The Vixen and the Vet (28 page)

He paced his kitchen, adrenaline making his whole body tremble with anger. She’d mourned him and the death of their relationship for one week before accepting a contract to write a book about them, and then, suddenly, she was a whole lot better. He picked up the glass, downed the contents, and was about to throw it against a wall when the doorbell rang. Putting the glass down on the counter, he went to open the door.

A delivery person held out a parcel. “FedEx. Signature, please.”

Asher signed the delivery slip, then took the box back inside. He placed it on the counter and filled the glass again. His heart had been bleeding all over the state of Maryland while she’d gotten over him and started writing a book. It wasn’t bad enough that she’d eviscerated him in the
Phoenix Times
article. She needed to do it in book format too.

Well, this time he’d sue her. He’d sue the pants off her for libel and slander and anything else he could think of. He sucked down the bourbon and ignored the burning in his eyes.

“God damn it!” he yelled, finally throwing the glass at the wall with a sob. It shattered into pieces all over the kitchen floor. He was
not
going to cry about her, no matter how hurt he was.

He turned to the box on the counter. He could use a distraction, even if it was just his weekly mail delivery from Miss Potts. He ripped open the pull tab and sat down in the living room, still seething over Trent’s news.

Turning the box over, he shook it lightly, and a red binder spilled into his hands with a yellow sticky note on top. It read, simply, “Dear Asher. Read this. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. Miss Potts.”

He stared at the nondescript binder, wondering what it was.

Nothing prepared him for the shock of the cover page when he opened it.

Once Upon a Time

By Savannah Calhoun Carmichael

He ran his good hand over the words, touching them, wondering if Savannah’s fingers had touched them too, and somehow he knew that they had. His eyes, already burning, watered painfully now as he stared at her name.

“Once upon a time,” he breathed.

He flipped the binder closed and read Miss Potts’s note again, then opened the binder and stared at the title for a few more seconds. Dare he read? Miss Potts, who loved him like a grandson, was asking him to, telling him it was important. He took a deep breath, turning the page.

Once upon a time, I walked up to Asher Lee’s house on a sunny May afternoon, wearing a sundress borrowed from my sister, holding a plate of fresh
-baked brownies as a Southern-style peace offering. Honestly, I had no idea what to expect.

Here is what I knew about Asher Lee: he was a soldier who’d been disfigured in Afghanistan, after which he’d moved back to our small town of Danvers, Virginia, and barely anyone had seen him since.

I had no idea that I was starting the most important journey of my life that day—that I would, quite literally, meet the man of my dreams. That I would fall in love so deeply, so fully and completely, that I’d be almost unrecognizable by the time I lost him. I had no idea that my greatest love would become my greatest regret and that I would be trapped in a half-life of loving someone who could barely look at me anymore. And yet, knowing everything that I know now, I still would have borrowed that sundress and baked those brownies, because loving Asher Lee was the greatest gift I was ever given, and being loved by him for the short time we were together taught me everything I will ever need to know about true love. Even if I can’t ever have it again, I knew what it was to be someone’s everything … once upon a time.

“Oh my God,” he said as the words on the page swam before him. “Savannah.”

He leaned back in the chair and kept reading, not moving except to turn the pages for the next three and a half hours. He laughed and cried, closed his eyes in anguish, and stopped for moments at a time when he was too overwhelmed to continue.

It was the most beautiful love story he’d ever read. Ever. In his entire life. In his entire library there wasn’t a story to match it. And as he read he recalled every word, every moment, every glance and touch. He smelled her lemon shampoo and tasted the French toast casserole. He remembered the smooth heat of her belly under his fingertips, the way she sighed into his mouth as they made love.

It ripped his heart to shreds and mended it at once. What he’d never known was how desperately she’d struggled with her decision to write the story, fearful of his reaction, always hoping he’d understand, wishing there was another way, finally betting everything on the trust she’d established with her editor, only to have it completely betrayed. He didn’t question her truthfulness; he could feel it. And he finally understood how it had happened, how she had fallen in love with him and how she had believed that even if the story upset him, their love would be able to handle one small article in one small paper so many states away. She’d certainly never expected it to be hacked and edited. She never expected it to be picked up by a major newswire. She never expected it to go viral.

She had turned down the job at the
Phoenix Times
and every other newspaper, including the
New York Sentinel
, which had offered her a job in their Human Interest section. How it must have hurt—or felt great? —telling them to shove it. He almost grinned.

