to shake since that last phone call. The way she said goodbye on the phone, the way everything in the house is perfectly in place, this letter left so clearly here—it is almost too neat, too planned.

The ME declared her death natural, but there's a part of me that wonders if she had a hand in how she went. Did she choose to go on her own terms, in a way that she could control, just like everything else in her life?

I don't have any proof, and I'll never know for sure. But standing here in her bedroom, surrounded by her things, I feel closer to her than I ever did when she was alive.

For the first time I feel a sense of peace and forgiveness. The burden I've carried for years, the weight of her expectation, lifts, leaving behind a strange, comforting emptiness.

I pack the letter away with the other things I've decided to keep, and a strange sense of gratitude comes over me. She's given me a gift, this final act of love, this release from the past. And as I leave the house, locking the door behind me for the last time, I know I can finally let go.

I'm not just saying goodbye to the house or to her things. I'm saying goodbye to the pain, to the pressure, to the unresolved tension that's haunted me for years. And as I drive away, the California sun setting behind me, I realize that by letting go of all that, I now have the space to let someone in.