Making Sense: Sensual Healing, Book 2

by Serenity Woods

  Her mother went white; her father turned red. He looked at Nate, his brows drawing together. “Is this your doing?” he snarled.

  “No, sir.”

  “No, it’s mine,” said Freya. Her heart pounded, but she tried to keep her voice as calm as Nate’s. “I know you don’t believe that, because you don’t think I can stand up to you.”

  “Freya!” Sarah clutched hold of the chair in front of her as if she might fall over. She looked horrified, her eyes darting to Harry in panic.

  Harry took a step toward her. “How dare you talk to me like that?”

  Freya stood her ground, some small part of her aware that Nate had moved protectively closer to her, although he kept quiet. “It’s the truth, Dad. All my life you’ve bullied me—not physically, but emotionally. Made me believe you had a right to demand I support you in your addiction.”

  Harry glowered at her. “I don’t have an addiction.”

  “Yes you do. And you won’t get better until you admit that.”

  He walked closer to her. Nate’s hand tightened on hers, but still she refused to move. Her father’s eyes were hard, cold. “I do what I do because I enjoy it. I’m not addicted.”

  “Dad, people are rarely addicted to something they hate. Alcohol, cigarettes, drugs—they take them because they like how they make them feel. You are addicted to it because you can’t stop.”

  “I can stop any time I want,” he snapped.

  “Can you?” She met his gaze boldly. “I don’t believe you.”

  His eyes shone like flint. “I will not have my own daughter talk to me like this in my own house.”

  “You’re angry because you can’t face the truth.”

  Harry drew back his arm and threw his beer can across the room with a roar. “I am not an addict!”

  “Yeah,” said Freya, remaining still even as she shook in her shoes, “you’re acting real rational.”

  Her father moved toward her, fists clenched. Sarah cried out, but didn’t move.

  Nate stepped forward, but Freya was quicker and moved to meet her father. She stood in front of him, furious. “You really want to hit me, Dad? After all I’ve done for you?”

  They faced each other, inches away.

  Hatred curled his lip into a sneer. “Because you’re a nurse and you clean up sick people’s shit and piss, you think you’re better than me. Well you’re not. You know what cleaning up other people’s shit and piss makes you? A fucking idiot.”

  Nate moved too quickly for Freya to stop him. His fist hit Harry’s chin, and the older man—drunk and shaky on his legs—reeled back and crashed to the floor.

  Freya clapped her hand over her mouth, watching Nate stand over him, chest heaving with rage. “No one talks to my girl like that,” Nate spat. “I don’t care who you are.”

  My girl. Freya bit her lip. Nate glanced at her, hesitating as he saw the look on her face.

  She walked over to them and pulled him away. Looking down at her father, she gave him a cold gaze. “Get up.”

  Harry touched his hand to his split lip, then slowly pushed himself to his feet. He stood there sullenly, casting wary looks at them both.

  Sarah sobbed in the background, but Freya hardened her heart. Tough love, she told herself. She had to do this, or nothing would ever get better. Her fingers sought out Nate’s again, and he clutched them tightly.

  She lifted her chin. “Nate offered to give me the money to give to you, but I said no. Up until now, I’ve helped you out, and this debt is my responsibility as much as yours. But from now on, you’re on your own.” She stared into her father’s eyes then transferred her gaze to her mother. “Is that clear?”

  Sarah nodded, her lips pressed together so tightly they’d almost disappeared.

  Harry met her eyes. Bitterness filled his, and to her relief, a dull and weary resignation.

  She held out the envelope.

  He stared at it for a moment, and she could see him fighting with himself. He didn’t want to accept her charity. But equally he knew no more would be coming.

  He reached out and took it.

  Freya’s hands were clenched so tight she thought she’d probably cut off the circulation in Nate’s fingers, but he didn’t say anything, just continued to hold hers, his thumb brushing her wrist reassuringly. “I’m going away for a while,” she said huskily. “We’re going away, together. Not for long, maybe six months or so. We’re going to travel, to Africa or South America—we haven’t decided yet.”

