8. Hunter

EIGHT

Hunter

Monday, May 20

UAB Hospital

5:08 pm

It's been a day that feels twice as long as the hours say it's been. Finishing my last appointment for the day, a routine post-op check-up that went smoother than expected when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and see a message from Frankie.

Still on for this evening? I'm pulling up to UAB now.

I can't help but smirk. Even though today was slower than usual, I know our meeting isn't going to be a cake walk. Working with Frankie has been interesting, to say the least.

The tension between us is like a live wire, buzzing with every interaction. And the more time we spend together, the harder it is to ignore.

Yeah. Meet me in the lab room in 30?

I tuck the phone back into my pocket and head toward the elevator. Even though all I want to do is sit in my apartment and sip on an expensive scotch and do nothing, I'm not about to let that stop me from getting some genuine work done on this project.

The pacemaker trial is at a critical stage, and while my surgical schedule usually means late meetings, I'm not complaining. If anything, it's an outlet outside of my normal surgeries and patients.

The lab is quiet when I get there, the usual hum of the hospital replaced by the muffled sounds of the evening shift taking over. Frankie must have made another stop before coming because I beat her here.

I set up my laptop and start pulling up the files we'll need, trying to focus on the task at hand. Against all my efforts not to, my mind keeps wandering back to the last time I was in here with Frankie.

Our meetings have all been in the conference room. We are meeting here to look at some of her slides in person. I didn't prepare for the sense of déjà vu I'd have coming in here again. Damn, this woman should be paying me rent. She is taking up that much space in my head.

She walks in a few minutes later, looking as composed as ever. She arrives with her hair pulled back, dressed in her usual professional attire with a skirt peeking out of the bottom of her lab coat. The soft lighting catches the warmth in her eyes. I shake off these thought as she sets her things down and sits across from me.

"Long day?" she asks, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"Not too bad," I reply, leaning back in my chair. "Slower than usual, but it seems like I've been here forever. I actually had time to breathe today. Only four routine surgeries."

"That's rare for you," she says, flipping through some notes. "Maybe that's why you actually aren't scowling tonight."

I raise an eyebrow. "I don't scowl," I say as I scrunch my forehead.

"If you say so, Mr. Grumpy Pants."

"Who says I'm grumpy?"

She looks up, her smile widening. "Literally everyone."

I let out a short laugh, shaking my head. "I'm just focused. There's a difference."

"Is that what you call it?" she teases, but there's a lightness in her tone that makes it hard not to smile back.

We get to work, diving into the data that's come in from the latest tests. The pacemaker is showing promise, but there are still a few hurdles we need to clear before we can move forward. Frankie is meticulous, pointing out details I might have missed, and I have to admit, her attention to detail is impressive.

As we go over the results, we shift the conversation to the technical aspects of what we will explore in the trial: how the pacemaker interacts with different heart conditions, and how we will monitor and chart the potential side effects.

It's fascinating work, the kind that reminds me why I love exploring and learning about how the heart works, and why, sometimes, it doesn't. But the more we talk, the more I realize how much I enjoy these moments with her—how much I look forward to our meetings, even when they're late and I'm exhausted.

"Okay, so if we adjust the algorithm to account for variable heart rates, we might be able to reduce the risk of arrhythmias post-implantation," Frankie says, tapping her pen against the table thoughtfully. "This was a big issue with our animal trials."

I nod, leaning in to look at the data on her screen. "That makes sense. But we'll need to test it thoroughly before we make any changes to the protocol. The last thing we need is for this to backfire in human trials."

"Agreed," she says, meeting my gaze. There's a moment of silence, the air between us thick with unspoken tension. It's like we're both waiting for something, though I'm not sure what.

"So, you think you can handle more evening meetings like this?" I ask, breaking the silence with a smirk. "It would be hard to cover all of this during day, although I can carve out little bits of time here and there."

She arches an eyebrow. "I'm not the one with the packed surgery schedule. Can you handle it?"

"Touché," I reply, chuckling. "But seriously, this project is important. I'm in it for the long haul."

Her expression softens, and for a second, I see something in her eyes that I can't quite place. "I know you are. And I appreciate it. This trial… it means a lot to me. This has been my main focus for over two years. You know, that night you came by…"

The mention of that night, the elephant in the room, is like stepping on a land mine.

"Those slides I showed you, they were from the animal subjects in this trial."

"Oh, I had no idea. That is cool, how things have come full circle."

What the fuck am I saying? I'm trying to be suave, but everything I say, every twitch of my eye, every clearing of my throat makes me seem like a complete novice.

There's a weight to her words, something deeper than just professional dedication. I want to ask her more, to dig into what's really driving her, but I hold back. This isn't the time, and I'm not sure I'm ready to cross that line with her.

Instead, I nod and say, "Now that I know the context, I'll have to take another look."

She smiles, and it's genuine, the kind of smile that makes my chest tighten just a little. "Of course. You can come by any time, even if I'm not here. I've got everything cataloged and painstakingly labeled."

With that, we dive back into the work. The banter between us lightens the mood, but the underlying tension never really goes away. It's there in the way our shoulders brush when we both lean over the data, in the way her gaze lingers on me a fraction too long, in the way my pulse quickens whenever she's near.

