A Heart for the Holidays

by Dana Volney

  “Because I can’t give you what you want. I’m not future material.”

  “What does that even mean?” Now was the chance for everything unsaid between them to be out in the open.

  “Even though I want it to, this—you and me—will never work out.”

  “You’re ending it before it’s even begun?”

  “I’m thinking only of you.” He turned, the wide expanse of his back to her.

  She couldn’t say anything. She knew why, and she wanted to tell him, lay out why that reasoning was dumb, remind him that if he stayed on the list he’d probably get a transplant in time and they could be together. For a very long time.

  “Wait.” She closed her eyes. He wasn’t going to like any of what was about to tumble from her mouth. “I—”

  Without any warning his hands were cupping her face, and his lips were on hers, hard and wanting. She leaned in, opening her mouth to him.

  “Silver. There’s nothing you can say. I’m sorry. This is all on me.”

  Before she could say anything more, he was gone. Just like that. She walked to her living room window in time to hear his SUV door slam and the engine turn over. She braced her foot on her other leg and leaned against the wall, tears silently falling to the carpet.

  It all went wrong so fast. She shouldn’t have lied. She shouldn’t have rushed things. She shouldn’t have started to trust a man who refused to open his heart.

  chapter SEVEN

  Fisher dialed the regional transplant office on Monday—for the second time. It was harder to get off the list than on.

  “Prairie Wind Medical Center. How can I help you?”

  “I’m calling about the transplant list. I need to sign a release to take my name off the list.”

  “Okay. Your name?”

  “Fisher Tibbs.”

  “Hey, Fisher. It’s Janae. I thought that was sent out to you already.”

  “I haven’t seen it. Do you need me to come in?”

  “No. I’ll make sure Dr. Morgenstern takes care of it.” There was a long pause, and he felt it coming. The question. “Is there anything I can say to change your mind?”

  “No, Janae. There isn’t. How’s Whitney?” Janae had a daughter Maggie’s age. They’d been friends because, as a nurse, Janae had brought her daughter to play with Megpie while she was in the hospital.

  “She’s doing good. Her birthday is next month. You should come by the party. We’re going to have it at the park by you.”

  “Let me know, and I’ll swing by.”

  Maggie and Whitney would’ve been lifelong friends. They were both sweet girls with hearts of gold. It would be a hard day, but he should go wish Whitney a happy birthday at least.

  • • •

  Silver had been going through her pile of mail and hospital information and other items on her to-do list when Fisher’s name appeared on the stationary Janae favored.

  He wanted his paperwork.

  He hadn’t let it go.

  She grabbed the forms out of the bag she’d been carrying around since she’d gone to see him that first day. If he wanted them, she was going to give them to him. He could ink his death certificate if he wanted—that didn’t mean she had to mail it in and make it a reality.

  She filled out a return envelope, addressing it to her office, specifically Dr. Morgenstern. If her cover hadn’t been blown at the fundraiser, the chances of him finding out now were slim, unless she told him. And she had no intention of telling him now.

  She cradled her head in her hands. She needed to tell him. It was stupid, really. Not even a big deal.

  But if it wasn’t such a big deal, why couldn’t she just tell him that she was in charge of the local transplant list? Instead, every time she saw him they moved further from the truth and further from any kind of real chance at a relationship.

  She rocked her head onto the hand she had braced on the desk. She did want a relationship with him.

  Someone who still didn’t want a heart.

  Was it dumb to want him to change his mind now that they’d met? Now that he knew her? Cared for her enough to think about his future? Because if she were really being honest, that’s what she wanted. And wouldn’t that be romantic?

  She sucked in a deep breath of stale hospital air. If—basically, when—he returned the papers, she’d call him and come clean. She’d lay everything out: who she was, what her job really entailed, and why he shouldn’t want her to make his request final. Then, after he had a couple of days to absorb the information she was sure to spew in one breath, she’d go to CCH, make him really hear her, really process that he wasn’t alone in life and had a bright future that could be filled with whatever he wanted. She shoved the papers in a manila envelope.

  The feelings were currently one-sided. She knew that.

  Still, she could hope he’d eventually come around and fall in love with her. And maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be too late to save his life.

  chapter EIGHT

  He shouldn’t be at work on Christmas Eve, but sitting at home only left him alone with his thoughts about Silver. At least here he could go through the stacks of mail that had piled up before he had to be at Henry’s for dinner.

  If he’d met Silver last month or a year ago, would he have made the same decision to pull his name from the transplant list? Was it still his best move even now? He hadn’t read the fine print when he’d returned the paperwork, but he was sure he couldn’t change his mind and reclaim the same spot on the list. He’d be moved to the bottom, and that wouldn’t give him a heart in time. So the decision was a done deal, no matter who came into his life or how they made him feel.

  Silver had called a couple of times, but each time he let it go to voicemail and hadn’t brought himself to listen to the messages yet.

  He might’ve been able to have a future if he would’ve waited just another day to request the paperwork.

  He’d shaved, put on a black button-up shirt, and told himself all morning that he wasn’t going to go see Silver. Wasn’t going to apologize for the other night and his behavior.