  “I thought you didn’t have any money,” Harry said.

  “I’m paying,” said Nate. “And there’s no way you’re getting your hands on my cash.”

  “I won’t be around to bail you out,” said Freya. “So you’d better make it work.”

  Harry’s hand tightened on the envelope and it crumpled. But he didn’t say anything.

  Freya met her mother’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “But it couldn’t carry on like that.”

  “I know,” said Sarah. Tears poured down her face. “I’m glad you met someone, Freya. I hope he makes you happy.”

  Freya glanced up at Nate. “He does, Mum. He really does.”

  Nate drove them into town. “Are you okay?” He glanced over at her, concerned.

  She looked out of the window. She still felt sick, but the rapid hammering of her heart had begun to calm. “I’m okay.” She cast him a quick smile. “Thank you for standing up for me in there.”

  “I’m sorry I went all Neanderthal. But I saw red—I couldn’t bear him talking about you like that.”

  “You called me ‘my girl’,” she whispered.

  He glanced back at her again. A smile curved his lips. “Did I?”

  Her cheeks grew warm. “I liked it.”

  “I’m glad.”

  She sighed. “It sounds really corny, but although that was horrible and I still feel knotted inside, it does feel as if a weight’s been lifted. I’ve been feeding his habit all these years without realising it.”

  Nate held her hand while he steered with his right. “I’m proud of you.”

  “Thanks.” Freya smiled, but they weren’t over the worst yet. “And now it’s your turn. How do you feel?”

  He glanced at her. “Sick to the stomach, actually.”

  “Hang in there, honey.”

  “Yeah.”

  They remained silent then, Nate threading the car through the city traffic to the hotel that Aidan had told him they were staying at. He’d texted his brother to say they were on their way over, and Aidan had replied with a joyous Yes!

  Nerves climbed from Freya’s stomach to her throat. It had been Nate’s suggestion that they try to work through their problems together, and she had agreed, certain that with him there, she’d be able to be strong enough to sever the tie that had bound her all these years.

  But would he be the same? Nate’s fear of returning to his previous life was deeper than the resentment she’d carried over her own parents’ behaviour. And as pleased as she was that Nate had told her he loved her, she wasn’t sure it was strong enough to carry him through this. But it had to work. Because if it didn’t, their relationship wouldn’t work, not with all the guilt and bitterness he harboured inside him.

  He parked in one of the central town parking lots, and they walked the short distance to the hotel. As they entered the foyer, Nate’s hand grasped her own, and she looked over to see a younger, lighter-haired version of him walking toward them.

  “I’m so glad you’ve come,” said Aidan, stopping before them, looking from her to Nate and back again. “You must be Freya.”

  She felt a surge of pleasure that Nate had obviously told his brother about her. “Yes. Pleased to meet you, Aidan.” She held out her hand, but he came forward and kissed her on the cheek.

  “Let’s do it,” said Nate. He still held her left hand, but his face had taken on a stern, forbidding look, and she could almost feel his roiling emotions radiating out from him.

 
“I’ll take you up to the room.” Aidan led the way to the elevators. “He’s not so good today,” he said, pressing the button and waiting for the doors to open. “We were going to go to the theatre, but we decided to stay here in the end.”

  The doors parted, and the three of them went in silently. Freya surveyed Aidan as the doors shut and the elevator rose, finding it strange to meet a member of Nate’s family. And now she was going to meet his mum and dad. But not in the usual atmosphere that one normally meets a boyfriend’s parents.

  The elevator dinged and the doors opened, and Aidan walked out. Freya stepped forward, but realised immediately that the man beside her hadn’t moved.

  She turned to face him, letting Aidan put his finger on the button to stop the doors from closing. “Nate?”

  He met her gaze. “I don’t think I can do it.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Freya’s heart sank. Resentment simmered in his eyes, hot and high enough to override everything else. He was looking at her, but he wasn’t looking at her—he was seeing his father, the past, all the hurt and anger he still held.

