by Roni Loren
Even in the short span of her relationship with Lane, every space was tainted with memories of him, of what could’ve been. She’d spent the first few days crying and not wanting to get out of bed, but she’d recognized the warning signs quickly, the old depression trying to grab hold of her. She’d forced herself to get out of the house and back to work. She couldn’t mope when she had patients to take care of. They would be her focus. Her job would be her anchor.
But once she’d wrangled in some of the weepiness, the anger had swept in behind it. She’d wanted to be pissed. To rage. But she didn’t even know whom or what to be angry at. Lane for being so determined to keep his job? Herself for being unable to turn off the possessive switch? Fate for bringing her someone so wonderful but whom she ultimately couldn’t have?
He’d told her he loved her, dammit. They should be together right now, starting a life. Instead, here she was, miserable as hell, alone, and drowning her sorrow in non-stop work.
The coffee turned bitter in her mouth. All the ruminating wasn’t going to change the situation. There was no fix. No prescription she could write to heal this. His job was non-negotiable for them both, and they were on opposite sides. Love didn’t fix everything. That was a lie the world sold in movie theaters and in books with pretty covers.
She would figure out a way to move past this. She would have to.
Even if it felt impossible right now.
She turned the corner to head toward her office, her pager buzzing against her hip, and almost ran into Oriana. Her coffee sloshed onto the floor and she held it away from her body, narrowly missing spilling it down the front of her white coat.
“So sorry,” Ori said quickly. “Isa from X-wing just called. She needs you over there immediately.”
Elle frowned and checked her pager, seeing the extension for the sex therapy wing and the code that indicated it was urgent but not life-threatening. She tossed her coffee in a nearby trash can and nodded at Ori. “You’re in charge of the unit until I get back.”
“Got it.”
Elle swung by her office to grab a basic medical kit and hoofed it over to the other building. She rarely had emergencies that called her off her unit, but it was a weekend and there were fewer M.D.s working, probably none in the outpatient buildings. Last time she was called out of the blue like this, two kids in the teen program had gotten in a fight and a nose had been broken.
She pushed through the doors to the X-wing and stopped in front of the receptionist desk where Isa, the main assistant for the unit, looked up with relief in her brown eyes. “Oh, thank God. They got ahold of you.”
“What’s going on?”
“It’s one of yours. Come on.” Isa hurried from behind the desk and motioned for Elle to follow her, her shoes clicking on the shiny floors. Once they turned the corner, there was a forlorn sound coming from down the hall, a weeping voice. Raymond, one of the psychiatric aides from a different unit, was hovering near the doorway, his dark bald head gleaming in the light from the window but concern on his usually jovial face. Isa pointed toward the door. “One of your patients…she had some sort of episode in session and attacked. I called Ray but he…wasn’t allowed to help.”
“Wasn’t allowed…” But Elle’s words trailed off as she peeked into the open doorway and saw the scene.
Jun Alexis was in the corner of one of the therapy rooms in a robe, her face mascara-streaked and her arms around her knees. Lane was on the floor next to her, not touching her, his lips murmuring soothing words. Jun looked like she couldn’t accept them. She was shaking her head, everything about her dialed up into some anxiety state.
“I tried to help, Dr. McCray,” Raymond said, his voice library quiet. “She went after Lane and was hurting him. But he called me off. Said it would make her worse. I wasn’t sure what to do, but he’s got her calmer now. She was…out of her head.”
Shit. She gave a quick nod. “Okay. Thanks for coming down here, Ray. Let me go and see what’s going on. You mind sticking around in case we need help with a transport?”
“Not at all.” Raymond slipped out of the way so that Elle could step inside, and she shut the door behind her, affording Jun privacy.
Elle cleared her throat, working to keep her voice low and calming so she didn’t startle the woman. “Hi, Jun.”
Lane looked up, flinching slightly when he saw that it was Elle but quickly recovering a professional mask. Deep scratches marred the side of his face, blood trickling down his cheek.
