by Fiona Lowe
He wondered what it was like to be that connected to another human being. He’d never got close. Never allowed himself to get that close.
Until now.
He shook his head against the words. ‘Were you identical?’
‘Yes.’
He let her silence ride, knowing she had to tell her story in her own time.
‘I’m the eldest by twenty minutes and I took my job as the “big sister” very seriously.’
He smiled. ‘I can picture you doing that.’
‘Is that code for saying I’m bossy?’
He reached out, patting the couch until he felt her leg, which he gave a gentle squeeze. ‘You know what you want and there’s no crime in that.’
‘I guess I’ve been trying to live my life for Amy too.’ Her voice sounded small and she lifted his hand, folding it in hers and gripping it hard. ‘One night, Amy crawled into bed with me, saying she felt weird. We’d been to a party and had eaten way too much junk food and we didn’t want to confess that to Mum because she was huge on eating healthy, so I cuddled her and we both fell asleep. I woke up and my clock said 3:03. Amy was still in bed with me, only …’
Her fingers crushed his but he didn’t move. He now understood exactly why she feared the dark so much and he wished he could turn back time and change what had happened to her. Change the fact she’d woken up with her sister dead in her arms. But, hell, he couldn’t change a thing. He kissed her hand.
‘She’d died of bacterial meningitis and I didn’t even get sick.’ Her voice rose on a wail and he waited, giving her a chance to compose herself.
‘I was a kid and I didn’t understand any of it.’ Her voice sounded stronger. ‘I thought it should have been me who died and for a long time I refused to accept she was dead. My parents were inconsolable and I spent a lot of years being the perfect child so as not to give them any more stress and maybe to honour Amy. I felt so guilty that she’d died and I lived. I went to school, I worked hard and achieved, but I was living in a fog. I didn’t do the normal teenage stuff like parties and boyfriends, and I couldn’t sleep at night. I took to napping in the day, which worked at university between lectures, and once I’d qualified, I always offered to do night shift. Over the years I’ve become the power-nap queen.’ Her laugh was hollow. ‘I worked out that if I sleep in the light the nightmares are less. As you’ve just found out, sleeping in the dark is an invitation for fear to invade.’
‘You’re chronically exhausted.’ He ran his fingers over the back of her hand. She was an intelligent woman and a brilliant doctor, but she couldn’t see that she also had post-traumatic stress disorder. ‘You sleeping with the lights on isn’t going to bother me, but you know it isn’t helping you.’
The couch vibrated as she dropped his hand and shifted. ‘I think I know what works best for me.’
Her defensive tone told him to back off, but he wasn’t having a bar of it. ‘Hayley, not very long ago you told me that you’re exhausted. If you don’t deal with this you’re going to fall apart in a monumental breakdown and climbing back from that will be beyond hard.’
‘Suddenly you’re a psychiatrist?’
Her sarcasm whipped him but he let it wash over him. ‘Hell, no. I treated brains with surgery, but even if I could still operate, I wouldn’t be able to fix this.’ He closed his eyes for a moment, seeking the strength to share something he’d never told anyone.
You never share anything with anyone.
But he knew he had to expose his own weakness to help her. ‘After the accident I thought death was preferable to being blind. I couldn’t see a damn thing, but when I shut my eyes I relived the accident in all its Technicolor glory. The shock of the car hitting me, the cool zip of the air as I flew through it still on my bike, and the terrifying crunching sound as my head slammed into the pavement. All of it was pushing me deep into a very black pit. Reluctantly, I agreed to hypnotherapy.’
‘I can’t imagine you doing that.’
He understood her surprise. ‘Neither could I, but it was better than talking about my damn feelings to someone who had no bloody clue and could only look at me and think, thank God, that’s not me.’
It was suddenly really important to him that she seek professional help. He wanted her to be well and get the most out of her life. He moved closer to her, smelling the citrus of her hair and using it to find her face. He traced her cheek and with his finger. ‘Promise me you’ll try it.’
