The Vixen and the Vet (27 page)

Savannah looked down at the screen, blanching as she realized that her sister had dialed the number.

“Hello? Hello?” She could faintly hear a man speaking.

She shook her head at Scarlet wordlessly, but Scarlet lifted her sister’s arm and pressed the phone up to her ear, mouthing, “Say hello.”

“He-Hello?” said Savannah.

“Miss Carmichael? Savannah Carmichael?”

“Yes.”

“Well, terrific. Scarlet said you’d be calling this afternoon.”

“My sister’s very persuasive,” she said tightly, narrowing her eyes at Scarlet.

“That she is. And completely charming.”

Savannah glanced at Scarlet. “
Some
might think so.”

“She says you’ve been writing every night. Real good stuff too.”

Savannah covered the phone and whispered. “Have you been reading my stuff?”

Scarlet shrugged, looking slightly guilty, then looked at the sand at their feet like it was utterly fascinating.

Savannah swallowed. “Sir, I have to be frank. I’m not interested in anything you have to say. I promised Scarlet that I’d hear you out, so why don’t you make your pitch so I can tell you no, say good-bye, and stop wasting your time and mine.”

“I see. Well, Ms. Carmichael, I appreciate your honesty. I’ll cut to the chase here just in case you’re interested. Like everyone else in the publishing world, we’d like to option your story. The
real
story of how you fell in love with Asher Lee.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said dully, feeling sad and tired and extremely annoyed with Scarlet. “That story’s not for sale. Thank you for the offer, but I—”

“Well, I am thrilled to hear that because I don’t want to buy it.”

At first she didn’t think she’d heard him correctly. “
Wh-what?”

“I
do not
want to buy your story,” he said again in a clear voice. “I want to auction it. For charity. Specifically, for a charity associated with UCLA called Operation Mend. Have you heard of it? It’s a favorite charity of mine since my brother had thirty-two percent of his body covered in burns after an IED exploded near his Humvee in Iraq. Operation Mend reconstructs the faces of wounded veterans. They’re having a big benefit in Washington, D.C., on Labor Day, and if you’d be willing to write your story, we could auction the first copy, then print more copies for sale, with one hundred percent of the profits benefitting Operation Mend after we’ve covered our expenses. You and Mr. Lee are very popular right now, and I bet your story would be a big money maker for Operation Mend, and, well, I thought maybe …”

Savannah shook her head back and forth as tears streamed down her face. Somehow she managed to look up at Scarlet, who had stopped swinging and was smiling at her through tears of her own.

“Is this something you’d be interested in talking about, Ms. Carmichael?”

Savannah cradled the phone between her shoulder and ear, using the back of one hand to swipe at her eyes, and the other to reach for the hand of her compassionate, smart, amazing little sister.

“Yes, Mr. Severington,” she answered in a shaking voice, tentative hope making her heart lighter for the first time in a week. “That’s definitely something I’d be interested in talking about.”

***

Savannah looked up at Asher’s house and then back down at the manuscript on the passenger seat beside her. She took a deep breath, wondering, for the hundredth time, if this was all a big mistake.

It had been four weeks since she first spoke to Todd
Severington, and other than attending Scarlet’s wedding, Savannah had spent all day, every day, writing the story of how she and Asher fell in love. Her way. She had shared the book only with her mother, Scarlet, and Todd, and they all agreed it was a beautifully told story of two misfit people who found each other and fell in love. It was the story Savannah wished had been told in the
Phoenix Times
. It was the truth, and its beauty shone through.

The novella had already undergone one edit and would need one more before the auction in three weeks. But before they could take another step forward, Savannah insisted that she needed Asher’s permission.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and opened her car door, taking the red binder off the seat and carrying it under her arm to the front door. Miss Potts answered after two rings.

When the door swung open, Savannah was assaulted with memories of her time with Asher, and she sucked in a ragged breath. Coming to his house the first day … his eyes in the mirror … the way he looked on the stairs with the sunlight bright behind him … pulling her up the stairs to
his bedroom. She whimpered, then forced herself to focus on the reason she was here. Miss Potts’s face wasn’t especially welcome, but at least she didn’t slam the door.

“Hello, Savannah Carmichael.”

