by Ivy Wonders
A fire I prayed would never go out in either of us.
The End
What the Doctor Orders Book Three
A Billionaire Doctor Romance
Saved by the Doctor Book Two
By Ivy Wonders
Megan Lee
Doing the right thing sometimes means giving up on finding true love…
Her dark hair blew around narrow shoulders as she stepped outside. That was the first time I saw her.
My breath hitched in my throat, my insides turned into mush, and my brain stopped working.
Beauty and brains made her a double threat—then she fell in love with my son, making her a triple threat.
But my son had always come before anyone else—including me.
All I wanted was for him to have his family back. If that meant leaving her behind, then I had to do what was best for my son.
But I had no idea how hard it would be to leave my beloved behind to live a loveless life with my ex again…
I wasn’t looking for love when it found me in my backyard…
My neighbor’s son came in and stole my heart, then his father did the same.
Nothing had ever been easier than being with him.
His gaze set me ablaze, his soft whispers turned me into a puddle of lust, and his touch blew me away.
As easy as it was to be with him, to let him into my heart, and to fall deeply in love—I knew his son came first. And I agreed—at the time.
But love doesn’t let us wait sometimes—and this was one of those times.
I didn’t have only one person to convince not to throw our love away, I had three.
A daunting task to say the least, but one well worth taking on. For a love like ours only comes around once in a lifetime and that makes it well worth fighting for…
Chapter 1
Harman
“Morning, Skye. How’re you feeling?”
Seeing a sick or injured child’s eyes open after surgery always fills me with something that nothing else can. There are definitely some perks to being a pediatric surgeon.
His mother and father flanked me on either side as I checked in on their son after removing a bullet that had lodged near his spinal cord. Both doctors themselves, they knew how dangerous the surgery had been.
Doctor Dawson, the boy’s father, moved forward, running his hand over his look-alike son’s dark brow. “I know it hurts to talk. Nod if you’re feeling okay.”
The boy’s head moved a tiny bit—definitely better than nothing. “Good. You might not feel great right now, but you’ll feel better every day, Skye.” I turned to face his mother next. Having a son myself, I knew how hard this had to be for them. “He’s going to be okay, Doctor Storey. The operation wasn’t difficult. The hardest part now will be the recovery, both physical and emotional, after the horrible ordeal you’ve all been through.”
Doctor Storey’s auburn curls bounced around her shoulders as she nodded. “I’ve already got a therapist lined up. She’ll be seeing Skye as soon as he can talk. I don’t want this to damage him any deeper than it has to.”
As I placed my hand on her shoulder, I felt my cell buzzing in my pocket. “I’ll leave you guys alone. I’ll come back later to check on him.”
“Thanks, Doctor Hunter.” The poor child’s mother went to stand on the other side of her son, her face suffused with gratitude for his survival.
I had no idea what I’d do if I’d been in their position—if my son had been kidnapped and shot. All three of them had been wounded by gunshot, yet somehow, the mother and father had rallied enough strength from somewhere to stand there beside their little boy. In my line of work, I saw proof of how powerful mind over matter could be all the time. It never ever stopped short of amazing me.
I left the family behind and took my phone out as I walked out of the hospital room. “Tara? Damn. What does she want?” I mumbled to myself as I saw my ex-wife’s name. Swiping the screen, I answered the call, bracing myself for what I knew would most likely be an enraging call. “Tara, what’s up? You still picking up Eli around six tonight?”
“I can’t,” my ex said on the other end. I’d become used to hearing those words coming out of her mouth in the last two years since we’d divorced. “I’ve got plans that just came up.”
“And they are?” I walked toward my office, needing some time to myself to process what the woman would tell me, and to figure out a way to let our son down yet again.
“Well, not that it’s any of your business, but some of my girlfriends from the boutique want to take me out on the town tonight. To help get over the breakup.”
“Get over?” She’d been dating this one guy for a little over six months—the longest relationship she’d had since our divorce. “You and Dale broke up?”
“He just wasn’t meeting my needs.” Tara had more than a handful of needs. I doubted anyone could meet them all. “You know what I mean, right?”
“Sure.” No one knew better than I how much the woman needed. “But I think you should spend this weekend with your son, and not on a drunken binge with those two giraffes who work for you at the boutique.”
“I need this, Harman. You have no idea how swamped I’ve been with work this week.” I doubted she’d personally lifted a perfectly manicured, fake-nailed finger at the shop. I’d bought the store for her as part of our divorce settlement, in the hopes that she could make some money on her own for a change. I knew that being hands-on had never been her style. “I had a sale on everything leopard print. It’s time to let that look go to make room for the next hot thing, which is elephant prints, by the way.”
That sounded hideous. “Do you know what kind of week I’ve had, Tara? Three tonsillectomies, two appendectomies, and I just had to remove a bullet from way too close to a little kid’s spine…”
She laughed as she added, “And a partridge in a pear tree. Come on, Harman, you’re used to doing those things. You actually love your work. I merely tolerate mine.”
