Doctor friend

Mr. Robson "Hello there, Mr. Andrew." I greeted him with a smile as one of my favorite patients shuffled into my office. His trusty cane tapped out a rhythmic hello against the tiles. "How are you feeling today?" "Oh, not so good," he replied with his trademark candor, plopping down into the chair like it had insulted him. "This cough won't leave me alone, my throat feels like I swallowed a cactus, and don't get me started on my back-it's protesting louder than my ex-wife at alimony hearings." I chuckled softly as he began his litany of complaints.

He had a way of turning misery into stand-up comedy. Still, I only half-listened. After years of knowing him, I'd learned to separate the dire from the dramatic. Mr. Andrew wasn't just here for a doctor's opinion. No, this was his social hour, his connection to the outside world. And I got it. Many of my older patients treated the waiting room like a community hub. Part of me wanted to establish a café or a club for them, somewhere cozy and harmless where they could chat and debate the daily news-anywhere but my office. "All right," I said with a grin, gesturing toward the examination table. "Let's run a few checks. How about you tell me how that book of yours is coming along while I take your blood pressure?" His face lit up at the mention of his novel. "Oh, Doctor! It's really coming together. Picture this-an intrepid hero, a femme fatale, and a treasure map! It's got action, romance, suspense-everything. Guaranteed bestseller!" As I wrapped the cuff around his arm, he launched into a breathless summary of his plot, complete with dramatic hand gestures and impromptu dialogue. I nodded, inserting an occasional "Hmm" or "Sounds brilliant!" at strategic intervals. Honestly, it sounded more like a spaghetti western than a literary masterpiece, but who was I to crush his dreams? "Of course," he added with a sigh, "if I'd won the lottery last night, I wouldn't need to fuss about this book at all, now would I?" "Ah, the lottery," I said, laughing as I recorded his vitals. "The great equalizer. I suppose we've all got our fingers crossed for that magic ticket." "If I'd won," he continued, his eyes twinkling with mischief, "I'd buy myself a private island. No doctors, no appointments, just me, a hammock, and maybe a few coconuts. What about you? What's your dream?" The question caught me off guard. My dream wasn't extravagant-just the chance to pay off my debts, lift the weight off my shoulders. But there wasn't much magic in that answer, so I improvised. "Well," I said, pretending to ponder, "I'd probably open a place just for patients like you-a cozy café with free tea and biscuits, a trivia corner, and maybe even bingo night. Call it the Hypochondria Hub." He laughed so hard it turned into a coughing fit, which had me momentarily concerned. But as I handed him a glass of water, he winked. "Not a bad idea, Doc. Just make sure the bingo prizes are something good-none of that cheap chocolate!"

They felt endless, like they'd be with me forever. The debts. Heavy chains I desperately wanted to shake off but couldn't. They had started back in medical school when I'd funded most of my education with credit. My parents didn't have much, and I couldn't bear the thought of pressuring them or leaving them burdened by my dreams. So, I'd told them I'd work my way through college, cover it myself, and be fine. That had been the plan. Unfortunately, reality laughed at my optimism. Between coursework, endless hours on placement, and sheer exhaustion, working to fund myself just wasn't possible.

