Healing Dr. Alexander

He knew Amanda had brought him here so that he could see there was life after surgery, life after Africa, but it wasn’t working. As she took him by the exam rooms, introduced him to the clinic staff, stopped and talked to a few patients she obviously knew, he only felt worse. On one hand, everything had changed. On the other, nothing had and he was stuck in the middle trying to find a spot for himself when the only place where he wanted to be, was no longer an option for him.

“So, what do you think?” Amanda asked as they wound up the tour in the hallway outside the exam rooms.

“It’s great,” he told her, meaning it. The clinic, while not wasting money for cosmetic changes, had top of the line equipment and a staff that appeared very well-trained. “You look like you’ve finally found your place.”

“I have.” This time, when she smiled, contentment radiated from her. “We do good work here.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Amanda was a hell of a doctor and she wouldn’t get involved in any establishment that wasn’t top-notch. At the thought, For the Children, the organization that funded his clinic in Somali, flashed into his mind. They were a fantastic organization to work for and after two months away, he missed them. Missed practicing medicine. At the same time, though, returning to Africa, where he’d been shot, made him uneasy. Oh, he would never admit it to anyone, but he was beginning to think that his time in Africa was as finished as Amanda’s was. The idea filled him with sadness, with more knowledge of how useless he had become.

He shook the uneasiness off, refused to give in to it. So what if he was aimless, directionless, for the first time in his life. Parading his insecurities in front of Amanda was the last thing he wanted to do.

“So, can I buy you a late lunch?” he asked her, glancing at his watch. “I want to take you and Simon to dinner tonight, as well.”

“Actually, we were hoping to have you over to the house tonight. Simon’s cooking.”

Of course he was, as Amanda could scorch water. His stomach tightened a little at the idea of seeing the two of them ensconced together in domestic bliss, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t known it was coming. He was the one who had emailed Simon, after all. Who had brought him back into Amanda’s life.

Which was a good thing, he told himself viciously. The other man had saved her, brought her back to herself after the devastating death of their daughter. Seeing her with him again after all these years was fine. Better than fine, when it meant she was whole and happy and healthy.

“Sure. That’d be great.” He added an extra-large grin, so she’d know he meant it.

“Fantastic. And I wish you’d reconsider staying with us.” She shot him a reproving look. “We have plenty of room.”

Yeah, well, that was where he drew the line. Coming here, making sure she was okay, was one thing. Torturing himself with the knowledge that the woman he’d loved for a decade was down the hall in bed with another man? Call him crazy, but he wasn’t that big of a masochist.

“I’m great at the hotel. Honest. Besides, I have to leave for the airport really early in the morning. I don’t want to disturb you.”

“Airport?” she asked in dismay. “You just got to town last night.”

“I know, but I can’t stay. I have a physical-therapy appointment in Boston on Thursday. I can’t miss it.”

“We have physical therapists here in Atlanta, you know.”

He ignored the cute little pout her mouth had worked itself into. “Yes, but I don’t live in Atlanta. My doctors are in Boston.”

“Boston, Shmoston. You’re not happy there. I know you’re not.”

He sighed, ran a hand through his hair. Resisted the urge to tell her that he didn’t have it in him to be happy anywhere. But then he’d sound like the pathetic loser he was, and call him vain, but he wasn’t up for any more sympathy.

Not sure what to say, he finally settled on part of the truth. “I’m tired, Amanda. I don’t have it in me to try to be someplace new right now. And with the shape my hand is in…I can’t be a doctor right now. I can’t—”

“Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?” He wouldn’t have been as shocked if she’d punched him. Amanda had been circling around him for weeks.

“I said, you’re spouting bullshit.” She grabbed his arm and yanked him into a small supply closet that he assumed—from the desk and diplomas on the wall—was serving double-duty as her office. “You aren’t tired. You’re scared and you’re drowning in self-pity.”

“You’re one to talk.” The words were out before he could stop them. He saw them hit her, saw their impact, and wished he could take them back. Angry as he was, he had no right to take it out on Amanda. Not when she’d already suffered so much.

But she was nodding, eyes clear and shoulders straight. “Exactly. I am one to talk. Because I was where you are not too long ago.” Her voice was harsh and direct now, containing none of the sweetness he’d been hearing from her for weeks. It was almost a relief to have her back to normal—somehow it made him feel more like a functioning member of society.

“You did your tough love thing for me not that long ago. Now it’s time for me to return the favor.”

“It’s not the same thing. I’m going to be fine. I just need…” He didn’t know what he needed, besides the full use of his hand back. Without that, he had nothing.

“You need a change of scenery.”

“I’ve already got that. Boston is a far cry from Somalia.”

“You’ve never been able to breathe in Boston. We both know that. Your dad has probably already got you signed up to interview at some prestigious family practice—” She broke off when she saw his face. “Are you kidding me, Jack? You really want to take care of women who spend more on plastic surgery in a year than it would take to run this clinic?”

“You’re over-simplifying things.”

“And you’re making them too complicated. Come to Atlanta for a few months, hang out with Simon and me. Do your physical therapy here, and then, when you’re ready, when you’re healed, you can make a better decision.”

“I can do all that in Boston.” Admittedly, Amanda wasn’t in Boston, but that wasn’t exactly a deterrent. He totally accepted that she was married to Simon—was happy, in fact, that things had worked out so well for her. That didn’t mean he was dying to spend every day with what he couldn’t have right in front of him.

“Yeah, but here you won’t have your family making you nuts all the time.”

“No, I’ll have you poking and prodding at me.”

“Someone needs to—”

“Doctor Jacobs!” The shout sounded from the hallway outside Amanda’s closed door and was followed quickly by the slap of footsteps against the linoleum floor.

Jack threw open the door to see the triage nurse from the waiting room. “Dr. Zilker said to get you,” she said breathlessly. “There’s been a shooting. It’s bad.”

“Which room?” demanded Amanda, already running to the front of the clinic.

“We’ve got him in exam-room one.”

Jack followed her, adrenaline pumping through his system despite himself. “Who’s Zilker?”

“One of our residents. He’s good, but he’s still new—” She broke off as they entered the exam room and Jack knew why. There was blood everywhere.

For a second, he flashed back to that operating room in Somalia. The one where he’d lost both his patient and his ability to perform surgery. His bum leg shook and he was almost certain he was going to land on his ass.

But then Amanda took control, demanding vitals as she slipped on a pair of gloves before diving right into the mess. Somehow the normalcy of being in the middle of an emergency with Amanda steadied him, had him striding forward and pulling on a pair of gloves, as well. He struggled a little with the right one, but refused to let it back him off.

“What have we got?” he demanded of the resident, who was standing at the front of the bed, his face as white as the sheets on the bed.

His voice must have carried enough authority to make up for the fact that he was a stranger because Zilker didn’t hesitate as he stuttered out, “Male, age eighteen to twenty. Multiple gunshot wounds to the chest, pelvis, upper thigh. Blood pressure is seventy over forty and falling…”

The world narrowed the way it always did for him in situations like these. “Do you have blood?” he asked Amanda.

“Yeah. Type him. And call 911,” Amanda said, as she went for the wound in the kid’s pelvis.