by Dianne Drake
He reached over and took hold of her hand, and squeezed it, “Promise.”
“I’ll hold you to it,” she said, squeezing back.
“I hope you do.”
And he meant it. Even if they couldn’t be who they used to be, maybe they could have something else. He hoped so, because not having Sloane in his life left him with a great big hole in his heart.
His whole objective at one in the morning had used to be drinking enough to pass out. That had been his normal in the past. Now he didn’t have a normal. He took it as it came—whatever it was—and struggled through the best way he could.
In a few minutes the struggle would be with Sloane. He wanted to be near her so badly, even though he knew he shouldn’t. But his impulses sometimes still took control, and Sloane was an impulse that he couldn’t cure easily.
* * *
“So, how were your patients?” Carter asked a little while later, as she passed in the hall.
“Everything’s fine. Everybody recovering quite nicely. I’ll get my patient notes to you later, if that’s OK?”
“No need to rush. My receptionist doesn’t transcribe, and it takes me forever to get everything recorded, so I’m really not in a hurry.”
Sloane laughed. “She really didn’t impress me as a good fit for a medical practice.”
“But she comes with the office,” Carter said. “One of those buy-one-get-one offers. And I may not be here much longer than two months anyway, so I can cope with her.”
“Two months?”
“Then on to my bears. It’s the second part of the program. We get all the teaching during the first part, and start on the path to recovery. Then they give you a short reprieve, to see if you’re responding well enough to the program or lagging behind so much you have to repeat the first part of your therapy. They want to make sure you’re ready for each step you’re supposed to accomplish so they can recognize and respond to issues they don’t know about. A lot of people with PTSD cover up certain aspects of it, and the counselors at The Recovery Project expect that and prepare for it.”
“And they’re watching you right now?”
“Not directly. This is my time to see if I can work through what I learned in the first part of the program. But I do call my counselors twice a day. If they think I’m having problems they can’t work through long distance, or if I think I’m having problems, they’ll call me back to Tennessee to see what I need. It’s a tight program. A lot of it’s based on faith in yourself, but most of it’s based on trust.”
“Sounds like you’re really sold on it.”
“I am, because I’m hoping I can come back here and practise when I’m through it. Maybe buy my part of the practice from Matt. Somewhere in the future see what I can set up here to help other people with PTSD problems. Forgeburn has a lot of potential, with its wide-open spaces. It’s a great place to get away and discover yourself, and if it works out for me here, it should work for others.”
“And Matt’s OK with you leaving in a few weeks?”
“He’s great about it. In fact, he’s excited for me He’s going to do some kind of co-operative exchange with the Whipple Creek Clinic to make sure he’s covered. I mean it, this is the place I want to start over, Sloane. It’s not what I had before, but it’s what I need now. Something simpler and scaled back. A chance to breath. And, heal.”
“I guess I expected you to come back to Manning Hospital if you returned to medicine. But this sounds good, Carter. It sounds as though you’ve made some excellent plans for your future, and I’m excited for you.”
“Thank you,” he said simply. “It’s going to take a while, but I’ve got all the time in the world so, as we’ve been saying, baby steps...”
“Do you think you’ll ever return to surgery?” she asked.
“Not in the immediate future. I think the stress of it is part of what triggers me, and my counselors are telling me I must keep my stress levels down. So, it’s not in my plans right now, and I have no idea about the future.”
“You know Daddy will always take you back don’t you? If you get through your program and decide you want to go back.”
Carter knew she meant well. She always had, and he deeply appreciated it. But going back to where he had been? That wasn’t going to happen because his life was about moving forward now.
“Tell him thank you for me and that if I want to be a surgeon again, I’ve got a long way to go to get there. Right now, it’s just not my aim, but Forgeburn is. So, I hope he’s not holding my position open hoping that, by some miracle, I’ll come walking through the hospital door one day, cured and ready to take up surgery again. Because, nothing’s going to cure me, Sloane. I can be helped and taught to take better control of myself and my life. But I’m fighting a lifelong sentence, and I can’t predict any outcomes for myself. That’s one thing I’ve learned in surgery. Work with where you are today and don’t plan too diligently for the future because you’re in transition and things will change.”
“You’ve come a long way in three months, Carter. I hope we can maintain some kind of relationship, so I can see where you’re going because I’m really happy about your progress. I only wish I’d found better help for you months ago, so you could have been on your way sooner, and I’m sorry I didn’t. But it’s all good now, and I’m confident it’s going to work for you, especially seeing how far you’ve come.”
He hoped she meant that. But right now, she seemed so lost, he wasn’t sure. And it was his fault. Every ounce of sadness and doubt he saw in Sloane was what he’d put there. For that, he was truly sorry. And that, above all else, was why he’d left.
It broke his heart seeing the results of his handiwork, and for Sloane to put any part of that behind her, he had to leave. Had to give her a fresh start. It had never been because he didn’t love her. He did when he’d rode away. And still did, now.
But could he ever really love her the way he had? Totally, completely. Especially knowing what his love had cost her? Would it be better to hang back, or pull away altogether? And could she ever love him the way she had, especially after she’d stepped into the role of caregiver of sorts?