She’d begged for that damn shop. “You should love it. You gave me little choice but to fork over all the money you needed to make it work. See, Tara, that’s one of your problems.” She had so many they needed counting, but I didn’t have the time for that. “You spend so much time focusing on the next thing you want, and then when you get it, you can’t seem to focus on how happy it’s made you. All you can do is find this thing and that thing wrong with it before you want to move onto something else.”
“I’m so glad you brought that up, Harman,” she sounded relieved for some reason. “I have such a great idea; I want to sell the boutique and buy a bar. Not just any bar, either. My bar will be like the hottest place in the city and everyone will totes want to go there.”
Tara had always been shallow. After hiring a couple of girls in their young twenties to help out at her shop, it had just gotten worse. Now she tried to be hip and trendy—and it annoyed me to no end. “Tara, try to act your age. You’re approaching thirty, you’re not twenty-one anymore like the girls you hang out with. And need I remind you that you’re also the mother of an eight-year-old boy? That boy looks up to you. Don’t you want to be a good role model for your son?”
“Me?” she scoffed. “Why do I need to do that when he has you, Harman. You’re a pediatric surgeon, his Little League coach, and a billionaire to boot. That’s enough to make you like a superhero or something to our son.” She’d always thought that my accomplishments made up for her own shortcomings. “Just let me have this weekend to get over my loss of Dale, and I’ll take one of your weekends when you have something you want to do. So like, ten years from now?” She laughed at her own lame joke as if the thought of me having plans was just too funny to think about.
Sure, I hadn’t gone out much since the divorce—I was hard pressed to think of even one time I’d gone out in the last two years when it came down to it. But frankly, I had serious doubts about bringing any other woman around my son. I wanted to make sure any woman involved in
my son’s life was someone I could love and trust, and that was pretty difficult considering the fact that I’d never been in love before. Not even with the woman I’d married.
I’d met Tara at a nightclub nine years ago. With her long, shiny auburn hair, sleek legs, and tiny physique, she’d caught my eye. When I got close enough to really see her, I thought the light smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose was cute. Foolishly, I thought her looks meant she was down to earth. I’d been wrong.
I’d also been wrong to assume the girl I’d asked to dance was over the age of twenty-one. We were at a nightclub for adults, after all. And I’d also been really wrong to have so much to drink. That lack in judgment had resulted in me being led by a girl I’d just met into the bathroom, where we’d proceeded to get it on—a thing that was totally out of character for me. I’d blamed the pink shots she’d kept making me buy for that poor decision.
Afterward, I could’ve just left her without so much as a goodbye, but I was a nice guy—for the most part. I’d given her my number and told her I’d had fun, and maybe we could do that again sometime.
Tara had taken the napkin I’d written my number on, folded it up neatly then tucked it under her drink while saying, “Thanks, I had fun, too. But you’re really not my type. You’re kind of…old.”
I’d only been twenty-five and had assumed she was about that age as well. “Old? Since when is twenty-five considered old?”
“Ew!” she’d whined. “That old? I thought you were maybe twenty-three at the oldest. Yuck!”
“Yuck? If you didn’t find me attractive, then why’d you go into that bathroom with me and do everything you’d done in there?” The girl had sucked me off before climbing onto my lap and riding me like a bucking bull.
“I mean, you’re cute.” She bit her bright-red lower lip. “And your body is like rock-hard, too.” Her hands floated through the air as she ran them in front of me. I was wearing dress pants and a nice button-up, as I’d come from an event at the hospital I was doing my internship. “But you’ve got, like workingman’s clothes on.”
“And that disgusts you?” I couldn’t figure her out at all.
Nodding, she went on, “Yeah. I want a college man. I’m not into some man-man, ya know?”
“Like a grown-ass man,” I said with a nod, then ran my hand through my hair, feeling a little embarrassed that I’d actually screwed the girl before I’d even had a real conversation with her. “I’ll get out of your way, so you can find yourself a little boy, then. I didn’t realize you weren’t into grown men.” Her immaturity had me asking, almost as an after-thought, “How old are you, anyway?”
“Nineteen.” She waved at a couple of girls who looked way older than she apparently was. “They got me into the club. They’re my older brother’s friends.”
“Great.” The regret didn’t seem to end. It only got worse.
Three months later, I was sitting at the same bar, a beer in my hand after a particularly hard day—I’d observed a surgery where the doctor I’d shadowed had lost a little nine-year-old girl. “Hit me with a shot of Jack, will ya, Harvey?” The beer wasn’t even coming close to cutting the pain down.
The front door opened and a bit of light streamed in. I held my hand over my eyes like a vampire who’d be burnt by the sun’s rays. “Thank God. I thought I’d never find you.” When I opened my eyes at those words, I found Tara standing in the doorway and looking my way—only I’d forgotten her name at that time.
“Great.” Talking to her had been the last thing I’d wanted to do. I took a long drink of my beer as the bartender placed the shot in front of me.
She pointed at the drink. “You should take that shot before you hear what I’ve got to tell you.”
I remember thinking that whatever she had to tell me couldn’t possibly make my day worse, but I followed her advice anyway. After pouring the searing hot liquor down my throat, I said, “Hit me.”
