Chapter 17
Seventeen
Tabitha
A week later…
The suture pops.
A clean little ping that slices straight through my nerves. Blake doesn’t flinch. He just says, “Again,” like a robot, and steps to the next student.
I re-thread. Hands steady. Or pretending to be, anyway. Blake said I have good hands, so what the hell is wrong with me?
The needle holder feels slick, my gloves too tight, the blue drape too bright. I lay the knot, square.
The knot slips.
Heat flares in my cheeks.
“Again,” Blake says, back at my shoulder, his voice even. “Precision. Not speed.”
“I know.” I’m going too fast. I clear my throat. “I know.”
Eli slides a box of practice pads closer to me with his elbow. “Switch pads,” he murmurs. “Yours is tearing.”
I nod and begin with a new pad. The next throw lands, and the next. Surgeons’ knot. Square. Tails short and neat. I don’t breathe until I hear Blake’s low, “Better.”
I let that tiny word settle like a weight. It helps. A little.
“Passes,” Blake calls. “Instruments. Go.”
Eli faces me. “Kelly.”
I place a Kelly clamp in his palm, box lock open, my thumb on the ratchet. “Adson with teeth.”
He hands me the Adson correctly, palm up, like a scrub tech. I take it by the shank. We move through the litany. Crile. Metz. Mayo. The rhythm gets inside my wrists. The room stops tilting.
“Good,” Blake says to the class. “Break in ten.”
I strip off my gloves and lean into the counter.
All that matters is this seminar, this future I’ve dreamed of for as long as I can remember.
Don’t think about Angie’s call.
Don’t think about Henry.
Don’t think about the attack.
The last one is what spears into my head, mostly because of the text that just buzzed through from Lance.
Feel like coffee sometime?
I inhale. Coffee. Maybe. Lance is handsome and sweet, and he was my knight in shining armor. Coffee is harmless.
But I can’t get interested. He’ll just remind me of the attack.
And he’ll remind me that he’s not the man I truly want.
I text back quickly.
Thank you, but I can’t.
The three dots move… And—
No pressure. Coffee will always be there. Maybe sometime soon? Next week? Or I can leave you alone. Your call.
How am I supposed to answer that?
I sigh and write the words as they come to me.
I’m just crazy busy with the surgical seminar. I’ll be in touch.
At break time, I head for the hall. Two students laugh too loud near the water fountain. I drink, swallow, feel the cool slide down my throat.
Back in the lab, the second half moves better. My throws are cleaner, my tension more even.
Eli grins at me. “You got out of your head,” he says.
“For now,” I answer.
He shrugs nonchalantly. “For now’s a win.”
When the timer hits zero, we break down trays, count tips, log instruments.
Blake looks over the class, nodding. “Next week we hit the cadaver lab, guys. Be ready. You’ll be judged by what your hands can do, not what your mouth says they can do.”
Someone snorts. Someone else mutters, “Can’t wait.”
Outside, Boulder is hot, dry, and sunny. The Flatirons are gorgeous against the sky. I tell myself to walk home, clear my head, spend no money, be a responsible human. I scroll my inbox.
Then a voicemail icon pops up. My phone is still on silent.
My stomach drops before my brain catches up.
Could be a pharmacy, a reminder, spam. Could be…
No.
No, because he’s not in my phone anymore. Though he could still call me.
Without looking at the number, I tap voicemail.
“Ms. Haynes, this is Dr. Landers’s office confirming your slot in next week’s skills lab. Please bring your sterilization log and sign the cadaver agreement if you haven’t already.”
Disappointment whirls through me.
Seriously, did I really think it would be him?
I chose the seminar. I chose me.
He took the fucking hint. Just like I took his.
What do I truly expect? Henry, a few weeks post-brain surgery, careening down the mountain on one of his gorgeous horses with an engagement ring and a lifelong promise?
No. This isn’t a fairy tale. It’s real life. And sometimes people have to make hard choices.
He made his, and I made mine.
