Tracy Wolff - Healing Dr. Alexander

“No excuses,” she told him, reaching for his hand. “You’re here now. That’s what’s important.”

He watched as she examined the still raw scars on his hand. Scars where the bullet went in. Scars from where the doctors at the American University of Cairo had struggled to save his hand. Even more scars from the three operations in Boston to repair as much of the tendon damage as possible. Two top surgeons had collaborated on his case—one a friend of his father’s and one a friend of his—but even their expertise hadn’t been enough to help him regain full mobility.

In time, with intensive physical therapy, he’d once again be able to use his right hand to open bottle caps or button small buttons or to do most of the little day-to-day things he’d taken for granted for so much of his life. But no matter how much physical therapy he did, no matter how many exercise reps he forced himself to complete, he would never again hold a scalpel.

Would never again be able to operate.

He could see the knowledge in Amanda’s eyes, feel her pity in the soft caress of her fingers over his, and it embarrassed him. Shamed him.

He quickly pulled his hand from her grasp, hating how his inability to perform surgery made him feel like half a man—maybe even less. No wonder he’d never been able to compete with Simon.

“Does it still hurt?” she asked softly, ignoring the No Trespassing signs he’d hastily thrown up. But then, a decade and a half of friendship gave her that privilege. Especially since the last time they’d seen each other had ended up with him drugging her so that Simon could get her out of Africa and back to America where she could get the rest she needed. Next to that, a few questions seemed well within the boundaries of friendship.

“Not really,” he prevaricated as he curled the hand in question into a fist.

“Liar.” He didn’t respond and Amanda sighed, linking her right arm with his left one. “But I won’t tell. To everyone else you can be the same old indestructible Jack.”

Indestructible. He liked the sound of that. If only it were true.

“So, show me this clinic of yours,” he told her, not even trying to hide his desperation to change the subject. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing what you’ve been up to.”

After giving him another long look—one that told him she still knew him better than anyone else on earth—Amanda led him to the back of the clinic. And into another layer of hell.

CHAPTER TWO

IT HAD BEEN two months since he’d been in a medical establishment as anything but a patient.

Two months since anyone had called him doctor and meant it.

Two months since he’d felt anything but useless.

He knew Amanda had brought him here so that he could see there was life after surgery, life after Africa, but it wasn’t working. As she took him by the exam rooms, introduced him to the clinic staff, stopped and talked to a few patients she obviously knew, he only felt worse. On one hand, everything had changed. On the other, nothing had and he was stuck in the middle trying to find a spot for himself when the only place where he wanted to be, was no longer an option for him.

“So, what do you think?” Amanda asked as they wound up the tour in the hallway outside the exam rooms.

“It’s great,” he told her, meaning it. The clinic, while not wasting money for cosmetic changes, had top of the line equipment and a staff that appeared very well-trained. “You look like you’ve finally found your place.”

“I have.” This time, when she smiled, contentment radiated from her. “We do good work here.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Amanda was a hell of a doctor and she wouldn’t get involved in any establishment that wasn’t top-notch. At the thought, For the Children, the organization that funded his clinic in Somali, flashed into his mind. They were a fantastic organization to work for and after two months away, he missed them. Missed practicing medicine. At the same time, though, returning to Africa, where he’d been shot, made him uneasy. Oh, he would never admit it to anyone, but he was beginning to think that his time in Africa was as finished as Amanda’s was. The idea filled him with sadness, with more knowledge of how useless he had become.

He shook the uneasiness off, refused to give in to it. So what if he was aimless, directionless, for the first time in his life. Parading his insecurities in front of Amanda was the last thing he wanted to do.

“So, can I buy you a late lunch?” he asked her, glancing at his watch. “I want to take you and Simon to dinner tonight, as well.”

“Actually, we were hoping to have you over to the house tonight. Simon’s cooking.”

Of course he was, as Amanda could scorch water. His stomach tightened a little at the idea of seeing the two of them ensconced together in domestic bliss, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t known it was coming. He was the one who had emailed Simon, after all. Who had brought him back into Amanda’s life.

Which was a good thing, he told himself viciously. The other man had saved her, brought her back to herself after the devastating death of their daughter. Seeing her with him again after all these years was fine. Better than fine, when it meant she was whole and happy and healthy.

“Sure. That’d be great.” He added an extra-large grin, so she’d know he meant it.

“Fantastic. And I wish you’d reconsider staying with us.” She shot him a reproving look. “We have plenty of room.”

Yeah, well, that was where he drew the line. Coming here, making sure she was okay, was one thing. Torturing himself with the knowledge that the woman he’d loved for a decade was down the hall in bed with another man? Call him crazy, but he wasn’t that big of a masochist.

“I’m great at the hotel. Honest. Besides, I have to leave for the airport really early in the morning. I don’t want to disturb you.”

“Airport?” she asked in dismay. “You just got to town last night.”

“I know, but I can’t stay. I have a physical-therapy appointment in Boston on Thursday. I can’t miss it.”

“We have physical therapists here in Atlanta, you know.”

He ignored the cute little pout her mouth had worked itself into. “Yes, but I don’t live in Atlanta. My doctors are in Boston.”

“Boston, Shmoston. You’re not happy there. I know you’re not.”

He sighed, ran a hand through his hair. Resisted the urge to tell her that he didn’t have it in him to be happy anywhere. But then he’d sound like the pathetic loser he was, and call him vain, but he wasn’t up for any more sympathy.

Not sure what to say, he finally settled on part of the truth. “I’m tired, Amanda. I don’t have it in me to try to be someplace new right now. And with the shape my hand is in…I can’t be a doctor right now. I can’t—”

“Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?” He wouldn’t have been as shocked if she’d punched him. Amanda had been circling around him for weeks.

“I said, you’re spouting bullshit.” She grabbed his arm and yanked him into a small supply closet that he assumed—from the desk and diplomas on the wall—was serving double-duty as her office. “You aren’t tired. You’re scared and you’re drowning in self-pity.”

“You’re one to talk.” The words were out before he could stop them. He saw them hit her, saw their impact, and wished he could take them back. Angry as he was, he had no right to take it out on Amanda. Not when she’d already suffered so much.

But she was nodding, eyes clear and shoulders straight. “Exactly. I am one to talk. Because I was where you are not too long ago.” Her voice was harsh and direct now, containing none of the sweetness he’d been hearing from her for weeks. It was almost a relief to have her back to normal—somehow it made him feel more like a functioning member of society.