He shouldn’t be at work on Christmas Eve, but sitting at home only left him alone with his thoughts about Silver. At least here he could go through the stacks of mail that had piled up before he had to be at Henry’s for dinner.
If he’d met Silver last month or a year ago, would he have made the same decision to pull his name from the transplant list? Was it still his best move even now? He hadn’t read the fine print when he’d returned the paperwork, but he was sure he couldn’t change his mind and reclaim the same spot on the list. He’d be moved to the bottom, and that wouldn’t give him a heart in time. So the decision was a done deal, no matter who came into his life or how they made him feel.
Silver had called a couple of times, but each time he let it go to voicemail and hadn’t brought himself to listen to the messages yet.
He might’ve been able to have a future if he would’ve waited just another day to request the paperwork.
He’d shaved, put on a black button-up shirt, and told himself all morning that he wasn’t going to go see Silver. Wasn’t going to apologize for the other night and his behavior.
Sharing with her, laughing with her, caring about her. It had, all of a sudden, become too much. He couldn’t be what she needed no matter how much he wanted to. And, damn it, he did. He wished he was in perfect health, looking into his bright future, and could ask her to be by his side.
But it was better that things ended now and that it was all on him. With his luck, she’d probably refuse to leave him and stay by his side until death did them part—in about twenty-four months. He couldn’t do that to her. He wouldn’t.
Everything was better this way.
He picked up his phone to call Henry as he stretched his sore back. He really needed to get a new mattress.
“Yes to beer,” Henry answered on the first ring. “Don’t cheap out.”
“I’ll be just a bit longer.” Fisher rubbed his clean-shaven jaw. Man, he was getting old. His body was sure sore today.
“You went in to work, didn’t you? You’ve got to step back and enjoy your days off. Hell, even I don’t work on Christmas Eve.”
“Just catching up while there’s no one here.”
“What about Silver? Don’t couples like to spend holidays together?”
“We were never a couple. And, anyway, I ended things.”
“Fisher.” Henry’s lawyer voice was automatic when he was about to lecture. “You have got to stop living like you are dying. You like her. Don’t shut her out. And get your ass back on that list.”
A humorless chuckle filled Fisher’s small office. “When will you acknowledge that I actually am dying?”
“Not going to happen. I will acknowledge that you have choices you keep running away from.”
“I’m not running away from anything.”
“Fisher, you are running away from happiness and sadness and the act of living life. You can’t control everything.”
If I could, my daughter would still be alive.
“Go to her,” Henry continued. “Get back on the list. And trust that you deserve happiness. As your best friend, that’s all I ask.” Henry clicked off, and Fisher leaned back in his chair before he made the effort to hang up his phone.
That was a real conversation.
They hadn’t talked about Maggie in a while, and Henry hadn’t been that straightforward about his condition in just as long. The call about the will was the first in years when they’d had an open dialogue.
There were merits to Henry’s reasoning. Stupid points that, even if Fisher believed them, he couldn’t do anything about.
If he came clean to Silver, if he laid it all out in the open, would she reject him or want to spend as much time with him as possible?
There was only one way to find out.
He grabbed the top three envelopes sitting in his mail bin, tearing open the side of the first one.
An updated information request from the National Organ Transplant List.
He pressed his lips together, throwing the letter on the desk and sitting up so fast the back of his chair snapped up with his momentum. Great, just what he needed—a reminder of his decision that John or Wilson or any of the countless deserving people under his name on the list needed help more than he did. Now he could add bad timing to his list of grievances about his lot in life.
They shouldn’t need anything from me now. He didn’t ever want to hear from the registry again. It was chipping away at the surety of his decision slowly but surely, and what was left didn’t make him smile. It flipped his gut. He dialed the 800 number on his cell and grabbed his jacket. He was going to get double the beer and set them straight all at the same time.
“National Organ Transplant List. How many I help you?” a cheery voice greeted him as he left the building.
“My name is Fisher Tibbs, and I have removed myself from the list yet I just got a form asking to confirm my contact and medical information.”
“Okay, Mr. Tibbs, thank you for calling. Let’s check into the issue.” A keyboard clicked on her end as he started his SUV and pointed it toward the only liquor store open on Christmas Eve.
