Chapter Sixteen
Walking into the cancer ward a week later felt like a year had gone by.
She understood so much more about the man who’d been guarding her.
He definitely challenged her and wasn’t going to agree with everything she said but also had so much to say.
His words to Rachel about the day of the wedding were so deeply personal.
It was the way she felt about marriage; it was what her mother had taught her.
“It’s not about the dress or the day,” she’d said. “It’s about the rest of your life together. And it won’t always be easy, Zoey, but it will be worth it with the right man.”
Archer walked next to her, opening doors. He might be confused for an attentive boyfriend, or…a bodyguard. She was going to assume people believed the first one and let everyone draw their own conclusions.
“Zoey!” Susan, the head nurse said. “You’re back so soon.”
“Well, it’s almost Sweetheart Day.” Zoey gestured to Archer. “This is my friend, Archer. He wanted to come along with me today. Is that okay?”
Archer held out his hand to Susan. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Archer Rossi.”
“Hey!” a little voice shouted. “Mr. Archer! It’s me, Joey. Remember me?”
Zoey turned to see Joey with his mother, Darcy.
He was practicing walking with what must be his new prosthesis, while using a small cane for assistance.
She remembered the family well, as Joey was one of the few children treated here for bone cancer.
Last year, he’d unfortunately suffered an amputation below the knee, but more importantly, shortly after that he was declared cancer free.
To Zoey, there was little worse than a child battling cancer, and Joey’s parents had gone through all their savings and maxed out their health insurance.
They’d been receiving funding from the Patch Lambert Grant since.
She was curious as to how Joey knew Archer. But Archer, for his part, wasn’t meeting Zoey’s eyes. Instead, he was fixated on Joey. Archer moved closer, ruffled the child’s hair, then bent low to fist-bump him.
“Hey, buddy. It’s good to see you again.”
“Hi, Joey!” Zoey waved. “How do you know my friend Archer?”
“Oh, because Mr. Archer has a bionic leg, just like mine!” Joey said.
After that, Zoey didn’t hear anything but a ringing in her ears. It seemed like the entire room had gone out of focus and her legs were made out of rubber. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. Her heart thudded in her chest like a jackhammer.
It wasn’t the way Archer would have chosen to tell Zoey, but in some ways, it was perfect. A full circle moment. There was no one quite like a child to let the cat out of the bag.
“That’s right, we’re both below the knee amputees and we both have a bionic foot,” Archer said.
Joey’s mother was smiling, the nurse was smiling, and Joey was beaming.
Zoey, on the other hand, looked like a strong wind might blow her over.
Her eyes were wide and fixed. He didn’t blame her—it was a shocking way to find out, sudden and unexpected.
But this was heavenly timing in Archer’s opinion.
From the mouth of an innocent child. The truth.
“That’s great,” Zoey said. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to see someone about a check.”
Archer gave her a moment, realizing she needed it.
He spoke with Joey and his mother for a few minutes, then excused himself.
Wandering down the hall, he picked up Zoey’s trail, following the flowery scent he’d come to memorize.
And then he found her, standing in the break room alone, holding a cup of coffee.
Her hands were shaking, and with one of them, she brushed at her eyes.
Jesus, she was crying.
“Zoey. This is why I didn’t tell you,” Archer said, walking into the room. “You should not be sad about this. I am lucky. Don’t cry over me.”
She glanced up, confusion clouding her eyes, as if surprised he’d found her. Then anger flashed.
“You think I’m crying because you have a prosthetic leg? Damn it, Archer, I’m crying because you didn’t tell me!”
“Because I—”
“Because you had no faith in me. Look, I know it’s none of my business, and it’s private, but I thought you’d hurt your foot.
We ran into each other at the hospital and you wouldn’t tell me why you were here.
That would have been a good time to tell me, if you wanted to.
If you thought I was a big enough person to accept you for who you are. ”
“No, that is not…” Archer swiped a hand across his face. “It was not because of you, it was me.”
“I’ve dated a lot of men, all physically ‘whole.’” She made air quotes. “And all lacking in every other way. Did it ever occur to you that I am a lot more than a physically beautiful woman? And that I might want more than looks in a partner?”
He smirked. “I did not think it was my brain you were attracted to.”
“No, it was your heart.” She locked eyes with him then, raw pain etched across her features. “Maybe you don’t know how much love means to me. It’s…everything. And love is a lot more than looks or physical attraction. Love is a choice we make every day.”
Damn, she was right. He was out of words.
“I saw my parents make a choice to love each other every day, through my father’s many injuries and surgeries and rehab and physical therapy.”
“What happened to him?”
“He was a football player, remember? American football.”