  Sharing with her, laughing with her, caring about her. It had, all of a sudden, become too much. He couldn’t be what she needed no matter how much he wanted to. And, damn it, he did. He wished he was in perfect health, looking into his bright future, and could ask her to be by his side.

  But it was better that things ended now and that it was all on him. With his luck, she’d probably refuse to leave him and stay by his side until death did them part—in about twenty-four months. He couldn’t do that to her. He wouldn’t.

  Everything was better this way.

  He picked up his phone to call Henry as he stretched his sore back. He really needed to get a new mattress.

  “Yes to beer,” Henry answered on the first ring. “Don’t cheap out.”

  “I’ll be just a bit longer.” Fisher rubbed his clean-shaven jaw. Man, he was getting old. His body was sure sore today.

  “You went in to work, didn’t you? You’ve got to step back and enjoy your days off. Hell, even I don’t work on Christmas Eve.”

  “Just catching up while there’s no one here.”

  “What about Silver? Don’t couples like to spend holidays together?”

  “We were never a couple. And, anyway, I ended things.”

  “Fisher.” Henry’s lawyer voice was automatic when he was about to lecture. “You have got to stop living like you are dying. You like her. Don’t shut her out. And get your ass back on that list.”

  A humorless chuckle filled Fisher’s small office. “When will you acknowledge that I actually am dying?”

  “Not going to happen. I will acknowledge that you have choices you keep running away from.”

  “I’m not running away from anything.”

  “Fisher, you are running away from happiness and sadness and the act of living life. You can’t control everything.”

  If I could, my daughter would still be alive.

 
; “Go to her,” Henry continued. “Get back on the list. And trust that you deserve happiness. As your best friend, that’s all I ask.” Henry clicked off, and Fisher leaned back in his chair before he made the effort to hang up his phone.

  That was a real conversation.

  They hadn’t talked about Maggie in a while, and Henry hadn’t been that straightforward about his condition in just as long. The call about the will was the first in years when they’d had an open dialogue.

  There were merits to Henry’s reasoning. Stupid points that, even if Fisher believed them, he couldn’t do anything about.

  If he came clean to Silver, if he laid it all out in the open, would she reject him or want to spend as much time with him as possible?

  There was only one way to find out.

  He grabbed the top three envelopes sitting in his mail bin, tearing open the side of the first one.

  An updated information request from the National Organ Transplant List.

  He pressed his lips together, throwing the letter on the desk and sitting up so fast the back of his chair snapped up with his momentum. Great, just what he needed—a reminder of his decision that John or Wilson or any of the countless deserving people under his name on the list needed help more than he did. Now he could add bad timing to his list of grievances about his lot in life.

  They shouldn’t need anything from me now. He didn’t ever want to hear from the registry again. It was chipping away at the surety of his decision slowly but surely, and what was left didn’t make him smile. It flipped his gut. He dialed the 800 number on his cell and grabbed his jacket. He was going to get double the beer and set them straight all at the same time.

  “National Organ Transplant List. How many I help you?” a cheery voice greeted him as he left the building.

  “My name is Fisher Tibbs, and I have removed myself from the list yet I just got a form asking to confirm my contact and medical information.”

  “Okay, Mr. Tibbs, thank you for calling. Let’s check into the issue.” A keyboard clicked on her end as he started his SUV and pointed it toward the only liquor store open on Christmas Eve.

  “Can you confirm your birthdate and social security number?”

  He rattled off the information. Maybe he’d get a bottle of whiskey, too. He wasn’t supposed to be drinking, let alone the harder stuff. But if he was ever going to make an exception, today was it.

  “I see here that you are still on the list, quite high up in your region I might add, and … Nope, there’s been no request submitted to remove your name.”

  “I filled out the paperwork last week. Would you not have received it yet?” A small bit of hope started to spark—maybe he could void the paperwork if they hadn’t made his request official yet.

  Would he be doing that for Silver or for himself? He gripped his phone and steering wheel tighter and stopped at a red light.

  “All paperwork sent to us is overnighted. We should’ve received it from your local office.” Her words were spread out as if she was searching for something else while she spoke. “Our regional office is run out of the Prairie Wind Medical Center by a Dr. Silver Morgenstern.”

  Silver Morgenstern? How many Silvers were in this town? Who worked at the same place?

  There was only one answer.

  She’d known the entire time about his condition. And had sent him the form to remove himself from the list as he’d requested. But never actually filed it.

  Could that be right?

  “I’ll, um, call them to get this straightened out then.” He disconnected before he could do something stupid like remove his name out of spite. Dammit, he was going with the plan he’d established a month ago. A plan he’d been completely at peace with until he’d met Silver. It was not a decision he’d come to lightly, yet she’d chosen to totally disregard it.

  His entire body tensed, his face hot. His stomach turned, and vomit threatened his throat.

  He was the only person at the stoplight when it turned green, so he flipped the car around, pointing his SUV toward Silver’s house.

  She didn’t get to make this big decision for him.

