Page 33 of The Trauma Response
“Trouble in love?”
I’m startled by Ivan, one of the older men. He’s a short and stout fellow who loves to taunt the hockey players, which is quite a sight to see. I’ve been told he dishes out advice as well as he hands out insults. Since it seems he’s taken some interest in my predicament, I’m willing to let him analyze the situation if only to help me hold on to my last bit of sanity.
“I guess you could say that.”
He points to the barstool beside me and I nod. It toddles a little when he climbs on it and adjusts his suspenders. “Tell me your tale of woe.”
“Short story, I’m a firefighter—”
“I know that, son. I wasn’t born last week. Jump ahead to the young lady you were in here with days past.”
I smile because these guys seem to know everything about everyone. It’s a little creepy, but also endearing in an odd sort of way.
“She’s a childhood friend, and I responded to a horrible car accident she was in a couple weeks ago. She was a trauma surgeon, and now she has permanent nerve damage in her lefthand. She recently found out she won’t be able to return to a job she loves. I’m trying to be supportive, you know? Be a good friend, but it’s hard when I still have feelings for her.”
“Ah, young love is like that. Did she return those feelings in the past?”
I shrug. “No idea. I never asked, but we’ve been spending a lot of time together lately. Her brother reached out to me and asked me to visit her. She’d been in a depressive spiral and I thought she was doing better, but—”
Ivan holds up a wrinkled hand and motions for me to slow down. “What you mean to say is, you thought you fixed it?”
“Well…no…not fixed it, but I suppose I thought I was helping her get over it.” Admitting aloud that I thought Whits would somehowget betterin a matter of a couple of weeks puts it into a different perspective. It was ridiculous to think that, and I have a good feeling Ivan is about to let me in on justhowstupid it was.
“This doctor, was it always what she wanted to do? Something she was passionate about?” he asks.
“Yes, she said as much, and if I know anything about her, then I know she lived and breathed her work.”
He pats my arm. “When God gives a person a gift and that gift is taken away, it’s a life’s purpose lost. It will take her some time to reaffix her eyes on the Lord and what He’s planned next for her, son, but when she does finally look up, everything will fall back into place. Including where you fit best. Love her, support her, abide by her wishes, steer her toward prayer.”
I clench my jaw, hating the taste of this medicine.
“So I should ignore her until she reaches out to me again?”
“Ha! I didn’t say that. Get that little computer phone of yours, order her some flowers and a nice card with a sweet apology for pushing too hard—”
“I didn’t mean to—”
He waves both hands in front of him. “Doesn’t matter if you meant to or not. Doesn’t even matter if it’s what you did, what matters is that she sees you care and you’re leaving the ball in her court.”
I pick up my phone and tap the screen. “Flowers? Really?”
“Never underestimate what flowers do to a woman. Even women who say they don’t want flowers, want flowers. It’s not about the blooms. It’s about the thought.” Ivan pats my shoulder and slides down from the stool to rejoin his friends.
“Thanks, Ivan. I appreciate it.”
“No problem, son. Oh, and by the way, go ahead and set up a chocolate delivery for tomorrow. Perhaps something for the third day. Every day until her heart thaws and she realizes it isn’t you she’s angry with, but God. Then she’ll remember that God sent heryouto make up for the loss, and it’ll work out.”
I huff a laugh and sit a little straighter. I can only pray he’s right, because I’m about to blow an obscene amount of money on a woman who might never want to see me again.
Chapter seventeen
It’s been ten days since the coffeehouse incident, and Cai has managed to wiggle his way into my thoughts every single day. First flowers and a card, then chocolates, then a book a day for four days, a fruit basket, a mug filled with more chocolate, an amethyst pendant, Chinese food, a porcelain cat—because why not—and now a dozen yellow tulips, my favorite. I gently place them in a vase filled with water while Deni tsk-tsks me.
“You don’t understand, Deni. I can’t break his heart. He’s too precious for some woman to come in like a wrecking ball, use him up, and throw him out. I can’t be sure I’m not using him to heal my mess, and my feelings for him are superficial, friendly, you know?” I sit across from her at my kitchen table.
She sips her coffee and rolls her eyes at the same time. Her dark curls are on point today, making me feel like a slob. It’s a work from home day, which I discovered will be a frequent perk of working for Christian Price.
She scoffs. “If you think for one second that I believe you’dthrow him outyou’re crazier than I thought. And trust me when I tell you, I already think you’re crazy for ignoring him.”