  She caught his hands in hers and turned him to face her. He did so somewhat impatiently, his mind too full of angry emotions to think about her at that moment. But she wanted him to think about her. Because thinking about her, and what they had together, was going to be the only thing that would get them through this.

  Raising herself on her tiptoes, she pressed her lips to his. She kept them there, in spite of the fact that he didn’t respond, and she let go of his hands and raised her arms around his neck. Ignoring Aidan, ignoring everything that threatened to overwhelm them, she kissed him slowly, thoroughly, and felt a flood of relief as his arms came around her, and gradually he responded to her, his mouth opening, his tongue brushing her as his arms tightened.

  When she finally pulled back, his eyes were clear. He understood what she was trying to say. If he wanted her, he was going to have to clear the past, like sweeping a path free of snow to reach home. Determination replaced the anger in his eyes.

  He led the way out of the elevator, bringing her with him, and strode along the corridor to where Aidan swiped his key card. Aidan opened the door and entered, and Nate didn’t hesitate. He followed his brother in, and Freya entered behind them.

  It was a classy hotel, and an even classier suite. Several rooms and a kitchen, all decorated in cream and gold, with a view overlooking the harbour. But Nate ignored the room and walked forward to the woman sitting on the sofa, reading a newspaper.

  She looked up, shock lighting her face, her hand coming up to her throat as she rose.

  “Simon?”

  His throat tightened. “Hi Mum.”

  Liz Travers was short and dark, her Maori heritage showing in her coffee-coloured skin and black curly hair. She looked older than he remembered, new lines around her eyes showing the strain she’d been through over the past three years. He waited for her reaction to his presence, wondering if she would be angry with him. The shock on her face turned to surprise, though, then to pleasure, and she put her arms around his waist, burying her face in his shoulder. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you too,” he said huskily, putting his arms around her. The hurt and resentment lingered, frustration that she’d always sided with his father, that she’d never backed him up in his arguments, but she was still his mother, and he pushed the simmering emotions away and kissed the top of her head, pleased to see her.

  He glanced over at Freya, who watched him with a smile. “Mum, I want you to meet someone.” He pulled back and turned his mother to face her. “This is Freya.”

  Liz Travers studied her, wiping her face. “Are you Simon’s girlfriend?” She sounded surprised, he knew, because he’d never had a steady girlfriend while he was at home.

  “Yes,” he said, holding a hand toward her, hoping his mother’s use of his old name wouldn’t upset her. But Freya just smiled and walked forward to shake Liz’s hand.

  Liz surveyed her for a moment then turned her gaze back to her son. “What are you doing here? Do you live here, in Wellington?”

  He nodded. But he didn’t want to talk about that now. He didn’t want to put off the inevitable—he needed to get this over with. “Where’s Dad?”

  “In the bedroom.” Liz caught Nate’s arm as he turned. “He’s not the man he was, Si. What you find may shock you.”

  Nate stared at the bedroom door. Holding a hand out to Freya, he waited for her to grasp it, then walked forward and opened the door.

  The curtains in the bedroom were closed, and even though the clock read just after midday, darkness shrouded the room. Nate stopped, looking at the man in the bed, half-covered by the duvet. His frame was still large, his legs long beneath the covers, his shoulders wide, but his limbs were now emaciated rather than muscular, the skin hanging loose on his face, neck and arms. His cheeks were sallow, his skin pasty, his head covered with only flecks of hair. He looked like a man drained of vitality and life. Nate studied his aura, not surprised to see the black and grey colours swirling around his head denoting the cancer that had taken hold.

  His father opened his eyes, and his gaze fell on Nate. He blinked as if he thought he was dreaming, and then his eyes widened. “Simon!”

  Nate didn’t move, his heart pounding. “I don’t go by that name anymore.”

  Ian Travers stared at him, his eyes flicking over as Liz and then Aidan came into the room behind Freya. His gaze rested on Freya for a moment before returning to his son. He nodded slowly. “Okay. What should I call you?”

