6. Hunter

SIX

Hunter

5:33 pm

When I walked in, I fully expected to see Theo Bench waiting for me with the usual stack of files and a laser focus on the pacemaker trial. Instead, I'm frozen in my tracks, because the person pacing the room isn't Theo. It's Frankie.

Goddamn.

For a second, I just stand there, stunned, trying to process what I'm seeing. She's muttering to herself—something about protocols and timelines and surgical expertise. She's completely absorbed in her thoughts.

She's not wearing her usual white lab coat. Instead, she's wearing a tight but professional pencil skirt that hugs her round, full curves, paired with a silk blouse that compliments the deep brown waves of her hair and those striking green eyes I remember all too well.

She's beautiful. Stunning, actually. And it hits me like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of me before I even have a chance to gather my thoughts. This caught me off guard. Seeing her again caught me off guard.

I step further into the room, trying to get a grip on myself, but my mind is spinning. Why the hell didn't Theo tell me she was involved in this project? I thought I was here to talk pacemakers and clinical trials, not to walk into a room with the one woman who's been occupying way too much space in my head for the past six months.

And now I just scared the shit out of her, breaking into her preparation with my smirky comment. She was too busy running through what looked like the entire agenda, flipping through files on the table, completely in her zone, to notice the door open.

I swallow hard, shoving down the nerves that are clawing their way up my throat. This isn't like me. I don't freak out. I don't get rattled. But Frankie, she's different. What the fuck?

"Hunter," she says, her voice a little winded, like she's also having to catch her breath. I'm sure I scared the shit out of her the way I came in and busted up in her preparation without her noticing my entrance.

"Frankie," I manage to get out, my voice sounding steadier than my legs at the moment. "I didn't realize you were part of this project."

She blinks, and for a moment, there's something in her eyes that stops me. Maybe it's nerves, or it could be something else. But she recovers quickly, straightening up and giving me a small smile. "Yes, this is my project. I've been running it for the past two-plus years. I thought you knew."

I shake my head, trying to wrap my mind around it. "Theo didn't mention it."

She nods slowly like she's processing that information, too. "Well, surprise, I guess." She holds up her hands dramatically and smiles. She's good, putting me at ease, diffusing my obvious discomfort.

I let out a breath, trying to dry my sweaty palms as I take a seat at the table. What I need is a minute to get myself together, to figure out how the hell I'm supposed to navigate this. I wonder if, at this point, it would be awkward to back out of my offer to assist with the trial.

She sits down across from me, and for a moment, we just look at each other, the air between us charged with something unspoken. I should be focusing on the project, on what this meeting is supposed to be about, but all I can think about is how close she is, how stunning she looks, and how utterly unprepared I am for this.

I clear my throat, trying to break the tension that's thick enough to cut with a scalpel. "Is Theo joining us?" I ask, my voice coming out a bit more clipped than I intend.

Frankie nods, her expression calm, unbothered. "Dr. Bench should be here any minute," she replies, glancing briefly at the door before turning her attention back to me.

She's composed, like this is just another routine meeting for her, while I'm sitting here like one of those dumbass newbie residents, fresh out of med school.

I lean back in my chair, trying to appear relaxed, but everything is off-kilter. I scramble for something to say, something to fill the silence. "How's, uh, everything going with the research?"

She smiles politely, that professional mask firmly in place. "It's going well. I think we are ready to soar. The data has been promising."

"Good," I grunt, nodding as I try to keep my thoughts straight. "That's great to hear."

There's a pause, the kind that stretches just a bit too long to be comfortable. "How about you?" she asks, her tone polite but distant. "How have you been? Recover from our collision Friday?"

"Busy," I reply, a little too sharply. "I don't stop, for the most part." Why didn't I keep with the lightness and comment on bumping into her on Friday? God, I'm such an idiot. All business and no play.

She nods, not missing a beat. "I bet."

