by Dianne Drake
“But you feel confident you can take on the part of my practice we’ve discussed? Because I can’t keep an eye on you all the time. Like I told you before, my practice is growing, and I have a family to take care of. You’re like a brother to me, but I can’t look over your shoulder every minute of every day. So I need to feel good about turning you loose on the tourists, because that whole part of my practice can be a problem. You won’t be treating permanent patients but rather patients who are here for only a few days. You won’t have medical histories on them, and you might run into pre-existing conditions that they haven’t divulged to you. There’ll be all kinds of obstacles in taking on the tourist segment of my practice, and everything’s going to be up to you. I’ll be around if you need me, but for the most part you’ll be on your own. Can you manage that?”
Doctor to the tourists in the many resorts near Forgeburn, Utah. He’d never been a GP, so it was going to be a challenge. But since he never backed down from a challenge this would probably work for him. He hoped so. Because he was ready to turn his life around. This living from moment to moment was killing him.
“My counselors think I can, or they wouldn’t have sent that recommendation to you.”
“But what do you think, Carter?”
“That I’m going to try my damnedest. Like I’ve told you already, I can’t predict anything—can’t even make any solid promises. But I want this to work, Matt. For you, because I owe you my life. And for me, because I want some kind of life back. A lot of people with PTSD don’t get the opportunity you’re giving me, and I don’t want to mess that up.”
“And what about Sloane? I know you two aren’t together now, but have you talked to her about any of this?”
“No. The less involvement she has with me, the better it is for her.”
That was the half-truth he always used to convince himself he’d done the right thing in leaving her. She’d taken care of him in the early days. Or tried, when he’d let her. She’d been patient and kind. But he’d given up. Backed away. He hadn’t left her any choice other than to accept what he’d done—which was to leave.
“After she waited all those years for you, you’re not going to try and get her back? Because, next to my Ellie, Sloane is probably the best woman I’ve ever known. I can’t believe you can simply walk away from her the way you did and never look back.”
“Oh, I look back—but all I can see are regrets. Mine. Hers. I can’t go back, Matt. She deserves better than that. Better than me.”
“And she’s told you that?”
No, she had not. But it was what he’d known almost from his first day home.
“I was beating her down. You could see it in her. Day by day, piece by piece, I was taking everything she had away from her. I mean, she’s a brilliant heart surgeon, and such a good person, but I was sucking the life out of her and I hated that. But for Sloane it was like the poet Poe said in his Annabelle Lee: ‘And this maiden she lived with no other thought than to love and be loved by me.’ That’s all she wanted, Matt. To love me and have me love her back. But it wasn’t in me anymore.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Me too—in more ways than I probably even know.”
And in so many ways that he did know. Ways that kept him awake at night. Ways that reduced him to tears when his thoughts wouldn’t be shut off.
“So, like I said, she’s better off without me.”
“And you? Are you better off without her?”
“It doesn’t matter, as long as she’s not part of my life anymore.”
“What is your life, Carter? Other than the job I’m giving you here, what is your life?”
“Damned if I know. But when I figure it out, you’ll be the first to know.”
“That bad?” Matt asked.
“That bad,” he said in earnest. “Hopefully getting better, though.”
“Because of your bear rescue program?”
Carter smiled. “Because of what I hope I can do to make my little part of the program successful.”
“Well, that’s the attitude I’m looking for.” Matt extended his hand across the table to Carter. “So, welcome to Forgeburn’s only medical practice.”
Carter took Matt’s hand, wondering if this was too much, too soon. He was still on a high from the success he’d seen in the first part of his recovery program, but would that be enough to the job that needed to be done here?
For a while he’d ridden the crest of the self-confidence wave, but now he was underneath it. That was PTSD, though, wasn’t it? Always trying to rob you of yourself. Always chipping away at the bits and pieces that seemed to be moving forward.
There was a time when his normal reaction would have been to say, I’ve got this. Now, though, he wasn’t sure what he had—and that was what scared him. Before PTSD, nothing ever had. Now, almost everything did.
But this was the opportunity he needed. So it was time to put one foot forward and hope he could stay there for a while.
“When do you want me to start?”
* * *
Sloane Manning looked at the text messages on her phone, then at her phone messages. Still nothing. She’d been trying to call Carter for weeks. At least once a day. Sometimes twice. Not that there was much to say at this point. But she was concerned. Six years of her life had gone into that man—most of it waiting while he was in the military—and it wasn’t easy to detach herself from the life she’d expected to have by now.
After her father had dismissed Carter from his job at the hospital he’d disappeared. Hadn’t packed anything to speak of. Hadn’t said goodbye or even left a note other than a vague text message. The only thing that had told her Carter was gone was that their apartment—her apartment—seemed so hollow and cold now. She hated being there. Hated being by herself there. Because it was their home, not hers.
Which was why she was moving back in with her dad when she got back from this two-week vacation. She’d waited long enough for Carter to make a move. But after three months it was clear he wasn’t going to do that. In fact she didn’t even know where he was. He’d been in Vegas for a while, but after that...
