The hospital had turned into chaos. The moment the first paramedics radioed in about a five-car pileup on the highway, the ER was in overdrive. Nurses rushed to prep trauma rooms, surgeons scrubbed in, and the sound of gurneys rolling across the polished floors echoed through the halls. It was the kind of day where Tristan Hale thrived.
In the operating room, his movements were precise, almost graceful, as he worked to repair the shattered ribs of a middle-aged man whose chest had been crushed by the force of an airbag. Outside the OR, the faint beeping of machines and muffled voices of the surgical team added to the pressure. Tristan didn't let it faze him. Surgery after surgery, he powered through, his blue eyes intense with focus and determination.
Meanwhile, Jared was in the ER handling a woman with a fractured femur. He cracked light jokes with the patient to keep her calm as he examined her X-rays. "At least the hospital cafeteria's fish and chips might cheer you up," he said with a grin. The woman laughed weakly, distracted from her pain for a moment.
By mid-afternoon, the ER buzz had slowed, though Tristan had one more procedure to tackle. As he exited the OR, pulling off his gloves, Jared greeted him with a raised brow. "You look like you've been through the wringer, mate. Fancy grabbing a coffee before your next shift?"
Tristan smirked. "And leave you to slack off? Never."
As they walked down the corridor, Jared's booming laughter filled the air. Tristan shoved his hands into his lab coat pockets, finally allowing himself to relax—until he caught sight of her.
It was just a glimpse, but it was enough. That same figure, those dark curls framing a beautiful face, and the way she smiled so easily at the man beside her—a tall, broad-shouldered guy with striking features. They were chatting like old friends, the woman gesturing animatedly with her hands.
"Wait," Tristan muttered, stopping dead in his tracks.
"What?" Jared turned to him, confused.
Tristan's eyes narrowed. He could swear it was her—the woman from the bar. But before he could be sure, the elevator doors closed, taking her out of sight.
Without thinking, Tristan sprinted down the hallway. "Hold the elevator!"
But it was too late.
"What's gotten into you?" Jared asked, catching up.
Tristan hesitated, unsure how to explain. "I think I saw someone. From... the other night."
Jared smirked knowingly. "The dancer? Let me guess, you're smitten already."
Tristan rolled his eyes. "Don't start. I have another surgery to prep for."
"Uh-huh," Jared teased as they walked back. "You're terrible at hiding it, mate."
Meanwhile...
Marcus paced the waiting area, his nerves fraying. He had finally dragged Leona to the hospital after finding her unconscious days earlier. But convincing her to sit through a consultation was another battle entirely.
"You're making me look bad," Marcus whispered harshly as they waited for the doctor.
Leona shrugged, crossing her arms. "I didn't ask you to bring me here. I don't even know if this doctor can help."
Marcus clenched his jaw, his frustration bubbling. "If you're not going to take this seriously, why even agree to come?"
Before Leona could respond, a nurse approached. "Dr. Hale sends his apologies, but he's been tied up with emergencies. He can see you in an hour if you're willing to wait."
Leona sighed, already standing. "Tell him not to bother. I'll reschedule."
Marcus grabbed her arm. "Leona—"
She pulled free, her tone soft but firm. "I need air. I need... to feel normal for five minutes. Go ahead and wait for me if you want, but I'm not staying."
Without waiting for his response, she walked away, her heels clicking against the tile floor.
**********
Tristan's Perspective
Hours later, Tristan was finishing up his final surgery of the day. He'd been in and out of operating rooms, stitching together lives like a finely tuned machine. But his mind kept wandering.
The runaway patient.
He'd heard about her—a woman with a complicated case who refused to cooperate. It wasn't often that patients actively avoided him. Most sought him out for his expertise. But this one had slipped away before he even got the chance to meet her.
And then there was the dancer. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. Could they be the same person? The thought was ridiculous.
Jared's voice echoed in his mind. "You're overthinking this."
Tristan laughed softly to himself. Maybe he was. But there was something about her, about both of them, that he couldn't shake.
*******
Leona's Evening
Leona found herself sitting on a park bench, a coffee cup warming her hands. She watched the sun dip below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink.
The day had been overwhelming. Hospitals always drained her, not just physically but emotionally. But as much as Marcus pushed her to seek treatment, she wasn't ready. Not yet.
Her thoughts drifted to her book, to the chapter she was supposed to be working on. Writing was the one thing that gave her peace, but even that felt heavy lately.
She tilted her head back, gazing at the stars as they began to dot the night sky. For a moment, she let herself dream. Dream of finishing her book, of feeling whole again, of waking up to a life where she wasn't constantly reminded of her mortality.
As sleep tugged at her, she whispered to herself, "Please, let me wake up tomorrow."
***************
The break room in the pediatrics wing was quiet, save for the soft hum of the vending machine. Jared leaned against the counter, nursing a lukewarm cup of coffee as Dr. Amelia Carter walked in, clipboard in hand. Her vibrant red hair was swept into a loose ponytail, and her scrubs, though far from glamorous, somehow managed to complement her sparkling green eyes. She spotted Jared and smirked, her usual sharp wit already on display.
"Don't you have your own department to haunt?" she teased, grabbing a cup from the counter.
"Can't a guy take a break where the coffee is tolerable?" Jared shot back, his accent making her roll her eyes as she poured herself a cup.
"Tolerable is generous. This stuff could strip paint."
"And yet here you are, willingly drinking it," he quipped, stepping closer. "Admit it, Carter—you secretly like having me around."
"Sure," she replied dryly. "Nothing brightens my day like you taking up space in my break room."
He grinned, leaning in just slightly. "I could leave, but then you'd miss me. And where's the fun in that?"
Amelia shook her head, but her smile gave her away. "You're insufferable, you know that?"
"And yet, here we are." He took a sip of his coffee, his gaze lingering on her. "So, any plans tonight, or are you sticking around to save the world one kid at a time?"
Her laugh was soft, genuine. "I'll probably be here late. Why? Thinking of giving me a hand?"
"Not exactly," Jared said with a chuckle. "But I could be persuaded to stick around if you ask nicely."
She arched an eyebrow, pretending to consider his offer. "And what would I owe for such a service? Eternal gratitude?"
"Dinner. Tomorrow night."
Amelia blinked, caught off guard for a moment, but quickly regained her composure. "Bold of you to assume I'd agree."
"Bold of me to think you'd say no," Jared countered, his grin widening.
Amelia shook her head, grabbing her coffee and heading for the door. Just before she stepped out, she glanced back, a playful glint in her eye. "Tomorrow, then. Don't be late."
Jared chuckled to himself, already looking forward to it.