Page 8 of Once Upon A Second Chance

Chapter Three

Richard

The Mount Juliet Medical Center hums with the quiet chaos of a Monday morning—nurses shuffling charts, the receptionist arguing with an insurance company, the sharp scent of antiseptic clinging to the air.

I’m hunched over the nurses’ station, scribbling notes on a patient file, when the sound of laughter cuts through the monotony.

Her laughter.

I don’t have to look up to know it’s Penny. There’s a warmth to it, an ease that hasn’t changed in twelve years. It’s the kind of laugh that used to make me drop everything just to hear it.

Now, it just makes my grip tighten on my pen.

I force myself to keep writing, but the words blur. The laughter stops abruptly, and I know she’s seen me.

Professional. Distant. Unaffected.

I glance up.

Penny stands frozen at the end of the hall, her physical therapy folder clutched to her chest

Her scrubs—dark blue today—cling to her in a way that should be illegal, and her hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail, a few strands escaping to curl at her temples.

For a heartbeat, we just stare at each other.

Then she snaps into motion, striding toward me with the kind of forced calm that screams ‘I am absolutely not calm’.

“Richard.” Her voice is clipped, polite. “I need to go over Mr. Higgins’ progress with you.”

“Right.” I straighten and slide the file toward her. “His range of motion is improving, but he’s not progressing as quickly as he should be. I suspect he’s not doing his exercises at homeconsistently.”

She nods, eyes fixed on the paperwork. “Yes. I’ve adjusted his exercises and spoken to him again about the importance of continuing through with the program at home between his PT visits to me. If he takes my advice to heart, he should be less stiff by next week.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

Silence.

Her pen taps against the clipboard—tap tap tap—a nervous rhythm I remember from late-night study sessions, from the moment before she’d blurt out something brutally honest.

Now, she just chews her lower lip.

God, she still does that.

A memory flashes, unbidden:

Penny beneath me in her narrow dorm bed, her lips swollen from kissing, her hair fanned out over thepillow. She bites her lower lip as my hands slide up her thighs, her breath hitching—

“Dr. Hogan?”

A nurse’s voice yanks me back to the present.

I blink. Penny’s staring at me now, her brow furrowed.

“You okay?” she asks, and there’s the faintest hint of concern beneath the frost.

“Fine.” My voice comes out rougher than I intended. I clear my throat. “Just—thinking about the patient.”