I had no choice but to take out a massive loan. Nobody knew about it but me. Back then, I thought it would all be fine. Once I became a fully-qualified doctor, I'd have a steady income and pay it all off easily. That illusion didn't last long. Reality smacked me again when I realized that people were struggling-struggling to pay for the care they needed. It made me angry. Furious, even. So, I started cutting bills for the patients who couldn't afford treatment, telling myself it was just for a few cases. But once I'd started, I couldn't stop. The faces of those in need, their desperate gratitude, pulled me deeper into a cycle of giving. My debts only grew larger, yet my heart refused to grow smaller. "Yeah, winning the lottery would be nice," I said to Mr. Andrew with a dry chuckle, snapping back to the present. "Well, no one's claimed it yet-it could still be you!" He leaned back with a loud laugh, his eyes gleaming. "Can you imagine? You could spend the rest of your life traveling the world! There's so much out there-more than Florence or Oregon, that's for sure." I wasn't sure if that was meant to be a dig or just his usual blunt honesty, but it struck a nerve. I'd spent my entire life here, in the small town where I grew up. Apart from my college years, Florence had always been home. And I loved it. It was where I felt comfortable. My roots ran deep here. I didn't need the world's wonders; I had my job, my friends, my family, and even a fair share of admirers-plenty of women eager to keep my nights interesting. What more could I ask for? Before I could answer him, Ruth, the nurse, entered the room in a flurry of movement and perfume. She handed me a folder of paperwork, and I couldn't help but shoot her a sly, flirtatious smile. "Thank you," I murmured, meeting her sparkling blue eyes. "See you after the appointment to discuss bloodwork, okay?" It was our little code, a subtle exchange only we understood. From the glimmer of excitement in her expression, I knew it was game on. By the end of the day, Ruth and I would find a quiet, private corner to continue our "discussions." She wasn't the long-term type, and neither was I, but together, we were a lot of fun. As Ruth sashayed out of the room, Mr. Andrew let out a whistle of admiration. "Wow," he said, shaking his head. "That's some woman! You're a lucky man, Doc, getting to work with someone like her every day. Perks of the job, huh?" He laughed heartily at his own joke, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to suppress a smirk. The truth about me and Ruth had to stay strictly under wraps. If anyone found out, it could spell disaster for us both. "I'm just here to help people," I replied, adopting a mock-serious tone. "No time to worry about the nurses scurrying around." I set down my equipment and gave him a reassuring look. "For now, I don't see anything obvious, but we'll review all your test results. I'll call you in a couple of days, okay?" Mr. Andrew nodded, his smile softening. "Thank you, Doc. I appreciate it." As he left the room, my mind had already jumped ahead. My lunch break was coming up, which meant a short reprieve from appointments-and a rendezvous with Ruth. Sometimes, I thought I had everything I needed right here in Florence. Other times, I wondered if my world was smaller than I dared to admit.

Even the thought of her-hot, sweaty, and with those heaving breasts bouncing against me-had me standing to attention. Ruth had a way of making my blood boil in the best way possible, and I couldn't wait to get my hands on her again. I found her near the reception desk, chatting with one of the other nurses. Normally, I'd let her finish her conversation, but today, something inside me felt more impatient-needier. If I didn't have her soon, I felt like I might combust. "Ruth," I called softly, my voice carrying just enough urgency to make her look my way.

She turned, her expression less playful than usual. In fact, she looked all business, which made my heart sink a little. Still, I told myself I'd let her get whatever work-related thing she had to say off her chest first-and then I'd get her back into the mood. She was usually easy to bring around. "We have a new patient coming in tomorrow," she began, her tone brisk and efficient. Ruth always talked fast when it came to work, which sometimes made her hard to follow-not that I minded too much. It was one of the many reasons why we both knew this thing between us could never get too serious. "Oh, yeah?" I asked casually, letting my hand graze along her side in a subtle attempt to distract her. "Yes," she said, ignoring my touch, her focus entirely on her clipboard. "We'll need to transfer the papers. Her name is Teresa Linton. I think she used to live here years ago... Do you recognize the name?" Teresa Linton. My heart jolted at the sound of her name, but I kept my expression neutral, masking the flood of emotions rising inside me. Teresa wasn't just another patient. She was the mother of her. Natalie Linton. The one who got away. The one I'd spent years trying to forget. Teresa had known me well back then-too well. Seeing her again was going to be complicated in ways I wasn't ready to face. "Come with me," I rasped, my voice rougher than I intended. Suddenly, I needed Ruth more than ever. I needed to bury myself in her, to drown out the memories threatening to rise to the surface. Without waiting for a response, I grabbed her hand and led her into the janitor's closet, closing the door behind us with a firm click. The dim light flickered above as I pulled her into my arms, kissing her with a ferocity that startled even me. "Whoa," Ruth murmured between kisses, her voice a mix of surprise and amusement. "What's gotten into you?" But I didn't answer. My mind was elsewhere, flickering between the present and a past I'd spent years burying. Natalie. Her laugh, her touch, her absence-all of it threatened to unravel me. I kissed Ruth harder, desperate to stay grounded in the moment, to lose myself in the physical sensations and block out the storm brewing in my chest.