Slowly, KT turned to face Tory fully. “Hi, Vic.”

“Oh my God.” Tory’s stomach roiled as if she’d been punched, and for one terrifying second she was afraid she might be ill. She took one involuntary step forward, her hand raised as if for a caress, before she jerked to a stop. Her voice wavered as she asked, “What happened? …God, KT.”

“Bit of a dustup in the trauma unit about a month ago, I ran into a crackhead with a knife.” KT shrugged and mustered up a smile. “Looks worse than it is.”

It couldn’t possibly look any worse than it does, Tory screamed inside. A fresh scar, red and faintly angry looking, crossed KT’s right cheek, starting just below her eye and ending at her jaw. It wasn’t the injury itself that Tory found so devastating, but imagining KT having been brutalized that way. But it was even more than the healing laceration that was so terribly upsetting. The physician part of her mind reminded Tory that would probably leave a scar that was only minimally deforming. It was the way KT looked. She was thinner than Tory had ever seen her, even when they had both been residents and KT was working like a madwoman 120 hours a week, barely sleeping and usually forgetting to eat. Tory remembered that young surgery resident, so charged with life, so aggressive and charismatic. The woman who faced her now, hollow-eyed and gaunt, wasn’t even a ghost of that young warrior. Realizing she was staring, Tory forced her gaze away from KT’s haunted eyes and looked down. Then she did cry out. “Oh God, no. Oh, what did he do to you?”

“It’s okay, Vic,” KT said gently. There was no place she could put her left arm to remove it from Tory’s horrified stare. The hand surgeon had taken the cast off only days before, and she wore a molded plastic splint from fingertips to midforearm that kept her damaged fingers protected as well as immobilized with a complicated set of tiny pulleys and bands.

With concerted effort, Tory compelled her mind to rule her emotions. She’d seen every kind of human tragedy and senseless death and loss imaginable. She’d seen far worse than this. It was just the double shock of rinding KT where she’d never expected her to be and seeing her so wounded that had penetrated her defenses before she’d a chance to throw up a shield. She took a breath and when she spoke again, her voice was controlled. “You’d better sit down.”

The corner of KT’s mouth quirked and she nodded wearily. “Yeah. I guess so.”

Tory made her way around behind her desk. Just the act of sitting in the position where she always sat as she performed her professional obligations helped steady her further. “How bad is your hand?”

Tory had never seen KT look away from anything not the horrors of a multicar accident or the guilt when Tory caught her in bed with one of the nurses in an on-call room. The fact that she averted her eyes now told Tory more than anything else possibly could. Once again, Tory’s stomach threatened to rebel. She threaded her fingers together on top of the desk and leaned forward, her eyes never leaving her former lover’s face. “KT?”

“He got the flexors to all four fingers and three of the digital nerves.” KT lifted her left hand and let it fall back into her lap. “It’s pretty useless.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Tory murmured, uttering the old endearment before she realized what she was saying. “I’m so sorry.”

“Well,” KT said briskly. “My hand surgeon assures me that if I’m a good patient and work hard, I might get it all back.” She grinned humorlessly. “Of course, that’s what hand surgeons always say. That way, if you end up with a lousy outcome, they can always blame it on the fact that you didn’t work hard enough in therapy.”

“If working hard is what’s required,” Tory said quietly, “then you’re going to be fine.”

“Absolutely.”

Once more, Tory reined in her distress and soul-deep sympathy for the woman whom she had loved so deeply for so long. “What are you doing here? Do you need something?”

“A job.”

Tory gaped. “You can’t mean here.”

“I can’t operate, Vic. If I sit around doing nothing, I’m going to go crazy. I can still work, and I heard through the grapevine that you had a position open. Your name still carries weight in Boston, especially since you still work in the ER at Boston City part time.”

“It’s impossible,” Tory said with finality.

“Why?” KT posed the question quietly. “Why, Vic?”

“Because…” I ‘m still so angry with you that I can hardly bear to look at you. Because you hurt me so much, and I’ve wanted to hurt you back for so long. Because I can’t stand to see you like this, and I can’t believe that anything about you could still hurt me. Tory merely shook her head resolutely.

For the second time that day, KT did something wholly unexpected. She leaned forward, her pain-filled eyes holding on to Tory’s as if on to a beacon in a raging sea.

