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“This cannot be happening.” The phrase looped relentlessly in Frank’s head, a broken record that did nothing to drown out the violent banging reverberating through the elevator car. It had ground to a halt somewhere between the second and third floors of PTMC, suspended in a claustrophobic limbo that made his chest feel tight.
“I doubt that’s gonna be of any use,” he muttered, frustration seeping into his voice as he leaned his forehead against the cold metal wall. The steel was unforgiving, biting through his skin, but he welcomed the sting.
“Better than doing nothing,” Trinity shot back. She slammed her fists against the elevator doors again, the noise echoing harshly in the confined space. As if sheer willpower might force them open. “Hello?” she yelled. “Can anyone hear me?”
Frank exhaled slowly and pulled his phone from his pocket. No signal. Of course. He turned away from the doors and let his body slide down the wall until he landed on the grimy floor. The faint smell of disinfectant barely masked something older, sourer.
The banging continued for several more minutes, relentless and futile, until Trinity finally stepped back. She sank down on the opposite side of the elevator, arms crossed tightly over her chest, hair coming loose from her ponytail.
“It shouldn’t take long for the generator to kick in,” Frank offered, a half-hearted attempt at reassurance.
“Yeah, whatever.” She didn’t bother looking at him.
He couldn’t blame her. Still, something inside him twisted, urging him forward. He’d wanted to talk to her since the moment he’d stepped back into the hospital, since before that, even.
“Since we’re not going anywhere,” he began carefully, “I feel like this might be a good time to—”
“Stop.” Her voice was sharp, final. “Just don’t, okay? You wanna say you’re sorry, that you regret it, blah blah blah. I get it. I figured as much and I don’t care, alright? Water under the bridge. We move on. We don’t have to be friends or whatever.”
Ten months ago, he would’ve let her shut him down. He would’ve been relieved to avoid the discomfort, the shame. But not now. Not after everything he’d lost, and everything he’d been forced to face.
“I know I don’t have any right to ask this,” he said quietly, shifting to one side in an attempt to be in her line of vision, “and maybe I’m being selfish. But if not for you… then just let me say my piece for my own sake?”
She hesitated for a couple of torturous seconds, then shrugged. “Go on.”
Frank inhaled deeply. This was the speech he’d rehearsed alone in mirrors and empty rooms. Somehow, saying it aloud felt infinitely harder.
“Right, so…” He rubbed his hands together nervously. “I do want to say sorry. The way I spoke to you was completely inappropriate, and not just when I yelled at you. The whole day, the way I acted was ridiculous.” He swallowed. “I felt cornered. I knew you were suspicious of me and I knew you were smart enough to figure out what was going on, so I lashed out. I tried to humiliate you so you’d back off. That was… really stupid.”
She stayed silent.
“I didn’t mean the things I said,” he continued. “Well, maybe some of them,” he added quickly. “You are arrogant. And aggravating. And overconfident—”
“You have got to be kidding me,” Trinity interrupted, rolling her eyes.
“But,” Frank emphasized, pushing on, “therapy forces you into a shit ton of self-reflection, and as it turns out, I’m all those things too.”
Their eyes met. For a brief moment, there was something unspoken between them, recognition, maybe even understanding.
“Anyway,” he said softly, “I’m really sorry for how I treated you. And… I want to thank you.”
She frowned. “What could you possibly be thankful for?”
He let out a shaky breath. “Who knows? You might’ve saved my life. The addiction could’ve gotten worse. I could’ve overdosed. I could’ve killed a patient. I could’ve ended up in jail.” His voice wavered. “But most importantly… my kids could’ve grown up without a father.”
Tears burned at his eyes before he could stop them.
“And they didn’t,” he finished. “That’s something I’m thankful for every single day.”
Silence stretched between them. Trinity studied him carefully, as if weighing each word, deciding whether it deserved space and how to move forward.
“How are they?” she asked at last. “Your kids?”
The softness in her voice caught him off guard. Frank smiled despite himself, blinking away the tears that had started forming at his waterline. “They’re good. Tanner’s almost five. And Millie… she gets bigger every time I see her.”
“You don’t see her every day?” Her arms slowly uncrossed.
He glanced down at the wedding ring still circling his finger. It’s ironic how, even after everything, he was still pretending and holding out to this piece of pretend normalcy in hopes no one questioned it. “I didn’t see them for a while when I was in rehab. Now it’s weekends. Abby and I… aren’t doing great.”
“Right.”
“I saw it coming,” he admitted. “I wasn’t exactly the best husband.” He spun the ring absent mindedly. “At least I still get to see my kids.”
She nodded. “Silver linings.”
“How have things been around here?” he asked, eager to steer the conversation away from the wreckage of his personal life.
“Chaotic,” she snorted.
“Yeah. That tracks.”
“It’ll probably get worse now that Robby’s gone for a while.”
Frank winced. “That might be on me.” He gave a dry laugh. “He’s been avoiding me since this morning. Sent me to triage and everything. Wouldn’t surprise me if he just can’t stand the sight of me.”
She scoffed. “Not everything’s about you.”
“Maybe not,” he said. “But this might be a little.”
“He’s more upset that he didn’t catch onto you earlier than anything else,” she replied. “You’re his golden boy.”
“Was,” Frank corrected. “I was his golden boy.”
“Then stop moping,” she said bluntly. “You did what you were supposed to do, right? Rehab, counseling, drug tests. Now just do your job. You’re… half decent at it.”
The elevator chimed, jolting them both. Slowly, almost reluctantly, it began its decent.
“Yeah,” Frank said. “I think you’re right.”
“I usually am.” Trinity stood, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as the doors slid open.
“Thanks for listening,” he said quickly, before she could walk away as far from him as she possibly could.
She paused. “Thanks for apologizing. We can be civil now, I guess.”
Outside, Dana stood waiting, concern etched across her face. “Thank God. I was worried there was a patient stuck in there with you.”
“Just us,” Trinity said lightly stepping out. “Nothing to worry about. See you around, triage boy.”
She walked off without looking back, but the playful lilt in her voice left Frank feeling unexpectedly lighter.
“You two stuck together and nobody lost an eye?” Dana teased, looping her arm through his as they stepped back into the hurricane that was the ED floor. “No scratches either? I’m impressed.”
“Who would’ve thought?” Frank replied, smiling.
“Hell of a first day back, kid.”
“You can say that again.”