He felt her hesitation, smelt her scepticism, apprehension and doubt, and just when he thought she’d refuse, she leaned her forehead against his and whispered, ‘Thank you.’
He immediately shrugged off her heartfelt words. ‘There’s nothing to thank me for. I’m just doing what any friend would do.’
She sighed as if she didn’t quite believe him. ‘Well, thanks for caring.’
He opened his mouth to say ‘You’re welcome’ but the words stalled in his throat as his heart suddenly ached without reason. Something in her voice had skated too close to it for comfort. Caring? He tried to shrug it off, tried to rationalise his wanting to help her as a normal reaction to a patient or friend. It wouldn’t stick. Hayley wasn’t a patient and he’d never had a friend like her.
She’s special.
A flutter of panic skittered through his veins.
Hayley’s fingers caressed the keys of Tom’s piano, revelling in the rich sounds, and she lost herself in one of Chopin’s nocturnes. As soon as her house was habitable again, she was going to buy a piano. She’d moved so much in the last ten years that she didn’t own one, but this last ten days she’d found the music was helping her.
She felt Tom’s hand settle on her shoulder and she leaned back into him, loving his strength and his ironclad determination that flowed into her. It inspired her every time. He’d arrived home a few minutes ago, but she’d learned he had a routine and it was best not to disturb it so she’d kept on playing. He looked as divine as ever in a blue-and-white checked shirt, navy collared light jumper and the palest of grey chinos.
Before she’d started living at the penthouse, she’d wondered how he managed to coordinate his clothes so well, when his hair always looked slightly unkempt and rumpled. Now she knew. He bought an entire season of clothes from a particular men’s store and his cleaning lady hung them in colour groups.
She smiled up at him. ‘Before I forget, Carol rang to say she’s home and she suggested dinner soon.’
‘Let me know your roster and I’ll call her later.’
Delicious surprise flowed through her that he wanted her to meet the woman who’d been more of a mother to him than his own and she hugged it close. ‘Will do. You’re back early.’
He dropped a kiss onto her head. ‘And you’re not studying.’
‘Your powers of deduction amaze me, Watson.’
He smiled gently. ‘You’re rolling your eyes at me.’
How did he know that? ‘No, I’m not.’
His fingers played with her hair. ‘You’re also a hopeless liar, Hayley. I can hear it in your voice. Bad day?’
It had been an awful day, starting with a young motorcyclist who’d wrapped himself around a tree and almost bled to death on the table, and it had ended with what should have been a straightforward division of adhesions, but when she’d opened up the patient’s peritoneum it had been riddled with cancer. She’d immediately closed up, stitching each layer with great care, and two hours later had broken the bad news that the woman had only weeks to live. After all of that she’d had her second appointment with the hypnotherapist. She hadn’t wanted to go to the first appointment, but Tom had pushed and chivvied and walked her there to make sure she’d followed through on her promise. It hadn’t been the ordeal she’d expected and today’s return visit had left her feeling oddly light inside. She kept rubbing her chest, expecting the familiar heavy weight to return.
While she’d been living with Tom, she’d got used to talking about her day with him, as well as chattin
g about all sorts of things from medicine to politics and books. Their taste in books was poles apart, but she didn’t care because the discussions that stemmed from their differences was invigorating. She hadn’t felt this alive or shared her thoughts like this with a friend in …
Never as an adult.
Or as a teenager. When Amy died, she’d stopped sharing her thoughts with others and she’d never experienced a strong connection with anyone since, but now with Tom, it felt … right.
Her arm crossed her chest as she placed her hand on top of his. ‘It was a seriously lousy day, but how did you know?’
‘You’re playing the piano.’
She laughed. ‘I’ve been known to play the piano after a good day.’
He raised his brows and put his hands on the piano stool, feeling for the edges. She moved along, creating some space, and he sat down next to her. His hand pressed on her thigh and a tingle shot through her.
