Second Chance With Her Army Doc. Dianne Drake
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projecting his future and that, so often, turned into a PTSD trigger.
Whenever it took him over he could almost feel the impending flare-up course through his veins. His vision blurred, his hands shook, his head felt as if it was ready to explode. He was like a fire-breathing dragon, puffing up and getting ready for his next battle.
Unfortunately Carter’s “next battle” had cost him dearly. His job, the love of his life... And now he was in Forgeburn, running a storefront clinic for seasonal tourists, and a handful of locals who lived closer to Carter’s part of the practice than Matt’s, keeping his fingers crossed that he’d survive this day and make it through till tomorrow.
On the door peg, in the room marked Office, hung a crisp new lab jacket. Carter smiled—maybe the first smile that had cracked his face in weeks or months.
At least he hadn’t lost his license to practice. That was good, despite the fact he’d lost everything else. He liked being a doctor. No, he loved being a doctor. It was all he’d ever wanted from the time he’d been a kid.
When all his friends had been vacillating between fireman, policeman and whatever else all little boys wanted to be at some point in their lives, being a doctor had been it for him, because he had wanted to find a way to cure his brother James. Carter had promised James he would, when he was nine and James had been on his last days, dying from cystic fibrosis.
Two years younger than Carter, James had spent his whole life in and out of hospitals. He’d never been strong enough to walk more than a few steps, and he’d never breathed well enough to go outside and play—not even for a few minutes. For James, life had been all tests and procedures, and somewhere in Carter’s nine-year-old mind he’d thought if he made a promise to save his brother and make him well it would happen. And it would give his entire family some hope to cling to.
But a week after his promise his dad had been sitting on the front step crying when Carter had arrived home from school. And after that, unlike his friends, who had gone back and forth on what they wanted to be, he never had. He’d been angry at the world for taking his brother. Angry at himself that he hadn’t been able to do more. Angry at the doctors who’d always predicted a grave outcome for his brother.
He’d expected them to do better. Expected them to produce a miracle. Expected them to offer hope rather than rip it away. Which was why he’d become a doctor—a surgeon. Because he wanted to do the things that hadn’t been done for his brother. Of course, the closer Carter had come to his goal, the more he’d realized that some outcomes would break his heart no matter what he did. That was part of the profession. But that hadn’t discouraged him, because many more outcomes were good. And it was those outcomes he always dedicated to his brother—without fail.
But now—well, now he was a GP. And he was grateful for that. Maybe it was the only thing left in his life he had to be grateful for, since he’d destroyed everything else that mattered.
“It’s nice,” Carter said to the twenty-something girl who’d been following him from room to room: Marcie, his new receptionist.
Her father owned the building and had seized the opportunity to lower the rent if the medical practice employed her. Apparently, Marcie had never worked a day in her life and this was to be her first ever job. Matt had hired her since, legally, this was his practice.
“Daddy had it painted fresh,” she said, her nose in her phone, scrolling, scrolling... Short skirt, long vest, tall boots, pinkish yellow hair... Not the professional image he’d hoped for. But a discount was a discount, and he’d have to make the best of his workforce virgin.
He actually chuckled. If his life weren’t so pathetic this could be funny. It wasn’t, though. Nobody could screw up so many things the way he had and call it funny. But, like he’d told Matt, he was a good doctor. That was the only sure thing he had to hang on to—his medical skills. Maybe—somehow—he wouldn’t mess those up, too.
“So, how about we open up for business tomorrow morning?” he asked Marcie.
Her reply was a head nod as she continued to scroll.
Who was it that had said something about fastening up for a bumpy ride? Well, this was his bumpy ride, but he wasn’t sure he was fastened up enough for it.
Time would tell, he supposed.
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