The answers weren’t clear. And, they weren’t easy, not for either of them. Their love had changed, and nothing was going to be the same. But, could it work differently?
“It hasn’t been easy, but I’m optimistic the outcome will be better than what I have going for me now.”
“That’s all I ever wanted for you,” Sloane said. “And I suppose I thought I was helping you.”
“You were—by being there. I needed you there, Sloane. Supporting me, but not trying to cure me. That’s my battle, and the only way I can win it is if I figure out the strategies by myself.”
They stepped outside to the veranda and sat on a stone wall overlooking a meticulously-sculpted desert garden with pink-blooming prickly pear cacti, scarlet hedgehog cacti and Joshua trees. The colors, even in the dim lights on the pergola next to them, were breathtakingly vibrant, and his gaze fixed on another couple, walking along the edge of the garden, holding hands, so absorbed in each other there was nothing else in their world. He and Sloane had been that way once, but now, in the dimming of the day, they sat separated by too much distance, physically and emotionally, and he didn’t know how to repair it.
“I’m here, Sloane, because I was worried about slipping back into old patterns that exacerbated my PTSD. The way you worried made my anxiety worse because I didn’t like seeing you suffer. And I didn’t want you worrying about me all the time. Watching. Waiting. Trying to anticipate what I might do next, when that’s something that can’t be anticipated. It wouldn’t have worked for us. In fact, in the long run, I think it would have destroyed both of us. And, you didn’t deserve what my illness was doing to you. I couldn’t watch that, and there were so many times seeing how you suffered caused my anxiety to increase because there w
as nothing I could do to help you.”
“Did I ever complain, Carter? Did I ever say anything that led you to believe that I didn’t want to help you through this?”
“You didn’t have to say anything,” he countered. “I knew you, and I could see how I was affecting you. I could see how nervous you were becoming, see the distractions you were experiencing at work because of me. I was putting you at risk, Sloane. In your personal life and worse, in your job as a surgeon. Most of all, I could see it in your eyes, the way you looked at me, the way you struggled to be patient when I knew you wanted to scream or kick something.”
He reached over and took hold of her hand, then scooted just a little closer.
“In the state I was in, I couldn’t stay there and let it keep happening over and over, so I left. And I’m so sorry that’s what I had to do, but my life was closing in on me. I knew I was getting to my now-or-never point.”
“But, the way you left...”
“It was bad form, and I regret it. But I debated a clean break versus something long and drawn out. And if it had come to long and drawn out, I don’t think I could have left you. Not if you cried, or held on to me, or simply asked. At that time, Sloane, I wasn’t strong enough to do anything other than what I did. So, I suppose I chose what most would consider the coward’s way out, but it’s what I thought was best for both of us.”
“It wasn’t best for me, Carter. You did what you thought was best for you, and you didn’t even tell me what was happening, or how you were feeling. We might have been able to work out some of the problems differently than we did but you didn’t give us a chance, and after so many years...”
Now there were tears in her eyes. He was making her cry again, like the many times she’d hidden herself away from him and cried. He’d heard her. And now, he saw her. But he wasn’t sure he was ready to face the way he hated what he always seemed to do to her.
“Look, I—I um—”
To hell with what he needed. Sloane’s needs came first. They always had because that’s the way he’d always wanted it. Sloane before him. At least prior to his PTSD. Then he’d done selfish things. A few at first, like missing a meal when he knew she’d cooked for him or staying out later than he’d told her he would, which he knew it would cause her to worry. Eventually, it turned into the bigger things—staying out all night, the addictions that were getting closer to being out of control. That’s when he’d shoved Sloane behind him. That’s when he actually believed he owed it to himself to come first in everything. His way, or no way.
But now... Carter moved closer to Sloane and pulled her into his arms as she cried. Quiet sobs on his shoulder. And he held her, stroked her hair, rocked her gently.
“I wasn’t able to work out anything by the time I finally left,” he told her. “But, it was me, not you. Never you, Sloane, and I should have told you that much, tried to make you understand. By the time I left though, I’d already lost me. At least the good parts of me who knew what I was leaving behind. The rest of me—it didn’t really matter.”
She sniffled but didn’t pull away from him.
“You always mattered, Carter. The good, the bad—sure, I was struggling, but there was never a moment you didn’t matter. Until I received your text message. Then I was left wondering what I was doing, and why I wasn’t the one leaving you. I had cause, you didn’t. But I couldn’t walk away, and it wasn’t even because I loved you. And I did. It was because I thought I could help. I truly believed my feelings for you would be part of your cure. I was wrong, though. Wasn’t I?”
He loved her so much he’d had to walk away. She’d loved him so much she’d had to stay.
“I honestly don’t know if you were wrong, or not.”
She finally pushed away from him, the wiped the remaining tears with the back of her hand, then sniffed.
“It shouldn’t have been such a mess. But it was too complicated, and overwhelming, going from a life that made sense to one that didn’t. And we did make sense, Carter. Even now, with all you’ve been through, and with the way our feelings have changed, you know we made sense.”
