Prologue #2
"What about him?" The words came out steadier than I felt, the professional mask sliding into place automatically. It was a skill I'd perfected over the years, appearing calm when inside I was falling apart.
"He's been in an accident. A bad one." Xander's voice cracked slightly, and I could hear the fear underneath his usual composed demeanor.
"Motorcycle versus SUV outside of Portland.
He's alive, but…" A shaky breath that made my heart clench.
"Broken leg, broken collar bone, bruised spine, extensive road rash.
They've got him stabilized, but he's going to need extensive physical therapy. "
My professional mind immediately started cataloging the injuries, assessing recovery timelines, treatment protocols.
Compound fracture of the femur would require surgical intervention, likely with pins and rods.
Collar bone fractures were tricky. They could affect range of motion permanently if not treated properly.
Spinal bruising was always a concern for long-term mobility issues.
Road rash could lead to infection if not meticulously cared for.
Focusing on the medical facts was easier than processing the emotional earthquake happening in my chest. Easier than dealing with the image of Gage broken and bleeding in a hospital bed somewhere far from home.
"I'm flying out tomorrow morning," Xander continued, and I could hear movement in the background, probably him pacing the way he did when he was stressed.
"I was hoping... I know this is a lot to ask, but would you consider taking him on as a patient?
I know your caseload is full, and I know you two have history, but he's going to need someone who understands… "
"Yes."
The word was out of my mouth before I'd consciously decided to say it.
Before I'd thought about what it would mean to see him again.
Before I'd considered whether my heart could handle being in the same room as the man who'd walked away from everything we could have been.
Before I'd calculated the professional complications of treating someone I'd once loved with every fiber of my being.
"Billie, are you sure? I know you two have history, and if it's too complicated…"
"It's not complicated." The lie came easily, professionally smooth. I'd gotten good at lying about Gage over the years. Lying about how I felt, about whether I'd moved on. "He's family. Of course I'll help."
There was relief in Xander's voice when he spoke again, but underneath it I could hear the weight of worry he was carrying. "Thank you. God, Billie, thank you. I don't know what... We've been looking for him for so long, trying to bring him home, but not like this. Never like this."
We talked for a few more minutes about logistics.
Xander would bring Gage home as soon as the doctors cleared him for transport.
I'd need to review his medical records, prepare a treatment plan, probably coordinate with his doctor if surgical follow-up was needed.
Normal, professional conversations that helped mask the emotional chaos happening underneath.
He was early in his treatment, his prognosis could change by the time Xander arrived in Portland, hopefully for the better, but things could always get worse.
After we hung up, I sat in my office staring at the phone in my hands.
Outside, the late spring evening was settling into dusk, painting everything in shades of gold and shadow.
Through my window, I could see the lights starting to come on in the main house at the ranch, could picture Booker and Reece leaning on each other while they dealt with the reality of this heartbreaking situation.
My hands were shaking.
I looked down at them, these steady, competent hands that had guided countless patients through their recovery, and watched them tremble like leaves in a storm. Hands that had learned to be gentle with damaged bodies, patient with frustrated minds, firm when people wanted to give up.
What would those hands feel like on Gage's skin again?
The thought came unbidden and I shoved it away, along with all the other dangerous thoughts that were trying to surface. This was about helping him heal, nothing more. I was a professional. I could handle this.
But even as I told myself that, I was already remembering the last time I'd seen him.
The night he'd found me at the swimming hole, his face ravaged with guilt and pain.
The way he'd kissed me like he was drowning and I was his only source of air.
The way he'd whispered that he loved me, that I was "the one," right before he told me he was leaving forever.
I'd never kissed anyone else the way I'd kissed him that night. Never felt that sense of coming home, of being exactly where I belonged. Eleven years later, and I still compared every relationship to what I'd had with Gage Farrington when we were fifteen years old and thought we had forever.
Maybe that had been my mistake. Maybe I'd been holding onto something that was never meant to last, measuring every man against a memory that had been more fantasy than reality.
Or maybe I'd just never stopped loving him.
The thought settled in my chest like a stone, heavy and unavoidable.
I'd dated over the years that followed. Good men.
Decent men. Men who called when they said they would and didn't disappear in the middle of the night.
But none of them had ever made me feel the way Gage had.
None of them had ever made me believe in forever.
"Bring him home, Xander," I whispered to the empty room. "We'll help him become whole again."
Even if it killed me.
Even if seeing him broke my heart all over again.
Because that's what you did for family. Even the family that left you behind. Even the family that you'd never quite learned how to stop loving.