Page 43 of Broken Dreams

There was a long pause as Leanne digested this information. “I see. All right, I'll change your last day of employment with us for two weeks from today. I'm really sorry to see you go.”

“I'll miss you, too, Leanne. But thanks.” After she hung up the phone, she was hit by an overwhelming sense of relief. At least now she could leave knowing Roland was no longer a threat to their patients. She caught a glimpse of Nick disappearing in Billy’s room. She hesitated for a moment, then walked down the hall. Pausing outside the door, she listened to Nick’s deep voice, hoping and praying this would work.

“I've been in your shoes—do you want me to prove it?” The rustle of clothing made her eyes widen. Was Nick really stripping down to his skivvies to show Billy his scars?

“So, a few measly scars aren’t anything like losing a leg.” Billy didn't sound impressed. “It's gone forever.”

“Yes, that’s true. But tell me this, is a leg that doesn't work any better?” Nick’s tone remained calm, logical. “Would you be happier sitting in that chair with two paralyzed legs? Or even one paralyzed leg?”

There was a long moment of silence.

“Look, Billy, I know this is a difficult time. And if you look around, you'll always find people who are better off and worse off than you are. I dealt with the same anger you're feeling right now. It’s a normal part of the grieving process. But anger isn't going to change your situation. Action and attitude, will. You need to accept the hand you were dealt and figure out what to do next. Are you going to fold? Or play the game? Are you willing to take another card?” There was a long pause, before Nick said, “Rehab is another card, Billy. It's a chance to get back on your feet, even if one of them is a prosthesis.”

Billy remained silent for so long, Amber edged closer, ready to intervene if necessary.

“You really think there's a woman out there who will fall for a guy without a leg?” Billy asked in a low agonized tone.

Oh, Billy. Her heart squeezed in her chest.

“I’ve worried about the same thing with my scars,” Nick said bluntly. “But I've found since my accident that women are better at overlooking our physical limitations than men are.” Nick didn't brush off his concern or hand him a line. “Will some women be turned off by it? Yes, probably. I won't lie to you. But I think women need emotional strength from a guy more than anything else. The toughest part is overcoming our own insecurities in order to provide it.”

There was another long silence, as Billy digested this information.

“Take the first step. Go to therapy. Once you realize what your life could be like when you are able to wear a prosthesis and walk around on your own two feet, I think you will feel better.”

“Alright.” Billy's voice was so quiet she could barely hear it. “I'll go to therapy.”

Blinking away a stray tear Amber swallowed hard. Billy was taking the first step. It didn't mean there that it would be an easy road for him to take. But she hoped, she prayed, Billy would be one of those who would make it home.

“Good.” More rustling as Nick pulled his clothes back on. “And, Billy? I am here if you need to talk.”

Amber wanted to linger and to wait for Nick to thank him, but she had dawdled enough and really needed to see her other patients. Knowing she'd find Nick later, she hurried down the hall.

His words, though, echoed in her mind. Women need emotional strength from a guy more than anything else. The toughest part is overcoming our insecurities in order to provide it. Had Nick been referring to the two of them? Hope sprouted like new, green shoots from the depths of her heart.

Maybe, their relationship was more important to him than she'd realized.

Nick left Billy’s room to respond to a page from Rick Johnson. He glanced around for Amber, then heard her voice in another patient's room. He wanted to give her an update about Billy agreeing to attend therapy, but he figured he’d better go see what Johnson wanted to talk about.

He left the unit to head toward the administrative offices.

“Rick.” Nick nodded at the chief of staff on entering his office. They shook hands. “What can I do for you?”

“Thought you should know, Roland refused to seek treatment for a potential alcohol problem.” Rick sat back in his chair and tapped his fingertips together. “Which left me no choice but to terminate him.”

It was difficult to summon any sympathy for Roland. Not after the way he'd slapped Amber. “Too bad.”

“Yes, actually it is.” Rick frowned. “His wife died of cancer two years ago and he hasn't been the same since. I had hoped he'd come around after I gave him the responsibility of being the medical director. Despite everything these past few months, he was once a very good physician.”

Oh, man. He rubbed his temple. He hadn't known anything about Roland's wife dying of cancer. And he suspected the nurses on the unit were not aware of it either. Now he did feel sorry for the guy. A little, anyway. “There's still time for him to get help. I’ll try to talk to him.”

Rick waved that off. “No, I'll talk to him. He's only going to see you as part of the problem. Besides, that's not why I asked you here.”

He waited with patient curiosity. He couldn't imagine there was anything else to discuss. Especially since he hadn't yet put in his notice that he was leaving the temporary hospitalist position.

“I spoke with your boss in Fairfax, Virginia.” He was surprised Rick's comment. “Steven White is a big fan of yours. But he has some concerns about your ability to return to your previous position.”

Opening and closing the fingers on his injured hand, he managed to keep his expression impassive. “He has every reason to be concerned. I won't be able to perform surgery. Ever. Steven is probably waiting for my resignation.”

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