The one thing he didn’t understand is why she’d finally caved and decided to make money off the story. He had to admit, this book was beautifully written and portrayed them both accurately, if not slightly romanticized. It was a story to be proud of, though he still objected to her capitalizing from the
Phoenix Times
fiasco. It still felt wrong.

Then he reached the final page.

I thought that getting my career back was more important than anything, but I was wrong. The most important thing was Asher, and losing him has been the most difficult thing I have ever experienced in my life, though I force myself to survive.

The worst thing about surviving sometimes,
though, is what waits for you on the other side. Asher knew this when he returned home from Afghanistan to an empty house in a town that couldn’t accept him, but he chose to survive and keep on living. At one time, I believed that he’d survived for me; now I’m not sure whether or not that’s true, since I have surely hurt him more than anyone ever has or ever will.

Like I said, I thought that getting my career back was more important than anything, but I was wrong. Now I know what I lost, and my regret is epic and endless because I will always love Asher Lee, and all I can do is attempt to be the person he loved so much once upon a time.

THE END

Asher took a deep, shaky breath, tears coursing down his face. They slipped from his chin to plop quietly on the page, and as they spread, he realized that there were words on the next page too.

He turned the page, and if he’d already been doubled over by the impact of their story, what he read next leveled him to rubble:

100% of the proceeds from
Once Upon a Time
will benefit Operation Mend, a UCLA-based nonprofit organization that
provides medical experts necessary to make wounded warriors whole again.

He clenched his eyes shut, closing the binder but holding it against his chest tightly. He sat still for a long time, letting their story sink in, coming to terms with the fact that she’d been telling the truth, and aching to be with her, to touch her, to talk to her, and tell her it wasn’t too late, that it would never be too late, because he would never love anyone as much as he loved her.

W
hen he couldn’t stand it anymore, he turned to page one and started reading it all over again. He read long into the night, over and over and over again, until his eyes burned and it was time to leave for the hospital for his next surgery.

The first time you realize that he loves you as much as you love him

“Savannah Calhoun Carmichael, are you even listening to me?”

Scarlet, who held a thick parenting magazine suspended between her elegantly manicured fingers, was giving Savannah a familiar pinched look. Savannah adjusted her seat on the porch railing to look squarely at her little sister, who’d found out just that morning that she was expecting.

“Yes. I am.
‘Twelve recommendations for getting your little one into the best-possible preschool.’” Savannah sighed. “Isn’t it a little early to be thinking about that?”

“It is
not
.” Scarlet shut the magazine and rested it on her lap. “A May baby. Isn’t it wonderful? Happy you’re going to be an aunt?”

“Very wonderful. And very happy my niece or nephew is going to have the best mama in town.”

Scarlet smiled and looked over the porch railing as the sprinkler started its lazy rotation. “Hard to believe that the summer’s almost over. Not even two weeks until Labor Day.”

Savannah nodded, thinking of Asher. The familiar heaviness was not as heavy as it had been before writing
Once Upon a Time
, but ever present nonetheless.

Miss Potts had sent a note last week:
Asher says you may publish. —Miss Potts

Savannah had been cheered, at first, by the note, because it meant that Asher had read her book, which she had painstakingly written as a love letter to him, baring her heart to him on every page and hoping that by reading the truth of their story, he would understand the decisions she’d made. But as the days moved on and there wasn’t any follow-up from Asher, her spirits had dipped again. Lately, especially as the evenings got cooler, she turned her thoughts toward Christmas, wondering if she and Asher could start all over once he was home again. It was the one fantasy that really kept her going.

“Glad you’re still writing,” said Scarlet. “I think it’s wonderful that Todd offered you an advance on your next book.”

“
Mmm,” murmured Savannah. “I think I’ll get a little apartment in town. Get out of Mama and Daddy’s hair. A sunny room where I can write.”

“Baby and I will come and visit famous Aunt
Vanna, the romance writer. Who knew that’s what you would end up doin’?”

Savannah grinned at her sister. Lately she’d been able to grin again. It’s not that she was happy, but life kept moving, kept demanding to be lived, and Savannah was a survivor, just like Asher.

“Certainly not me. It’s a long way from investigative reporting, but it feels right. More right than I could have expected. And no one will ever hack up something that I write ever again. I made sure of it. Final approval on all edits was the first thing I insisted on in my new contract.”

