"Congratulations on your eleventh open heart surgery, Miss Jones." Camera flashes popped like distant fireworks, followed by a rush of handshakes from every corner of the hospital's grand atrium. Colleagues in crisp white coats, wide-eyed interns clutching notepads, even the janitor who'd lingered late.....they all wanted a piece of the renowned surgeon, her hands steady as fate itself. This wasn't her first rodeo; the medals, the murmurs, the weight of admiration.....it had become routine. But routine didn't dull the quiet thrill, the nod to a life stitched from miracles.
"Thank you, everyone," she said, her voice calm and measured, the gold medal cool against her collarbone as she accepted another firm grip. With a polite nod to the crowd, she turned and strode toward her office, the echo of her heels steady on the polished linoleum floors, the air still buzzing with the faint scent of antiseptic and fresh coffee from the break room.
It was half past midnight, the hospital corridors hushed under fluorescent hums, shadows pooling in the corners where night-shift nurses whispered over charts. She moved with purpose, packing her leather satchel...stethoscope coiled like a serpent, a dog-eared journal of cases, her keys jingling like old coins. Nostalgia washed over her then. A long while back, on a night just like this....award in hand, exhaustion in her bones....she'd met Jake. Same night like this, same weary state. It had been a while since she last saw him...where had he gone?. Where had he gone? The question had lingered on her mind for a while.
Bag slung over her shoulder, she headed for the elevator, the doors sliding open with a soft ding that echoed down the empty hall. Down through the building's heights....past the cardiac wing's quiet beeps, the maternity floor's muffled cries...she descended, emerging on the ground floor where the lobby's grand clock ticked toward one. Out into the crisp night air, In the parking stood, her orange Audi waiting like a faithful steed...unscathed, gleaming, every dent from that long-ago fender-bender long since hammered out by Jake and his ragtag crew of delinquents.
She tapped the fob; double beep, clink....the locks disengaged, headlights flashing brief acknowledgment. Sliding into the driver's seat, leather creaking under her weight, she turned the key. The engine purred to life, a low rumble vibrating through the frame, and she pulled onto the empty road....the one she'd sworn off for years. The road where the gunshot had rung out like judgment, bullets whizzing past her window in a blur of panic. Before, she'd detoured religiously: shortcuts through quiet suburbs, winding side streets lit by flickering streetlamps. But tonight? An inexplicable pull tugged at her, a whisper in her gut urging her forward. Just this once,she thought, tires humming over the pavement, the dashboard clock glowing 1:12
Bang! The shot cracked the night, sharp and close, shattering the quiet like glass underfoot. She braked smooth, heart kicking up a notch, and stepped out....door left ajar, cool asphalt biting through her thin soles. What was this calm? Adrenaline should have flooded her, sent her diving for cover behind the wheel well. Instead, she stood unmoved, the chaos unfolding like a scene from someone else's life. "Of course, So convenient on a day like this," she muttered to the empty dark, a wry twist to her lips. "Should've stayed in the hospital."
Headlights sliced the gloom ahead—..a motorcycle's roar building, engine snarling like a cornered beast. Panic flickered then, hot and insistent: Hide! Get back in the car! But something deeper rooted her....a stubborn intuition, or perhaps exhaustion's numb armor. The bike's growl was familiar, threading through her memory like an old scar itching in the rain.
Zoom!*It blasted past in a gust of wind and exhaust, tires screeching faint on the curve, the rider a blurred shadow in black leather. Gunshots followed....then the wail of sirens pierced the fray, red-and-blue lights pulsing closer like a heartbeat gone erratic. Police. The biker? Some high-profile criminal, evading capture in a desperate sprint.
A soft thump*jolted her....her car dipping slightly, as if a weight had settled inside. She whipped around, peering through the open door, and froze. There, sprawled flat on the passenger seat, coat hiked up like camouflage: him. Jake. Dirt-streaked face, eyes sharp under tousled hair, breath coming in controlled huffs.
She gasped, hand flying to her mouth. "Jake?"
He pressed a finger to his lips—quick, urgent...silencing her as the sirens swelled, drowning the night's edge. Then, in the split-second hush between chaos and capture, he flashed that rogue grin, voice a gravelly whisper laced with old warmth.
"Hello, Rainbow."