Patients from all over the world came to see me, some of them very wealthy, or with very wealthy families who loved them, offering luxurious gifts in exchange for me saving their lives.
Cars, houses, boats — I had them all now, including so much money I couldn’t give it away fast enough.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t save every patient, no matter how much money I was given. That was the painful, stark reality of my daily existence. And, while I used to get high on the accolades, even those don’t dim the harsh fact that I simply am not God.
If there is a God, that is. I’m certainly not convinced. The things I’ve seen, namely, mothers wailing at their dead children’s bedsides, just to mention one — argue strongly on the side of ‘nope’ for me. Anyway, the God conversation is a big can of worms for another time, especially from a surgeon’s perspective. I was talking about women, wasn’t I?
I spent my early thirties enjoying the offerings of many eager women and then — well, I met someone. I wasn’t looking for anything serious, and Loren wasn’t looking for anything at all — except a healthy kidney. And she was a patient, which was a huge ethical violation, clearly.
But my heart didn’t give a shit about that.
She came to the clinic without a chance. She was sicker than most anyone I’d seen, and yet she kept hanging on. I took one look into her big green eyes and I knew I had to save her.
But I went too far.
I fell in love. I couldn’t stop myself.
And she loved me back.
I became blinded by my feelings for her and when I couldn’t save her — when she died in my arms late one night — something inside of me broke.
It’s been five years since Loren died and it’s still broken.
I shut down after that. Pouring myself into my work — trying to make up for the fact that I couldn’t save the one person I truly needed to save — it’s the only thing I can do, the only thing I have left.
I let myself look up from my phone for a second, allowing a stolen glance to the nurses I was actively ignoring. I recognized a few of them from the hallways of the kid’s hospital next door to mine. They’d changed out of their scrubs, but I was pretty good at spotting nurses anyway. They always seemed to have this freshly-scrubbed, wholesome look that usually made me wanna just crawl inside of them and stay there, like a warm blanket.
But there was one I didn’t recognize.
She was quieter than the others, her eyes a little softer. They were all talking amongst themselves, allowing me a moment to stare without them seeing me. My heart skipped a beat as she ran a hand through her short black hair, a slow smile spreading across her face as she listened to her friends.
She was beautiful and the thoughtful look in her blue eyes made me wonder what she was thinking. My gaze traveled down to her lips, turned up at the corners, causing the edges of her eyes to wrinkle. Her slender neck led to the delicate collarbones of her slender frame.
It had been so long since I’d really taken the time to look at a woman and it felt strange and foreign, and yet familiar — like watching a movie I’d seen long ago. In the past, I may have slipped her my card on the way out. Or, if she’d lingered after her friends left, perhaps I’d have convinced her to spend a few hours with me in one of the hundreds of nearby hotel rooms with views of Lake Michigan.
But this wasn’t the past.
This was me, now, wondering if I’d ever move on, if my life would ever be normal, or if I’d spend the rest of my life wondering what it would have been like if I’d never met Loren and never been broken in the first place.
The woman glanced over at me, catching me eyeing her. I looked away quickly, smirking at the fact that I’d been caught. I looked back and she was still there, quietly smiling. I nodded slightly, acknowledging my brazenness.
The waitress walked up, breaking our glance, and I took a breath, coming to the shocking realization that I’d been holding my breath the entire time I was looking at her.
Well, I thought, as the waitress put my plate down, that certainly hasn’t happened in a while.
Maybe I’m healing just a little bit after all…
Chapter 18
NATE
“They’ll be ready for you in an hour,” Sophia said, closing the door, leaving me in the dressing room alone with Rocco.
I collapsed on the couch, not caring that I was wrinkling my suit. I’d hear about it later from Sophia, but fuck her.
“Rocco, make me another drink, please,” I said.
“Sure thing, Boss,” he said, heading to the bar in the corner.
“I can’t believe I have to do this shit again,” I said. “Wasn’t I on this show like a month ago?”
“I think it was about six months ago,” Rocco replied.
“That long? Fuck,” I said, throwing my head back, remembering the last time I was sitting on this couch in this very room. It was just a few months before Little Bird left me. She’d been so excited to come to the set and meet everyone, her eyes as wide as saucers the whole day.
Fuck, I missed her.
I’d fucked up big time. I knew that now.
Rocco handed me a glass of whiskey and sat down beside me.
“Still no news about Dove?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Nope. Nothing at all.”
I sighed, deeply regretting the moment I put a hand on her. I should have known a woman like her would never allow herself to be treated like that. She was too good. She was too good for me, I knew that.
That didn’t mean she wasn’t mine, that she didn’t belong to me.
I loved her. That meant something.
“I guess it’s time for me to hire someone to start looking for her. Like some expensive private detective or something. Your guys aren’t having any luck. She’s gotta be somewhere.”
Rocco shrugged. “Clearly, she doesn’t want to be found, Boss. You sure you don’t want to just move on?”
Anger rushed through my veins at his words. “Hell, no, Rocco! I love her! I’m not moving on, ever. What the fuck?”
“Sorry, Boss,” he said, looking sheepish. “Of course you won’t.”
