Page 4 of Healing You
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.