So here she was at the airport, ready to board a plane to one of the places she and Carter had always talked about. She was ready to give herself some good, hard physical licks in the canyons and the desert. Ready to start over on her own.
“Dr. Sloane Manning,” the attendant at the desk called over the loudspeaker. “Last call for Dr. Sloane Manning.”
Hearing her name startled her out of her thoughts, and almost in a panic she grabbed up her carry-on bag and ran toward the check-in before the loading gate shut.
“Sorry about that,” she said to the attendant. “I was...”
What? Daydreaming about a romance gone bad? Everybody had one, didn’t they? So why would the gate attendant care about hers?
“I was preoccupied.”
The gate attendant made it clear that she didn’t care, and that all she wanted was to get Sloane on the plane and start focusing on the next group of passengers, already filing in to catch the next flight.
So, Sloane hustled herself through, took her seat in the third row of the first-class section, leaned her head back against the headrest and hoped people would assume her to be asleep and leave her alone. The way Carter had done the last few months of their relationship. She in one bedroom, he in the other. Barely talking when they met in the hall. Barely even acknowledging each other’s existence unless it was absolutely necessary.
With her eyes shut she could visualize everything. The apathy. The temper. The outrage. But most of all the pain. She could still feel it burrowing in, winding its corkscrew tentacles around every fiber of her being.
“Still no luck?” Gemma Hastings, Sloane’s surgical assistant, had asked, when she’d informed her people early that morning that she’d be g
one for a couple of weeks.
“It’s done,” she’d told her. “I’ve hung on too long and too hard. It’s time to get myself sorted and start moving in a new direction.”
What that direction was, she didn’t know. But if she didn’t move in some other direction soon, she was afraid she might never move at all. Her friends, even her dad, had been telling her this was what she needed to do. So, after three months she was finally taking their advice. She was taking some me time to readjust.
As for loving Carter—tossing that away wouldn’t be as easy as stepping onto a plane and hiding out for a while. Still, what was the point in worrying about him when he didn’t worry about himself? Or worry about them?
That was the worst of it. He’d given up on them. And quite easily. But here she was, still hanging on. Why? Maybe her feelings for Carter were some sort of remnant, left over from the days when she’d first fallen in love with him, when he had been kind and good, and the best surgeon she’d ever seen. Maybe her love was nothing more than an old habit she didn’t know how to break.
Because she still loved him?
That was the question she didn’t want to answer, because the answer might scare her. Falling in love with one man, then watching him turn into someone else she didn’t even recognize had been tough. Trying to stay in love with the man he’d turned into had been even tougher, because there had still been parts of the Carter she’d known left and she’d been able to see them struggling to get out.
But she’d also been able to see Carter struggling to keep them locked away.
She thought about the day they’d met. She’d already heard about him from her father.
“He’s supposed to be the best of the best,” Harlan Manning had said. “Good at everything he does and full of adventure—which he says keeps him from getting dull.”
“Will he fit in here?” she’d asked her dad. “We’re a conservative little surgery in most regards. Everybody knows everybody else. There’s never any in-fighting, the way I saw it going on during my residency in Boston.”
Generally everybody got along, did their jobs, and walked away contented. But from the description of Carter Holmes she’d had some qualms, because he’d seemed so—out there. He liked big sports—skydiving, mountain-climbing, motorcycling. And he liked the ladies.
That was only his personal reputation—which she totally forgot when she first laid eyes on him. Carter was tall, muscular. Deep, penetrating gray eyes. Dark brown hair, short-cut in a messy, sticking-out style which looked so good on him. Three days’ growth of dark stubble which had made her go weak in the knees, imagining what it would feel like on her skin. And that smile of his...
OMG, it could knock a girl off her feet, it was so sexy.
He’d put all that masculinity to good use, too, asking the hospital owner’s daughter out after only knowing her for five minutes.
Of course she’d said yes. What else could she have done? She’d been smitten at first sight, sexually attracted at second, and in love at third. Well, maybe not real love. But that had come about pretty quickly when, after their first evening together, Carter never went home. Not the next day either, or the day after that. In fact by the third day he had totally moved in to her tiny apartment, making himself right at home as if he’d always been there.
“For what it’s worth, Sloane, Carter was crazy about you,” her assistant had said. “Everybody could see that. So maybe if he gets himself straightened out...”
“If,” she’d responded. “Not going to hold my breath on that one.”
But she was. Every minute of every hour of every day. And it was causing her to be distracted in her operating room. Distraction and heart surgery didn’t mix, and if it continued, she’d either have to step down from her position voluntarily, or her father—in his position as chief—would remove her. He didn’t play favorites when it came to patient care, and she was included in that. So, her distraction could conceivably cost her her job. Which was why she had to get away to sort it out. And maybe Forgeburn, Utah, wasn’t the hub of the universe, but it was beautiful, according to Matt McClain, an old friend.
She’d met him through Carter, and liked him right off. He lived in Forgeburn now, so why not visit? Maybe Matt would have a different insight into Carter than she did.