  He ignored the relief his mind was trying to push at him. He didn’t want to even try to think of her reasons for not carrying out his wishes. They were his wishes, dammit. Not hers. They weren’t a team.

  They weren’t in this life together.

  They weren’t anything.

  • • •

  Silver bundled up in her black jacket, wrapping the gold scarf around her neck and digging around her purse and then the closet for the matching gloves. She was already late for Christmas Eve dinner. Her brother had called twice already to confirm. Something was up—Lilia was probably expecting, which would be outstanding.

  Good thing I never told Mom about Fisher. Silver absolutely wouldn’t have been able to handle today if she’d had to explain over holiday dinner that Fisher, who she was not dating, didn’t want anything to do with her anymore. She hadn’t called him this week from her work number to explain her role in the transplant list though. A part of her didn’t want him to answer and find out who she really was. That hadn’t stopped her from obsessing every time her phone dinged, pinged, or made any sort of noise, or from being completely let down when it wasn’t him calling to apologize and tell her he wanted them to be together.

  Finally, her gloves were already stuffed in her black jacket pockets. She grabbed them and opened her door, looking for her keys to lock up.

  “Silver.” A stern male voice caught her by surprise, and she screamed, jumping back into the doorway.

  Her head whipped up, and the panic surging through her veins was replaced with happiness. Until the stern set of Fisher’s face registered.

  “What’s wrong?” She glanced over his body. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. Except for the beads of sweat on his forehead. It had to be in the single digits outside.

  “Why don’t you look for yourself?” He thrust a white paper at her and put his hands on his hips.

  She recognized the red logo first, and her gut started to churn acid. Judging by his curled lip and the cold eyes staring down into the depths of her soul, he’d figured it out.

  “Fisher, I—”

  “Do you lie to all patients, or just to me, Dr. Morgenstern?”

  Her purse dropped to the snow on her porch. “I didn’t intend to lie. I wasn’t trying to deceive you.” All of the time she’d spent over the past couple of weeks fantasizing about Fisher and the different conversations they could have, needed to have, and all of those words completely eluded her now. But she needed to explain herself before she lost him for good.

  “So you were just going against my direct wishes. Is this a habit of yours?”

  “No—”

  “You don’t get to make decisions for me.” His voice rose, but he wasn’t shouting yet. That was probably coming though, given the hard set to his face. “Why did you even show up at CCH?”

  “To meet you. To talk to you about your decision and the ramifications.” Tears filled her eyes. His eyes weren’t giving. He hated her. “To show you there’s more to life. More to live for.”

  “So I’m your personal charity mission now? Or are there others?” His cheeks reddened, and she could see white knuckles by his sides.

  “You need to calm down. This isn’t good for your heart.” She shook her head as tears streamed down her face.

  “You don’t get to doctor me. I’m not your patient. All of this. Since the day we met. It was all because of the stupid list? What, you can’t fix your own life so you wiggle your way into others’ under the guise of saving them?” His words were thicker, harder with each sentence.

  “That’s why I met you, but our friendship hasn’t been because you’re a project of any sort.”

  “The next time I hear from you, it better be because you are confirming my name isn’t anywhere near that list.” He turned on her porch to leave.

  “Why do you want to die so
badly?” she spat out, heat flushing through her body. How the events had unfolded in their relationship was regrettable, but her actions didn’t absolve him of choosing to give up his future.

  He froze on the steps, his head hanging for a moment before he turned back to her, the tightness in his brown eyes not relenting, not letting her in at all. She wanted to slap him senseless so he’d get off his high horse. How was it that she was the only one battling for his life? She gritted her teeth. She was on the edge of giving him both barrels, because what did it matter now? He was pissed, and anything that had started between them clearly didn’t matter to him.

  “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

  “No,” she crossed her arms over her chest, “you don’t, and I know that you don’t want to believe me, but I regret the way I handled this. I made mistakes.” She took a breath, trying to steady her voice.

  “You did.” He raised his hands to his sides, the anger in his eyes replaced with the broken resolution that usually surfaced when she gave a patient bad news. “You knew this whole time and still let me care about you.” The smallness of his voice broke her heart as he headed for his truck down her un-shoveled path.

  No, this day, this conversation, wasn’t supposed to go like this. She cared about him, too. So much. “Fisher, I—”

  “Save it.”

  Like hell. This was probably the last time she’d ever have his attention to speak her peace. “Your giving up on any sort of future you may or may not have doesn’t bring Maggie back. This won’t give her death meaning.”

  “Don’t you dare presume to know why I made my choice.”

  She opened her mouth to tell him that everybody had crap in life to deal with so suck it up like everyone else, when he suddenly fell to his knees, one hand reaching for the ground, the other to his chest. She dashed down the steps as he landed on his side in the snow.

  “Fisher!” She crashed to her knees beside him and gripped his waist, rolling him onto his back. She pressed two fingers to his wrist as she pulled her phone out of her pocket with her free hand and called 911. He was alive, but his pulse was weak. She lived three minutes from the hospital, but there was no way she’d be able to get him in her car.