“Hello, Miss Potts. It’s good to see you.”

“Hmm,” she said, glancing at the manuscript, then back at Savannah. “You know Asher’s not here.”

“I know.” She took a deep breath. “How is he?”

“Coming along.”

Savannah was desperate to ask more questions, but she could see Miss Potts mentally closing ranks around Asher to protect him.

Since Scarlet had returned her phone, Savannah had written one text to Asher every afternoon at four o’clock, and the sentiment was always the same:
I made a mistake.
I’m sorry. I miss you. I love you more than anything. I hope that someday you’ll give us another chance.

She had yet to receive a response, but as she wrote their story, she relived the tenderness and richness of their relationship. The words that circled in her mind the most were the ones he’d said to her after their weekend in Maryland together. While discussing her impending move to Phoenix and his move to Maryland he had said,
This isn’t the sort of love that ends. It’s forever. It doesn’t matter if you go to Phoenix and I stay here. We’ll find each other again.

She knew that anger and hurt took time to heal, especially when someone was already undergoing the trauma of medical procedures. But she had faith that they still had the sort of love that didn’t end, and she still had faith that they would find each other again.

“Has he been home at all?”

Miss Potts’s lips tightened into a thin line. “Can I help you, dear?”

“I was asked to write a book.”

Miss Potts’s face pinched with disapproval, and her eyes flicked to the binder like it was covered in mud. “I think it’s best we say our good-byes, dear.”

As the door started to close, Savannah stuck out her sneakered foot to stop it. “Please!”

Miss Potts cracked the door open, giving Savannah a death stare.

Savannah spoke quietly, her voice trembling with nerves. “It’s Asher’s and my story, the way it should have been told. The way I wish it had been told. The way I see it. It’s beautiful and tender and shows everything good about him, about us. I promise you, I did it right this time.”

Miss Potts’ face softened … barely. “Good for you. But making money off that poor man’s story would be—”

“I’m not!” Savannah said. “I promise you. I haven’t made a dime on Asher’s and my story. I tore up the check from the
Phoenix Times
and told them I wouldn’t work for them if my life depended on it.”

“And this?” Miss Potts gestured to the book like it was a pile of poo, one ancient nostril flexing with disgust.

“It’s for a good cause.”

“Would that cause be your career, dear?”

“N-no. I wrote it for an auction … to benefit Operation Mend.”

Miss Potts couldn’t conceal her surprise. She looked at the red binder again like maybe it didn’t actually stink to high heaven. “Operation Mend?”

“Yes, ma’am. It’s Asher’s and my story, yes, but all the proceeds will go to Operation Mend.”

“Hmm.” Her eyes were considerably less frosty. “What do you want
me
to do?”

“I was hoping you would give me his address. I need his
permiss—”

“Absolutely not.” She looked down at the ground, blinking several times. Her voice was sharp when she spoke again. “You have no idea how much you hurt that boy.”

“I do,” whispered Savannah, a tear snaking down her face. “I promise you, I know. There isn’t enough regret in the whole world to express mine.”

Miss Potts’s eyes were glistening when she looked back up. “I can’t give you his address, Savannah.”

“Can
you
mail it to him? I’ll pay for overnight delivery. But will you ask him to read it? Ask him for permission to print it?”

“
I
have to read it first.”

Savannah ’s mouth dropped open in amazement and gratitude and she nodded vigorously. “Of course! Of course you can read it. Please read it.”

“And I’ll decide whether or not I send it. You don’t have to pay me.”

More tears joined the first as Savannah handed the manuscript over to her second-grade teacher.

“That newspaper piece was terrible, Savannah. Lots of room for improvement.”

“Yes, ma’am, but I didn’t write that. I know he didn’t believe me. But I swear to you, what I submitted and what they printed were completely different. This,” she gestured to the manuscript, “is
our
story.”

“Well, then, we’ll see. Good-bye, I guess.”

Miss Potts started to close the door, but Savannah felt a sudden burning in her belly to say more, to be sure that the person closest to Asher knew how she still felt about him.

“Miss Potts?”

Miss Potts stuck her head back out the door. Savannah spoke in a rush. “I love him. I love him so much. I love him more than anything else. It’s killing me not to be with him.”