Lifting her shirt, she ran her hand over the slightest little paunch on her otherwise flat stomach. “You’re going to be a father. I lost your number and I’d forgotten your name.”
My eyes were glued to that little bump and then they slowly crawled up her body, landing on her face. It was an okay face. Not the most gorgeous, but also not the ugliest I’d ever seen. Then I looked at the bartender, who’d become a statue as he looked at the girl with his mouth agape.
Chewing my lower lip, I weighed my options. Option one: give the chick a false name and leave Seattle for good. Option two: jump up and run like hell until I couldn’t run anymore. Or option three: do the right thing—the way I’d been taught to.
Somewhere along the line in the next ten minutes, I went with my gut. “My name’s Harman Hunter. And I’ve forgotten your name, too.”
“Tara Flannigan.” She finally put her shirt down. “My father would like to talk to you outside if you don’t mind.”
“Oh, shit,” Harvey hissed.
I tended to agree with the bartender. “Yep.” But I’d gotten up and faced the consequences of my actions like a real man. I’d married that girl and became the best husband and father I could be. And for six years, that’d been enough for Tara. Then when it wasn’t anymore, she’d left. And not just me, but she’d left our son behind, too.
Her question pulled me out of my reverie, “Harman, so is it a go?”
“What?” I didn’t fully understand her. “The bar, or the not-picking-up-Eli thing?”
“Well, for now, the not-picking-up-Eli thing,” she clarified.
What else could I say? If I made her take him, then I had no idea what she’d do with him when she went out. Because she would still go out. “I’ll come up with some excuse for you. Just try to think about being around more for your kid, okay?”
“Sure.” She waited a beat. “And the bar?”
“Leave me out of that, please.” I ended the call, wishing for the millionth time that I’d just worn a condom that fateful night. But then—as always—I took the wish back. I had no idea what I would do without my son. I loved that kid to the moon and back.
Though I’d made a lot of crappy decisions in my life, I could never think of my son as a mistake.
Chapter 2
Rebel
That moment I stumbled upon the beautiful early twentieth-century carriage house for sale in the prestigious Queen Anne neighborhood of Seattle, I knew it was mine. I am so damn proud of myself. It had been a hard few years, working to save enough money to make a down payment on a home, but after seeing the three-bedroom, two-bath, 2,000-square foot home, I knew it’d been worth it.
My first home!
If anyone had asked me back in the day if I’d be buying my own home at the tender age of twenty-five, I would’ve laughed until I cried. But there I was, doing just that.
The carriage house belonged to an estate that had just been inherited by a young woman who wanted to update the accompanying nineteenth-century mansion completely. The carriage house didn’t fit into her scheme, so she sold it for a ridiculously low amount. Somehow, I’d been lucky enough to be one of the first to hear about it.
I’d been the vet on duty when a wounded pug came into the clinic after stepping on some glass during the demolition stage of the renovation. Beverly Song had inherited the place, and she and her three puppies were staying in the west wing while work began on the east side of the home. Poor little Pepper Pug had wandered over to the wrong side of the house and had gotten himself into trouble.
His unfortunate accident proved to be my great fortune as his owner told me all about the carriage house that just didn’t fit into her plans. She’d already had a stone wall built around the back portion of the house to separate it permanently from her view. And she was just about to put it on the market.
No one else even had the chance to look at the place, as I’d called dibs immediately after she’d revealed the low price. I moved in only two short months later.
I had my furniture delivered and set up a
nd then I got straight to working on my backyard. As a veterinarian, I liked to have animals around me all the time and living in an apartment hadn’t allowed me to have any animals at all. Having my own home meant I could have anything I wanted—and I wanted to make sure I had things ready when I found my little pet guests.
Setting up some cages for various small animals, I also wanted to put up a kennel or two for any dogs I might find who needed help—or maybe even a new permanent home. But the kennel proved a bit hard to set up on my own, and I wasn’t the only one who’d noticed.
“Hi, lady. You need some help?” I looked over my shoulder at the sound of a young boy’s voice and found a kid in my backyard.
Brushing my hands over my jeans to clean them, I offered the kid a handshake. “Hi, I’m Rebel Saxe. Doctor Rebel Saxe. I’m a veterinarian—an animal doctor. What’s your name?”
He shook my hand as he blew a chunk of thick auburn hair out of his dark-green eyes. “I’m Eli Hunter. My dad’s a doctor, too. But he operates on little kids. So, are you going to have animals back here, Miss Saxe?”
I didn’t much like having kids call me by my last name; it always made me feel old. “You can call me Rebel, Eli. And yes, I’m going to have all sorts of animals back here. Some will just be stopping by to recuperate here before going back into the wild, and some will be waiting for homes. Some will probably stay here forever with me, though.”
“Cool.” His eyes popped out of his head as he looked around the large yard. Then he wrinkled his little freckled nose. “How’re you gonna take care of them all?”
“I don’t know.” He’d hit a point I hadn’t taken a look at yet. I knew I had more cages and space set up than my free time would allow. “I suppose I’ll just have to make time for them, won’t I?”