Period.
Full stop.
By the time I get home, the sun has turned to late-afternoon gold. I drop my bag, toe off my shoes, wash my hands like I’m scrubbing in for the rest of my life.
I head straight to the shower and make the water as hot as I can stand it.
I strip off my clothes and step under the pulsating water and stand there.
Just stand there. Will the water to burn the memories away, help me home in on what I truly want.
A successful career as a surgeon. Nothing more, nothing less.
After a few minutes, I scrub my hair, my scalp, my face, my body, harsher than I need to. Maybe, if I scrub hard enough, I can erase all thoughts of that night I was nearly attacked…and of Henry Simpson.
Right.
It doesn’t work.
Now I’m haunted by memories and my skin hurts.
I dry off, put on sweats and that damned Steel Vineyards T-shirt because I’m a masochist, apparently. I head to the kitchen in bare feet and open the fridge.
Nothing appeals to me, but I make a ham sandwich anyway. A surgeon’s got to eat, after all, even when her patient is a practice pad. Next week, a cadaver.
It’s Friday. I don’t have to study. Two weeks until the final, so I’ve got time. I could binge watch a new show, read a book for pleasure, do any number of things.
But I end up at my desk again, looking through notes, flashcards, cases.
It works until it doesn’t. The ache sneaks back in. I stop pretending I don’t know its name.
Henry.
The barn. His mouth. The way slow knocked me out harder than hard ever did. The way he said he was broken like it was a fact printed on his forehead.
I should have gone when Marjorie called. I should have walked out of this apartment and kept walking until the Western Slope swallowed me.
But I didn’t. I chose the seminar, the knots, the clean language of muscle memory over the messiness of love with a man who said we had no future.
Angie said it was okay to choose myself.
Did she mean it?
Henry’s her brother, after all.
Then, as if the universe can hear my thoughts, my phone buzzes.
Angie.
“Tabs.” Her voice is all breath. “Tell me you’re okay.”
“I’m fine. You should be enjoying your honeymoon. Not calling me, Ang.”
“Jason and I are coming home soon. To Boulder, not the Slope. I can’t wait to see you.”
I clear my throat. “You’re not going home to see Henry?”
“Oh. Well, yeah. Of course. At first. But we’ll be back in Boulder before your seminar is over. Jason has surgeries scheduled, and I… Well, you know. Fall semester is starting.”
“Of course,” I say.
“So…do you want to know anything?”
“Uh…sure. I want to hear everything about the trip.”
She lets out a humorless laugh. “You’ll hear that when we get home. I have lots of pictures, plus some goodies to bring back to you. But you know very well I’m talking about Henry, Tabs.”
Henry.
Of course. She said I could choose me, but he’s still her brother. I get it.
“How is he?” I ask.
“Physically? Good. Stubborn. He’s back at work and driving short distances.” A wry half-laugh. “Emotionally? He’s pretending.”
I press my fingers into my temples, not sure what to say. “I had the seminar. Orientation. Then labs. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.”
I’m making the same damned excuse, and she knows it.
I swallow. The truth hovers on my lips.
“Tabs…”
“Angie, here’s the thing.” I draw in a breath. “I was afraid. I was afraid that if I left, I wouldn’t come back.”
No response.
Until—
“Maybe not right away,” Angie says. “But you would have. Because you’re you.”
Silence. My kitchen clicks and hums around me.
“Tabs,” she says, “I have an idea.”
I sigh. “What kind of idea?”
“My family has this cabin in Dillon. It’s closer to you than to us, and it’s fully stocked and managed. You should go there this weekend. Take a break.”
“A cabin?” I don’t hate the idea.
“Just the weekend. It’s quiet. No cell service half the time. Enjoy the mountains. Sleep. Take some hikes. Think.” She lets a beat pass. “I’ll text you the address and the door code.”