‘Just as I thought.’ He smiled at her. ‘You’re wearing what I assume are old and faded tracksuit pants. They’re your comfort clothes.’
She stared at him, aghast that he’d worked that out about her. She only wore them because he couldn’t see how tatty they were. ‘How do you even know I own tracksuit pants?’
He laughed. ‘You’re chronically untidy, Hayley, and I tripped over them once in the bedroom.’
‘Oh, hell, I’m sorry.’ Learning to share a house with someone after years of living alone was one thing. Sharing with a blind man was something else entirely. ‘I can move out if it’s not working.’
Please say no.
He squeezed her thigh. ‘My offer stands, but I think I’ve worked out the reason you’re still single.’
His teasing made her smile. ‘Your logic is flawed. If I’m single due to being messy, how come you’re single when you’re a neat-freak?’
‘I tried living with a woman once, but the relationship got in the way of what I wanted to achieve and I can’t see that ever changing. What’s your excuse?’
She blinked at his unexpected reply. He wasn’t known for volunteering that sort of information about himself and his question to her caught her unprepared. ‘I don’t think I’m the sort of person who falls in love.’
Her heart suddenly rolled over and she rubbed her chest at the ache.
‘I knew you were a sensible woman.’
His words circled her, adding to the ache and bringing with them an unaccountable sadness that swamped her. She tried to shrug it away but it wouldn’t leave. She sighed as confusion added to the mix. ‘That’s me. Pragmatic and sensible.’
He leaned in, his hand seeking her cheek, and then he kissed her gently. ‘Talking of sensible, while you’re here, can you please try and pick up and put things where they belong so I don’t break a leg?’
She bit her lip. It was incredibly generous of him but she was compelled to tell him about the phone call she’d received earlier in the day. ‘I spoke to the insurance assessor today and although the job’s been approved, the problem is finding tradesmen because they’re swamped with work.’ She took in a deep breath. ‘It could be a month or longer.’
He didn’t say anything and for a moment she thought she read regret on his face. Regret that he’d offered so quickly that she should stay for as long as it took to fix her house. Then he nudged her arm with his. ‘At the rate you’re going I’ll have just got you house-trained and it will be time for you to leave.’
‘Hey.’ Indignation flowed through her on the back of relief. ‘I’m not that bad.’
This time he rolled his eyes. ‘Even Gladys commented on the spare room mess.’
‘Gladys complains about everything.’
‘True, but I knew her before I went blind and I know she cleans everything to within an inch of its life so I’m keeping her.’
She pondered that. Did Tom think people would take advantage of his lack of sight? He fought the limitations of his blindness every single second of every single day and his quest for independence was almost a religion. Apart from her lapses in tidiness, she’d quickly learned to unobtrusively assist him only when it was absolutely necessary and that usually only happened when they were out. When they were home, she forgot he was blind—to her he was just Tom.
Smart, gorgeous, wickedly ironic and with a caring streak a mile wide—not that he’d admit it. He made her feel special, cared for and safe. Very safe. These last ten days, sharing his apartment and living with him, had been the best ten days of her life. She loved being here with him.
You love him.
No. That’s not possible. I don’t fall in love. We’re good friends. Mates.
You’re way more than that and you know it. The empty space around your heart’s vanished. It’s why you just felt so sad when he called you sensible. It’s why the thought of moving out of here hurts.
Oh, hell, she loved him.
Her breath caught in her throat as the reality hit her so hard she almost swayed. How had it happened? How had she fallen in love? What she and Tom shared was supposed to be sex and friendship, and falling in love was never part of the deal. He was adamant he didn’t want a relationship and it had never even crossed her radar as something to be cautious of because she’d never given her heart to anyone. When Amy had died, she’d closed down to avoid any more hurt. She specialised in keeping things light with everyone and maintaining distance. She’d never anticipated falling in love.
