Come Back to Me_A Brother's Best Friend Romance

by Vivien Vale

  All of my misbegotten decisions run rampant in my skull, mistakes that took decades to build all flashing through my thoughts in moments.

  Only to repeat again.

  And again.

  The sound of my cot squeaking echoes through the night, the only noise in the stillness of the village.

  At some point, I suppose I must sleep, though my dreams are only more of the same, virtually indistinguishable from my waking thoughts.

  My only indication that I’ve slept is waking. Sunlight finds me, filtering through my eyelashes to drag me back to the world of the living.

  I blink blearily up toward it, willing myself to get up and face what comes next.

  With a groan, I do.

  My muscles feel stiff as I sit up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

  I glance around at the still sleeping village, wondering when Adelaide will be awake.

  Edgar’s cries have quieted sometime in the night, and I’m relieved to know that he’s calmed somewhat.

  I’m debating whether or not to peek in on them when the door opens, its creak startling in the quiet.

  Addie looks down at me from the doorway, an emotionless expression plastered across her face.

  “I’m going to the hospital,” she informs me curtly.

  I nod in response, standing to follow.

  She raises an eyebrow as she watches me rise, impatience clear in her gaze.

  “Seriously? Aren’t you leaving anyway?”

  “Yes, but until your new guard shows up it’s still my job to protect you.”

  “Right, protect me,” she says, rolling her eyes.

  I deny the bait, instead slipping into my boots quickly.

  Still, she’s down the porch by the time I stand, causing me to rush to catch up to her.

  “Can’t you just take the day off?” she asks, scowling back at me.

  If only.

  Having to be in her presence all day is going to hurt. Honestly, I’d rather avoid it.

  I meant what I said though.

  Until my replacement arrives, I’m not taking my eyes off her. I refuse to let anything happen to Adelaide, whether she hates me or not.

  “No,” I simply say, meeting her gaze unblinkingly.

  She groans but turns her eyes forward again, blessedly dropping the subject.

  We walk in silence the rest of the way to the hospital, tension heavy in the air between us.

  By the time we reach the hut, I’m actually happy for the distraction of the ill. I quietly choose a vacant corner, watching attentively as Adelaide goes about her duties.

  I clamp down on the voice of hope that tries to rise within me as I watch her work. The voice that screams at me that I’m making a mistake here.

  Just look at her, it says. Isn’t she amazing?

  For her part, Addie does a good job of ignoring me, her thoughts clearly wrapped up in the tasks at hand. I’m glad that she has that. It’s her own version of the calm detachment that I have when on the job.

  With effort, I reach for that cool unfeeling state now, clinging to it like a life raft in a storm.

  Hours pass this way: her working, me trying to blend seamlessly into the walls of the hospital. When she leaves, I follow, always keeping a comfortable distance.

  Around midday, a commotion outside draws my eyes to the door of the hospital, excited whispers pulling at my ears.

  I hold a hand up at Addie.

  Stay put.

  I take her eye roll for agreement.

  Stepping back into the sweltering heat of the day, I’m surprised to see a familiar face.

  “Oliver?” It’s a stupid question really. I mean he was one of the names I gave Sten.

  “Ford!” he replies, reaching out a hand as he nears me. “Well, fancy meeting you here.”

  “You’re taking this post,” I grunt, more for something to say as opposed to expecting an answer.

  He looks skeptically around, eyeing the dilapidated huts and whispering villagers, and says, “Seems that way.”

  This is good news. I’m not happy about leaving Adelaide, quite the opposite in fact. If I have to go though, which I sure as fuck do, I’m glad she’ll be left in such capable hands.

  Oliver is a good man―a professional. The fact that he’ll be here to watch over Addie relaxes me a little.

  “Well, let me introduce you to your new primary,” I say, gesturing towards the hospital.

  He nods once, retrieving his knapsack from the ground where he set it.

  “Lead the way.”

  Adelaide eyes us skeptically as we enter, her gaze swiping quickly across Oliver.

  “Adelaide,” I say, “this is Oliver, and he’ll be picking things up from here.”

  I see sadness wash rapidly across her face, there and gone so fast I question my own eyes.

  “Okay,” she finally says, extending a hand. “I’m Adelaide.”

  They shake quickly.

  “Would you like to give him the tour, or should I?” I ask.

  She scowls in my general direction. “I’m very busy.”

  Her curt tone cuts through me, something I’ll never get used to.

  “Okay, I’ll show him around before I leave then,” I say, letting my words trail off slightly at the end.

  I know that this was my choice, but part of me is still hoping that she’ll convince me to stay.

  It’s fucking foolish, but there it is.

  “Fine, goodbye,” she responds, drawing me from my thoughts.

  Her finality makes my heart ache. Still, what more is there to say?

  “Goodbye, Adelaide,” I say, showing Oliver from the hut

  I don’t look back as I exit, knowing full well that Addie won’t either.

  I push my feelings to the back of my mind, wanting them to stay there as I quickly show Oliver around the village.

  He eyes the highlights, echoing my own words back to me for confirmation. The tour is understandably short, ending with Oliver choosing the location for his tent.

