It might sound awkward and clinical, but it was his true feeling, and she deserved to know.
But she’d just told him she was pregnant!
Now he’d have to jump ahead dozens of steps in the relationship to admit the big secret. The one he’d planned to carry around with him for days, taking his own sweet time to tease her with dumb grins, special touches, secret glances at work, all building to the big revelation. I’m in love with you, can’t you tell? Now everything had changed. Because the pregnancy forced it. And long before he was ready he had to admit it. The truth shocked him, made his mouth go dry. This was never supposed to happen again.
She wasn’t merely “a thing.” She hadn’t ever been.
He loved her. Damn it, he loved her. But there wasn’t time or the luxury of basking in that knowledge because she was already making him a father. Again.
Part of him wanted to kick himself for getting into this position in the first place. Wasn’t a man supposed to learn from his history? Why had he let himself think he could be normal, pick up his life, enjoy getting close with a woman again? He’d been playing with fire since he’d first asked her out. If only Charlotte hadn’t made it so enticing and easy.
Sure, blame her. You wanted her long before she came around to the idea. His fingers flew to his brows and rubbed up and down, as if that might help clear his head.
He’d sat there just now at her house like a big dolt when she’d told him. His jaw had dropped open, mind numbed by the news, unable to respond. This is all out of order. I need more time to get used to the first part! You’re not just a thing to me. I think I love you.
He’d seen her inconsolable reaction, as clear as her beautiful brown eyes. He’d hurt her to the marrow, ripped open her heart, left her bleeding, and she’d turned that hurt into anger and kicked him out. Could he blame her?
He paced his condo, unable to rest, wanting to call her but still not knowing what to say. I love you but I’m not ready for more.
A baby? He was forty-two, done with those things. They’d made a pact on their first date, hadn’t they? She clearly hadn’t keep her side of the bargain. But was that all they were to each other, a bargain? He stopped to breathe and felt the wall building itself around him, separating him from the living, keeping him safe from ever feeling again.
Was he done with Charlotte? Could he throw away that new love so easily? What kind of man walked away from a woman he’d finally and only just recently admitted he loved, because she was pregnant and he didn’t want to be a father again?
An empty and damaged-for-life bastard, that was who. Write it down, put it in his packet—damaged goods. But was that who he really was? Now was the time to decide if he was still that other man. Or not.
He slid onto his couch, mind roiling, hands fisted, sweat beading on his upper lip. He wanted a stiff drink, the crutch he’d come to rely on years before. But he’d spent enough time on the dark side after the accident. He knew the path to hell backward and forward and never wanted to go there again. He’d traded in that prison cell for a new beginning in California. Which had opened him up...for Charlotte.
He called her. She didn’t answer. He didn’t leave a message.
He glanced at his watch—it was almost three a.m. His first surgery was scheduled for seven. He put on a pot of coffee, set the brew button for five a.m. then went to his bedroom, threw on his jogging shorts and exchanged his prosthetic for the running blade, then drove to Malibu for a long soul-searching run on the beach just before dawn. Maybe it would help clear his head.
Having a full surgical schedule would force him to compartmentalize. Charlotte deserved his undivided attention and so did his patients. He could only deal with one trauma at a time, and one hundred percent couldn’t be divided during surgery. As much as it tore him up, since she hadn’t answered earlier, he’d have to wait until that night to talk to Charlotte. Maybe he’d be more coherent by then.
In the meantime he worried what kind of a hard-hearted SOB she’d think he was. Because he cared. And because he was leaving her in limbo for a day, he deserved all of her negative thoughts about him. He could practically feel them with each step of his run. His pace was off, his muscles tight and tender, his breathing out of sync. Yeah, he deserved it for putting her through hell.
* * *
The problem with taking the “patients come first” approach in medicine was that when at the end of an unbelievably grueling day, when he hadn’t had an hour’s sleep the night before and had zero left to give, he wound up giving himself a pass on calling Charlotte. I need to be well rested, to have my thoughts straight, to know exactly what I think and feel about the situation, he rationalized. He hadn’t had a moment to think about any of it that day, and with tomorrow’s schedule he feared it would be no different then.
She’d probably be done with him by then. And he would deserve it. So he dialed her number again. She didn’t pick up. Again.
He fell into bed, planning to call her once more in an hour, and amazingly slept through the night instead. But at five a.m. he was wide-awake, his head spinning with thoughts. It was too early to call her, so he dressed for another run. He needed to consider the consequences of his affair with the beautiful pathologist. The woman he loved. He was starting to get used to the phrase, the woman he loved. That was progress, wasn’t it? Maybe by the time he had finished jogging, she’d be up. He’d call her. This time she might answer.
But what would he say? Could he make things right with her after this torturing delay?
It wasn’t a good run—in fact, it was worse than the day before. Every step felt as sluggish as his brain. Anxious thoughts came to mind. How much he missed Charlotte. How he needed to talk to her, which left him edgy and stepping up his pace. One he could hardly keep up with. After the unheroic way he’d handled her news, why would she even want anything to do with him? She’d pushed him out of her house. Her life? Hell, maybe it was better to let things end as they had.
