“The café?”
For the first time, Aidan’s mouth curved. “The city.”
“Yeah. It’s cool. Busy. Big enough to get lost in.”
Aidan studied him. “I know. It’s taken me three years to find you.”
“How did you find me?”
“I hired a private detective.” Aidan’s blue eyes were cool. “I wanted to find you. You are my brother, after all.”
Nate said nothing. He sipped his coffee. But his insides twisted with panic.
Aidan looked down at his cup as if seeing it for the first time. He picked up his spoon and trailed it through the fern shape the barista had drawn in the foam on the top. “Aren’t you going to ask how Mum and Dad are?”
Nate wiped foam from his lip. “How’s Mum?”
Aidan met his gaze. Clearly Nate’s distinction hadn’t been lost on him. “She’s fine. She misses you.”
Nate looked down then. Loss and regret surged through him at the thought of what his mother must have gone through when he disappeared. He pushed it away. “What have you been up to?” he asked instead. “You at varsity?”
“Auckland, studying engineering.” Aidan frowned. “You’re really not going to ask?”
“About what?”
“About Dad?”
He studied his cup. His stomach churned. In spite of his resolution to put his past behind him, to try to make peace with his family, to do better for Ash and for Freya, suddenly he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t act as if he cared, as if the past few years had never happened. “No.”
Aidan’s frown deepened. He let the spoon fall onto the saucer with a clunk and sat back in his seat. “He’s sick.”
Coldness slid down inside Nate as if he’d swallowed an ice cube. “I don’t want to know.”
“He loves you, bro. He’s always loved you. He did everything out of love.”
“Bullshit.” Anger surged through Nate, turning the icy coldness white hot. “Love is kind and compassionate and warm. It’s not cold and calculating. Not cruel and merciless.”
“He just wanted you to reach as wide an audience as possible.”
“He wanted money, Aidan. And don’t let him fool you into thinking anything else.”
The two brothers glared at each other.
Nate’s hands curled into fists. He hated himself for not being big enough to let go of his anger. However, now Aidan had told him, he couldn’t not ask. “What’s wrong with him?”
“Cancer.”
Nate closed his eyes briefly. “Where?”
“It’s a brain tumour. They’re going to try to operate, but it doesn’t look good.” Aidan leaned forward again, earnest. “He needs your help, Si.”
Nate met his gaze. “I don’t go by that name anymore.”
“It’s on your birth certificate. Simon Nathaniel Travers. I don’t care what you call yourself nowadays.”
“Simon’s dead, Aidan. I buried him, in Auckland, shortly after I left home. I’ve moved on. Got a job, a place to live, a girlfriend.”
“Yeah.” Aidan’s gaze held a hint of contempt. “You’re living in a rental, with barely a stick of furniture to call your own. Your job is a chauffeur to a wacko recluse. And your ‘girlfriend’ is a nurse you hook up with when you need to get your leg over, nothing more.”
Nate’s anger boiled over. He stood up so quick, his chair fell back onto the floor with a crash. Everyone in the café looked over, but he ignored them. This had been a mistake. He was never going to be able to get over his past, to forgive his father. The hurt went too deep. He should never have come.
“Simon Travers is dead,” he snarled. “And you’re nothing to me. Stay away from me.”
He turned and walked out of the café.
He strode across the foyer and through the glass doors, but Aidan caught up with him as he started to cross to the harbour and held his arm.
Nate pulled it away. “Fuck off.”
Aidan stood in front of him, blocking his way. It was raining, and drops bounced off the pavement, soaked their hair and clothes. “Dad needs you.”
Nate gave a harsh laugh. “So now he’s dying, he’s decided he wants to see me?”
“He doesn’t know I’m here. He feels like you abandoned him. I know what you think of him, but in his own mind, he felt he was trying to help you. And you ran off, left him without a word. It destroyed him, Si.”
Nate’s heart pounded. “You’re saying I’m the one who made him ill? That’s bullshit.” It took all his self-restraint not to knock Aidan flat on his back. His chest heaved and he clenched his teeth until his jaw ached with the effort of standing still.
