Heartbeat 7

I had just finished my morning rounds when James Hawke’s name appeared on my schedule again. His routine follow-up was in an hour, but something about the note from the nurse caught my attention: Patient appears visibly stressed. Blood pressure elevated.

James’s stress levels were an ongoing concern, but this note felt different. Something more significant was weighing on him, and while I wouldn’t say I was concerned—professional detachment was my specialty—I couldn’t ignore the growing tension I’d seen in his demeanor over the past few days.

When I entered the exam room, James was pacing like a caged animal. His tie was loosened, and his usually immaculate suit looked slightly rumpled. He didn’t acknowledge me right away, which wasn’t like him. James Hawke always made a point to command the room, even in a hospital gown.

“Good morning, Mr. Hawke,” I said, setting my tablet down on the counter. “Or is it afternoon? It’s hard to tell when you’re already on edge this early in the day.”

He stopped pacing and turned to me, his expression sharp but tired. “Spare me the commentary, Dr. Matthews,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not in the mood.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Clearly. Care to tell me what’s going on?”

He sighed and sank into the chair beside the exam table, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “It’s nothing,” he muttered.

I crossed my arms, leaning against the counter. “Your elevated blood pressure says otherwise. And given your condition, ‘nothing’ isn’t an acceptable answer.”

He shot me a look, but there was no fire behind it. Just exhaustion. After a long pause, he said, “Derek Sullivan.”

The name meant nothing to me, but it was clear from the way he said it that Derek Sullivan was someone important—and not in a good way.

“Who is Derek Sullivan?” I asked, keeping my tone neutral.

James let out a bitter laugh. “A thorn in my side. He runs a rival tech company and has made it his mission to take me down. We’ve been competitors for years, but now he’s playing dirty. Leaking rumors, poaching clients, undermining my team at every turn. And the worst part? It’s working.”

I watched him carefully, noting the tension in his shoulders and the way his hands fidgeted as he spoke. This wasn’t just a business rivalry; it was personal.

“Why is he targeting you specifically?” I asked.

“Because I’m better than he is,” James said bluntly. Then, after a beat, he added, “And because he’s a vindictive bastard who can’t stand the fact that my company is more successful. He wants what I have, and he’ll do anything to get it.”

There was a bitterness in his voice that I hadn’t heard before. It wasn’t just frustration; it was anger, resentment, and maybe even a hint of fear.

“This kind of stress isn’t good for you,” I said, trying to steer the conversation back to his health. “You know that. If you let it get to you, it’s going to make everything worse.”

He smirked, though there was no humor in it. “Easy for you to say,” he muttered. “You’re not the one fighting to keep your company from falling apart.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “You’re right, I’m not,” I said. “But I am the one fighting to keep your heart from failing. And if you keep letting this Derek Sullivan get under your skin, you’re going to make my job a lot harder.”

James leaned back in the chair, running a hand down his face. “I can’t just ignore it,” he said quietly. “If I don’t fight back, I lose everything I’ve worked for.”

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, I didn’t know what to say. I could see the weight of the pressure he was under, the fear of losing control—of losing everything. It was a fear I understood all too well, though I would never admit it to him.

“Then find a way to fight back that doesn’t destroy you in the process,” I said finally.

He looked at me, his expression unreadable. “That’s easy for you to say,” he said. “You don’t understand what it’s like to have everything you’ve built threatened by someone who wants to see you fail.”

I straightened, my arms still crossed. “You’d be surprised what I understand,” I said evenly.

He frowned, as though trying to decipher my meaning, but I didn’t elaborate. Instead, I grabbed my tablet and began typing notes.

“We’re increasing your medication dosage slightly to help manage your blood pressure,” I said, keeping my tone clinical. “And I’m scheduling you for another round of tests next week to make sure there aren’t any additional complications.”

James didn’t respond right away. When I glanced up, I saw that he was watching me, his expression softer now.

“Do you ever take your own advice?” he asked suddenly.

I blinked, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

He gestured vaguely. “You’re always telling me to take it easy, to manage my stress. But I’m guessing you’re not exactly a model of work-life balance yourself.”

I bristled at the implication but forced myself to stay composed. “My personal habits aren’t relevant to your treatment,” I said curtly.

He smirked, though it was faint. “Touché,” he said, leaning back in the chair again.

There was a moment of silence, and I could see the gears turning in his head. He was still worried, still stressed, but there was something else there too—something quieter, more contemplative.

“Thank you,” he said finally, his voice softer than before.

I raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

“For putting up with me,” he said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “And for not sugarcoating anything. Most people don’t talk to me like you do.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so I didn’t. Instead, I closed my tablet and stood up. “Get some rest, Mr. Hawke,” I said. “And try not to let Derek Sullivan ruin your day.”

He chuckled softly, though there was still a hint of bitterness in his tone. “Easier said than done,” he muttered.

As I left the room, I couldn’t help but think about his words. For all his bravado and arrogance, James Hawke was a man under siege—not just by a rival company, but by his own fears and insecurities.

And as much as I wanted to keep my distance, I couldn’t deny the faint pang of empathy I felt. Because if there was one thing I understood, it was the weight of expectations—and the fear of falling short.