  It’s close to our—Addie’s—hut, but far enough that she won’t feel smothered. She’ll appreciate that.

  I find myself offering to help him set up, trying to drag out my last moments here, though I’m not sure what the point is.

  “I’ve got it, thanks. I’m sure you’re in a hurry to leave anyway.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  I accept his handshake, wishing him luck that he again echoes back.

  With that, I find myself out of tasks.

  I look longingly around me, taking in my true final glance of this place.

  It may have been a mistake to come, but I’m sure finding it hard to leave.

  After a long moment, I gather my belongings, tucking them efficiently into my own bundle before heading towards the truck.

  I sit in the passenger seat as the engine roars to life. My driver’s a boy of no more than sixteen.

  “Airstrip?” he asks.

  I nod in response, watching the village slowly shrink behind us, dust kicking up in our wake.

  Before long, the cloud of dirt obscures my vision entirely, the village lost forever from view.

  Adelaide

  Ford told me to forget about him.

  As though it could ever be that easy.

  Ever since we were sixteen years old, he’s always been at the back of my mind. Now, to have him so close—closer than we had ever dreamed of being as teenagers—then for him to just leave?

  Ford said he was leaving to protect me.

  But can’t he see that he’s hurt me now more than any boogey-man kidnapper ever could?

  This isn’t the kind of hurt I can just patch up and fix either. Heartbreak isn’t like a broken bone—I can’t put a bandage on my chest and stop it from getting infected. There’s no salve to apply or medication to take.

  I just have to deal with the pain and cross my fingers and hope that it ends soon.

  It hurts so much, though. It’s as if my heart’s been smashed
into a million tiny pieces.

  But I should be used to it by now—after all, what does Ford ever do but break my heart and then leave me to pick up the pieces? I’ve survived through it once, and I can do it again. I need to be able to do it again because the people of the village need me.

  I can’t—and I don’t—let my heartache show.

  I make sure never to cry or to be angry in front of the villagers. They don’t need to know just how much I’m suffering.

  Some of the women of the village can see it. But they’re the women who’ve lost husbands and sons, so they know better than to comment. They know that I’ll have to get through this on my own.

  I wish there was a way I could make them all feel better, lift their spirits, too. I know in their own way, they’re grieving for Ford’s absence. He’s left a void in the village that nothing can fill.

  He was strong and kind.

  He had an open mind and a good heart. He helped when he had to.

  I wish my new guard was half as kind or half as willing as Ford was. Oliver—and don’t call him Ollie—thinks that his duty begins and ends with the hospital doors. He has no time for the rest of the village and is downright rude when they come up to him.

  The village boys approach the hospital, a half-inflated football in their hands and hope in their eyes.

  “Do you want to come play with us, Ollie?”

  “It’s Oliver,” he snaps instantly, and they recoil like a crocodile has bitten them. “No. I don’t want to play. My job is to protect Miss Johansen.”

  He says the word ‘job’ as though it makes him better than these boys who’ve never had the opportunities, which, unfortunately, he himself takes for granted.

  “Oh, go on,” I chime in, looking up from my desk. “If I need you, I can send someone. Or you’ll hear it if something happens.”

  “With respect, Miss Johansen, I should never leave your side.”

  “You’ll only be on the street, Oliver,” I remind him.

  Silently, I’m begging for him to leave me alone for a minute. His presence in my surgery is oppressing to say the least.

  “I’m not playing football,” Oliver says firmly, looking me dead in the eye as though I’m supposed to be intimidated by him. Then he turns to the boys, and without any softness in his voce tells them, “If you’re not here to see Doctor Johansen, you need to get out.”

  I bite my lip as the as the kids leave, the light dropping from their eyes. I want to run out and apologize to them all for his behavior, but I’m rooted to my seat. I’ll find them all later or mothers and apologize then.

  I hear a game start up in the street a few minutes later, and I can even see it from my window. But Oliver seems not to care.

  “You could’ve been kinder, Oliver,” I say, looking at him angrily now that everyone is out of earshot.

  “I’m not being paid to be kind, Dr. Johansen, and I’m not being paid to play football.”

  “Kindness and manners cost nothing, and those boys don’t deserve to be treated like that.”

  “Respectfully, you are my mission, Doctor,” Oliver says, as though that apologizes for his attitude and behavior and therefore, ends the conversation.

  I don’t have the energy to fight him, so I suppose that it does.

  But Ford would have played with them. Ford would even have let them win.

  Instead, all Oliver does is stand there, watching me like a hawk as I treat patients. He’s unmoving and unmovable. If I need an extra pair of hands to hold something, he’ll shout for someone rather than step in himself.

  If I’m brought to tears by the magnificence of human resilience, heart and spirit, Oliver is there in the corner, dry-eyed. He’s probably silently judging me for being such a ‘weak’ woman who cries so easily.

  But I often feel that crying is better than feeling nothing.

  The afternoon brings rain. A lot of rain, a deluge.

  I should have been glad or relieved. The reservoirs will fill, and we can all have showers, and there’ll be some water for the cattle to drink, and the crops will thrive.