Miss Potts stared at her for a moment. Finally she sighed loudly, shaking her head at Savannah with disapproval.

“Despite everything,” she finally said, “he still loves you too. And he wishes he didn’t, but he can’t help it.” She shrugged. “People wait a lifetime for what you two found with each other. It doesn’t just go away no matter how much you hurt one another.”

Savannah’s shoulders trembled with silent sobs as Miss Potts spoke.

“Thank you,” Savannah managed, overwhelmed by Miss Potts’s generosity. She closed her eyes momentarily to let the miracle of the words sink in. “Thank you so much.”

“You should know something else, dear.” Miss Potts anchored the binder under her arm and reached into her pocket, pulling out Asher’s phone and showing it to Savannah. “He knew he needed to concentrate on the medical procedures once he got to Maryland, so he left this with me. Truth be told, I don’t think he could bear to take it with him. Not when all those awful calls were coming in nonstop as he left for Maryland. Anyway. You probably don’t deserve to know this, but I’ll feel guilty every day at four o’clock if I don’t tell you. He’s not ignoring your messages every day, Savannah. He’s just not getting them.”

Miss Potts closed the door after promising she would be in touch.

He still loved her. Despite everything, he still loved her.

For the first time in weeks, Savannah took a deep, full breath that filled her lungs without aching. And her heart, which had felt so orphaned and adrift without him, remembered—without the piercing pain of loss—that Asher’s heart was still her home.

“Damn it!”

Army Specialist Fred Knott sat across the table from Asher, trying without success to pick up the first playing card on top of a neat deck.

“Try again,” said Asher, using his new hand to pick up the pile of cards in front of him and fashion them into a fan with a little help from his left hand.

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“Hey, I had to learn everything just like you. I’ve got only five weeks on you, soldier. Five weeks from now, you’ll be as fast as me.” Asher reached over and neatened the deck. “Go ahead. Try again.”

Fred reached forward, his severely burned face a mask of concentration as he used the bionic index finger to slide the first card off the deck and pick it up between his index finger and thumb. He held it up and beamed. “Look at that!”

Asher grinned back. “See? Told you you’d get there.”

Fred stared at the card and his face fell a little. Asher knew the signs. His friend was about to get a little sad.

“I took it for granted, you know?” said Fred, blinking rapidly at Asher before staring back down at the card. “The stupidest, littlest things I could do before. I wasn’t even thankful.”

“Having hands was something we
all
took for granted. You’re
supposed
to take them for granted. Does no good to dwell on it, Freddy. Try the toothpicks now.” He slid a box of toothpicks across the table and watched Fred’s concentration return as he tried to pick up only one.

Over the past five weeks, not only had Asher nearly mastered the use of his bionic hand, which he wore almost constantly unless he was sleeping, but he’d already had two procedures on his face. He’d had the magnets fitted into the skin where his ear used to be, and a prosthetic ear had been fitted. The first time he looked in the mirror at his new ear, he had to look twice, it was so shocking to see a matching ear on either side of his head. The first thing he did was make an appointment with a nearby barber recommended by one of the nurses and had his hair cut short and preppy like he used to wear it in high school.

They’d done two straightforward operations to remove areas of deformed scar tissue on his face and to raise his eyelid and replace the heavily scarred areas with healthy skin grafts. In two weeks, they’d take a small graft of skin from the right side of his forehead, near the hairline, and use it to rebuild the corner of his nose and establish the normal contour of his eyes. And he still needed to have his jaw and cheekbones evened out with silicone implants in September. Asher was really starting to feel different, like he recognized himself a little more, like he was coming into focus.

But while his face was undergoing such successful improvements, there was nothing in the world that could be done to mend his broken heart.

When Asher lost his parents, he’d learned, with the help of an excellent therapist, how to compartmentalize his grief so that it didn’t take over his whole life. He’d allow himself about an hour every day to remember his mother and father, pore over photos, and recall favorite moments, but when the allotted time was over, he’d force himself to think about other things, force himself to call a friend or get some exercise, or somehow reengage with his life.