“Can you confirm your birthdate and social security number?”
He rattled off the information. Maybe he’d get a bottle of whiskey, too. He wasn’t supposed to be drinking, let alone the harder stuff. But if he was ever going to make an exception, today was it.
“I see here that you are still on the list, quite high up in your region I might add, and … Nope, there’s been no request submitted to remove your name.”
“I filled out the paperwork last week. Would you not have received it yet?” A small bit of hope started to spark—maybe he could void the paperwork if they hadn’t made his request official yet.
Would he be doing that for Silver or for himself? He gripped his phone and steering wheel tighter and stopped at a red light.
“All paperwork sent to us is overnighted. We should’ve received it from your local office.” Her words were spread out as if she was searching for something else while she spoke. “Our regional office is run out of the Prairie Wind Medical Center by a Dr. Silver Morgenstern.”
Silver Morgenstern? How many Silvers were in this town? Who worked at the same place?
There was only one answer.
She’d known the entire time about his condition. And had sent him the form to remove himself from the list as he’d requested. But never actually filed it.
Could that be right?
“I’ll, um, call them to get this straightened out then.” He disconnected before he could do something stupid like remove his name out of spite. Dammit, he was going with the plan he’d established a month ago. A plan he’d been completely at peace with until he’d met Silver. It was not a decision he’d come to lightly, yet she’d chosen to totally disregard it.
His entire body tensed, his face hot. His stomach turned, and vomit threatened his throat.
He was the only person at the stoplight when it turned green, so he flipped the car around, pointing his SUV toward Silver’s house.
She didn’t get to make this big decision for him.
He ignored the relief his mind was trying to push at him. He didn’t want to even try to think of her reasons for not carrying out his wishes. They were his wishes, dammit. Not hers. They weren’t a team.
They weren’t in this life together.
They weren’t anything.
• • •
Silver bundled up in her black jacket, wrapping the gold scarf around her neck and digging around her purse and then the closet for the matching gloves. She was already late for Christmas Eve dinner. Her brother had called twice already to confirm. Something was up—Lilia was probably expecting, which would be outstanding.
Good thing I never told Mom about Fisher. Silver absolutely wouldn’t have been able to handle today if she’d had to explain over holiday dinner that Fisher, who she was not dating, didn’t want anything to do with her anymore. She hadn’t called him this week from her work number to explain her role in the transplant list though. A part of her didn’t want him to answer and find out who she really was. That hadn’t stopped her from obsessing every time her phone dinged, pinged, or made any sort of noise, or from being completely let down when it wasn’t him calling to apologize and tell her he wanted them to be together.
Finally, her gloves were already stuffed in her black jacket pockets. She grabbed them and opened her door, looking for her keys to lock up.
“Silver.” A stern male voice caught her by surprise, and she screamed, jumping back into the doorway.
Her head whipped up, and the panic surging through her veins was replaced with happiness. Until the stern set of Fisher’s face registered.
“What’s wrong?” She glanced over his body. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. Except for the beads of sweat on his forehead. It had to be in the single digits outside.
“Why don’t you look for yourself?” He thrust a white paper at her and put his hands on his hips.
She recognized the red logo first, and her gut started to churn acid. Judging by his curled lip and the cold eyes staring down into the depths of her soul, he’d figured it out.
“Fisher, I—”
“Do you lie to all patients, or just to me, Dr. Morgenstern?”
Her purse dropped to the snow on her porch. “I didn’t intend to lie. I wasn’t trying to deceive you.” All of the time she’d spent over the past couple of weeks fantasizing about Fisher and the different conversations they could have, needed to have, and all of those words completely eluded her now. But she needed to explain herself before she lost him for good.
“So you were just going against my direct wishes. Is this a habit of yours?”
“No—”
“You don’t get to make decisions for me.” His voice rose, but he wasn’t shouting yet. That was probably coming though, given the hard set to his face. “Why did you even show up at CCH?”
“To meet you. To talk to you about your decision and the ramifications.” Tears filled her eyes. His eyes weren’t giving. He hated her. “To show you there’s more to life. More to live for.”