  And of course, I’m glad, but I can’t find it in me to take to the streets with the people like before. I stand in the doorway of my hut, basking in the sight of happy villagers. It’s still warm, and the rain falls over the front of my hut and bounces off the dry earth.

  It splashes the front of my legs and soaks my shins. It’s refreshing.

  But when there’s rain, there’ll be insects, and I’m not sure if the village is ready for the wave of mosquitos and tsetse flies that will come in once the downpour stops. I know some people had been reporting holes in their nets, and the tsetse fly traps from the last downpour have all been used.

  I should round up some of the boys now—after all, the weather is no good for football—and ask them to set out and get the cattle urine that we’ll need. But first, I turn to Oliver who’s been standing at the door of his tent, surveying the scene and then once again, watching me. Waiting to see what I’ll do next.

  “Oliver, do you think you could help round up the local boys and get buckets of cattle urine for the tsetse fly traps?”

  “Respectfully, Doctor, I don’t think I could,” he says almost instantly.

  I sigh under my breath and shake my head. “Do you want to get bitten by tsetse flies and mosquitos, Oliver?”

  “I’ve got my fly repellent and my mosquito net. I believe I’ll be fine, and you shall be, too.”

  “And what about the rest of the village?” I ask.

  I can’t believe he’s like this. Where was he when compassion was handed out?

  “I’m not being paid to protect the rest of the village.”

  I could almost be impressed with how stubborn Oliver is, if it weren’t for the fact he was completely in the wrong. If I ever need someone to back me up in an argument, I’ll call Oliver, but until then I wish he’d be a little bit more open to change.

  Resilience really is an impressive trait, but I can’t help myself from thinking about Ford. Ford was stubborn, and he knew his own mind, but at least he wasn’t shallow and only concerned about money.

  Ford knew that if he wanted to protect me, he had to protect this village, too. That women like Shani and her new son were just as important to me as my own my brother or parents—if not more so, since they don’t always have the power to help themselves.

  “Please, Oliver, or I’ll go out there and do it myself, and then you might as well come with me,” I say, and Oliver shakes his head.

  He even smirks because we both know that I’m bluffing. I could hardly lift a full bucket with two hands, let alone carry it from the fields to the village again.

  Ford would have helped carry buckets in a heartbeat. He’d have been able to carry one in each hand and then probably could have lifted two more over his shoulders.

  I stride out into the rain, ignoring Oliver’s shouts for me to come back lest I get wet, and I try to find the boys so that I can rally them.

  And if the rain washes away my thoughts of Ford while I’m out here, I won’t complain.

  Ford

  It’s for the best.

  I had to leave her. If I stay, I’m more of a risk to her than the protection I was hired to be by her brother.

  Oliver will be able to protect Adelaide just as well as I can. He won’t have an asshole like Demetri gunning at him to make his life miserable, and he won’t be in love with her either to distract him from the job at hand.

  I didn’t realize how hard it would be to leave her, though.

  But it had to be done.

  The airstrip comes into view, and the young boy who is driving pulls up to the gate.

  “I’ll get out here,” I tell him.

  I jump out of the truck and pull my bag out of the back.

  Before heading to the plane, I shake the boy’s hand and nod in thanks.

  The Bush Pilot is waiting for me by the plane.

  “Leaving so soon, sir?” he asks me. “
You and your lady seemed pretty close, and I didn’t think you would be leaving her side any time soon.”

  I stare at him blankly as he speaks.

  “It’s necessary,” is the only explanation I give him.

  He nods at me.

  We climb into the plane with no further conversation.

  I’m sure the man can tell I’m in a piss poor mood.

  I can feel the dark storm clouds floating above my head like I’m in a damn cartoon.

  This shit is ridiculous.

  I focus on the pilot. He starts flipping switches, and the plane comes alive with a loud growl. The propeller on the nose of the plane kicks up dirt as it starts up.

  The voices of air control buzz through the headset resting on my head. The pilot communicates with the other man on the end. Soon, we are cleared to take off.

  “Weather calls for some weather disturbance that make the ride a little bumpy, sir,” the pilot tells me.

  I grunt.

  Don’t fucking care as long as we get out of here.

  Up in the air, I look out the window and silently say goodbye to the African Bush. It really is a beautiful place. I’ve enjoyed and am going to miss it.

  Soon, we experience the rough weather the pilot warned me about. The plane is tossed up and down in violent turbulence.

  Rain slaps against the metal frame and glass windows. It’s impossible to see anything outside the aircraft, and the pilot is using the tools at this moment with the aid of the navigation tools the plane is equipped with.

  “We have to land, sir!” the pilot suddenly yells. “It’s not safe to keep traveling until the rain stops.”

  He lands the plane at the nearest town to our current location.

  I leave the pilot to stay with the craft and head to the local watering hole. If I’m going to be stuck here for a while, I might as well get a drink.

  I’m no longer on protection duty, anyway. Maybe I’ll even get a little drunk.

  Hopefully, it’ll take my mind off of Adelaide.

  I sit down at a barstool and request the local choice of drink.

  The place is filled with boisterous conversations and drunken arguments. One pair of men is arguing so violently that there’s no doubt there will be a bar fight to entertain the patrons soon.