The silence that follows is heavy, awkward. I should say something, but everything I can think of seems forced, like I'm trying to jam the wrong piece into a puzzle.

I'm not usually like this—small talk doesn't bother me, but right now, it's grating on my nerves. I am totally a fish out of water, and it's making me more irritated by the second. Where the fuck is Theo Bench?

Tuesday, May 7

12:20 pm

I'm deep in the middle of charting, my focus narrowed to the screen in front of me when my phone buzzes on the desk. I glance at it and see a text from Jonah Bellinger, one of the few people who can pull me out of work mode.

Lunch in the cafeteria?

I check my watch. I've got some time before my next patient, so I shoot back a short reply.

Meet you in 5.

I finish up the note I'm working on, close out the chart, and push back my chair from my desk. It's been a long morning, and the idea of grabbing a quick bite with Jonah is a welcome break.

When I walk into the cafeteria, I spot him already seated with his tray, looking like he's just come off a double shift. I grab a burger, some steamed broccoli, and a bottle of water before making my way over to him.

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

"Hey, dickhead," Jonah replies, already halfway through his sandwich. "Busy morning?"

"Not too bad," I reply, taking a bite of my burger. We fall into the usual small talk, catching up on patient cases, hospital gossip, the kind of things that fill the gaps between surgeries and rounds.

After a few minutes, Jonah glances at me, a glint of curiosity in his eyes. "So, I heard you're working on a new research project. Something with Theo Bench?"

I nod, swallowing a mouthful of green beans. "Yeah, it's a pacemaker trial. They've been working on it for a couple of years, and Theo brought me in to help get it over the finish line to start the clinical trial."

"Sounds like a big deal," Jonah comments, taking a sip of his drink. "Who else is involved?"

I hesitate for a fraction of a second but quickly cover it up. "Frankie Renna. She's the lead researcher on the project."

Jonah raises an eyebrow, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Frankie Renna, huh? She's hot."

I shrug, trying to play it off like it's nothing. "She's good at what she does. The project's solid."But as I say it, I can't help the flash of memory that comes with her name. She's good at a lot more than research.

Jonah's grin turns a little wicked. "Come on, man. You've got to admit she's a knockout. And smart, too. The whole package."

I shake my head, trying to steer the conversation away from dangerous territory. "She's a colleague, Jonah. We're working together. That's it. You know we can't go there. Nothing but trouble."

But Jonah isn't letting it go. He leans in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "We hardly see her. Not enough, if you ask me. I might have to tap that ass now that I think about it. She's got that whole sexy scientist thing going on."

A spike of irritation flares up inside me, but I keep my expression neutral, taking another bite of my burger to buy myself a moment. The idea of Jonah going after Frankie doesn't sit well with me, and that realization hits harder than I'd like. But I keep my mouth shut, knowing it's not my place to say anything.

Still, Jonah's eyes narrow, and I can tell he's picked up on the shift in my mood. "Whoa, hold up. Are you actually pissed I just said that? I was just kidding, dude."

I glare at him, more out of reflex than anything. "I'm not pissed, Jonah. Just saying we've got work to do, and I'm not looking to complicate things."

He chuckles, clearly enjoying this more than he should. "Uh-huh. Sure, that's all it is."

"Drop it," I snap, not in the mood to deal with his teasing right now.

"Alright, alright," Jonah says, holding up his hands in mock surrender, though the smirk on his face doesn't fade. "But seriously, Hunter, if you're not interested, maybe I should?—"

"Jonah," I warn, my voice low and edged with a tone that tells him I'm not going there.

He laughs, shaking his head. "Relax, I'm just messing with you. But you might want to figure out what's got you so worked up before this project turns into a bigger headache than it needs to be."

I don't respond. Instead, I finish off the last of my green beans as my mind is already a mess of thoughts I don't want to untangle right now. Jonah's got a point, but that doesn't mean I'm ready to deal with it.

We finish lunch in relative silence, Jonah occasionally throwing me a look while I focus on getting through the rest of the meal without snapping at him again. I'm guessing he wishes he had invited someone else to join him.