Aidan’s brow creased with frustration. “You don’t get it—what it was like when you left. We all waited, that first year. Waited for you to come home. And then, as the first anniversary of the day you disappeared came and went, it sank in. You were gone. Mum took it hard, but Dad took it harder.” He looked across the harbour, giving a heavy sigh. “Mum’s accepted it, I think. She understands why you had to do it. But it’s eaten away at Dad. I think it’s guilt, and terrible sadness. He misses you, and he knows he pushed you too hard. And that’s why he’s ill. The cancer is the guilt, eating away at him.”
The rain hammered down at them. Nate couldn’t bear to stand there any longer and listen to tales of his father’s guilt. He turned away.
Aidan caught his arm again. “Please. Don’t turn your back on him now he needs you.”
“He should have thought about that before he acted the way he did,” Nate said roughly, stepping back. “It’s too late, Aidan. That ship’s sailed.”
“He’s dying. He’s your father. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“No.”
“I don’t believe you.” Aidan grew angry now. “I know you, in spite of the fact that you’ve tried to pretend I don’t exist. You’re compassionate and you have a big heart—I don’t believe you don’t feel anything.”
“I’ve changed. I’m not the man I was.”
“Bollocks. You may pretend you’ve got a stone wall around you now, but that doesn’t change what you are behind it.”
“What do you want from me?” Nate yelled. “You want me to fly up to the Bay and come and see him? It’s not going to happen!”
“No,” Aidan said carefully. “You don’t have to go anywhere. He’s here. In Wellington.”
“What?” Nausea rose in Nate’s throat.
“With Mum. I convinced them to come, pretending I was treating them to a trip in the city, to see some shows and do some shopping. He’s not well, but he knows Mum needed the break. They’re in a hotel, only a few blocks from here.”
“Does he know I’m here?”
Aidan met his gaze. “No. I haven’t told him, yet.”
“Why?” Nate felt he might burst with all his pent-up emotions. “Why did you come here? I was happy without you all. I was moving on.”
“No, you weren’t. You were burying your head in the sand, pretending nothing had happened. That’s not moving on. You’re still running, and you’ll never stop, not until you make your peace with him.”
“I can’t.” The realization that he didn’t have to came with a wave of relief. “I won’t.”
“Do you want me to tell you how sick he is?”
“No.” Nate walked away.
Aidan walked after him, raising his voice. “He’s had chemo and all his hair’s fallen out. His thick black hair, like mine—like yours.”
Nate continued to walk.
“He’s lost weight, about thirty pounds. He’s only fifty-two but he looks fifteen years older. He walks hunched over, like he’s carrying a huge weight.”
“I don’t care.” Nate lengthened his stride.
“Do you want me to tell you how broken-hearted Mum is? How she cries every night?”
Nate stopped in his tracks, turned and thrust Aidan up against a wall, his arm across his throat, unmindful of the tourists standing around who were now watching
him, startled. “Shut up,” he snarled to his brother. “I don’t want to hear it.”
“She’s tried to be strong,” Aidan said, his eyes glistening, “but the last six months have been so hard for her. Repeated trips to the hospital, watching him in pain. Can you think how hard that must have been for her, knowing her son is a healer?”
“Was,” Nate said through gritted teeth.
Aidan shook his head, as much as he was able to, pinned to the wall. “I know you go to the local hospitals. You still practise. You could cure him, if you wanted to.”
“But therein lies the rub. I don’t want to. I don’t care.” Nate pushed himself off. “I hope he dies. In terrible pain. Knowing the one person who could have helped him doesn’t give a fuck he’s dead.”
“You don’t mean that.” Tears coursed down Aidan’s cheeks.
Nate studied his brother. His stomach twisted; his heart ached. “I do,” he said simply. “And the sooner everyone realises that, the better.” And he turned and walked away.
This time, Aidan didn’t follow him.
Freya worked two extra day shifts to make sure she had Saturday off. It was Grace’s birthday, and they were all going out for an Indian meal in town to celebrate.