  “Everyone calls me Nate.”

  Ian nodded again. His eyes moved to Freya. “And you are?”

  Freya introduced herself. “Pleased to meet you,” she added hastily. Nate could hear her nerves. Even sick, Ian Travers was an intimidating man. Originally from England, his northern English accent sounded harsh and unfriendly, and his piercing blue eyes were like flashlights demanding answers from tortured prisoners. He raised himself on the pillows, and Nate recognised the movement. He didn’t want to appear weak in front of his son and his son’s girlfriend.

  It didn’t work though. Because in spite of the fact that his eyes were still as hard, his manner as abrupt, the power and control that had once emanated from him like a physical thing had gone. He’d lost his influence over him, Nate realised with shock. Ash had been right—without realising it, Nate had grown and changed over the years he’d been away. In his head, he’d remained the young man who had struggled so hard under the dominating, oppressive personality of his father, when actually his separation had taught him independence and strength. It had been a hard, challenging journey, but now Nate realised that he had been on a journey, not stationary, as he’d thought. He wasn’t the same person he had been back then.

  It was a huge realisation for him, a real eureka moment. Nate was a different person from Simon. He’d left behind his insecurity and his deference to his father, although he hadn’t realised it until now. Ash had taught him it was okay to trust his instincts where his healing abilities were concerned. And Freya had taught him that love didn’t have to involve control and manipulation. She embodied freedom, with her eyes the colour of the sea and the sky, and she’d given him no rules or ultimatums, just gentle, passionate, heartfelt affection.

  Something lifted from him, the huge, oppressive weight that had been pressing on his soul since he left that rainy night so long ago. And by the look in Ian’s eyes, Nate knew his father was aware of it. It was as if someone had unlocked the window to the future, throwing back shutters and letting the light stream in. He looked over at Freya and smiled, and he could see in her answering smile of joy that she understood.

  He looked back at his father.

  Ian frowned. “Why are you here? Do you live in Wellington?”

  Nate nodded. “Yes. Aidan found me. He brought you here because he hoped I’d agree to see you.”

  Ian glanced at his youngest son, then back to Nate.
“And you came.”

  “He told me you were sick.”

  Ian gave a bitter laugh. “Yes, a brain tumour. Kind of ironic, I suppose.” His eyes met Nate’s. “I suppose you think I deserve it. Have you come here to laugh in my face?”

  Nate waited for a surge of triumph, or glee, or any other negative emotion, but nothing was forthcoming, only pity for his father for suffering from the terrible disease. “Nobody deserves cancer, Dad, no matter what they’ve done.”

  Ian stared at him. He let out a long sigh, and his arrogance seemed to crumble, leaving him sad and sorrowful, a shell of a man. “I don’t like you seeing me like this.”

  Nate walked forward to stand beside the bed. “I came here to make peace with you,” he said quietly. “It’s been three years now, and it’s time I moved on. That’s why I’m here.”

  Ian looked up at him. “Are you coming home with us?”

  “No, Dad. My life is here now, with my job, and with Freya.” He looked at the old, weak man before him, and welcomed the compassion and strength that flooded through him. “But before you go back, I want to do something for you.”

  Ian stared at him. Liz gasped. Nate glanced at Aidan, who’d gone white, and Freya, whose eyes had widened. Nate gestured for his father to sit up. Ian did so, struggling to lift himself, and Nate helped him. When Ian finally leaned back on the pillows, Nate sat on the bed beside him.

  He looked Ian Travers deep in the eyes. It wasn’t easy. Remnants of the young man he’d used to be flickered inside him as he looked at the man who’d caused him so much misery. He knew his father hadn’t caused all of his problems. He shouldn’t have had the power he’d been given without someone to train him and teach him how to use it. It was no wonder he’d gone off the rails, eaten up with arrogance and fear and confusion. But still, his father hadn’t helped with his fixation with money and his constant pressure to make his son bigger and better and more famous. Nate had changed, but the old feelings were still there, with claws so deep, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be free of them entirely.