By the time I get up to leave, I'm more than ready to get back to work. I'll gladly embrace anything to keep my mind off Frankie and whatever the hell is brewing under the surface.

3:01 pm

Jill, my assistant, buzzes through to my office, jolting me out of my focus on the documents about the pacemaker and all of the impressive strides Frankie has made in these studies in a relatively short time. "Yes," I answer, a little annoyed to be pulled away.

"Just a reminder, Doctor Parrish, that you have a three o'clock appointment with Mrs. Oppenstar. She's already here waiting for you in the front lobby."

"Great, send her into an exam room. I'll be right there."

"I've informed her, Sir. But, she insists that?—"

"—I come to meet her in the lobby. Yeah, I remember. Thanks, Jill. Can you please inform the front I'll be right there?"

"Yes, Sir. So ten minutes?"

"Oh, you're funny."

Her girlish chuckle is cute, but it's kind of lost on me right now. "I'll let them know."

Did I mention that I really care about the people I work with? They're all sarcastic pains in the ass sometimes, but I appreciate the whole team.

Refocusing on what I was reading in Frankie's notes before being interrupted, I start to get a boner. Fucking hell. Better make that fifteen minutes, Jill.

Thankfully the hard-on goes away the moment I get to my feet. I give Jill a sarcastic smile on the way out, and she returns it right back. See, I'm not all grumpy all the time.

Mrs. Oppenstar was seventy-four when she first came to see me a little over a year ago. Her primary care doctor referred her after a routine check-up revealed something off with her heart. She had been becoming increasingly fatigued, short of breath, and had this persistent tightness in her chest that just wouldn't go away.

Tests confirmed what I suspected: severe aortic stenosis. Her aortic valve was narrowed, restricting blood flow from the heart to the rest of her body. It's a condition I see often in patients her age, but that doesn't make it any less serious. Without intervention, it would have continued to worsen, eventually leading to heart failure.

Surgery was the only option—a valve replacement. I've done it countless times, but every patient is different. And with someone like Mrs. Oppenstar, age and overall health add layers of complexity. We went over the risks, the benefits, and the expectations, and despite the gravity of it all, she remained calm and trusting.

The surgery went smoothly. I replaced her damaged valve with a new one, restoring the blood flow her body so desperately needed. But it's not just about the surgery for me. It's about what happens after. The recovery, the follow-ups, making sure my patients know they're not just case numbers on a chart.

Mrs. Oppenstar is one of those patients who reminds me why I do what I do. She is tough and resilient, and despite her age, she had a spark in her that made me want to fight even harder for her recovery.

Her makeup is on point, as usual, as is her sense of style. She is wearing a deep-blue sweatsuit that is no doubt the hottest item among her friends at her assisted care facility.

In truth, she's not bad-looking for a woman of seventy-five, and she's incredibly ambulatory.

But then again, I've never been the type to go for much older women, so being cordial and comforting with her is easy since I don't get the notion that she's wooed by my looks or youth, either.

Thank God for small favors.

"Hello, young man," she drawls as I make my way across the lobby. She's the picture of a quintessential grandmother: prim, proper, and ladylike to a tee. She's an old school Southern lady in modern times.

"Hello, Mrs. Oppenstar." I'm genuinely happy to see her. She gives me a wide smile when I approach her.

"Busy day, Doctor Parrish? You were a few minutes late by my watch."

"It's always busy when we least expect it, Mrs. Oppenstar," I reply. "They never let me rest, isn't that a shame?"

"Indeed, it is. Let me know who to speak for about that."

She reaches out gently with one hand for a lift. Being a gentleman, I offer her my hand as she expects. I've adopted her, in a way, as a sort of surrogate grandmother I never had.

As we walk toward the elevators, she regales me once again with everything that's been going on in her life. She loves her bridge and her grandchildren. These are subjects she never tires of telling me about.