ANDREW looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He didn’t see his face. He couldn’t. What he saw was his fear. He saw the way his face looked two years ago, in the midst of the rubble, twisted metal, and broken bones from that tragic night on that icy overpass. He saw Emma’s face. He saw the other driver slumped over the wheel of the car that hit his own, blood dripping from his head. It was too much blood.

For some reason, that driver’s airbag did not deploy. And although the man was wearing a seatbelt, his head had slammed violently into the steering wheel. Andrew saw the despair on his own face, distorted in the reflection of that driver’s car window. Despite his desperate efforts to pull him from the vehicle, he was not able to save them. That was the problem—he tried to save them both, and he couldn’t save either.

He willed himself back to the present. That time two years ago was still too much to bear. As he washed the blood off his arms, he could barely slow his racing heartbeat, or his shaking hands, or the slick cold sweat creeping up his back and neck. Everything he had just done to help John was a crystal clear reminder of what had happened that night.

He wondered what he had done to cross the Gods. It couldn’t be coincidence. Only punishment from above could set out the past hour’s sequence of events, and make Andrew the only person for miles in any direction capable of dealing with the emergency.

“Fuck,” he heard the word escape his lips as he gripped on to the counter. Waves of anguish flowed over him. Misfortune had followed him all the way from Manhattan. It had tricked him into thinking things were beginning to turn around. With these young people’s unexpected visit, it had even added an amazing woman to the mix. He had finally found a sliver of hope begin to rise from the ashes of his mind.

Now this? Haven’t I been through enough?

Unresolved feelings, disturbing images, misplaced energy, and unrelenting questions surged through Andrew’s mind and body. He could cry just as easily as he could curse and punch in a wall. But he didn’t do either. He had company. He had to keep it together until they left. He had to be strong for himself and for them. And for Abby.

It was bad enough she had seen the tear fall down his face when she touched his scar. That was the most honest moment he had shared with anyone since Emma died. And he was sure Abby had just seen him have a flashback. It was the protruding radius on John’s arm that triggered it. The bone stuck out at almost exactly the same angle as his arm had been after the accident. He was mesmerized by John’s limb, just as he had looked down in disbelief at his own, two years ago.

When it had happened back then, it felt like his mind had left his body. He had been looking down at his broken arm as though it belonged to someone else. He had watched the blood pooling around the bone that jutted out precariously from where it had broken flesh and skin. There was no concept of time as he had looked down at it. It felt like time had slowed down. It was the paramedic who had been first to arrive on scene that had to forcefully drag Andrew out of his haze to perform first aid on the arm, or Andrew would have bled out that night.

How could a doctor sworn to preserve life freeze up like that? How could a doctor be on scene and become so powerless? There were many nights since then, where Andrew had been enraged by his state of shock. He had cursed the paramedics and swore at the gods for keeping him alive, instead of attending to everyone else needing help on the scene. For this new disaster to land on his doorstep didn’t just add insult to injury; it was damned near unbearable.

It was only sheer will that kept him from calling his other chopper service now. The one that would take them all back to Sparks so they could be out of the elements, out of his cabin, and out of his life. It was sheer will, and he had to admit, it was Abby too; she had something to do with it. Fuck! To have an event simultaneously bring new pain at the same time as it probably brought the best thing in his life since Emma passed; well, if there was a god, he or she was cruel and insane.

Would it even be so bad to send them all packing? He could have them home that same night, Abby’s insurance company would arrange a tow and a replacement vehicle, and their families could take care of the rest. If Abby was remotely interested in getting to know him better, she could stay back. She could stay as long as she wanted, or she could come see him when her schedule freed up. Heck, he could probably go see her, eventually. So what was it about letting these kids take responsibility for themselves that made Andrew feel he was shirking?

He knew the answer to that. He could not ignore people’s needs. He just wasn’t that kind of man. This was exactly why he had chosen to live as the billionaire hermit of Lake Tahoe. He cared too much, where people were concerned. He would probably put animals before his own needs too, if it came down to it. His distance from society was best for everyone. It was best for the sliver of peace he would get in every sunset. But then, like the monkey wrench of fate, along came Abby.

Andrew splashed water on his face and dried it with a towel. It was time to go back out there, but every cell in his body wanted to stay locked in his bedroom. The worst was over, hopefully, where John was concerned. There wasn’t anything more he could do for him, other than to keep him stable. If things deteriorated out in the living room, someone would definitely come knocking on his door to get him.

For all of the rationalizing, he knew there was more to it. Those kids needed him. They were terrified for John out there, just as they were during the blizzard. He saw it in all their eyes, including Abby’s. She was putting up a good front for them, he was sure of it. Out of the group, she knew exactly how bad John’s injuries were. Yet she was so calm, and so helpful.

He imagined that she needed a break from it, the way he had just been able to pull away. Or maybe she needed him. Suddenly, he felt a pang of desire in his chest. He had to be with her. He would get out there to be there for them. First, he needed to change out of this blood-stained shirt.

He walked over to the closet to find a fresh shirt, and noticed the open drawer where Rob would have found the first aid kit. He reached down to close the drawer, and that’s when he froze again. It was a framed picture of him and Emma, shortly after they were married. They had been so happy. It had become a photograph he could not bear to look at anymore, but he also could not get rid of it.

For the first few months while he stayed out at Lake Tahoe, he kept it in the office drawer. He had to move it eventually. He would stare at it for hours, choking back tears until he couldn’t hold it in any more. It was not healthy to keep reliving the nightmare every time he looked at the photo. There were a lot of things that were not healthy about his mind.

In the months after it happened, his father and other doctor colleagues would frequently suggest he should go to a grief therapist. He eventually saw one; however the visits did not last. He may have seen her five or six times, but effectively he might as well have never gone. At every visit, he would sit in the chair, and she would listen, but he would not say a word.

He was too numb to share. It was too fresh. His broken arm had not even healed yet, so how could anyone expect the wounds in his mind to recover from such a horrific loss? And there was still so much legal and media turmoil swirling around him. Therapy and healing were the last things on his mind.

He took the photo out and looked around for a place to put it. He went to the night stand closer to the window and put it in a drawer with the image facing down. He would have to find somewhere else for it. He wondered whether he would ever come to terms with the loss of Emma.

Could Abby possibly be the one to help him find his way back? He was tired of carrying around so much grief. It was more than anyone should have to bear. That’s what his dad would say, that Andrew shouldn’t have to deal with it alone. Could Abby even fathom his loss? He hoped so, yet was hesitant to put the pain of this tragedy on anyone else’s shoulders—least of all Abby.

He scoffed at the thought after a few moments. How could he be so naïve to think Abby would even want him? He was a broken man, with a gimp leg and a hollowed out heart. She would probably run for the hills the first chance she got, after learning about Emma, the accident, and his nightmares, let alone the brutal truth of the aftermath. He needed to face facts. No sane, self-respecting woman would want to have anything to do with him, if she knew everything. It was useless.

He sat on the opposite edge of the bed, let out a sigh and placed his head in his hands. Pull it together, Andy. Those kids need you out there. Abby needs you. He stood up and ran his hand through his hair, doing what he could to regain his composure. He looked down at his outstretched hands. They were calm again. That was progress. He went back to the closet, found a shirt, and changed. As he left his room, he heard the helicopter approaching.