It was the first time she’d seen Nate since the barbecue, over a week ago. He hadn’t rung, and she hadn’t rung him either. After the reading with Ash, she’d felt unsure what to do next. She didn’t want to push Nate into anything he wasn’t ready for, and she still had the problem with her parents to sort out. Ash had given her some impetus to try to tackle it, but as yet she hadn’t plucked up the courage. Work had been busy, and although Josh had shown remarkable improvement, there were the other patients to take care of, studying to do, and all the other daily chores that always took longer than you thought they were going to.
She looked forward to Saturday evening. As well as Grace and Ash, Jodi was going to be there with her new boyfriend, which would provide some entertainment, Freya was sure. Mia was coming with Ross, whom she was still seeing sporadically, mainly because she didn’t have anyone else and she didn’t want to be alone, which Freya could understand but didn’t condone particularly. And Nate was going, and while they weren’t actually going with one another, the fact that everyone else was paired up naturally put the two of them together. She hoped Nate didn’t take offence at that.
A couple of hours later, seated around the table, Freya thought that he might not have taken offence at that, but he was certainly upset about something. He sat across the table from her, and he wasn’t exactly rude, but he hardly said anything all evening.
Freya wasn’t sure if anyone else noticed his reticence because the atmosphere was fun and bubbly, the conversation revolving around Grace and Jodi, who were both on form, with Mia and the rest of them joining in and playing up to them. Jodi’s boyfriend Tom was nice, shy and embarrassed at Grace’s and Ash’s careful teasing, but enjoying the evening, and even Ross seemed to be having a good time.
Nate picked at his food, however, and by the time the waiters delivered their coffees, Freya had begun to be seriously worried about him. I’m going to ask him what’s wrong, she thought, knowing she should leave him to himself, but loving him too much to let him suffer. He looked gorgeous, striking in a casual blue shirt and jeans, his dark hair ruffled. She waited to catch his eye, but at that moment he was studying Grace, a slight frown on his forehead.
Grace eventually noticed his careful observation and gave him an exasperated glare. “All right, out with it, Taylor.”
“What?”
“You’ve been watching me for ages. Do I have tandoori sauce on my face or something?”
“No.” He smiled then and sipped his coffee. “I was wondering when you’re going to tell us the good news.”
“I…” Grace stared at him, eyes wide. “Eh?”
“The baby,” said Nate. “When’s it due?”
Ash coughed into his drink. Everyone else stared at Grace, who blushed completely crimson. “Um…”
Ash put down his cup. “What?”
“Crap,” Nate said. “Sorry, Grace.”
Ash took her hand. “You’re pregnant?”
“I…” She swallowed. “I only found out yesterday. I’ve only just missed…” She glanced around the table, growing even redder, if that was possible. “I mean I’m only five weeks maximum. I was going to tell you tonight, I promise. I’m sorry.”
Ash looked in shock. “You’re pregnant?” he repeated.
Grace looked panicky. “Um, I think it was because I was on antibiotics a few weeks ago for that chest infection, and that stopped the pill from working properly…” She glanced around the table again, embarrassed. “I didn’t expect to have to tell you in front of everyone. Ash, I don’t want you to feel beholden, I mean we need to talk about what we’re going to do, but I’m not going to push you into anything, and if you both want…” For once she struggled to find words. Her voice tailed off, and she glanced at Jodi in anguish.
Ash turned his gaze to his daughter. Freya watched, hands over her mouth, tears forming, as Jodi started to grin, reflected in her father’s slow smile.
Ash looked back at Grace. He stood, pushing his chair back, and walked around the table to her chair. He held out his hand, and she took it, rising to stand beside him.
“I love you,” said Ash, and then he kissed her, enfolding her in his arms.
Everyone cheered, then they were all standing and hugging the person next to them, hugging Jodi, and hugging Ash and Grace when they eventually parted, laughing, Grace wiping tears away from her cheeks.
“We shouldn’t celebrate,” said Grace. “It’s too early. I…I could have a miscarriage…”
Nate shook his head. “I can see it already, Grace. It’s got a strong, healthy aura. It’s going to be fine.”
