And she couldn’t understand it. She’d only met Jack last night. And yes, they’d clicked. There was no doubt the man was attractive. There was no doubt her mind was imagining so many other places they could go.
But the timing wasn’t right. It wasn’t right at all. Her mother’s face flashed into her head. The tired, weary look that had always been visible. The sadness when she’d glanced at a clock and realized Amber’s father wouldn’t be home that night. The endless amount of wasted dinners scraped into a trash can. The times when Amber had sat at the dinner table, desperate to tell her father about her day, and he could barely pay attention—talking over her as he launched into yet another story about work, or surgery, or research. Or when he left the table again as soon as the phone had begun to ring with another call from the hospital.
She’d spent her whole life feeling like an unimportant spare part. Constantly trying to earn the approval of a man who barely knew she existed. When Jack had spoken on the stage earlier on today, he’d had the same conviction, the same passion and dedication as her father.
She sucked in a breath as she realized the similarities between them both.
Having any kind of relationship with Jack Campbell was a complete nonstarter. She’d already lived part of her life being second best in someone’s life. She was determined never to allow herself to be in that position again.
She wanted to step away. She should step away.
But for the briefest of seconds her eyes just fixated on the rise and fall of Jack Campbell’s chest under his fatigues. She tried to focus. She had a purpose. She was a physician. She was here as the representative of her agency. She had a job to do. She could continue to monitor Zane and Aaron to try and keep them stable. To chart the progress of the infection and its reaction to treatments. Information like this was vital right now—nearly as vital as stopping the potential of any spread.
Aaron’s parents might be on the road here and in the path of the hurricane. Her skin prickled. The logical part of her brain told her that these people were Hawaiians. They would know all the emergency plans for hurricanes. They would know how to keep safe. But would they follow their heads or their hearts?
Two years ago she’d had to make a heartbreaking call to another parent. She’d been called to an ER overwhelmed with flu patients. A small child had been admitted straight from school with a history of asthma, difficulty breathing and a high temperature. She’d called the parents and told them they should attend as quickly as possible. They never got there. In their sense of panic they’d been involved in a car accident and it had etched a permanent memory in Amber’s brain and a scar in her heart. If she’d said something different, maybe if she hadn’t let them know the urgency that she was feeling, they might have taken more care.
But the truth was, in the midst of a chaotic ER, she’d held that little girl’s hand—angry that the parents hadn’t got there in time—and tried to assist as they’d attempted to resuscitate her. They’d failed. And then she’d got the news about the parents.
No one had blamed her. No one had needed to. She’d blamed herself.
There were always going to be tough times being a doctor. She knew that. She expected that. But this one had hit her harder than others.
And it had affected her more than she’d realized. Her confidence at work and around others was mainly just bravado. It also helped her erect a shield around herself.
Her heart wasn’t safe. She didn’t feel in a position to form relationships. Not while she felt like this. Not when she couldn’t open herself up to others. It was safer to be single. Safer to surround herself with colleagues who didn’t seem to recognize her detachment, but, instead, thought of it as self-assuredness and confidence.
She told them she didn’t date colleagues and let them think that her life was full of a hundred other potential suitors at any time of the day.
She didn’t tell them that she’d run out of series to watch on her paid Internet TV.
For the briefest of seconds earlier today she’d thought she’d recognized something on Jack’s face.
That expression. That look. A flashback—a haunting. It was momentary. Only lasting a few seconds.
But it made her feel something. A connection.
And even though there was a hurricane outside, that scared her more than anything. So she turned on her heel and walked away.
HE WASN’T ENTIRELY sure what was going on. Maybe he’d been too forward with the woman who’d shared his bed last night. He’d wanted to envelop Amber in a hug, but her demeanor had told him not to, and he’d ended up just pulling her toward him and gently touching heads.
He still couldn’t work out what had possessed him. He hadn’t held a woman that close in...how long?
Two years. Two long, hard years.
One minute she was there. Next minute she was gone.
Jill Foster had been a bright-eyed medic he’d met in Afghanistan. She was one of the best he’d worked with. As a teenager she wanted to be a doctor but couldn’t afford to go to university, so she joined the army instead. Her skills and natural talent were picked up and she excelled in her role.
They worked side by side for six months. And as soon as he got home he missed her. By the time they redeployed again they were dating. Right up until the day he was felled by abdominal pain. The bothersome ache that had been distracting him had turned into an acute pain and he’d collapsed after finishing a long emergency surgery. Twelve hours later he’d woken up and life had changed.
Life had changed completely.
He’d had an appendectomy. It seemed that the army doc hadn’t recognized his own appendicitis. But in that twelve hours there had been an emergency—a group of soldiers had been caught in some cross fire and had needed to be retrieved. He was usually part of the emergency call-out team. But, when he’d been under anesthetic, Jill had taken his place. And it had cost her her life. While going to pick up their injured comrades the vehicle had driven over an IED, the effect instant.
Gone. Just like that.
He’d never forget the face of the base commander who’d been there to tell him as soon as he came around from anesthetic. The guy looked ill, his face pale underneath his tanned skin. The other soldiers had been retrieved, but Jill and three other members of the team Jack normally worked with had been wiped out.
The numbness spread through his body immediately. He pushed up from the gurney, ignoring any wound pain, and staggered across the compound toward the mortuary. Two squaddies saw him and ran over to help, throwing their arms around his waist to keep him steady.
But no one would let him see Jill.
And he knew why. He did. Surgeons knew better than anyone what the effects of an IED could be.
So, he sat on the floor of the mortuary for the next six hours and vowed to make his time in Afghanistan meaningful.
Everything after that became about the wound dressing.
Wartimes were tough. Surgeons dealt with explosive injuries that no normal surgeon would ever see. And because of his postings he’d grown familiar with the faces around the camp. The cheeky squaddie in the armory. The quiet Yorkshire lad who liked to read books. The gung-ho female sergeant who could give any guy a run for his money. All of them had ended up on his table.
Not all of them had lived. But Jack had done his best. He agonized over any person that he lost. Replayed everything in his mind, wondering what he could have done differently—could have done better.