14. Parker
Parker
I carry a tray of chicken salad, some rice, and a bottle of water, scanning the room for an empty table. It’s been a long day, and with my dad’s sudden appearance, I need a moment to breathe and regroup.
I settle into a corner. I need an escape, a place to fade away. I’ve taken my first bite when a familiar voice cuts through the din.
“Parker, what a pleasure seeing you here.”
I glance up to see Gunner striding toward me, a relaxed smile on his face. He’s carrying a cup of coffee, looking every bit the polished professional in his tailored suit. His presence is always calm and deliberate, a stark contrast to the chaos of the hospital around us.
“Gunner,” I say, setting down my fork. “Didn’t expect you'd be here on a Saturday evening.”
He pulls out a chair and sits across from me, resting his coffee on the table.
“I’ve been making the rounds today, meeting with department heads. We set it up on the weekend so we wouldn't get interrupted. I'm grabbing a quick coffee before heading out.”
I nod, taking another bite of my salad. Gunner is a hospital board member. He was the first person I met when I decided to take the ER position here. He’s sharp, observant, and not one to waste words.
“Looks like you’ve had a busy day,” he says, nodding at the scrubs I’m still wearing.
“I guess you could say that. A regular ER Saturday in Palm Beach,” I reply, thinking briefly of my dad’s interruption, and the dozen other tasks still waiting for me. “I hope your meetings were productive.”
Gunner takes a sip of his coffee, his expression thoughtful. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something, anyway, so I'm glad I saw you. It's an opportunity, if you’re interested.”
I raise an eyebrow, curious. “What kind of opportunity?”
He leans forward, lowering his voice. “One of our assistant general surgeons is considering a move out of state. His wife got an offer at Columbia, and he’s looking to follow her."
"Oh, that is interesting. Tell me more."
"It’s not official yet, but if he goes, there’ll be an opening here—something that might suit your background, if you're still aiming for the OR.”
I blink, the implications sinking in. Assistant general surgeon. That’s a huge role, a step up from my current position in the ER. General surgery is my ultimate goal.
“And you think I’d be a good fit for it?”
Gunner smiles, setting his coffee down. “You’re more than qualified, Parker. The department head has brought up your name more than once when we talk about promising talent, especially with that general surgery fellowship out of Tulane. Your work here only backed it up.”
I raise my eyebrows and nod, absorbing it. I don’t say anything as I wonder if I’ll even stay here once the inheritance comes through.
“Plus,” he continues. “You’ve already proven you can handle the pace and demands of this hospital. If you’re interested, I can make sure your name is on the shortlist when the position officially opens.”
It’s an incredible opportunity, one I hadn’t even considered. But it’s also a decision that could significantly alter my future. I don’t want to be considered for something if I don’t intend to be here.
“Wow,” I say after a moment. “That’s a lot to take in. Thanks for thinking of me, Gunner. I mean it. I’ll need some time to think about it, though.”
“Of course,” he says easily. “There’s no rush.
I wanted to give you a heads-up before it becomes public knowledge.
I'm sure you'll need to discuss it with Adair, but I know how much you’ve invested in your work here, and with your recent marriage, I figured staying on the island might be something you’d want to consider. ”
The mention of Adair gives me pause.
It’s a logical assumption. From the outside, our marriage makes it look like I’m putting down roots, especially with Citrine thriving here.
But between the estate manager’s upcoming visit and the mess with my dad, I haven’t had time to think about where I want to land long-term.
The truth is, in six months, this marriage ends. And after that? I have no idea where I’ll be. But that’s not something I’m about to tell Gunner.
“Thanks, I appreciate it,” I say, and I mean it. “And absolutely, I’ll have to talk it over with Adair. ”
It’s the obvious thing to say. Any man would discuss something like this with his wife. If our marriage were real, that would make sense. Either way, it buys me time. Keeps things clean.
“Understandable,” he says, standing. “Take all the time you need. If you decide it’s something you want, let me know, and I’ll make sure your name gets the attention it deserves.”
For a moment, I sit there, my dinner forgotten, as I mull over Gunner’s offer. On paper, it’s perfect. It's a step up in my career, the chance to stay in a place that’s starting to feel like home, and maybe even a way to solidify things with Adair.
But it’s not about the job or Palm Beach anymore. Everything’s changed since that phone call about this inheritance. Including the injection of Adair in it.
I stretch out on the couch, the cushions soft beneath me as I stare at my phone screen. The condo is quiet, save for the slight hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the distant sound of waves outside the window.
I think about Adair and wonder why she's avoiding me. She’s not next door, I'm assuming, since her car is now parked outside. She still hasn’t responded to my texts from this morning.
I grab my phone to see if my last text was answered. Sure enough, it’s the last on our thread.