“Right!” I insisted. “For fuck’s sake…”
I finished my drink and asked him to make me another, sulking silently until Sophia knocked on the door.
“They’re ready,” she said, peeking in. She looked at me with a disapproving purse of her lips when she saw the wrinkles in my suit pants, but fortunately for her, she kept her opinion to herself. I was in no mood for her shit.
We walked down the hallway to the sound stage, the audience’s laughter echoing through the halls before the sound of my latest hit blasted through the speakers. The stage manager waved me over and nodded, pushing me out from behind the curtain.
I flashed a smile and started dancing out onto the stage, greeting the frantic crowd and joining a grinning Ellen DeGeneres as I sat down beside her.
“Nate Nash, I’m so happy you’re here today!”
“Thank you for having me,” I said, smiling graciously as she shook my hand.
Chapter 19
SAMANTHA
Gigi snored on the couch at my feet as I scrolled through the channels on the television. Today was my day off, and I was taking full advantage of doing absolutely nothing.
With Nate, my life was a whirlwind of nonstop traveling from show to show or city to city — and it was exhausting.
A chance to just lay around and do nothing but watch terrible television shows all day was just what my soul needed. In fact, I needed many days like this. It may have looked like I was wasting my days away, but what I was really doing was healing, slowly but surely.
I was beginning to think it was working, actually.
Sure, I was only a few weeks into my new life, but I was starting to feel settled and — dare I say it? Safe.
I knew better than to get too comfortable, lest I be less vigilant and put myself at risk, but it was nice to be able to relax, eve
n if it was just a little bit in the privacy of my own home watching garbage.
“Maybe I need cable,” I muttered aloud, as I stopped when I saw Ellen’s smiling face. “Oh, here we go, who doesn’t love Ellen?”
Gigi kept snoring, ignoring my question.
I sunk into the couch, settling under my boyfriend blanket, which was actually a weighted blanket I’d bought on a whim last week to remind myself that I didn’t need actual physical touch if I could manufacture it artificially. It was working perfectly, if a little suffocating.
“Our next guest needs no introduction,” Ellen said, her happy smiling face always able to lift my spirits. “So, I won’t give him one. Come on out!”
My stomach dropped when I heard the music.
“Oh, god no…” I muttered, sitting up and watching as Nate came dancing out to the music, waving at the crowd and flashing them his fake million dollar smile. I tried to look away, a voice in my head told me to change the channel, but I couldn’t look away. It was like a car crash I knew was coming but couldn’t avoid.
“Hello, Nate Nash!” Ellen said as he sat down next to her. Bile rose in my throat as he greeted her back, kissing her on the cheek.
“Hello,” he said. “Thanks for having me.”
“We’re so glad you’re here!” The crowd went nuts, the studio filling with the sounds of the shrill screams of women. “Obviously,” Ellen quipped.
“Thank you, thank you,” Nate said, appearing to be a gracious gentleman instead of the violent pig he was. I snarled at the screen in disgust.
“So, how have you been?” Ellen asked, as the crowd quietened.
“Ellen, you know I have a wonderful life, right?”
“Sure,” she replied.
“I have nothing to complain about, right?”
“Right…”
“Well then, with that being said, can I please just have one moment to be honest?”
“Of course!”
“Okay, well here it is — I’m miserable, Ellen. I’m heartbroken.”
“Oh, that’s terrible, what’s wrong?” she asked.
Nate paused dramatically, looking down at his lap and shaking his head.
“I’m just going to say it, even though my PR agent might be pissed,” he insisted, before looking into the camera. “I met someone. A year ago or so. She was amazing, Ellen. But my label didn’t want me to go public with the relationship. And it just got to be too much, you know? Trying to hide it?”
“Oh, that does sound tough,” she agreed. “So, who is she?”
My stomach dropped and the blood left my face.
Nate looked at her and smiled another fake smile, the one I’d seen him use so many times when he was trying to charm someone.
“Don’t say it, please don’t say it,” I cried to my television. Gigi woke up, looking at me curiously.
“Well, her name was Dove, but I call her Little Bird.”
“What happened? Did she fly away?” Ellen joked, looking at her crowd for the expected laughter that rippled through her studio.
Nate nodded solemnly. “She did, Ellen.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she replied, reaching out and putting her hand over his.
“Me, too,” Nate said, looking at the crowd who was letting out a collective ‘awww’. Suddenly, his eyes lit up. “Hey, maybe you guys can help me, huh?”
“Help how?” Ellen said.
“Look,” he said, lowering his eyes sheepishly, “I screwed up big time. And I want to apologize, but Little Bird left and I don’t know where she went. She changed her number and moved away, but she’s got to be somewhere right? Someone has seen her.”
“Oh, sure,” Ellen said, looking over at her producer Andy. “Can we get a picture of this woman up on the screen? I know you’ve been caught in paparazzi photos with her, right?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Nate said. “There’s nothing really private in my life.”
“I understand too well,” Ellen said. “And who am I to get in the way of true love? Andy, do you have the photo?”
“NO!” I shouted, my stomach twisted with dread.