“Your book was wonderful,
Vanna. No way Asher could have read it and thought any different.”

Savannah shrugged. “By my best guess, he read it at least five or six days ago. I was sort of hoping to hear from him. But …”

“Give him a little time,” said Scarlet. “Maybe he had a surgery planned for the day it arrived, or the day after. Maybe he needed to get his head around it. I know it’s hard, but be patient.”

Savannah nodded, but inside she was losing hope. “There’s no other way I could tell him, you know? That I’d made a mistake and how terribly sorry I was. That he was and is and will always be the love of my life.”

Scarlet stood up, putting her arm around Savannah’s waist. “I just know it’s all going to work out.”

Savannah wished she shared her sister’s optimism. Instead she changed the subject. “Thank you, Scarlet.”

“For what?”

“For forcing me back to the land of the living. For loving me when I was so hateful. I called you the devil, you know.”

“Oh, I know. I was there.”

“I was the worst maid of honor who ever lived.”

“That’s right,” Scarlet said. “You’ll have to make it up to me by being the best godmother who ever lived, you hear?”

Savannah laughed. “Why do you keep giving me chances?”

“Because that’s what you do when you love someone. Which is how I know Asher will be back someday, Vanna. Because he loves you. More than I ever saw a man love a woman. That doesn’t just go away.”

Tears sprang into Savannah’s eyes. “Thank you, Scarlet,” she mouthed, not trusting her voice.

Scarlet looked at her watch. “Have to get going. I like to have dinner waitin’. And I have big news to share tonight. Poor Trent. I hope he’s ready to be a daddy.”

“If he’s not,” said Savannah, pulling her sister back into her arms, “I know you’ll get him up to speed.”

Scarlet walked down the porch stairs to her car, turning back once to smile at Savannah. “I meant it. I know he’ll be back someday.”

Scarlet seemed so sure, it was almost like she knew something, but that couldn’t be. She’d know if Asher had ever been in touch with Trent or Scarlet. No. She was just trying to be reassuring. Savannah’s eyes burned, but she grinned and nodded, waving good-bye.

After Scarlet was out of sight, Savannah sat on the swing and watched the evening settle in. The bright-red geraniums were looking a little tired now as summer came to a close, and the azaleas wouldn’t bloom again until next year. Children rode their bikes back and forth down the street, and a couple of young mothers walked by with matching carriages. Life buzzed on around her, and though Savannah did her best to force herself to stay engaged, it took effort. She closed her eyes, leaning back in the swing.

She missed Asher.

She missed him every second of every day.

And while the pain was bearable now, it was no less constant.

It had been almost six weeks since the Fourth of July, six weeks without a word from Asher. She wondered what he had thought as he read her book, their story. She wondered if he laughed and cried as much as she had, clutching the words to his heart, remembering the very best moments they’d shared. Or had he read her words with cool indifference, only agreeing to let her publish because of the cause it would benefit? Did he think of her at all anymore? Did he still love her?

“I’m sure he doesn’t,” she whispered softly as the cool evening breeze kissed her cheeks.

“You’re sure he doesn’t what, darlin’?”

She gasped, then calmed herself. Asher’s voice. Of course. Rarely an hour went by without having an imaginary conversation with him, her head re-creating his voice so effortlessly she could almost be tricked into believing he was beside her.

She inhaled deeply, keeping her eyes closed, determined to enjoy the fantasy for as long as it lasted. “I’m sure he doesn’t love me anymore.”

“Then you’d be wrong.”

“Then I’d be …” Her heart started thumping and she took a deep, gasping breath. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t actually be him. She froze, afraid that breathing would steal him away. “Asher?”

“Keep your eyes closed
, Savannah.”

She heard him walk up the steps of the porch and fought to obey his instruction, her fingers lifting from her lap, dangling over her legs and trembling fiercely with her longing to reach out
for him. She heard him step onto the porch and move around the table until he settled himself on the swing beside her.

“You’re here,” she sobbed. “You’re finally here.”

“I’m here,” he said softly, and she heard the emotion in his gravelly voice. His hand reached for hers, effortlessly lacing through her fingers.

“I want to open my eyes.”

“I need you to listen to me first, darlin’, okay?”

She nodded her head with a jerk, her fingers tightening around his. It was Asher. It was Asher come home to her, just as Scarlet had predicted.
She’d do anything he asked. Anything to know they weren’t over, that they’d never been over, that their future still included each other.

“That article.”

