Healing Hearts

Chapter 1

Charlotte Knox felt her watch vibrate as she pulled into the parking garage of her apartment building. It had been a long day at the hospital, and after a grueling 12-hour shift dealing with three suicide attempts, two alcohol detox cases, and a delusional patient convinced Tom Cruise was his father, she was drained. She was in no mood to deal with potential scammers.

Her hand still on the steering wheel, she glanced at the screen. "Front Door" flashed in bright letters. It wasn't a caller, just the building's notification system.

What the hell? Who would show up unannounced at 2 a.m.?

She maneuvered the SUV into her spot and grabbed her phone from the cupholder. Swiping across the screen revealed a live feed of her late-night visitor. All she could make out was a dark figure, possibly a man, swaying in front of the camera.

"Hello?" she asked. "Who's there?"

"Chaaaarrlootttttttte!" a voice responded. Her eyes widened. It couldn't be.

Pulling the phone closer, she responded, "Macari? Is that you?" The man let out a laugh, swaying so much she could hardly see his face. "Chaaaarrlootttttttte!" he bellowed again. "They left me here!"

"Hang on, I'll be right there."

She ended the call, pocketed her phone, grabbed her bag, and stepped out of the vehicle. Despite seeing him on camera, she couldn't shake her doubts. Could the man really be Macari? Maybe it was just a trick of her imagination. After all, she often daydreamed about him, especially after their encounters in the emergency department. Yes, that's it. It's just my mind playing tricks on me.

As she pushed open the vestibule door, she saw him—Simon Macari, ED physician extraordinaire and, admittedly, the frequent star of her fantasies. Yet there he was, standing outside her apartment building.

But why? She had fantasized about them being more than friendly coworkers, but in reality, they shared little more than small talk and the occasional Wordle banter. She'd have bet he didn't give her a second thought outside of work, and she certainly didn't know how he'd found her address.

Questions buzzed through her mind as she walked outside and found herself in front of him. One thing became clear immediately: he was hammered.

"Macari..." she began, "What the hell? Are you drunk?"

"Heyyyyyy! You're here!" He steadied himself against the wall, one hand reaching out to poke her shoulder. "What took you so long?" He laughed, ignoring her question and, apparently, that he'd just touched her. She repeated, "Have you been drinking?"

He gestured vaguely across the street toward the pub. "We were at that place over there, but then they ditched me." His words slurred. "They said I wouldn't stop talking about you, so I might as well come stay with you."

Charlotte's head spun. Why would Simon Macari be talking about her? And to whom? She quickly scanned the empty sidewalk, making sure they weren't being watched. Who would leave their intoxicated friend alone this late at night?

Right then, two men emerged from the shadows near the bar. "Uh, hi," one of them waved. They must be Macari's friends. "We just wanted to make sure you were home before we left." The other chimed in, "Honestly, we weren't sure you actually lived here. But he insisted you did and that you'd take care of him." With that, they darted off down the street.

Charlotte wanted to shout after them but stopped, instead turning her attention back to Macari, who had now sunk to the ground. She studied him. The former college soccer player, now in his mid-30s, still had an athletic build. His dark hair, usually neat, was now curling around his face and ears. Was he growing it out again? Dark circles lay beneath his eyes—a usual sight given his grueling schedule. Stubble covered his jaw and cheeks; he hadn't shaved in a few days.