“Stop what?”
“Searching for Billie. It’s not healthy.”
“But I love her.”
“No, you don’t,” he scolds.
“Don’t tell me I don’t love her.”
“You do not love Billie. Stop trying to find her. Why don’t you come over and talk to Charlotte and see if you remember her now that you’re beginning to remember some things? Maybe then you’ll realize you don’t love Billie.”
I glare at him. “I won’t give some poor girl hope I might remember her when I want nothing to do with her.”
“You don’t know you want nothing to do with her. You’ve not giving it a chance to see if you remember her.”
I grind my teeth. “I would never do that to Billie.”
“Jesus, Xander. You’re not doing anything to Billie. She’s been gone for over ten years. You’re way better off without her. When are you going to understand this?”
He’s trying to help me, but he doesn’t understand. I tell Noah for the hundredth time, “I’ll understand it when I either remember it or find Billie.”
He sighs, just as frustrated as I am. “You’ve already started remembering so much. The doctors assume it’s only a matter of time before everything comes back enough for you to resume surgery. Come over to my place and visit with Charlotte before she moves back. I’m confident once you spend time with her you’ll remember more.”
I shake my head. “I already saw her and didn’t remember her.”
“You were on a ton of meds and had only been awake a few days. Let’s try.”
I shake my head. “No. It’s not fair to use people like that. I’m in love with Billie. I need to find her and work out whatever miscommunication we had. We’ll get through it, and then we can be together again.”
Noah stares at me like I’m crazy. “She could be married with a dozen kids right now.”
She’d better not be.
“If she is, I’ll deal with it, but I need to know I at least did all I could to save us.”
“Xander—”
“Let’s changethe subject.”
A few weeks pass,and Noah and Piper have left for Chicago. I’m running on my own through Central Park.
“And you wouldn’t have any issue moving to Chicago?” A woman with short chestnut hair flashes in my mind. She’s sitting behind a big mahogany desk and holding her pen, ready to write all my responses.
“No issues. This is the position I’ve always wanted. Chicago is a big city, like New York,” I tell her.
I stop running as the conversation replays so bright in my mind, it’s like it’s happening right now.
“Well, Chicago isn’t as big as New York,” she says.
I laugh. “I’ll be okay. In all fairness, I imagine you’ll keep me so busy I won’t even notice.”
She smiles. “You probably are right about that. Do you have a family that needs to relocate?”
“Nope. I’m baggage-free. There’s no one to convince or worry about.”
“Great. Baggage-free is easier. Makes it a little easier for you to slave away in the operating room all day and night,” she jokes.
“I won’t have a problem with that, either,” I tell her, not to get the job but because it’s true. I love being a surgeon.
