Healing You Read online

  A breath caught in her throat and she dodged his gaze, looking to the floor.

  “I saw in your paperwork… Gatsby has pet insurance, right?”

  The muscles in her neck roped with tension as she nodded.

  “Good. That’s great.” Steve reached behind him, grabbing the tissue box and placing it in front of her.

  “I don’t need the tissues,” she mumbled. But even as she spoke, a tear slid down the bridge of her nose.

  “Who said it was for you?” Steve grabbed a tissue and blew his nose loudly for effect.

  A hint of a smile cracked through as Yvonne looked at him. Light and tears danced in those hazel eyes. “I’m surprised you don’t have that box of tissues spring loaded with snakes or something.”

  Steve snapped his fingers playfully as though he’d forgotten something. “I left it with my whoopee cushion in the other exam room.”

  “You’re a nut.” She shook her head and offered a sad chuckle.

  “And lucky for you, this nut is the best veterinary oncologist in New Hampshire.”

  “You are?” She snapped to attention.

  He nodded. “I am. And the good thing is that for many dogs, lymphoma is very treatable. Not curable necessarily, but often animals are responsive to the chemo. You don’t need to officially decide anything today, but I recommend that after the aspirate, you allow me to give Gatsby some fluids and a protein enzyme. It should reduce the swelling in his lymph nodes within a few hours. If he responds to that, then you should consider moving ahead with his chemo protocol in the next one to two weeks.” He scooted his chair back and grabbed some pamphlets from inside the drawer.

  “But—but chemo,” she shook her head, swiping the wetness from her cheeks. “I don’t want to put him through that misery.”

  That was one of the biggest misconceptions in treating canine lymphoma—one that he completely understood—but it was typically his biggest hurdle when helping a family choose the best path for their animal companions. “It’s your choice. I’m not going to pressure you one way or another. But the doses we give our animal friends here are far less than what people receive, so the side effects aren’t nearly as painful or severe. Many dogs barely have any symptoms from their chemo once we get the doses right.”

  She swallowed and Steve’s gaze drifted down to her bare hand. That tightness in his gut went to full-on anaconda mode, and his breath momentarily left his body. Last he’d heard, she was engaged… but that was a year ago. He’d never heard of a wedding, or any announcements. But now? With her sitting here, no sparkly diamond winking at him… he couldn’t help but wonder if the engagement was off? Or did she just forget to put her ring on in the rush of the morning with bringing Gatsby in? His mother was at the center of the Maple Grove gossip ring… surely she would have said something if she’d heard the engagement was canceled, right?

  “Okay,” she whispered. “Let’s do the first protein-treatment thingy today and see. If it works and if his symptoms are minimal, I’ll consider the chemo.”

  Steve gave her a reassuring smile, bending to scratch behind Gatsby’s ear. “I guarantee you he’ll feel better with the meds than he feels right now.”

  Her tongue slipped between her lips in a nervous swipe across her entire pout before she captured the corner between her teeth. God, that mouth. If he thought really hard, he could almost remember how it felt against his own. He licked his own lips, his mouth feeling suddenly like it was packed with cotton. The air thickened between them as they locked into a stare that held all sorts of history and promises that would never be fulfilled.

  “Steve…” she whispered, and allowed the word to fall off her lips into a netherworld of implications. Her eyes wandered the landscape of his face, finally settling just beside his right ear… directly on the scar that sliced from his temple down to his jaw. A flicker of sadness wavered in those eyes. Sadness… and—hell if he didn’t recognize her expression—pity. Why’d she have to go and ruin the moment with that horseshit? All pity did was amplify the pain, rip open the wound that had long closed over.

  He’d spent the better part of undergrad self-conscious about his scar. Hell if he was going to regress back to that state of mind. Not for Yvonne. Not for anyone. There was nothing to pity about his life, and he’d be damned if he was just going to sit there and absorb her sadness for him like a sponge. He wasn’t a sponge. He was a rock. He coughed, shoving his chair back as he stood. “You wait in here. I’ll take him to the back for his treatment and I’ll have the aspirate sent off to the lab. Just in case we’re wrong and it’s not cancer.” Hope danced in her eyes with that statement. Hope that he was nearly certain would be crushed when the test results came back. “Read through those pamphlets, and Amanda will get you the paperwork for his insurance.”