“Once upon a time,” he said, with a wistful sigh.
“Once upon a time without the happily-ever-after ending. Shouldn’t stories like ours have a happy ending?”
“I used to think so, but after what I saw when I was in the Army, and after what I went through—too many people never get their happily-ever-after ending.”
He stared at her face for a moment. A bit red, a bit blotchy. But so beautiful he ached from the memories of when that face radiated happiness and joy. Then, but not now.
“Look, it’s getting late and I’ve got a couple of late-nighters coming to the office, so I need to get going. If we need to talk some more...”
“Not now,” she said, looking up at him. “Like I said earlier, I’m signed up for that night hike and it’s about time for me to go. So, I don’t want to talk anymore right now, Carter, because I’ve got to figure out where all of this is going.”
She stood up, too, then took three steps forward and placed a soft kiss on Carter’s cheek—an old habit she didn’t want to break. And she didn’t care if she should, because it was the only reminder from their past that transcended their problems and, for that instant, carried them back to when their life together good.
“Once upon a time,” she whispered, then walked away.
Carter watched her until she joined up with her group of hikers on the other side of the desert garden. No matter what it took, he wasn’t going to hurt her again, even if he had to run to a place where he could lose himself forever, if that’s what Sloane needed. Putting her first again—it’s what he had to do even though the outcome would not be what he wanted. But when you loved someone they way he loved Sloane...
CHAPTER FIVE
CARTER LOOKED LIKE HELL. After a long night, followed by a long day, he felt like it, too. Four more re-checks at the hotel and an unexpectedly long queue of patients waiting at his office until halfway through the night, and he was officially exhausted. And grungy. And filled with a fast flurry of thoughts that simply wouldn’t go away. All that, plus his back hurt. Maybe he’d pulled a muscle? Or bumped into something that, by morning, would be a nice purple bruise. Whatever the reason, he just wanted to take his aches and pains and go to sleep. Except, when he tried, sleep rejected him. Caused him to pace the room, then take a couple of acetaminophen for his back, hoping a little bit of over-the-counter relief would finally let him put his head down on the pillow and close his eyes.
Acetaminophen. Such a mild relief for a man who’d been addicted to morphine when he was in the hospital, and anything he could get when he was out. But, it was all he allowed himself, even though a few of his back twinges were beginning to kick him a little harder than he cared for. Which meant it was time to force himself into some kind of relaxation to allow the spasms to subside. Physician, heal thyself. Yeah, right. There were just too many things to heal so he was just taking them one by one rather than overwhelming himself.
Of course, as spasms went, what he was having now wasn’t severe. Not like when he’d been injured, anyway. He’d had a stage five nephrology injury, the worst of the worst. It had been a shattered kidney, excruciatingly torn from its pedicle—basically what had attached his kidney to him. So, he’d had to lose one kidney. And have some surgical repair to the other. Not as excruciating, but painful all the same. Then had come the nephrologist’s pep talk. A lot of people lived a normal, productive life with only one.
Yeah, right. Normal and productive.
All that, and he’d hardly even noticed they’d removed his spleen. Sure, he’d removed dozens of spleens and sure, he’d been the one giving the pep talks. It’s nice to have a spleen, but not necessary. Then the “normal and productive life” malarkey.
What goes around comes around, Carter supposed, as he looked at hi
mself in the mirror and frowned. He needed sleep. A shower to try and ward off the building anxiety, then at least four hours of hibernation before he started all over again. Also, he couldn’t afford any more thoughts about Sloane—they weren’t conducive to shutting his eyes and hoping visions of sugarplums were strong enough to fight their way in.
But that wasn’t happening. Not in the shower. Not in his bed. Not in the rickety, revolting chair next to the bed—the one he’d thrown a sheet over, so he didn’t have to touch the chair’s fabric. The more he fought it, the more his anxiety crept in. If he went to sleep now, he could still get in four hours...three hours...two hours.
What would have happened, he wondered, if he had taken Sloane up on her offer of her room? Or maybe he had subconsciously hoped she’d come back? Or had he simply liked the idea that he was sleeping in her bed, with his head on her pillow?
If that was the case, his diagnosis would have been he was still in love with her. And not in the “fond friend” kind of way, but in every sense of the word. Not that he didn’t already know that.
“Well?” Carter asked the mirror as he started to pace again, knowing if he went to sleep right now, he’d only get one hour “Are you, or aren’t you?”
He didn’t want to do so much as even think the answer because, if he did, he might have to do something about it.
“What? Try to win her back?”
That question came with another scary answer. Sloane still loved him. There was no denying that. And if Carter fell into that, took a sidestep away from his promise not to involve her again, he’d be back at the beginning.
Love didn’t change everything in his case. In fact, it made things worse. Thank God, some reason had latched on to him because while yes, he did want to win her back, he knew he couldn’t do it. He wasn’t ready. And Sloane wasn’t over what he’d done to her before.
Then, there was the fundamental issue of how she triggered him because he hated what he was doing. He was traveling down a crooked path, and love was hard to sort when PTSD was hanging on for that journey.