“So I’m your personal charity mission now? Or are there others?” His cheeks reddened, and she could see white knuckles by his sides.
“You need to calm down. This isn’t good for your heart.” She shook her head as tears streamed down her face.
“You don’t get to doctor me. I’m not your patient. All of this. Since the day we met. It was all because of the stupid list? What, you can’t fix your own life so you wiggle your way into others’ under the guise of saving them?” His words were thicker, harder with each sentence.
“That’s why I met you, but our friendship hasn’t been because you’re a project of any sort.”
“The next time I hear from you, it better be because you are confirming my name isn’t anywhere near that list.” He turned on her porch to leave.
“Why do you want to die so badly?” she spat out, heat flushing through her body. How the events had unfolded in their relationship was regrettable, but her actions didn’t absolve him of choosing to give up his future.
He froze on the steps, his head hanging for a moment before he turned back to her, the tightness in his brown eyes not relenting, not letting her in at all. She wanted to slap him senseless so he’d get off his high horse. How was it that she was the only one battling for his life? She gritted her teeth. She was on the edge of giving him both barrels, because what did it matter now? He was pissed, and anything that had started between them clearly didn’t matter to him.
“I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
“No,” she crossed her arms over her chest, “you don’t, and I know that you don’t want to believe me, but I regret the way I handled this. I made mistakes.” She took a breath, trying to steady her voice.
“You did.” He raised his hands to his sides, the anger in his eyes replaced with the broken resolution that usually surfaced when she gave a patient bad news. “You knew this whole time and still let me care about you.” The smallness of his voice broke her heart as he headed for his truck down her un-shoveled path.
No, this day, this conversation, wasn’t supposed to go like this. She cared about him, too. So much. “Fisher, I—”
“Save it.”
Like hell. This was probably the last time she’d ever have his attention to speak her peace. “Your giving up on any sort of future you may or may not have doesn’t bring Maggie back. This won’t give her death meaning.”
“Don’t you dare presume to know why I made my choice.”
She opened her mouth to tell him that everybody had crap in life to deal with so suck it up like everyone else, when he suddenly fell to his knees, one hand reaching for the ground, the other to his chest. She dashed down the steps as he landed on his side in the snow.
“Fisher!” She crashed to her knees beside him and gripped his waist, rolling him onto his back. She pressed two fingers to his wrist as she pulled her phone out of her pocket with her free hand and called 911. He was alive, but his pulse was weak. She lived three minutes from the hospital, but there was no way she’d be able to get him in her car.
His chest rose and fell, his pulse weaker as he took a breath and stronger when he exhaled. Not a good sign. Idiopathic pulmonary arterial hypertension caused a higher risk of blood clots. The list of things that could be going wrong right now was too long to narrow it down to one. He needed a hospital.
The ambulance arrived wailing, but it didn’t seem as loud as usual. All she could see was Fisher’s pale skin; all she could hear was his shallow breathing. She reached over, wrapping her palms around his left hand as she reported his IPAH condition. “I’m riding with you.” She hopped in the back before Jane could disagree, never letting go of his hand.
They couldn’t end on this note; the last time she spoke to him couldn’t be a fight. He couldn’t just die like this. Alone.
She wiped her cheek on her shoulder, her eyes so full of tears she could barely see him.
His continued unconsciousness wasn’t a good sign.
She’d never understand his pain, but if it was anything like how broken and heavy her heart felt in her chest right now, making it hard to breathe and sucking all hope out of the air, he was going to have to fight to come back. Fight to heal.
They hurried him out of the ambulance, and she rushed to keep up, ready to order the tests she knew he needed so she could figure out exactly what was going on and how bad it was. He was supposed to have years left, not minutes.
“Dr. Morgenstern. I’ve got this.” Dr. Wilmington stepped in front of her, blocking her path to the room.
“I know him. He’s got IPAH.”
“I’ve been briefed on his chart. I’ll handle this and let you know as soon as I do.” She pointed to the waiting area, and as badly as Silver wanted to call rank on her, Wilmington was a damn fine doctor and could, in fact, handle Fisher’s case.