  “Steve,” she said, this time louder. He stilled, hand outstretched for the door, before turning to face her. “Thank you.”

  Heat spread through his body like flames, but he ignored that familiar feeling of excitement he used to get whenever he made Yvonne happy. “You’re welcome, Eve.” Though he hadn’t called her by that nickname in over a decade, it slid out as naturally as it did in high school. Then, as an afterthought, he added, “It’s my job.”

  She nodded, jaw clenched so tightly that the small vein near her temple was visible. “I know.”

  Steve tapped his thigh, jerking his head to the door, calling the dog over. Without needing to even pick up the leash, Gatsby stood and lumbered behind Steve to the back room. Almost as though he knew instinctually that it was the way to heal.

  ‡

  Chapter Three

  Yvonne Sarzacki squeezed her fists, gripping the soft hem of the t-shirt. It’s my job… his words rang in her head. He hadn’t said anything intentionally hurtful or inaccurate—and yet it was distancing. Which, if she was being honest, was what Steve did best. Hell, maybe it was a Tripp family trait, considering his younger sister, Ronnie, who was one of Yvonne’s best friends in high school, also stopped talking to her after the accident. Which was pretty damn impressive, considering Ronnie and Yvonne had gone to school together for a whole year after the wreck. Ronnie held grudges. But Steve—he held people at arm’s length… or maybe just her. Not that she didn’t expect or deserve as much. Steve may have been at the wheel, but the accident was her fault. And judging from the way he avoided her like some sort of disease most days—for almost thirteen years—he felt the same way. Even today, with nowhere to turn and run, he still treated her as though she was nothing more to him than yet another patient. She snorted, shaking her head and pushed back the cuticle of her jagged nail.

  Damn. She spread her fingers, staring at her short, stubby nails and raw cuticles. She seriously needed to stop biting them.

  A small sliver of a tan line was the only evidence left of her engagement. It had been about six months since her break up with Jonah, and even though she knew this town gossiped like crazy, no one seemed to really latch on to the fact that she was single again.

  It didn’t help that Jonah lived another town over, of course. No one could physically see him moving on. Dating again. Though she certainly heard all the updates from her disgruntled parents. On paper, Jonah was the exact man they had always wanted for their only daughter. He doted on her, showered her with gifts, called to check in constantly. Which seemed like a good thing at first. He was a man that she could count on to love her and always be there. Perhaps too much. The doting turned protective, and the love quickly became suffocating. In fact, it didn’t feel like love at all… it felt like possession. Like she was a prize he had won. Another trophy to put on his bookshelf at the office. And when Jonah realized she had her own job, her own dreams and goals, he wanted to control those, too. Always worried about her safety, like she was some sort of antique artifact to keep in a glass case for fear of it ever getting dirty or broken.

  Steve, on the other hand, hadn’t treated her like a porcelain doll back when they dated. Quite the oppo
site. He didn’t flinch if she got her hands a little dirty; he’d offered her adrenaline rushes and wild adventures, right when she needed it the most. Yeah, they were just reckless teenagers, but it was still the most exciting year of her life when they were dating. And it had taken them a while to date. A year. A year of courtship… and that was on her part. She courted him hard and he resisted for most of his junior year. It wasn’t until the summer before his senior year that they both ended up volunteering at the animal shelter. Hanging out three times a week throughout the summer, eventually she wore him down, and they had their first official date, much to her parents’ chagrin. She felt like more than a good girl around him. She’d felt alive. Until the accident. Everything changed after that. She was no longer unbreakable; not even in Steve’s eyes. Even without the accident, their relationship wasn’t sustainable. Nor was it perfect. She had no doubt that he would have gone off to college, leaving her there in Maple Grove as a senior, and they eventually would have drifted apart.