Elle took a breath. Jun hadn’t lifted her head, so she directed her request to Lane. “Tell me what’s going on.”
Lane glanced at Jun, concern all over his face, and turned back to Elle. “We were having a session. She was practicing progressive relaxation while we did some touch exercises. She was doing fine until I touched her thigh. It triggered some sort of flashback and she reacted violently.”
Jun sobbed softly and rocked, whispering to herself, something that sounded like sorry over and over again.
“I stopped the exercise immediately, but it was too late. She was lost to whatever memory it was and attacked me. Ray came to help, but she screamed at the sight of him. I didn’t want to make it worse with”—his gaze held heartbreak on Jun’s behalf—“two men restraining her.”
Jun whimpered and scooted against Lane, seeking comfort from the man she’d apparently just attacked. He ran a gentle hand over her head, protective, almost brotherly. “It’s okay, Jun. The doc’s here to help. We’re both here to keep you safe.”
Elle’s heart clenched.
“She’s calmed some now,” he continued. “But I didn’t know what to do from here. Dr. Rush and Dr. West are off today. She’s still trembling all over and she may have hurt her hands when she was hitting me.”
Hitting him. Scratching him. Tearing his shirt from what Elle could see. The only way such a tiny thing like Jun could make a big guy like Lane look so ravaged was if he hadn’t attempted to hold her back or restrain her at all.
But Elle couldn’t worry about that now. Her first concern was Jun.
Elle squatted down to get eye level with her. The edgy musician who was usually so full of brash, bold attitude looked like a child trying to curl in on herself. Black eye makeup had made sooty streaks down her cheeks and her shoulders curved inward. “Okay, Jun. It’s just me, Dr. McCray. I’m here to help and make sure you’re all right. Let’s see what we have going on, okay? I want to make sure you’re not hurt.”
Elle kept her voice gentle and didn’t reach out to touch her. Jun shivered.
“Is it okay if I check your pulse?”
Jun nodded.
“Thank you.” She gently took Jun’s wrist and pressed her fingers against it, feeling the racing heartbeat and her clammy skin. She had her stethoscope but didn’t want to spook Jun by touching her anywhere near her chest. “I need you to take some slow breaths for me, all right? Concentrate on filling your lungs all the way up and then releasing it slowly. You’re safe now.”
Jun attempted the deep breathing, and though the breaths were by no means long ones, they were sufficient to keep her from hyperventilating or worsening the panic response.
“Good.”
“I feel like I’m going to pass out,” she said between breaths. “My chest hurts.”
“You’re having a panic attack from the flashback, which may make you feel like you’re dying. But it’s just your mind trying to protect you, okay? Your body’s acting like there’s present danger, but it’s sending a false signal,” Elle soothed. “Whatever memory got to you is just that, a memory. You’re here at The Grove on Saturday afternoon. You’re safe. You’re not hurt. No one here is going to hurt you.”
“I hurt Lane,” she whispered.
Elle glanced at Lane. The gashes in his cheek had to burn like hell, but his attention was solidly on Jun.
“Lane’s a big boy. He can survive a few scratches.”
Lane gave Jun’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Don’t worry
about me. Just listen to the doc and breathe.”
Jun pressed the heels of her hands against her eye sockets, her body still racked with a deep trembling. “Please give me a sleeping pill. I’ve never needed one so bad in my life. I can’t…think about that night. I could see them, could smell their sweat, could feel—please. Just give me something to knock me the fuck out.”
Elle frowned. Sleeping pills had been one of the things Jun had detoxed from when she’d come into the rehab program. Affording her that kind of oblivion would only make things worse, but she wasn’t going to break that news to her right now. “Let’s get you back to the unit and we can help you feel better. Okay?”
After a long moment, Jun nodded and whispered, “Okay.”
Jun didn’t fight when Raymond rolled in a wheelchair and they transported her back to Elle’s unit. Lane followed them, wanting to make sure Jun was okay. Other patients gazed curiously at the group when they headed toward Jun’s room, but the mind-your-own-business look Elle gave them quelled the stares.