“Don’t let him die,” she whispered to her colleague, her arms falling to her sides as curtains closed around Fisher. She’d studied how to fix most problems in the body, but healing the hurt she’d caused him, caused herself, was beyond her schooling.
Her feet wouldn’t move. The muffled voices and commands almost soothed her. There were no codes being called out; they were working to save him. People rushed around her, and she stood there. She had no idea how long.
“Silver.” Lorelei jogged up, hugged her, and led her to the waiting area. “What happened?”
“How’d you know I was here?”
“Nurse Robert called. Said you were upset.”
“It’s Fisher. We were talking. Well, fighting”—she sniffed back tears—“because he found out what I did and he was so mad. I don’t blame him.” Lorelei hugged her sideways, and the pain in her chest lessened. “I still don’t regret it. Especially now. What if he doesn’t wake up?”
“Mr. Hale?” Lorelei gave Silver a sideways glance before letting go and walking over to the man talking to Robert at the nurse’s station.
“Ms. Sullivan. What are you doing here?” The man rotated toward Lorelei.
“I’m with my friend.” Lorelei turned to Silver, who recognized Fisher’s friend from the snowball fight. Henry is Lorelei’s boss?
“Dr. Silver Morgenstern, this is my boss, Mr. Hale.” Lorelei stood straight, a serene, blank expression gracing her high cheekbones. She’d gone into work mode: show no emotion.
Silver stretched out her hand to the gorgeous lawyer Lorelei rarely talked about. Which would be something she and her best friend would be discussing later, because he looked like exactly Lorelei’s type—smart, sexy, and rich.
“We’ve met.” His handshake was firm. “What’s going on? The call was cryptic. Where is he?” Henry’s gaze frantically searched the area, panic taking over.
“He’s here. They’re checking him out now.” Silver used her calming, slow doctor voice to make sure he was hearing her.
Worry wrinkled his forehead.
“How do you know Fisher?” Lorelei asked Henry, her work persona faltering.
“I’m his best friend. And emergency contact. What’s going on?”
“He passed out. I had the ambulance bring him here, and they’ve been working on him ever since.”
Henry rubbed his hand down his face. “Dammit. Did they say anything else? Can I see him? Is he going to make it?”
“I don’t know.” That was the truth. She didn’t know why he would pass out all of a sudden and what other conditions were impeding his heart, or if he was even pumping it on his own right now. Dr. Wilmington hadn’t been out to give an update yet.
“You were with him when this happened?” Henry stopped pacing and ran his hand through his hair.
“Yes.”
“I should’ve just let him do his own thing, but no, I had to stick my nose in and pressure him to tell you how he felt. Stress isn’t good for his heart.”
“What?” How he felt? Yeah, she’d gotten that message loud and clear all right. She took a deep breath and tried to put on a blank face of her own. She couldn’t blame Henry. She’d hurt his friend, and if someone did that to Lorelei or Maisy, she’d act the same way.
Henry kept talking. “He was supposed to be grabbing beer for me to have while my brother’s kids battled each other in video games and my parents argued over who’s cooking what.” He shrugged. “Family tradition.”
“He did come to see me, but it wasn’t to make up.” She was so confused. Not about what Fisher had said to her—that was playing on repeat in the recesses of her mind. But what Henry was saying didn’t make any sense.
Nurse Robert ushered them into the ER waiting room. Henry sat down in the seat across from them, and the focused lawyer who was used to hearing all sides of a story emerged. The worry in his gaze was only secondary.
“We were actually arguing because I, um, sort of got in the way of his paperwork, and he was never taken off the recipient list. He’d just found out. And was not happy.” It was one thing to finally be honest about what she’d done and another to cover her ass to a lawyer.
“I see.”
“I know why he was mad, and I don’t blame him.” Words tumbled out as if she might drown if she didn’t say them. “I just, I just couldn’t. I couldn’t—I can’t—watch him throw any chance he has of living out the window. Nothing in this life is guaranteed.” Henry wasn’t Fisher, but she might never get to state her case to him, so she had to get it out. All of it. “I care way too much about him to let that happen.”
“Am I to understand that, against my client’s wishes, you, a doctor, did not file paperwork he was expressly within his right to have executed?” Henry sat forward; resting his elbows on his knees, and didn’t look away.