“Ah, okay. I understand. But Zoey, that’s different. I am starting out with a defect.”
“Don’t you dare call it a defect!” She gestured toward the last place they’d seen Joey. “Joey has the right idea. Both of you are superheroes.”
“No. He is, but I’m no superhero.”
“You don’t want to be, but you are. You’re continuing to live your life, still helping others like Joey.”
“You’re making me sound like a saint, and I’m not. I’ve just had time to get adjusted since it happened. But I’m still not proud of this the way Joey is. And there’s a difference. What happened to him wasn’t his fault, it was cancer.”
“And what happened to you wasn’t your fault, either!”
Archer cocked his head. She was dead wrong. Maybe not about the accident, but why he’d been there in the first place.
“Isn’t it? I signed up to fight a war in another country.
My parents begged me not to go, told me it wasn’t my war to fight.
But I was a proud first-generation American and I wanted to show everyone that red, white and blue coursed through my veins.
I signed up when I was eighteen. And I showed them all right, while I left behind an entire part of myself.
I didn’t know how much I’d miss it, either. ”
“Yes, 9/11 got a lot of you young men. I remember guys in my class right after it happened. They were all so…angry.”
“And we had to put that anger somewhere.”
“Do you ever feel…cheated?”
“Cheated? Because of my foot? No, I was lucky. Some of my friends, not so much. But you have to remember, when my family came to this country, I was a kid. By the time the Twin Towers fell, I was in sixth grade. My friends and I thought we’d go over there when we were old enough and win a war.
Kick some ass. It meant a lot to me to give back to the country that gave so much to me, so as soon as I could I signed up. ”
“I admire your courage. I’ve never done anything truly courageous in my life.”
“Except for take care of your sick mother?” He met her gaze. “Courage comes in all shapes and sizes.”
“Like the medical professionals who see it every day. I don’t have that kind of courage. When they told me about Joey a few months ago, I had to excuse myself. I went home and cried for hours.”
“You’re a soft touch, Zoey.” He reached to take her hand and squeeze it.
She squeezed back. “We were both so young when 9/11 happened. I also had friends who signed up. Your heart was in the right place and you went where your country asked you to go. That’s honorable.”
“That’s all a soldier can do.” Archer shrugged. “There’s a clear chain of command, and no room to argue with your superior.”
Zoey took a step closer to him and grazed his cheek with the back of her hand. “It wasn’t your fault.”
It was nothing less than he’d expected from Zoey. She felt sorry for him because her heart was too big not to care. Either way, he couldn’t regret her knowing the whole truth.
* * *
Once they were back at her house, Archer listened as Zoey quizzed him on how the injury happened, when it happened, what kind of care he’d received, and for how long.
She was acting like a modern Florence Nightingale, trying to ease his suffering.
The tables had turned. She wanted to take care of him, and this time it went beyond the desire to make him feel at home by cooking for him. It was pity, pure and simple.
That wasn’t going to work. He had a job to do here, which involved protecting her, and he would do it. His feelings and his disability had nothing to do with this. If nothing else, Archer was skilled at compartmentalizing.
“What kind of treatment did you have?” Zoey asked.
“The best there is.”
They were in the kitchen and he was seated on one of the stools, trying to get comfortable with all the rapid-fire questions. Part of him wanted to shut her down, to tell her it wasn’t any of her business, but he didn’t have the heart to do that to Zoey.
“I know quite a lot about extreme injuries and physical therapy. My mom and I went through this with my father for years.”
But he’d bet her father never lost a limb.
Kind of difficult to play any kind of football after that.
Archer was once more reminded that he would probably never kick a “soccer” ball again, not even with his own children.
It was one more of those pictures of his future he’d had to reframe.
The physical therapist told him that of course he would be able to.
Archer didn’t quite buy it. He’d been an All-Star in high school; it was a high bar to meet.
In some ways, he didn’t want to do something if he couldn’t do it as well as he used to.
They had to change the subject to something else.
“We need to discuss the party.”
She wouldn’t like this but it had to be done. He needed to ax this party—it was far too much of a risk. Ian had made the executive decision.
“What’s there left to talk about?”
“Zoey,” he said, lowering his head to study his hands. “It’s not happening.”
She’d been on the other side of the kitchen counter, cutting into some kind of pie, and she stopped and stared up at him.
“Yes, it is.”
“It can’t happen. You’re going to have to cancel it.”
She turned her body toward him, dark eyes flaring, hands on hips. “I won’t do it! There’s no reason to cancel, because Scott is a nonissue and you and I both know it.”
“You’re absolutely right.”
“I am? About what? The party?”
“No, about Scott. He’s not the issue.”