Freya stared at him wordlessly. He met her gaze briefly before looking away.
They finished off their coffees and then it was time to go. Ross took Mia to his place in his car, and Jodi and Tom went with Ash and Grace.
“I’ll take Freya home,” Nate said to Ash. He sent Grace an apologetic look. “I’m really sorry.”
“As you like it,” said Grace, glowing with good humour. “Sorry, I mean all’s well that ends well.”
Everyone laughed and kissed each other goodnight. Nate watched them drive off. Then he turned to Freya. She was watching him. She looked breathtakingly beautiful in a silky pink vest and a short grey skirt, all soft fabrics and feminine colours, the movement of her breasts making him think she wasn’t wearing a bra again. Was she wearing panties? The loose skirt wouldn’t show a VPL, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if she wasn’t. Just the thought of her going commando—of being able to slide his hand up her skirt and feel her butt—made him hard. But she didn’t smile, so he kept his hands to himself. “What?”
“You knew that Ash didn’t know about the baby. And yet you still announced it.”
He opened his mouth to deny it, but she spoke the truth, and he couldn’t lie to her. “Yes,” he said lamely.
She frowned. “Why?”
“I…I don’t know.” And he didn’t know. He’d felt an overwhelming urge to blurt the information out, to please them both, desperate to experience some positive emotions that would wipe away his hurt and pain.
She studied him for a moment. Then she turned and started walking to his car.
He joined her, walking silently until they reached it, then opening the door for her. Shutting it behind her, he walked around and got in, his stomach in a knot.
She turned in her seat to face him. “What’s happened?”
He inspected the steering wheel, concentrating on removing an invisible mark. “Nothing.”
“Nate.”
He glanced up at her. Then at the steering wheel. “I saw my brother.”
He waited for a moment and then looked back at her. She studied him carefully. “You mean from a distance? Or did you go to see him?”
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“I met him in town, at Te Papa. We had a coffee.”
She nodded. “How did it go?”
He scratched at the mark again. “Not good.”
“Did you argue?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say about your father?”
He gave a wry laugh then, shooting her another glance. “You know me too well.”
“Tell me,” she said gently.
So he told her. About how his father was sick, and how Aidan wanted Nate to forgive him. He told her their whole conversation and waited for her to exclaim, to ask him why he hadn’t gone straight to his father to make him better. To look at him with confusion, maybe even disgust.
But she didn’t. She listened, frowning occasionally, emotion flickering behind her eyes, although he couldn’t tell what she was feeling. When he finished, she sat quietly for a moment.
Then she said, “What are you going to do?”
He couldn’t answer her. His reply lodged in his throat, kept there by shame and humiliation, disappointment in himself, anger and bitterness toward his father.
She put a hand on his arm. “Come on, start the car. Let’s go back to your place. I fancy a whisky.”
He stared at her. “You want to come home with me?” he asked hoarsely, unable to believe what he was hearing.
“Yes.” She didn’t smile.
“I’m a wreck, Freya. Why do you want to be with me? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Just drive,” she said.
He swallowed and then turned and started the engine, putting the car in drive.
He drove to his place silently, his mind whirling. He hated himself. Why didn’t she hate him? Had she understood what he’d tried to tell her—that he couldn’t bring himself to forgive his father?
He pulled up outside his flat and turned to talk to her, but she’d already opened the door, so he followed her hurriedly, circling the car to the pavement. She held out her hand. He took it, his heart in his mouth, and followed her up the steps, letting them into the building, then up to the first floor and into his flat.
Freya kicked off her shoes and walked into the living room, going straight into the kitchen. He trailed after her, watching her get two glasses out, find the whisky and pour an inch into both tumblers. She ferreted around for some ice cubes and dropped them in. He tried to find some resentment at watching her moving around as if she owned the place, but he couldn’t dredge any up. He just felt a kind of tired relief that she was there, combined with a glow of comfort.
Making Sense: Sensual Healing, Book 2 Page 15