So, her goal was to sort it out, get over it, then get back to a life where she was in control of herself again—her life as it had been before Carter’s PTSD. She’d had goals then: becoming the head of cardiac surgery at Manning, having a family, a beautiful life. Then PTSD had happened and everything had changed.
“Thank you, Carter Holmes,” she whispered as the pilot announced it was time to prepare for landing. “Thank you for nothing.”
* * *
Matt’s clinic was a few miles away. He’d made that perfectly clear. Which was fine, because it was time for Carter to see if his own two feet would hold him up again.
For that he needed space—and Forgeburn, Utah, had plenty of that. He also needed to be successful here, because getting back to his recovery program was contingent upon that. If he succeeded here, he moved forward in the program. If he failed, he moved back to square one and started all over. If he was lucky.
Being kicked out of the program was a setback Carter didn’t want. What was more, if he got sent back to the beginning, did he have enough left in him to fight his way through it again? He didn’t trust himself enough to believe he could.
Of course he did have a job in medicine again, a place to stay, and a small salary. Life wasn’t great, but it was better, and apologizing to his best buddy was the first step in what he hoped would be many more steps in the right direction.
But not in Sloane’s direction. That much he was sure of.
“This will be fine,” he said to Dexter Doyle, the owner of what had to be the worst hotel within a hundred miles.
So here he was in his new home—one room with a double bed, a toilet, mini-fridge, microwave, desk and chair—all of it dated. It wasn’t the best place he’d ever stayed, but not the worst either. Maybe it was more like a reflection of his life. All the right equipment, but all of it dated—almost to the point of no recognition. Well, he was the one who’d walked out on the best living situation he’d ever had, so he couldn’t really complain.
“Is there a liquor store around here?” he asked, tossing his duffle bag on the bed, hoping bed bugs wouldn’t scurry out.
“A couple miles up the road.”
“And a television?” Carter asked, noticing the room didn’t have one.
“Out for repair.”
“I don’t suppose you offer a wake-up call?”
He remembered the way Sloane had used to wake him up. Always with a smile, and a kiss, and a cup of coffee. Often a whole lot more. Her touch. Her red hair brushing across his face. The mintiness of her breath when she kissed him. Yes, those were the mornings he’d loved waking up.
Dexter pointed to the old digital clock next to the bed. “If you want to wake up, set the alarm.”
“Well, then...” Carter said, sitting down on the bed to test it. As he’d suspected, lumpy and saggy. “Looks like I’m home.” For a while, anyway.”
But he was anxious to return to Tennessee, so he could work toward the next part of his life—whatever that turned out to be.
Upwards and onwards, he thought as he settled into his room. Things were looking up. Especially now that he wasn’t around Sloane any longer. So, on the one hand he liked the feeling of freedom and the optimism that went with it. But on the other he missed his life with Sloane.
It was an ache that had left a hole that would never be filled. But for Sloane he had to endure it and follow the course. More than that, he had to get used to the ache—because she couldn’t be part of him anymore. Not in a real sense. In an emotional sense. However, he’d never let her go. Not now. Not ever. Falli
ng in love with her the way he had didn’t leave room for anything or anyone else. Meaning his destiny was set. And it was going to be a lonely one.
For Sloane, though...he’d do anything.
* * *
Next morning, when Carter surveyed his new office, he was neither pleased nor displeased with it; he was mainly ambivalent. That was the way so many of his days seemed to go, unless he made a hard effort to fight through it.
This morning he hadn’t started his fight yet. It would happen, though. Once he got himself involved he’d find his way through, instead of dwelling somewhere in the middle of it like he’d used to do.
He took another look at it his office. It was basic, but well-equipped. Spotlessly clean, with fresh paint. The white on every wall put him off a little, but color really didn’t matter when the basic medical tools were at his disposal.
The truth was, it wasn’t a bad little office, all things considered. Two exam rooms, a spacious storage closet, a reception area and an office. Matt would subsidize his rent at the hotel and the office for now, and then if Tennessee worked out for him, and he was good enough to come back here full time, he would take over the costs himself and buy out this part of Matt’s practice.
If things didn’t work that way... Well, he didn’t know what came after that. As he’d been told, over and over, by his recovery counselor, “Take it one day at a time, and strive to make that day the best day ever.”
In other words, he was not to mess up his mind with the future when getting through the current day was never guaranteed. It made sense—especially since he was given to projecting his future and that, so often, turned into a PTSD trigger.
Whenever it took him over he could almost feel the impending flare-up course through his veins. His vision blurred, his hands shook, his head felt as if it was ready to explode. He was like a fire-breathing dragon, puffing up and getting ready for his next battle.
Unfortunately Carter’s “next battle” had cost him dearly. His job, the love of his life... And now he was in Forgeburn, running a storefront clinic for seasonal tourists, and a handful of locals who lived closer to Carter’s part of the practice than Matt’s, keeping his fingers crossed that he’d survive this day and make it through till tomorrow.