  Turning her hand over, the ugly scar sliced up her left forearm vertically, stopping near her elbow. Three surgeries to repair her broken arm. Two more on her back for the ruptured disc. She’d always thought that whole “knowing when it would rain” thing was an old wives’ tale… until she learned the hard way, at far too young, that it wasn’t. Even now, more than a decade after the car accident, twinges of pain caught in her neck, elbow, and shoulder with the slightest bit of dampness in the air. Not that the injury stopped her from being active. Hell, no.

  And dammit, before she turned thirty in April, she was going to hike Mount Washington. She only hoped that her dog would be at her side during the trek.

  A sob exploded in her chest like a blown tire and she quickly swallowed it down, hugging Gatsby’s leash. The pamphlets crushed into her sternum with it. Damn that dog. Why did she keep giving her heart to creatures that never failed to break it? Another swell of tears filled her eyes and she clamped them shut, willing them back. She’d found Gatsby on a “to be killed” list at a pound down south nine years ago, when she was just still just a student in college. She’d wandered in during her summer sessions to volunteer her time at the shelter and there he was, lying on the cold, concrete floor, whimpering and barely able to walk. His left front leg was so badly broken he could barely stand up to have a few laps of water.

  Yvonne brushed a hand over her scar. That’s when she knew he was meant for her. She’d adopted him immediately, along with the other four dogs on the kill list for that day. She found the rest homes, and with a little bit of saving and a lot of ramen noodle dinners, had Gatsby’s leg fixed.

  She scanned the nearly bare walls of the exam room. A few posters with animal anatomy. Framed DVM licenses and graduation certificates from the University of New Hampshire main campus in Durham. Dr. Steven David Tripp, DVM.

  She remembered her parents’ scoldings from high school. That boy will never amount to anything, Yvonne! He is trash. Utter garbage. Guess he showed them.

  To be fair, Steve wasn’t exactly the dream of any teenager’s parents. Oh, sure he was a loving boyfriend. But, he wore leather. Rode his dad’s old motorcycle. He chose to do his senior contemporary English report on the history of Bruce Wayne. And when he wasn’t on the crotch rocket, he was in his Jeep, off-roading over rocky terrain and nearly tipping the thing over. He smoked cigarettes. He drank. And he… well, he wasn’t exactly inexperienced when it came to the bedroom. Not even at seventeen.

  There was a quiet knock on the door and Yvonne jumped to her feet, swiping away the tears from beneath her swollen, red eyes. Amanda popped her head in and Yvonne relaxed, slumping back into her seat. “Hey, lady,” she said. The girl was several years younger than Yvonne and nearly finished with school. But despite this age gap, she and Amanda were also friends. That’s what naturally happened when you own an animal rescue—you befriended all the local veterinarians’ vet techs in the area. Well, all except one.

  “Here’s your insurance paperwork.” Amanda set the clipboard onto the exam table and leaned against the wall, arms folded. “You okay?”

  She sniffled and wiped a hand across her swollen eyes. “Steve thinks it’s cancer.”

  “I know.”

  A breath caught in her chest. “He told you already?”

  Amanda shook her head, curly black hair brushing her jaw with the movement. “No—but the swollen lymph nodes were a pretty strong giveaway.”

  Sadness tightened in her throat as Yvonne snatched a tissue from the box, dabbing her eyes. “Damn dog,” she muttered.

  “Lucky for you, Steve’s the best.”

  Yvonne snorted. “He’s your boss. You have to say that.”

  “No—Yvonne, I’m serious. As far as animal oncology goes? He is the best in the state. People drive in from Vermont and Maine to have their pets treated by him.”

  “Guess there’s no more avoiding each other, then, huh?” Yvonne asked quietly.

  For nearly thirteen years, this man had not only ignored her, but basically gone out of his way not to be in the same room as her. He still blames me for the accident. She’d suspected as much for years. How could he not? He lived with a visual reminder of her and the accident right on the front of his face. Maple Grove was a tiny town—and yet Steve Tripp never failed to find an escape at any place or event she was at. Even when they both were called to the same animal rescue, he kept to his side of the scene. It hurt at first, but she’d gotten used to their status quo.