He employed the same strategy now. In quiet moments, he allowed himself to think of Savannah for a set amount of time, but the mix of emotions he felt were so brutal, even fifteen minutes would leave him physically breathless. Anger, betrayal, love, longing, and aching sadness. Mostly he just prayed for the aching to end. To not feel so lonely and adrift. To find a way to let go of her, or get her back, because he couldn’t live in this bleak place indefinitely.

He’d reread the article twice once he got to Maryland, and quietly wept after the second reading, overwhelmed by the pain he felt.
Bogeyman? Beast?
He’d purposely hidden himself away from the world to avoid those types of scathing comments, and hearing them from her hand—from Savannah, whom he loved more than anything—was ripping him to shreds. He’d broken his own rules by inviting her into his life, and this was the result: humiliation, embarrassment, betrayal, total and complete heartbreak. A roundhouse kick to the gut couldn’t possibly make him physically hurt more sharply than the dark memories of that terrible morning in his kitchen.

When he recalled that morning in all of its heart-wrenching detail, he waffled between believing that she was an ambitious, soulless fraud who should win an award for her acting skills, and a young woman who’d been betrayed by a slick editor all because she’d been blinded by the opportunity to revive the career she’d worked so hard for and lost.

He still would have been angry with her if the story had been printed with pseudonyms, but it would have been easier to believe that she’d just tried to have her cake and eat it too: delivering the story she’d been commissioned to write while protecting their anonymity. He still wouldn’t have liked her using their story without his permission, but without his intense humiliation layered into the situation, he might have been able to forgive her the mistake of letting her ambition overrule her judgment.

More than anything else in the world, he missed her. He wanted to know that their time together was real, and that, yes, she’d made a pretty bad mistake, but that her intention had never been his humiliation and betrayal. He just didn’t know how to figure it all out.

In his dreams, he’d see her face as she wept in his kitchen. He’d hear her voice in his head, begging him to tell her it wasn’t too late, that she loved him more than anything. He would wake up in the same cold sweats he used to get when he returned home from his tour, because—
oh my God
—he wanted to believe her. He’d never experienced the sort of love he had for Savannah and he believed she’d had for him. After knowing what life looked like with a Savannah who loved him, a life without her was almost unbearable.

Like most amputees, Asher knew what it was like to feel a phantom limb. He often felt his hand, as though it were still attached to his body, and still reached for it in the middle of the night, only to realize all over again that it had been taken away on an operating table in Kandahar.

Like a phantom limb, Savannah’s presence haunted him. Where she used to lie beside him. Where she used to live in his heart. When he thought of her smiling face, or her body rising up to meet his, or her voice speaking the words
I’m falling in love with you
, or the way her eyes softened with love as she looked at him, he couldn’t convince himself that it had all been an act. His heart wouldn’t let his mind believe it, despite the overwhelming evidence against her. He missed her in the same way he missed his hand, as something that had belonged to him, and had been, in one terrible, brutal moment, ripped away from him.

Despite everything, Asher was still deeply, irrevocably in love with her, but he hated himself for it because until he understood what had really happened, loving Savannah wasn’t smart or safe. And because he no longer trusted her, no matter how much he wanted to believe her, no matter how much he wanted to forgive her, and despite how deeply he still loved her, finding out the truth seemed the most elusive thing of all.

***

“You’re doing well, Asher,” said Colonel McCaffrey as he inspected Asher’s face. “I like how quickly the swelling’s gone down. I think we can start on the next procedure a few days sooner. I’m going to check the OR for tomorrow, see if we can fit you in for the nose graft.”

Asher nodded.

“I also hear you’ve been very encouraging to some of the recent amputees who are trying to learn how to cope.”

“I know how it feels, sir, to come home to nothing. Looking like this.”

“From what I hear, you’ve got
a way with the kids coming in. You ever considered getting more involved?”

“How do you mean, sir?”

“Paid position or volunteer. Sharing your story, offering support, even studying up on the therapeutic side of care. Maybe getting that degree you never got at Johns Hopkins.”

Asher had to admit, he liked working with the new guys. They were young, and many of them seemed so hopeless. He was in the unique position of being able to understand.

“I’ll give it some thought, sir.”