Hey, Leeland, my dad, wants to meet you. We need to talk about this whole thing. Let me know when you want to chat.
I sent the message, the third of the day, hours ago. Nothing. Not even a read receipt. I hate this feeling. The kind that presses behind your ribs and makes your collar suddenly too tight.
She’s been distant today, and I can’t decide if it’s because of something I’ve done or if she’s simply stressed. Or maybe she’s genuinely busy. A woman like her isn’t one to sit around and do nothing all day.
I bet she’s tied up with work, or something came up with Bets.
Adair doesn’t ask for help. She builds, she deflects, she powers through. But if I wait for her to say the words, I’ll miss my chance to be the man she can lean on.
An idea I thought of recently keeps coming back to me. It’s a long shot, sure, but it’s worth trying.
Luckily, I don't have bad blood with my ex, so I don't mind calling her to ask her to help Adair. It's more about how I explain our situation.
I grab my laptop from the coffee table, settle it on my lap, and scroll through my contacts until I find a name I haven’t reached out to in two years.
Rose.
With a deep breath, I click the call button, half expecting it to go unanswered because she's so busy and we haven't talked in a while. But after a few rings, her face pops up on the screen, framed by the soft glow of whatever trendy lighting she’s using in her apartment.
“Parker?” she laughs, tilting her head. “To what do I owe the honor?”
“Rose,” I say, smiling despite myself. “You look good. How’s life treating you?”
“Life’s great,” she says, settling into what looks like a plush armchair. “Busy, but you know how it is. And you? Still saving lives in the world’s most glamorous retirement community? ”
I grin. “Hey, say what you want, but I’ve never been hugged this much in my life. Or offered so many hard candies.”
She laughs, and I keep going. “How’s the influencer empire? You’re everywhere these days.”
Her face lights up. “Oh, you know. Endless content creation, brand deals, pretending I don’t want to throw my phone off a cliff every other day. But it’s good. Lucrative, at least.”
We chat for a bit, catching up on what’s happened in our lives since we broke up.
She tells me about her new fiancé, a tech entrepreneur who sounds like the polar opposite of me, and I tell her about my move here from New Orleans and trying to figure out my next steps.
Eventually, I steer the conversation to the real reason I called.
“Rose, can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” she says, her tone curious.
“How hard is it to book you for a brand deal?”
Her eyebrows lift slightly. “Depends on the deal. Why? You launching a wellness empire on the side now?”
“Not exactly.” I shift in my seat, glancing at the camera before looking away. “It’s for someone I know. She’s trying to get a skincare line off the ground.”
Rose raises an eyebrow. “Someone important?”
My mouth opens, but I hesitate for a moment too long. It’s just enough that she notices, as she always does.
“Yeah,” I say, keeping it neutral. “She is.”
Something flickers in her eyes, curiosity perhaps, but she doesn’t press. Instead, she leans back in her chair and says, “Then I’ll do it for you, no charge. Send me whatever you’ve got, and I’ll give it a plug.”
I blink. “That's so generous, Rose. Thank you. ”
She smiles. “You never ask for anything, Parker. So count on it. I figure if you’re calling me about this, it matters.”
“It does,” I say, and this time it’s harder to hide the truth behind it.
“She gives me a softer look. Not pity, not suspicion—the kind of familiarity that only comes from being in each other’s lives for a long time, even if we eventually drifted apart. Rose and I still care about each other. Just not like that.”
“Then it’s a done deal.”
Relief washes over me, tangled with a weird twist of guilt. I thank her, and she waves it off with a smirk.
“Just make sure it doesn’t suck. My followers will know.”
I chuckle. “I think you will be pleased.”
She tips her head, amused. “You always were a softie when it came to helping people. It’s weirdly comforting to see some things haven’t changed.”
The business part fades, and we ease into a different rhythm that's still easy, but more personal, as we catch up.
We swap a few old stories, laugh about some disaster stories in both of our careers. That's what we always did best--laugh. It’s strange how quickly we fall back into this kind of banter. It's not romantic, easy.
And for a few minutes, it’s nice. Like touching base with a version of myself I haven’t seen in a while.
I don’t hear the door open over our laughter. But I smell her before I see her, that salty, citrusy perfume that hits like a punch to the chest.
I turn, in time to see Adair standing there, framed in the entryway. Her eyes land on the screen, on Rose smiling at me, and something in her face shifts. Shuts down.
Hurt flashes across her face—sharp, fast—and then she’s gone. No words. Just the soft click of the door behind her.
“Adair—” I say it too late. She’s already out.
I stare at the door, pulse still racing.
She hasn’t answered my texts. Hasn’t called me back. I’ve been trying to give her space, but now I have no idea what she walked in on in her head.
But I know how it looked.
And that’s enough to ruin everything.