16. Shep

SIXTEEN

Shep

2:47 pm

I'm on cloud nine about the call I just received. Although giddy isn't an emotion I often experience, I almost say I'm giddy. I don't know what to do with myself.

Ari is awake—well, sort of. She's still intubated and mostly sedated, but she is responding to simple neurological commands, which is a huge step forward.

I can't wipe the grin off my face. It's strange to feel this happy about a woman I'm not in love with. But it's my love for my son that summons this reaction to the news. Fatherhood has transformed my heart and opened me up in so many ways.

Of course, I'm grateful for what it means for her, too. But the happiness I feel right now is for Opie. Fucking A. All I can think about is that his chances of getting his mom back have increased significantly.

She's still in there.

Carly caught me as I was heading to Elle's room. Elle was the first person I wanted to share this news with when I got the call. We haven't spoken in two days, but her sincere care when I told her about Ari's disappearance before she got sick again was touching. She clearly understood what a tragedy it would be for Opie if he lost his mother.

At the time, she didn't even know that Ari was in the hospital in a coma due to the accident. We only knew she had gone to Texas for the Independence Day holiday and didn't show back up to get Opie.

When Carly catches me en route, I can't help but tell her, too.

Her reaction is gold. She gets excited about the most mundane news, so her over-the-top response and squeeze on my neck mirrors my glee. It feels good when someone else is as elated as you are with happy news.

The nurse's station is just outside of Elle's new room. After Carly lets go of me, I turn to go tell Elle. I notice the curtains are drawn, and the door closed, so I decide to save it for another time.

My smile falters slightly. I don't want to disturb her if she's resting or has company, especially if it's him.

"Thanks for always being so great, Carly," I say, patting her arm as I walk back by her desk. "It's a good day. I'm heading back to the clinic. Just wanted to share the good news."

What I don't say is that I am up here to share the news with Elle, not her. I walk toward the elevator, deflated. A taste of my own medicine, I suppose. It still hurts going down.

3:57 pm

I'm finishing up my notes when Carly pops her head into the office. "Hey, Shep, you still getting off soon? I need a strong, handsome man to walk me out."

"You're hilarious. Yeah, just wrapping things up," I reply, glancing at the clock. It's later than I like to finish up on my clinic days.

"Great timing. I'm heading home too. I have an idea—how about I pick up Opie and take him to see that new Minions movie? Give him a change in scenery and give you a free evening." She grins, clearly excited about the idea.

"No, but you're so kind to offer. You don't have to do that. Us boys have our evenings down."

"Honestly. I want to see the movie and need an excuse to go. I can't be so pathetic as to walk in there by myself with my popcorn all by my lonesome. If I take a kid, he will be my cover."

"You're a nut. I do know he would love it. Are you sure? I know how busy your social life is," I comment, alluding to her very active dating habits.

"Absolutely. I'm truly excited about it. Plus, he will be my hottest date this week," she jokes with a laugh. "We can do the movie, and then I'll take him out for pizza. We'll be home by 7:30 for a bath and bedtime. Come on, Shep, let me do this for you and for Opie."

I hesitate for a moment, but Carly's enthusiasm is infectious. "Alright, you've convinced me. He'll love it." I could use a release and a break if I'm being completely honest.

"Great! I'll head over to your place now," she says, beaming. "Maybe let your nanny know so she doesn't think I'm kidnapping him. What's her name again?"

"Deal," I reply with a chuckle. "Thanks, Carly. I'll call Cason to let her know you'll be relieving her. She's always on high alert for overly enthusiastic lady kidnappers, so good call."

After she leaves, I pull out my phone and shoot a text to Cason.

Hey Cason. My friend Carly from the hospital wants to take Opie out for a movie. She's going to pick him up around 4:30. Will you please make sure he is dressed and ready to go?

Absolutely. That's great. Opie will be pumped.

I send her a thumbs-up emoji, and suddenly, my afternoon is looking up.