“That sums it up pretty good. Am I to understand that you are his best friend and condone him throwing in the towel on his life?” A flare of anger shot through her voice. She had nothing to lose at this point. If this guy wanted to go after her entire license, she’d happily save him the trouble and throw it in his face.
Especially if it meant Fisher would be all right.
But what she’d done had only kept him from being taken off the list—it didn’t mean he was going to get a heart that was a match or that he’d get one in time.
Time was the enemy.
“One accusation does not befit the other, Doctor.” Henry’s head dipped, and she couldn’t see his expression until moments had passed and he gazed first at Lorelei then back to her. “I’ve tried to talk him out of it so many times since I found out. I never thought to interfere with the paperwork. Well done. Well done, indeed.”
A big breath filled her chest, and she let it out quickly. That made one less person to convince. There was still hope that with this scare, Fisher would see the merits of staying on the list, of living his life. Of spending it with her.
Silver could feel Lorelei’s tension level drop significantly too with Henry’s side smile. Interesting.
Minutes ticked by on the clock on the wall. No answers came. Nothing made sense, nothing made the situation better. Fisher was in a room hanging on for dear life, and she was stuck in a glass room.
The only facts she’d learned were that this side of the waiting room sucked royally and Lorelei was hot for her boss. That was a conversation she’d save for later, after Henry was gone and she needed a distraction from her own heartache.
“Dr. Morgenstern,” Dr. Wilmington called out.
Silver stood on legs she could barely feel. Her entire body was mostly numb, yet her tear ducts where working perfectly. She joined her colleague in the hall, trying to read the expression on the older woman’s face. The thin line of her lips and her furrowed brow behind rimless glasses said nothing. The doctor had been trained in not giving too much hope.
“He’s stable. For now.” The cautious words brought little solace.
Technically, Silver shouldn’t be privy to a patient’s status. Having a position at PWMC hospital finally had its perks. But Henry was Fisher’s emergency contact, the person he chose to make decisions on his behalf. Silver popped her head back into the waiting room and waved him over.
“He’s breathing on his own. It’s his heart we’re most concerned about.” Dr. Wilmington glanced between the two of them and said gently, “We’re seeing signs of heart failure, and with his condition, there isn’t much we can do.”
“Is he conscious?” Silver asked, one arm wrapped around her midsection, the other rubbing her neck. This was worst-case scenario. If Fisher didn’t get a heart soon, he’d spend the rest of his time in the hospital. From what she knew of him, the hospital wouldn’t be able to hold him. He’d check out and be dead within a day. Dead. Gone forever.
“No. We’re running tests to answer that riddle. His heart condition shouldn’t be keeping him in a comatose state.”
“Coma?” Henry rubbed his forehead and started to pace.
The only time Lorelei had talked about her boss was to rave about how good he was under pressure and how his intuition had saved the day on many cases. And then there were the days when Lorelei couldn’t stand him because he was never satisfied until they won the case. Of course, that was his professional life; personally, he was starting to lose it. Silver could see it in his eyes. Or maybe she was witnessing her own failings as an impartial thinker under stress. She’d always prided herself on staying calm and rational in all contexts. Not anymore.
“It is coma-like,” Dr. Wilmington emphasized. “We don’t expect him to stay unconscious for long, but until we know why, we’re running tests starting with the most likely.”
“Which is?”
“I’ll come back when I know more.” Her tender smile was small and shut down the conversation without being hasty or giving false hope or undue agitation since Fisher’s diagnosis was in question. The PWMC legal team would be proud. She eyed Silver before she returned through the double doors to the ER, her blue-covered shoes silent.
Dr. Wilmington hadn’t wanted to say terms like “internal bleeding” and “pressure on the brain” and frighten the daylights out of Henry, and frankly Silver was glad she didn’t have to hear them said out loud.
In this case, not knowing specifically might turn out to be better. If she knew, she’d play out every scenario of what could be happening to Fisher right now—losing brain function, heart tissue dying, an overall weakened state—and then she’d curl up in the corner and sob like a baby because there was nothing she could do.