But it had sneaked up on her so slowly she hadn’t even realised it was happening.
Are you sure it’s not just lust?
But she knew it was way beyond that. The feeling was so different from the hot, burning need she experienced every time they had sex. No, this was like the steady warmth from an Aga stove—it eddied around her in a blanket of comfort and filled her with an all-encompassing happiness that made her smile all the time.
His right hand started playing the top notes of ‘Heart and Soul’ and she automatically started playing the bass to the well-known piece. It triggered a memory, but it didn’t douse her with pain like it might have done once. ‘I used to play this with Amy.’
‘It’s all I can play.’ He gave her a gentle smile, reached for her right hand and squeezed it.
Her heart swelled in a rush and she glanced at his handsome profile. Did he love her? Had love slowly arrived with him as well?
The relationship got in the way of what I wanted to achieve.
That was when he was living a different life. He comes home early from work when he knows you’re home.
That he cared for her she was in no doubt.
Caring was part of love.
Was the gap between caring and love so very big? She hoped not.
She kept playing the continuous loop with one hand while her other snuggled in his, adoring their close connection and wanting to build on it. Build a future. ‘Why do you have such a beautiful grand piano if you don’t play?’
His hand slowed on the keys. ‘When you grow up with nothing, once you have money you tend to spend it on things the inner child was deprived of.’
‘An expensive home, a fast car and a piano?’
‘Got it in one.’
‘Anything else?’ She had an overwhelming need to know much more about the man she loved.
His head tilted in thought. ‘I’d always planned on getting a dog, but I was never home enough.’
‘And that’s why you didn’t get around to piano lessons?’
‘Running The Harbour’s neurosurgery department didn’t leave me with any time. I was never home.’
She suddenly had a brilliant idea. ‘So learn now.’
He stopped playing altogether and let go of her hand, his body bristling with intransigent tension. ‘Why? Because once the lecture series is over I’m unemployed and will have all the time in the world?’
‘No.’ She held her voice steady, refusing to fall into his argument trap. ‘Look, I know you’re not certain what’s coming next or what you want to do a
nd that’s unsettling, but if learning the piano is something you’ve always wanted to do, it won’t happen if you don’t make it a priority.’
Shoving himself to his feet, he caught the edge of the piano with his hip as he moved away. He swore and rubbed the bruised skin with his hand. ‘Learning to live blind is my priority. That’s my focus for the coming year.’
She bit off her automatic ‘Are you okay?’, saying instead, ‘It’s been your priority and it’s paid off in spades. You’re already doing amazingly well. Do you really need to take off another year?’
He made a strangled sound. ‘When I can use echolocation exclusively and walk without a cane, that will be doing amazingly well.’
His derisive expression ripped through her and she chewed her lip, feeling anxious for him. ‘Tom, that’s an admirable goal, but is it realistic?’
Anger scored his face. ‘Of course it bloody is.’
She rose to her feet and ran her hand along his arm, wanting to soothe. ‘If you hate the cane so much, why not think about a guide dog?’
‘No.’
He shook her arm away, his expression full of hurt. It was like she’d just mortally offended him.
‘Tom, I was only trying to—’
He held up his hand. ‘Look, we’ve both got work to do before dinner. You need to study and I have to convert my notes into braille for my final few lectures. I’ll leave you to it.’
He turned and walked away from her, the action as sharp and loud as a door being slammed in her face. Her heart took the hit, and the deep purple stain of a bruise spread out across it.
CHAPTER TEN
‘BLOODY bow tie. I could never tie the damn things when I could see. Why does the vice chancellor’s dinner have to be formal?’
Tom almost flung the offending piece of silk onto the floor, but restrained himself because Hayley was sitting on the bed. There was something about her that made him want to control his frustration, which was odd because all his life he’d never experienced the urge to do that. Tonight it was hard to control because he needed to go to this dinner, but a large crowd in a noisy room meant a tough night for him.