He wanted to kick himself for letting the negative and completely unacceptable thought slip in.
It was an old and sorry excuse, as familiar as a predictable movie. And totally unacceptable. Wasn’t he a new man—a healing man, thanks to Charlotte—or had her news ripped off the new skin and left him back where he’d started three years ago with all of his old flaws alive and festering, dragging him down?
Was that really what he was made of? He hated to think of the answer. He was only forty-two, it had been over three years since everything had changed, and surely he was a better man now.
He stopped and called her. As predicted, it went directly to message. “Charlotte, we need to talk. When can I see you?”
He ran on, soon hearing a text message shoot through. Don’t bother to call again.
Blast it all to hell. He really had blown it by letting the extra day go by!
Damn, he already missed her more than he had ever thought possible. His chest ached, fearing he’d lost her forever. She was pregnant with his baby. Their baby. He understood what an epic decision it had to be for her to have the baby. Her fears, her guilt of passing on imperfect genes. He wanted to be by her side every step of the way. Now all he had to do was convince her he wasn’t the heel she must think he was.
Not an easy task.
He ran back to his car, remembering how important the role of being a father was, and how his wife had always complained he had never been there enough for the boys. If he was a new man, couldn’t he be the kind of father for this baby that he hadn’t been for his sons? Charlotte was giving him a chance to shine in life again. Together. Why would he want to crawl back to his “you call this living” cocoon?
Things could be completely different this time if she’d only give him a chance. Shouldn’t she give him a break? Sure, he’d failed his first chance, when she’d told him the news. He could tell how hard
her decision must have been—she’d looked like she’d been through the wringer. The fine skin beneath those beautiful eyes had looked bruised and tense. Her full, normally soft mouth bitten and tight. She’d left work early and had probably thought about her condition every second until she’d called him. She’d cautiously tiptoed her feelings out, testing him, and had blown him away with her words. “I’m crazy about you.”
She’d put herself on the line and he could have been a robot for the lack of response he’d given her. Of course she’d be furious with him. In his defense, he’d been completely stunned. But he’d had time to recover, and all he’d chosen to do had been to let her down in the name of needing time to think things through and his demanding job. No wonder she never wanted to hear from him again.
He got into his car, wondering what good was a man who didn’t risk it all for the woman he loved? Yeah, he’d had enough time to admit it and now he knew without a doubt that he loved her. Maybe he’d been forced to come to the conclusion, but the feeling had already been there, well hidden, of course, because even a breath of admitting he could love again had scared the hell out of him, let alone the thought of becoming a dad again. He knew he wouldn’t feel the love so strongly now if it hadn’t already been there, starting as a seed and growing every time they’d seen each other. Why else had everything felt so right whenever they’d been together?
He drove to her town house and pushed the security button.
“Go away.” Her voice came through the speaker a few seconds later.
“I need to talk to you.”
She clicked off and didn’t open the gate for him. After a few minutes he revised his plan. Because now that he’d had an epiphany, he knew what needed to be done. If life was all about what was happening right then, not the past or what might be in the future, he wanted and needed with everything he had to be there for Charlotte now. And when the time came, he’d be a proper father for their kid, too. That was the beauty of new beginnings—he could start afresh, get it right this time.
He glanced at his watch. It was almost six on Thursday morning and he had another big surgery in less than two hours. Tomorrow, Friday, was the day they were supposed to leave for Georgia and his cousin’s wedding. He’d bought the plane tickets and made reservations at the grand old hotel on the banks of the Savannah River. But forget about the wedding. He wouldn’t go unless Charlotte was by his side. There was no way he’d go without her.
He’d been told all his life he was smart, but what this situation called for wasn’t brains. It called for heart...plus a bit of resourcefulness. For a methodical surgeon, every once in a while he surprised himself with his creativity. A great idea popped into his mind. Sure, it was a risk, a huge risk, which made it all the more necessary. Charlotte had done the same with him the night before last, had laid it all out there. Now it was his turn. She deserved no less. The only question was, how would Charlotte respond to his over-the-top plan?
* * *
It was seven a.m. Jackson had performed the five-minute hand and arm scrub, and donned the first pair of his sterile double gloves. His surgical nurse had just helped him into his gown, his cap and mask were in place, and he used his elbow to push the plate on the automatic door opener on the wall. The important surgery required a frozen section. He’d seen Dr. Gordon’s name on the list for the morning, so he’d called and, calling in a favor, had insisted that Dr. Johnson had to do it. It would be up to Jim Gordon, now that he was back part-time at work, to come up with a believable reason for Charlotte to step in. Knowing what a team player Jim was, Jackson trusted it would be a good one, too.
An hour later, after they’d cracked open the patient’s chest and he’d biopsied the mass on the right lung, he put the fresh tissue into the waiting petri dish, which was sealed and labeled and quickly handed over to the OR runner. Pathology knew the specimen was coming. “Don’t give it to anyone but Dr. Johnson.”