"Cason is expecting you. She will get Opie ready. Sadly, you'll have to find another strapping fellow to walk you to your car. I'm heading for a workout. But I'll have my phone, so call me if you need me at all. I'll plan to be at the house by 7:30."

"If you're not, no worries. I'm fully capable of doing the whole bedtime deal, too. Thanks for letting me hang with the little man."

"Thank you! I really appreciate it!

I send a quick text to Buster while we head in opposite directions.

Free tonight to cash in that raincheck. Up for a beer or two after I hit the gym?

His reply is almost instant.

Hell yeah! Got two more appointments but can meet at The Collins Bar after. You down?

I grin, relieved to have plans for the evening.

Perfect. See you there. I'm going to the gym and will head there. Just come when you're done. Don't be a douchebag and wear your scrubs.

World's biggest douche, I can't help help it. You do you, brother.

I laugh out loud.

With extra time to kill before meeting Buster, I'm looking forward to hitting the gym. It's been over a week since I've had a proper workout, with Ari's disappearance and Elle's medical crisis. My body feels stiff and restless from the neglect.

I head to the locker room at UAB's fitness center, changing into my gym clothes. As I warm up on the treadmill, my mind wanders to Elle. I haven't seen her since that day in her hospital room, and the image of that guy holding her hand still stings.

Shaking off the thought, I move to the weight machines. I push myself harder than usual, relishing the burn in my muscles. It feels good to focus on something physical, to let the past week's stress melt away with each rep.

By the time I finish my workout, I'm drenched in sweat but feeling more centered than I have in days. I shower quickly and change into my street clothes, ready to meet Buster for that long-awaited beer.

Collins Bar, Downtown Birmingham

5:03 pm

I arrive at the bar early, eager to unwind after the rollercoaster of emotions I've been riding. The bartender slides a frosty mug of beer my way, and I take a long, satisfying sip. As I set the glass down, my eyes drift to the end of the bar, and my breath catches in my throat.

It's him. The guy from Elle's hospital room. The one who was holding her hand.

A wave of something hot and uncomfortable washes over me. Is this... jealousy? I've never been the jealous type, but seeing this man here now makes my stomach churn.

I grip my beer tighter, debating what to do. Part of me wants to march over there, and just sucker punch him in the nose. But he hasn't done anything wrong. He probably doesn't even know I exist.

Perhaps an interrogation is the best way to get some answers. Who is he? What's his relationship with Elle?

None of those scenarios are plausible or involve something a confident, mature man would do.

Instead, I study him from afar. He looks tired and worried. Is he here drowning his sorrows over Elle's condition? The thought makes my jaw clench. "Where were you when she was staying at my house?" That is what I really want to ask him.

I consider approaching him casually, maybe striking up a conversation about the hospital. It would be easy enough to pretend I recognized him from there. But what would that accomplish? It feels dishonest, manipulative even.

In the end, I stay rooted to my seat. I have no right to interfere in Elle's life, especially when I don't know the whole story. But I can't shake the gnawing feeling in my gut.

I drain my beer faster than intended, motioning for another. As I wait for Buster to arrive, I can't help but steal glances at the man down the bar, wondering what he means to Elle and why his existence bothers me so damn much.

Buster walks in, his usual cocky grin plastered across his face. He claps me on the back and slides onto the stool beside me.

"Shep, my man! Ready to get this party started?"

Before I can answer, he's flagging down the bartender. "Two shots of tequila, pronto!"

I groan inwardly. This is classic Buster—constantly pushing for that extra edge. But I know better than to argue. You're in for a wild ride when you're out with Buster. Especially these days.

The bartender sets two shot glasses in front of us, filled to the brim with clear liquid. Buster raises his glass, and I follow suit.

"To... hot nurses and steady hands!" Buster proclaims.

We clink glasses and down the shots. The tequila burns a fiery path down my throat, and I chase it quickly with a swig of beer.