“If you don’t mind my saying so, Asher, you seem a little down, though. When you were here in June, we talked very briefly about a young lady.”

Asher looked away. “It’s complicated, sir.”

“You sure look miserable about it.” The doctor took a deep breath. “I read the article, Asher.”

Asher winced, embarrassment making his cheeks hot.

“I could see how you’d be angry about it.”

Asher nodded, still looking away.

“She’s not a very good writer, but the story?” He made a clicking sound. “Aw, I don’t know. Sure seemed like you kids loved each other a lot.”

Asher swallowed the lump in his throat and finally looked up at his doctor. “I love her. I want to kill her most days, but I love her. I just don’t know what to do with her.”

“Women. Can’t live with them. Bad idea to kill them, though. Have you tried talking to her? Now that the hubbub has died down?”

“I’ve been trying to concentrate on being here.”

McCaffrey nodded. “I understand that. Especially if you don’t want to be with her anymore. She did call you the bogeyman.”

“She didn’t write that, sir.”

“Oh, no?”

Asher blinked, realizing what he’d said, how he’d just defended her without thinking about it. It confused him, but he didn’t want to think about it. “Well, she claims she didn’t.”

“Huh. I guess you have a few things to figure out, Asher.”

“I guess so, sir.”

“Can I just say one thing?”

Asher nodded.

“You’d been coming here for years for checkups, and we couldn’t get you to try a new hand or let us put you under again after what you’d been through at Brooke. Then suddenly you’re here. You want the new hand; you want to work on the face. That article? It was a mixed bag: part love story and, yes, part humiliation. But, see, she changed you Asher. For the good. She
helped you move forward. And we only let certain people change us. We only want to change for certain people. If she was worth changing for, she’s probably worth talking to.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Doc McCaffrey stood up, and Asher followed suit, offering his right hand, and feeling proud when his doctor was able to shake it firmly. He turned to leave.

“Oh, and Asher?”

“Yes, sir?”

“
I looked her up. She’s a mighty pretty thing. If she’s not the girl for you, I guess she won’t be single for too long, huh?” Then he grinned and sat back down at his desk, immediately turning his attention to the files waiting there.

Asher closed the door, standing in the small waiting room with his
good hand curled into a fist. The idea of Savannah with someone else, anyone else but him, made him so desperate and so furious he wanted to hit something. He still wasn’t sure what to do, but he missed her fiercely, and while he wasn’t ready to talk to her, he at least needed to find out if she’d started moving on.

***

“Asher!” Trent Hamilton’s voice was surprised but delighted. “How you doing? My daddy and me been suckin’ down that bourbon I had at your house that day. Can’t barely keep it in stock over at Jingles Liquor.”

“Good for you. Glad I could introduce you to a classic.” Asher was
strangely comforted by the familiar hometown lilt of Trent’s accent. “I guess congratulations are in order.”

“Yes, sir. I am now a married man.”

“Happy for you, Trent. How’s Scarlet?”

“She’s just fine. We spent a week in Maui and had quite a time.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Asher paused. He felt a bead of sweat trickle down the side of his face.

“Um, Asher, don’t you want to know about Savannah?”

Another long pause. His voice was husky in his ears when he spoke again. “How’s she doing?”

“Well, sir, she was not good for a while after you left. Stayed in bed all day. Wouldn’t eat. Slept weird hours. Scarlet could barely get her to go for a walk for fresh air. She lost some weight, and her face was always puffy.”

Asher’s heart twisted to think of her so unhappy. “You said ‘a while.’ And now?”

“She’s a whole lot better. Once she started writing that book, she seemed—”

“Savannah’s writing a book?”

“Yep. You know those reporters and publishers bothered her for weeks. She finally settled on one.”

Fury rose up in him like acid. She’d spent a week feeling sad, then she’d caved—probably regretting her rash decision to turn down the job in Phoenix—and accepted a contract to write a book. Damn it, she was just as soulless as he’d feared.

“Well, I hope she got a good advance. I have to get going, Trent.”

“Oh, well, I … Okay. It was good to hear from you, Asher.”

“Yeah. You take care, now.”

Asher hung up the phone, took a tumbler out of his kitchen cabinet, and filled it half full with the same bourbon that Trent liked so well.