“Yes, sir.” The young summer volunteer, garbed in full OR regalia, took the specimen and fled like his life depended on the mission. Did he even know who Dr. Johnson was?
The entire surgical team waited for the report as the surgery was held in limbo and the patient constantly monitored.
While he waited, leaving the assistant surgeon in charge, he knew beyond a doubt what he had to do once he heard Charlotte’s voice. He wanted to be a man Charlotte could trust and depend on and look to for support, for everything, and he didn’t intend to waste another minute before he told her.
Within five minutes he heard Charlotte’s voice on the OR intercom. There was a noticeably cool clip to it. “The lung biopsy is benign for cancer.”
Great news for the patient, though it was imperative for pathology to figure out exactly what the mass was with further studies. He cleared his throat before Charlotte could disconnect. He couldn’t let it matter that he’d be in front of the entire surgical team and anyone who was within earshot in the pathology department. This was too important, and now was the time for desperate measures.
“Charlotte?”
A second, then two passed. “Yes?”
“This is Jackson, just to make it clear.”
Another pause. “Yes.”
He took a deep breath. “I never thought I’d have a shotgun wedding at forty-two, and I can’t exactly get on bended knee here in surgery.” The staff laughed and looked surprised, but when they realized he wasn’t kidding around, everyone stopped to listen to what in the world he would say next. “But, Charlotte, will you marry me?”
“P-pardon me?” she stammered. “We’re on the speakerphone, Jackson.”
“I know. And I don’t care. You won’t take my calls and I figured if I came down there you wouldn’t see me. So, with the OR staff as my witnesses, I’m asking, will you marry me?” Then, taking the biggest risk of his life, well, after proposing in front of almost a dozen people, he said, “I’ll give you some time to think.” Then he nodded for his surgical nurse to click off the intercom.
The instant she did, the operating-room team broke into applause.
He tried to ignore them, having a patient lying on the OR table and all, though he felt fantastic, like he’d just climbed Mount Everest, and smiled beneath his mask. He’d done it. Excellent. A wave of insecurity knocked him back a bit. His stunt didn’t guarantee a “yes” from Charlotte, but at least he’d made his case loud and clear. With witnesses! He loved her. He wanted to marry her.
Now forcing his personal life to the back of his brain, he focused on the patient, who deserved to be front and center. When he’d finished resecting the rest of the mass and tying off all involved vessels, he asked the assistant surgeon to close for him. He knew and trusted the young woman’s skill. Plus the team was completely on board with him needing to leave.
He disposed of his dirty gowns and gloves, washed his hands again, then strode to the doctors’ lockers. He grabbed his work kit and headed to the bathroom to clean up and shave, to make himself as presentable as he could possibly be, before facing the woman he loved. Once he passed the mirror test, he gave himself a reassuring nod. “You’ve got this.”
First off, he stopped to speak to the family of his lung surgery patient, sharing his good report, watching the tension vanish from their eyes and foreheads. Then, on his way to the elevator, while passing through the surgical ward, he noticed a patient getting discharged and there was a beautiful bouquet remaining at the bedside on the movable table. The staff rolled the table out of the room and into the hall in order to get the patient into the wheelchair in the tiny private room.
“You taking this?” he asked.
“No. I don’t want to be reminded of this place,” the young man said. “Flowers aren’t my thing anyway.”
“Mind if I borrow them?”
“Take ’em, they’re yours.”
Jackson removed the bright white
daisies and yellow sunflowers from the glass vase and shook off the excess water. He grabbed some paper towels from the nearby dispenser to wrap around the stems. Pleased it was a proper enough bouquet, one fit for following up on a marriage proposal, he headed down to the basement and the pathology department. Since he didn’t have a ring to offer her, these bright summer flowers would have to do.
* * *
Charlotte stood bewildered, staring at the OR intercom in the tiny room with the cryostat machine. Jackson had just asked her to marry him. The thought set off full body chills. The good kind. This after she’d spent the last two days trying to force him out of her life and heart. And had failed miserably. Was he serious? He wouldn’t dare play a cruel joke on her, would he?
Of course not!
She’d laid a huge surprise on him the other night, then had gone ballistic when he’d been as stunned as she was right now. He’d needed time to think through the sudden life change rather than jump up and down with joy. Hell, she hadn’t felt joyful when she’d got the news, yet she’d expected him to be. How unfair and unrealistic she’d been. But being frightened about her decision to become a mother, a decision as momentous as her double mastectomy surgery, she’d needed his instant support. Unreasonably so. And he’d been unable to give it to her right off. So she’d got mad.
It’d hurt, and sent her back to feeling like a needy teenager when her father had offered little support over the death of her mother. She’d freaked out and pushed Jackson out the door. Out of her life? She didn’t know for sure because she couldn’t think clearly at the time. All she knew was he hadn’t met her unrealistic and unreasonable needs, so he’d become a villain.
Two miserable days later, deep down she knew without a doubt he was anything but.
He’d pleaded with her to understand, to give him time to think, to let him back in. Yet she’d said something hurtful and angry through the door about whether or not she’d ever let him back. How immature.
Wedding Date with the Army Doc Page 13