"So, what's new in the world of brain surgery?" Buster asks, signaling for another round of beers.

I shrug. "Oh, you know. The usual. Removed a tumor the size of a golf ball yesterday. You?"

Buster launches into a story about a particularly difficult appendectomy, complete with colorful commentary on the patient's unusual anatomy. I nod along, only half-listening as my mind drifts.

"Oh," I interject when he pauses for breath. "I actually got some good news today. Ari woke up."

Buster's eyebrows shoot up. "No shit? That's great, man. How's she doing?"

"Still intubated but responding to stimuli. So, let me correct that. She isn't awake awake, but it's the first time they've gotten any response from her in over a week. It's a good sign."

"That's a relief. I know you've been worried sick about Opie."

I nod, feeling a weight lift off my chest as I talk about it. "Yeah, it's been tough. But hopefully, she'll make a full recovery." The words come out easier than I expected, and I find myself exhaling deeply as if I've been holding my breath for days.

"It's strange, you know? I've seen countless patients in similar situations. But it hits differently when it's someone you know personally or connected to someone you love."

"Yeah, man. I hear you. I was there when my father was going through open heart surgery. I saw a hundred of those procedures in med school, and somehow, when it was him, I couldn't even handle being in the waiting room."

I run a hand through my hair, a nervous habit I've never quite shaken. "I keep telling myself that as doctors, we see miracles every day. But I'm usually not counting on it. If she recovers fully, it will be a miracle."

"I'm happy for you, man."

I take another swig of beer, letting it continue to loosen my tongue. "Hey, remember that woman you caught me looking at in the waiting room the other day?"

Buster's eyes light up with mischief. "The smokin' hot brunette? Yeah, what about her?"

I roll my eyes at his crass description but press on, feeling a mix of nostalgia and unease bubbling up inside me. "Well, that's Elle," I admit, my voice catching slightly on her name. "We, uh... we dated back in college. For quite a while, actually."

I take another swig of beer, hoping the alcohol will dull the ache of old memories threatening to resurface. "It was pretty serious, to be honest. But that was a lifetime ago."

"No way!" Buster leans in, suddenly interested. "So that's why you were gawking like a teenager. Spill, Duncan. Why didn't you speak to her? Why were you creeping?"

I hesitate. I am not used to sharing personal details, especially with Buster. But the words start tumbling out before I can stop them. "It's been a crazy week. She came in for a hand injury, and next thing I know, she's staying at my place because of the rehab facility flooding. Then she got septic, and I had to rush her to the ER..."

Buster whistles low. "Damn, that's intense. So, what's the deal now? You two rekindling the old flame?"

I run a hand through my hair, conflicted. "I don't know, man. I thought maybe... but then I saw this guy in her room, holding her hand."

"Dude. Really? Was she two-timing her man with you? Filthy. I love it."

"Shut the fuck up, you dirty whore. I'm trying to talk to you."

"My bad. I was just trying to lighten the mood. Who is the guy? Did you ask her?"

"No, but he's sitting down at the end of the bar. Don't get caught looking, but he has on the blue hat."

Buster's eyes flick to the end of the bar, and he nods discreetly. "You mean that dude, sitting by himself?"

I follow his gaze, my stomach dropping as I recognize the man from Elle's room. "Yeah, that's him."

Buster claps me on the shoulder. "Let me spell this out for you. You have no idea who that guy is. Could be a respiratory therapist, for all you know."

"A respiratory therapist holding her hand, gazing into her eyes."

"Maybe he wanted to feel her pulse? I don't know. My point is, don't jump to conclusions."

"That's actually a mature comment, Buster. You impress me."

"My immaturity is just a front to keep all the unserious babes at bay."

"You're stupid."

"Look, Shep, I've known you long enough to see when you're actually into someone. Don't let this slip away because of some misunderstanding. Talk to her, figure out what's going on."

I nod, surprised by Buster's uncharacteristically sound advice. "Yeah, maybe you're right."