“Please, Victoria. I need this chance.”

Why should I care what you need? I needed you. I needed us. You threw it away for a woman you didn’t even love. Do you even remember her name now? Damn you, KT. Damn you . Why did you come here? Why could you possibly think that 1 would care?

Abruptly, Tory rose and walked to the windows at the opposite side of the room. There was nothing to see but sand and scrub. With her back to KT, she said, “I can’t work with you. Besides, I don’t think you can work with only one hand.”

From behind her, Tory heard a small sound that might have been a gasp, or a groan. She turned, instantly regretful. “I’m sorry.”

KT shook her head. “I know what you mean. I can work, though. I can see patients. I can write prescriptions. I can read x-rays. I can do almost anything that needs to be done.” She shuddered as if with a sudden chill. “Except operate. I’d have to have help if someone needed suturing. But with a good medical assistant or a nurse, I could manage. I’d be pretty slow, probably, but”

“Stop,” Tory said softly. There was something that sounded terribly like begging in KT’s voice, and for some reason, that nearly broke her heart.

“Sorry.” KT stood and made a visible effort to straighten. “Well, thanks.”

“What about your hand therapy? How can you work while you’re in therapy?”

“I’ve made some inquiries. One of the nurses in the ER told me about a friend of hers who’s an occupational therapist specializing in hand rehab. Apparently she got tired of living in the city and moved out here a year ago. She works primarily in the hospital in Hyannis, but I think I could set up something for private consults right here in town. Then I could fit my rehab into whatever schedule you needed me to work.” KT gripped the back of the chair in which she had previously been sitting, the knuckles of her right hand white with strain. “You need someone, right? Do you have anyone else you’re considering?”

“I have to think about it. I have to talk to Reese.”

KT blinked. “How is she? And…Regina.”

“They’re fine.” Tory’s expression softened at the memory that it had been KT who had been there for her and Reese and the baby when everything had suddenly gone wrong. And that if it hadn’t been for KT, Regina could very well have suffered. “The baby’s beautiful, KT. Thank you.”

“Yeah, well.” KT smiled. “You’re her mother. Of course she’s beautiful.”

Tory said nothing, torn between so many memories filled with so much happiness and so much pain. “Leave me your number. I’ll call you.”

“I’m ready to start today.”

“I’ll call you.”

Nodding, KT extracted her wallet from the back pocket of her trousers and walked to Tory’s desk. She placed the wallet down on the surface, fumbled it open one-handed, and finally managed to pull out a business card. “Got a pen?”

Silently, Tory handed her one, unable to look at the motionless fingers inside the splint on KT’s left hand. KT turned the card over and scrawled a number on the back, then put down the pen and handed the card to Tory.

“My home number is on the front. I’m not there very often, and I usually can’t remember how to check the answering machine remotely. I wrote my cell on the back. You can always get me on that.”

Tory resolutely avoided thinking about where KT was probably spending her nights if she was rarely at home. “I’ll let you know by tomorrow.”

“Thanks. Goodbye, Vic.”

“Goodbye, KT,” Tory said softly as she watched the stranger whom she once had loved walk out the door.

Chapter Seven

KT walked out the front door of the clinic, stopped at the bottom of the stairs, and waited for the queasiness in her stomach to dissipate. She’d anticipated the difficulty in asking for a job. What she hadn’t expected was how very hard it would be to see Tory again. This was the longest they had been alone together since that afternoon she’d returned home from her interrupted tryst in the on-call room to find Tory waiting in the living room, hollow-eyed and so terribly wounded. The apology she’d intended to make had died on her lips when she was faced with the enormity of Tory’s pain. As had been the case just moments before, on that day she’d simply waited in silence for Tory’s judgment. It had been swift and irrevocable.

“Get out, KT. Get out now and don’t come back.”

Get out, KT. Get out…Get out…

Involuntarily, KT fisted her hands. A river of pain surged in her damaged arm, nearly unbearable. Severed nerves screamed, and inflamed blood vessels pulsed and throbbed. Nausea rose in her already unsettled stomach, and she bit back a moan as she fought to stay upright. Unconsciously, she felt in her right-hand pants pocket for one of the small white tablets and dry swallowed it. Then she took a deep breath and forced herself to focus on her surroundings, relegating her regrets to the past and forcing the pain down to manageable levels.