Oriana was waiting for Jun when they arrived. Elle briefed her on what had happened and ordered the nurse to bring a dose of a non-addictive anxiety pill that would give Jun some relief without knocking her out. Ori would handle the talk therapy since she was the primary counselor on the case, and Elle would check in with Jun later. Jun’s current diagnosis didn’t include PTSD but if she was having flashbacks, Elle and Ori would need to dig deeper.
Once Elle had everything squared away, she turned to find Lane waiting outside in one of the cushy armchairs. He had cleaned off some of the blood but his scratches still looked angry and red. He stood, frown lines bracketing his mouth. “Is she okay?”
Elle blew out a breath and looped the stethoscope she’d been holding around her neck. “She’s calmer and Oriana will help her talk some of it through. I also gave her meds to help.”
He nodded, worry etched around his eyes. “Good. She was so terrified. She wasn’t there with me anymore and to think I triggered—”
Elle held up a hand. “Why don’t you come to an exam room and I’ll get you cleaned up? We shouldn’t discuss details out here. The rehab unit is all about the gossip.”
He touched his cheek and flinched. “It’s just a few scratches.”
“And a torn shirt and a bite mark on your shoulder.”
He glanced down at his shoulder like he hadn’t even noticed.
She cocked her head. “Come on. You don’t want to let bite marks or fingernail scratches fester. Lots of germs, high risk of infection.”
He looked too tired to argue. He pushed himself up from the chair and followed her to a room near her office that doubled as a secondary exam room and a place where unruly patients were taken to cool down. She directed him to the paper-covered exam table and went to the cabinet for supplies.
As long as she kept moving, stayed focus on the task at hand, she didn’t have to think about the fact that she was alone with Lane in a room. She snapped on latex gloves and stood in front of him, eyeing the gashes in his cheek and studiously avoiding his gaze. The cuts were deeper than she’d expected and ragged. “She got you good. That woman is probably a hundred pounds soaking wet. How’d she inflict this much damage?”
He ran a hand over the back of his head. “The power of mortal fear. I could see it in her eyes. She was no longer there with me. I was one of her attackers, and she lost it. I could’ve stopped her, but if I had tried to hold her arms or restrain her in some way, how bad would those memories have gotten? How much deeper into that hell would they have taken her? I’m trained in some things, but not how to bring someone out of a flashback. I didn’t want to make it worse.”
Elle’s gaze flicked up, meeting his. “So you just let her attack you?”
“It was so hard to see her in so much pain.” His eyes held sadness. “I thought maybe if she felt like she was winning, like she was taking back control, she would snap out of it or get some control over the memory. That maybe if she could lash out, it would help. Change the outcome of that memory. If that meant a few scratches or bruises for me, so be it.”
Elle released a breath, all the starch leaving her. He’d wanted to absorb Jun’s pain, take it from her however he could, even if that meant he’d bleed over it.
Goddammit, why did this man have to be so…so impossible not to want?
She’d met so few genuinely kind people in her life that she didn’t trust it when people appeared that way. Her ex had looked like a nice guy at first, too. It was a lie. Everyone had an agenda. In the beginning, she’d assumed Lane did, too. But he’d proven her wrong time and time again. This man was a good man. He would rather get scratched and bruised if he knew it could help make his client’s life less painful. That was who he was.
His job was who he was. Which was why he’d had to walk away from her when she’d made him choose. She’d thought it was pride and not wanting to accept money from her, but now she realized that was only a small part of it.
Lane had spent the first part of his life feeling less than—the “dumb” student who couldn’t read, the poor kid among the rich, the child who was only loved conditionally, and then the hired body that was simply there for rich women’s amusement. Becoming a surrogate had freed him from all that, had given him an identity and purpose. He’d learned that he was gifted at helping people overcome things, at guiding them to a happier life. He loved his job for many of the same reasons she loved hers. And needed it. Just like she did.