By the time we wrap up, it's late, and the hospital has settled into its nighttime quiet. I pack up my things, as does Frankie. The easy conversation from earlier gives way to a comfortable silence.

Walking out of the conference room together, I get the strong sense that something's shifting between us. It's subtle, but it's there in the way she looks at me, in the way I can't stop thinking about her.

I'm not sure where this is going, but for now, I'm content to let it unfold. One late-night meeting at a time.

Tuesday, May 21

8:41 am

Hands in my pockets, I speed walk down the hall to grab a coffee after wrapping up a meeting when I spot Jonah Bellinger coming out of one of the ORs. He looks exhausted, which isn't unusual after surgery. There's something in his expression that tells me it didn't go as smoothly as he would've liked.

"Jonah," I call out, and he glances up, his shoulders sagging a little with the weight of whatever just happened. "Somebody kick your ass in there?"

"Hunter," he replies, offering a tired smile. "Just the man I wanted to see. You should see the other guy."

I slow my pace as I approach him, catching the tightness around his eyes. "Everything alright?"

He lets out a long breath as he joins me on my walk. "Had a complication during the surgery. The patient's heart started to go into atrial fibrillation halfway through. Threw off the whole rhythm of the operation."

Atrial fibrillation—an irregular, often rapid heart rate that can cause poor blood flow. It's a common enough issue, but during surgery, it can be a real nightmare. "Did you manage to stabilize them?"

We both get on the elevator together and I push eleven. He nods his head indicating he is going to the same.

"Yeah, eventually," Jonah says, leaning against the wall as if he needs the extra support. "But it took longer than it should have. I used amiodarone, but it didn't work as quickly as I expected. By the time we got the heart rate under control, we were already behind. I can't help thinking there might have been a better way to handle it."

I nod, understanding his frustration. "Amiodarone is a good first line, but in the middle of surgery, you don't always have time to wait for it to kick in. Next time, consider using an intraoperative cardioversion if the patient's stable enough. It's quicker and can reset the heart rhythm almost immediately."

Jonah's brow furrows as he absorbs the information. "Intraoperative cardioversion… Why didn't I think of that?"

"It's not always the first thing that comes to mind, especially when you're focused on the surgery itself," I reply, trying to reassure him. "But it's a good tool to have in your back pocket when you're dealing with something like this."

He nods slowly, his expression thoughtful. "I'll keep that in mind. That's a good one to file away. Thanks, man."

"No problem," I say, giving him a pat on the shoulder. "It happens to the best of us. And while you're the worst of us…"

"Nice one."

We make our way to the top floor, both of us in need of a caffeine boost for the morning. We grab our coffees from the counter and head out to the balcony, where the warm May air hits us like a wall. Even up here, with the breeze, it's going to be a scorcher—another reminder that summer in Birmingham is already here.

We lean against the railing, the city sprawled out below us, the hum of traffic barely audible from this height. I take a sip of my coffee, letting the bitter warmth wake me up a little more.

Jonah glances at me, a smirk playing on his lips. "So, you bringing a prostitute to the to the gala? Figured that's the only way you'll get a date."

"Hilarious. That's your style not mine, remember?"

"I just asked that hottie I've taken out a few times that I told you about. It's nothing serious, but it's always fun to get dressed up with a looker on your arm."

I shrug, not having given it much thought. "Funny you should ask. I hadn't really planned on it, but Theo Bench cornered me this morning. Apparently, there are going to be several potential sponsors there, and I need to be on my A game to try to help secure funding for this trial."

Jonah nods, taking a sip of his own coffee. "Makes sense. So, you should probably take someone who knows the ins and outs of the project as well as you do. If you know what I mean?" He waggles his eyebrows as he says it.

I snigger, sensing where he's going with this. "And who is that, oh, sage one?"

"Frankie," he says without hesitation. "Duh! She's been leading this thing from the start, right? Plus, she's easy on the eyes. Win-win."

I chuckle, shaking my head. "It's a gala, Jonah, not foreplay."

He grins, clearly not taking me too seriously. "Maybe not for you. Regardless, it wouldn't hurt to double-team your prospects. With your looks alone, you might scare them off. Add in her beauty, and boom, you close the deal."

I take another sip of my coffee, considering his suggestion, however sophomoric it is. He's not wrong. Frankie knows this project inside and out, and having her there could give us an edge when it comes to convincing potential sponsors to open their checkbooks.

"Maybe you're right," I finally say, glancing out over the city. "It could be a good move, my brawn and her beauty."

Jonah nods, satisfied. "If you call that dad bod brawn, sure. But, don't forget, she's smart, too. Trust me, man. You two make a good team. Just make sure you're on the same page before you walk into that room. You don't want any surprises."

"Good advice," I admit, even if the thought of spending more time with Frankie outside of the hospital gives me pause. But this is about the project, about securing the funding we need to take it to the next level. I can handle that. We both can.

As we finish our coffee, the heat settling into our skin, I can't help but think that this gala might end up being more interesting than I originally anticipated.