Andy nodded and a photo of Nate and me at the Eiffel Tower popped up on the screen behind them. We’d been so happy then, but looking at him now, I felt nothing but pure disdain.
“Yeah, that’s her, that’s my Little Bird,” Nate said. “Isn’t she the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen?”
“Next to Portia, you bet,” Ellen laughed, Nate joining in.
“Seriously, Ellen, I love her. I just need her back in my life.” He turned back to the camera, speaking directly into the lens. “If anyone has seen or heard from Dove, please tell her I love her. Please email me or direct message me on Instagram if you know where she is. She’s everything to me.”
“That is the most romantic thing ever, isn’t it?” Ellen said. “I’m sure you’ll find her now, Nate.”
She reached over and touched his hand again. “Now, tell us why you’re here. You have a new tour coming up, right?”
“I do!” He said. “I’ve been swamped with rehearsals lately. Good thing, because keeping busy helps with the heartache, you know?”
“Gimme a fucking break!” I screamed, turning it off and throwing the remote at the screen as I jumped to my feet. Gigi jumped up with me, dancing at my feet.
“No, no, no!” I cried, pacing around the room, my arms wrapped around my torso as I felt the heavy weight of a target falling on my back.
That safety I was starting to feel drifted away like a feather in the wind…
Chapter 20
SAMANTHA
I took one last look in the mirror before leaving the house the next day.
My eyes were puffy, but I’d left them bare of makeup again. I slicked my short hair back away from my face and dressed as casually as I could — jeans with the cuffs rolled up, a plain black tank and a pair of Chuck’s. I pulled on a white hoodie and zipped it up, even though it was warming up outside, wanting the extra protection.
I felt so exposed.
After drinking and crying myself to sleep last night, I finally crawled out from under my blankets around noon, Gigi forcing me from bed to take her outside.
Before Nate glued a target on my back in front of millions of people on live television, I’d agreed to meet my friends from work at the Mexican restaurant with the patio so they could meet Gigi this afternoon. I’d told myself I was going to cancel, of course. How could I go out now?
But, after pacing around my apartment and muttering to myself like a crazy woman for a few hours, I convinced myself it was best for me to stick to my plan. I’d call much more attention to myself if I became a hermit and isolated myself now, causing my colleagues to scrutinize why. If I was going to pull off this new identity, I needed to commit to it fully.
I looked down at Gigi and lifted a brow. “How do I look?”
She grinned, panting up at me. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said, patting her head. “I’m glad you can’t talk, girl. That way you don’t have to lie.”
She cocked her head and whimpered. “You’re coming this time,” I said, grabbing my purse and then her leash. Her tail wagged excitedly and she danced around while I clipped the leash to her collar.
She rode next to me in the car, excited to be going anywhere, as usual. I sighed, trying to shake off the anxiety I was feeling about going out in public. The restaurant wasn’t far from my place and in minutes, I was pulling up to the curb, groaning as I saw how crowded it was on the patio. It was a beautiful day, the sun shining brightly, without a cloud in the sky. I fished a pair of sunglasses out of the glovebox, then stopped, looking down at them and remembering — Nate had given me these when we’d stepped off the plane that first time in Los Angeles. They were heavy and expensive, with thick frames and dark black lenses that were impossible to see through.
They’d definitely shield my face from view, but I just couldn’t do it.
I threw them back in the g
love box and slammed it shut.
Taking a deep breath, I opened the door and slid out before running around to help Gigi out and finding my friends.
Ten minutes later, I was sitting in front of a frozen margarita and listening to Emma, Mike and Charlotte rattle on about work. Gigi sat obediently next to me, but only because she thought she was going to get one of Mike’s nachos.
I laughed in all the right places and expressed concern in all the right places, too, mimicking everyone else’s behavior, but I wasn’t there. My eyes were darting around, watching the others seated at the tables next to me to make sure nobody was looking at me. My face had been plastered on Ellen’s big ass screen and Nate had put out an APB for my head, basically.
All it would take would be for one person to recognize me.
So far, though, so good. Nobody was paying me a lick of attention at this point, so I sat in my corner, sipping my drink and playing the part.
And doing my damnedest not to fall apart.
“Samantha?” Mike said, putting a hand on mine, startling me out of my daze.
“Oh, sorry, what?” I said, blinking myself back to the table. I looked around and saw that they all three had their phones out.
“Your IG?” Mike said, his brow wrinkling. “Have you been listening? Emma said she couldn’t find you on facebook and I said of course not because you aren’t a facebook kind of girl. So, what’s your Instagram?”
“Oh!” I replied, my stomach churning. “No, I don’t have one.”
They looked at me like I’d just said I was a unicorn.
“Sorry, what?”
“I don’t have either. No facebook, no Instagram…”
“Oh,” Charlotte said. “She’s even cooler than we thought. Okay, what’s your twitter handle?”
“You have to have something,” Emma said.
“No, really,” I insisted. “No twitter, either.”
They stared back, shaking their heads, waiting for an explanation.
“I’m just not into social media,” I lied. Truth was, I lived for social media. In fact, it was killing me not to log on and see what everyone was up to, but I didn’t dare. Especially now.
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