  When she’d woken in the hospital after they had both nearly died, she’d wanted to hold him, feel him in front of her for confirmation that he had also made it through. But he never came to her bedside, never visited. She waited for a call, a letter… anything. And when there no word, she was livid. She dreamt that he was there sitting by her bedside nearly every night. But once those angry floodgates opened, she felt the rage in every part of her body. Anger at Steve, at her parents, at her situation. She was like a volcano filled with bubbling molten lava, and eventually she just exploded. The hospital provided therapy—and as helpful as that was, she never found true peace until Gatsby.

  Even though thirteen years had passed, the memories and the anger she had felt in the hospital still sometimes boiled inside of her as though she’d raised the flame on a simmering pot.

  Once she was released from the hospital, it took months of physical therapy before she could walk again. If she’d thought her parents suffocated her before the accident… well, it was nothing to the sort of care they took to keep her safe after. Chauffeurs to drive her to and from school. Private investigators doing background checks on every new friend and boyfriend she made in college. She’d hoped the accident would prove to her parents how resilient she was; that she was a survivor. Only it seemed to have the opposite effect. It was for that reason alone that she chose to go to college down in North Carolina.

  She held out hope for Steve, though, making attempts here and there to reach out to him when he was away at college, only to be met with silence. As her body strengthened, so did her resolve. And by the time she graduated high school, she finally got the face-to-face moment she needed. Only, she wasn’t met with the guy she’d spent the better part of junior year being in love with. He was distant. Formal. His hair was cut, he was clean shaven, and he even wore a suit. To meet her for coffee. Whoever that guy was, he wasn’t her motorcycle wielding, thrill seeking ex-boyfriend from high school.

  Even still, she could have lived with those changes. She loved Steve. But it was how he treated her that was the problem. He doted on her. Got everything for her so she wouldn’t have to move or try to walk. And when she spilled the little bit of hot coffee on her scar, he freaked, worried as though a little bit of hot coffee would tear open that wound again. Steve Tripp, her reckless partner in crime, transformed into seeing her as the same fragile doll her parents did.

  “When you shower in hot water, does it hurt your scar?” she had asked that day, gesturing to his face. He froze at that.
And without saying another word, he got up and walked out on her, leaving her there in the coffee shop alone to wallow in her guilt. That was the moment she officially moved on from Steve. She couldn’t be with someone who would treat her like she was utterly breakable. She couldn’t spend her life within a glass case. And she definitely couldn’t be with someone who seemed to so clearly blame her for the accident that changed both their lives so irrevocably. So move on she did, much to her parents’ elation. That is, until they met Jackson. And Ewan. And Connor. Steve was probably looking like a knight in shining armor comparatively. But then, her father hired Jonah and introduced the newest attorney at his firm to her. It was a match made in the courts.

  “Hello? Where’d you go, just now?” Amanda’s voice snapped her back to the present.

  She shook the cobwebs from her mind. “Sorry. Just… you know. Lots of decisions to make.”

  “I’m really sorry about Gatsby.” A gentle smile tugged on Amanda’s mouth. “Maybe this is his way of getting you and Steve back on speaking terms finally?”

  “Please. The last thing Steve wants is to have to see me on a weekly basis.”

  “What makes you so sure about that?” Steve’s voice boomed behind her like a sonic blast.

  Amanda’s eyes jerked up past Yvonne’s shoulders, and she gave her friend an apologetic smile before turning and scurrying out the door.

  “You’re not seriously asking me that, are you?” Yvonne’s mood lowered right along with her voice. “You’ve dodged me for over a decade.”

  The muscles around his throat tightened. “We see each other around town all the time.”

  “You’ve got way too many degrees posted on these walls to be playing dumb, Steve Tripp.”

  His gaze rocked through her body like an electric current. “Look, Yvonne—”

  “I don’t want your excuses. And I really don’t want your apologies. I just want you to make my dog feel better.” She paused, expecting him to come back at her with a retort. Only he didn’t. And the longer he waited, saying nothing, eyes burning into her, the more uncomfortable she became.