I stare at the counter. At the sticky note on the fridge that says Do not contact Henry. “Angie…”
“I’m not telling you to go to my brother,” she says. “Dillon is still several hours away from the Western Slope. I’m just telling you to go where the noise is quieter. You might just clear your head and come back to next week’s classes feeling renewed.”
I mull it over. I’d do anything to get rid of the noise. The attack. The seminar. Henry’s name ricocheting around my skull like a loose screw.
But…
“I can’t,” I say.
“Okay,” she says, like we’re discussing weather. “Then you can’t. I love you.”
“I love you too,” I whisper, but I don’t know if she hears.
The call ends.
I stand for a while. I’m not sure how long. Until my phone buzzes again.
I don’t look for a few minutes.
Then I look.
From Angie.
An address in Dillon.
Then another text.
Door code is 90968. Spare key under the ceramic bear if the battery is sluggish. Please think it over, Tabs.
I drop the phone face down like it’s hot.
And I realize…
I want to go.
I want to get out of this apartment, out of Boulder, away from the Kelly clamps and sutures and surgical cases. Away from the classroom, the lab, the place where I was nearly beaten, raped…
Away from my thoughts.
Where better to do all that than a cabin in the mountains?
It’s just a weekend. I’ve been working so hard. I deserve a little respite.
Dillon is about an hour and a half drive from Boulder. Easy compared to the drive to the Slope. I can take my study materials. Take everything I need so I’m prepared for the cadaver lab on Monday.
I’m supposed to meet Eli tomorrow to study, but I can easily back out of that with some excuse. Need some time alone. Not feeling well. Anything like that.
I’m not sure when I make the actual decision to go.
Maybe it’s when I head to the bedroom and pull the suitcase out from my closet. God, the last time I used it was for the wedding. Or maybe it’s when I go into the bathroom, collect my toiletries, and shove them into a bag.
Maybe it’s when I grab my still-not-folded laundry out of the basket and lay it out on the bed.
Or maybe it’s when I look in the mirror, see the Steel Vineyards logo, and tell myself it’s time to relax, get away from everything, including my thoughts. I pull the T-shirt over my head and throw it into my wastebasket. Then I grab another shirt from my laundry and put it on.
Socks. Charger. Everything else I need.
Keys. Wallet.
I turn to leave the bedroom and…
“Damn it all.” I grab the T-shirt out of the trash and throw it on my bed. “Coward,” I say through gritted teeth.
I grab my phone to text Angie.
You win. I’m going. Should be there within two hours.
Great! Text me when you get there safely.
Will do.
I hit traffic at first. Everyone escaping for the weekend. But the sky ahead is clean. My chest loosens with every mile marker.
My GPS leads me to the cabin…
Which isn’t a cabin at all.
Damn, the Steels think this is a cabin?
It’s a mansion made of timber and glass, anchored to the mountainside like it grew here.
The air in Dillon is sharp and clean. I step out of the car and stare up at the place.
The A-frame peaks stretch toward the sky.
Massive windows reflect the ridgeline and the sweep of the Dillon Reservoir below.
I park in the driveway and get out of the car. The sky has gotten heavy and cloudy.
I just breathe. It smells like rain.
That’s okay. I can deal with rain.
This whole place to myself for two amazing days.
I grab my stuff out of the trunk and walk toward the door. A set of footprints appears in the dried mud by the step. Fresh.
Strange. My heart goes faster for a moment until I remember that Angie said the cabin is managed. She probably had the manager come by to get everything ready for me. That’s a very Angie thing to do.
I punch in the code. The lock thunks. I push the door, heart in my mouth, and step inside to the scent of cedar and coffee.
“Hello?”
Then I jerk as a dog races toward me.
He doesn’t bark.
He doesn’t bark because he knows me.
It’s Zach.
My knees nearly give.
“Hey, buddy,” I whisper, petting his soft head. “It’s just me.”
I set my bag down. I straighten. I tell my hands not to shake.
He’s here.
Henry’s here.
Does he even know I’m coming?
Oh, Angie, what were you thinking?