If he’d asked her to stop being a doctor, to let him cover her bills, what would she have told him?
The realization made her stomach hurt. She hadn’t simply asked him to give up a job. She’d asked him to give up who he was. She’d asked for too much.
“That was a good instinct not to hold her down,” she said quietly. “That could’ve made the flashback more vivid and traumatic for her. This will sting.” She dabbed at his cheek with disinfectant, earning a soft hiss from him. “But it’s also your right to protect yourself.”
“I know. Maybe I’m a closet masochist,” he said with a smirk.
She briefly met his gaze and moved to cleaning the teeth marks on his shoulder. “Well, you did date me, so I wouldn’t rule that out.”
He was quiet for a long moment and she kept her focus on treating his wounds, afraid to look him.
“Maybe we both are,” he said finally. “I’ve certainly felt tortured since that night in the parking lot. We seem to be good at doing that to each other.” He blew out a breath. “Maybe I should’ve left you alone at that party after all.”
The admission sent a prickly pain spreading through her chest and tightening her insides. Would she take that back if she could? Go back to where she’d been? Save herself this pain?
Without that party, she would’ve never kissed him, touched him. She would’ve never stood up to her ex. She wouldn’t be speaking to her sister again. She’d be home. Safe in her predictable world. Alone. She wouldn’t know what it felt like to be loved and to lose it. Her heart wouldn’t be broken.
She wouldn’t know anything about Lane Cannon at all.
She could feel his attention on her as she spread antibiotic gel on the bite and bandaged it. Her heart was beating too quickly. Being near him was making the ten days they’d been apart hurt worse, the ache in her chest unbearable.
Say something.
The words wouldn’t come. Why was she doing this to herself? Why did she always make everything so hard? The riot of feelings was like broken shards of glass in her throat, trying to get out but drawing blood.
She closed her eyes, her hand pressing over the bandage, and forced the words past her lips. “Please don’t take that back.”
His body stilled beneath her, no movement except the steady beat of his heart beneath her hand. “The party?”
“Any of it.” She pressed on, needing to get it out. “The time I’ve spent with you has been…everything.”
“Elle.” Her name whispered out
of him on an exhale.
“I know I asked too much of you. I’m sorry,” she said, the apology freeing her from some of the tightness in her chest. “I’m sorry that I made your job sound like something disposable and that I insulted you with my offer. I’m sorry that I was so selfish.”
“Selfish?”
She opened her eyes, finding his attention fixed on her, questions there. She licked her lips, her blood thumping in her ears. “I wanted you all to myself. I didn’t think about what that meant for you or exactly what I was asking you to sacrifice. I was only thinking of what I wanted. I’d finally found someone I loved and I didn’t want to share him, even with patients. So yeah. Selfish. And self-centered. And unreasonable. And—”
“Wait.” His face went blank. “You love me?”
She groaned and pulled off her gloves. “Yes. Keep up, Cannon. I’m fucking miserably in love with you.”
He blinked.
“And I thought I could get over it. I thought I had to. Because other women and perfume and…all the things!” She knew she probably wasn’t making sense but she couldn’t stop. “Then today…today you show up and let a patient go after you just to give her the chance to feel better. Just to help and be there for her.” She tossed her gloves in the trash like they’d offended her. “How am I supposed to fight against that? You’re…impossible not to love.”
His eyebrows lifted at that. “I’m…sorry?”
“You should be, goddammit.”
“Doc,” he said, voice gentle.
She crossed her arms, frustrated tears threatening. “Don’t doc me.”
He reached out, caught the pocket of her white coat with his finger, and pulled her closer. “Doc.”
The repeated endearment undid her. Tears slipped down her cheeks. “What?”
He cradled her face in his palms, holding her gaze. “I’ve got news for you. You’re just as much to blame. You’re impossible not to love back.”
She sniffed. “That is empirically, verifiably untrue. Ask most people who know me.”