Her head fell forward in sorrow. “Asher—”

He spoke in a rush, but softly, tenderly. “I know you didn’t write it that way. I know you wouldn’t have,” he paused, swallowing, “used those words about me. I know you meant to protect our identities, and I know that you were shocked by how much attention it got. I believe you.”

“I swear to you—”

“
Shhh. You don’t stop interrupting me, Savannah, I’m going to have to kiss that mouth to keep it quiet.”

Her heart fluttered wildly, and she seriously considered interrupting him again as soon as possible, but she knew it was important for them to talk first.

“That morning, I didn’t know what to believe. But I’m sorry that I didn’t believe you. I should have believed you. I should have—”

“No,” she said in a broken voice, her fingers kneading his. “You don’t have to say you’re sorry to me. I did this to us. I—”

She gasped as she felt the warmth of his lips press against hers, and she couldn’t hold back the tears anymore, crying as she reached for his face with her free hand, which was stopped by the firm grip of something hand-like. Her brain worked hard to process what was stopping her, but then his tongue touched hers, and every thought in her head vacated as she sank into the heaven that was his mouth on hers once again. Whatever had held her hand back moved away and suddenly he was encircling her with two complete arms, pulling her against his chest as two hands settled on her back. She tasted the salt of her tears, and maybe his tears too, as he delved into her mouth, slanting his lips over hers to kiss her silly, to kiss her senseless, to kiss her like he still loved her just as much as he ever did before.

He drew back from her but quickly adjusted their position so her chin rested on his shoulder and her breasts were flush against his chest. She opened her eyes and looked down at her hands clasped around his back, resting her cheek on his shoulder.

“You’re holding me with two arms.”

“Yes, I am.”

She laughed, tears still streaming down her face.

“You stopped me from touching your face with your … your hand.”

“That’s right.”

“I want to see you
r face, Asher.”

“Not yet,” he said softly. “We have to finish talking about the past first. When we talk about the future, then you can see.”

Savannah took a deep breath and sighed, closing her eyes and thanking God that she was back in his arms, and that talking about the future was part of his plan. “Okay.”

“I got your book last Monday, baby. I read it. And then I read it again. And then I read it twice more, until the sun came up and I had to go to the hospital in the morning for my third surgery.”

“Oh,” she breathed. Scarlet had been right. He hadn’t been avoiding her. He was unable to contact her.

“Savannah, I wanted more than anything to call you or come to you, but I had to show up for that surgery, and I had to heal a little before I could drive here.”

“Of course.”

“That book—” His breath hitched with emotion, vibrated against her chest, and she savored the feeling of him so close. “That book was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever read. It told me everything I needed to know. I … I understand, Savannah. I understand how it all happened.”

Tears welled in her eyes again as she clutched him more tightly.

“I won’t lie to you. When Trent told me you were writing a book, I just about lost it, but then Miss Potts sent it to me, and, aw, Savannah, I’m so sorry I doubted you.”

“You had every right to doubt me,” she sobbed, shuddering against him. “E-every right.”

“And you did it for Operation Mend, which means our story will raise money to help other wounded guys. And I’m … Well, I’m just so proud of that, and though there’s still a private part of me that wishes our story had never been anyone’s business but ours—that’s selfish when publishing it can do so much good. Somehow it makes it okay. Makes it more than okay. Means that I’m able to serve one more time, do some good, give something back. All because of you.”

“All because of
us
,” she said. “I need to see you.”

“Okay. One more minute. I have a couple more things to say before you look at me, okay?”

“Why can’t I see you?”

“Because I look different,
darlin’, and I want to say these things while I’m still the Asher you fell in love with—I mean, assuming that you, that is … if you still …”

“You can’t possibly wonder.”

“I didn’t believe you. I turned my back on you.”

“I hurt you. I hurt you so much. I’m so sorry, Asher.”

“Shhh. I know, baby. I know.” He rubbed her back gently.

“I never stopped loving you, Asher. Not for a second. Not once. I was stupid enough to think my career could possibly matter more to me than you. Because what I quickly found out was that nothing matters more to me than you. Nothing. And I’ll survive without you … but I can’t really
live
unless I’m with you.”

She felt the shudder rip through his body at her words, the old swing creaking under them as he pulled her as tightly to him as possible. Her bare legs wedged between his, and his fingers curled against her back, and how she wished they were naked in his bed, limbs entwined, skin to skin.