Her Favorite Temptation

by Mayberry, Sarah

  Dread tightened his chest.

  “It’s okay, Will. Don’t push it. We’re very early days yet.” Nancy patted his arm reassuringly. “As I’m sure your doctor told you, there’s always residual swelling after a resection. What we’re seeing now isn’t necessarily an indicator of where you’ll end up. Okay?”

  “Sure.”

  She continued with the exam, checking his reflexes and his vital signs. He answered her questions, but his mind was racing.

  There had been so many things he’d been afraid of, leading up to his surgery. Dying on the operating table had been high on the list. Losing parts of himself that he considered core to who he was—his memories, the way his brain worked, his creativity, the way he looked at the world—had been next. Physical considerations had come in after that on his sliding scale of unbearable to bearable, but they’d definitely been prominent among his fears.

  From what he could tell so far, he’d been incredibly lucky. He could talk. He recognized his family, could even make jokes with Nancy. There was, however, a very real possibility that he would have issues with motor control on his right side.

  Walking. Driving a car. Getting around in general. Brushing his teeth. Cutting up his food. Getting dressed.

  Playing his guitar.

  He stared at the ceiling, telling himself it was way, way too soon to hit the panic button. The important thing—the amazing thing—was that he was alive. Everything else was manageable. Bearable.

  Nancy whisked the curtain aside and went to let his parents know it was okay to come in to see him. He used the time to attempt to fist his right hand a few more times. His hand remained stubbornly unresponsive and weak, even when he willed it to clench with all his might. He had sensation—he’d been able to feel Nancy’s hand when she touched him, could feel the sheets beneath his arm, and the heat from his body. He simply didn’t have the fine motor control he’d had previously. The ability to hold a plectrum, for example. To be able to strum or pick out a tune.

  “Hey, baldy. How are you doing?” It was Vanessa, with his mum at her side. Clearly his family was playing tag team with the visiting.

  “That’s your best shot?” he asked her as she leaned in for a kiss. Her gaze went to his head and he knew she was looking at his incision.

  “How bad is it? Shark-attack bad?” he asked.

  “Honestly? It looks as though you’ve had a zipper installed in your head.”

  She’d always been the pithy sister, the one who had no qualms about punching him if he pissed her off. He should have known better than to invite honesty from her.

  “Vanessa,” his mother said, clearly appalled. “You have staples, Will, and the doctor assures me they will come out in a few days. Once your hair grows in no one will know there’s a scar.”

  “Remind me to tell you about how Freya looked like a wrinkled little monkey when she was born,” he told his sister dryly, referring to his eldest niece.

  Vanessa grinned. “You’re on.” Then she reached out and caught his left hand in hers, squeezing it tightly. “God, it’s good to see your too-handsome-for-your-own-good face again.”

  “If you cry, Ness, I’m never going to let you live it down. Consider yourself warned.”

  She gave him a watery smile.

  His mother touched his right forearm to get his attention.

  “Will, I forgot to mention. Your friend Leah came to visit.”

  “What? Here?” He stared at his mother.

  “You’d just come out of surgery. She wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  Will tensed. He should have known Leah would have been worried about him, that she’d want to check on him.

  “On a scale of one to ten, how bad was I? Drooling? Raving like a madman?” He was only half joking. The idea of Leah seeing him unconscious with—apparently—a zipper in his head was not a pleasant one. He didn’t want her to think of him as a patient, a victim. He wanted her to think of him as—

  What? A potential boyfriend? Someone she might want to spend more than one night with? The odds were very good that he’d blown that option the moment she’d discovered his subterfuge. She might have come to see him, but he knew Leah, and she would be wounded that he hadn’t confided in her. She would see it as a lack of trust. Or perhaps she would think he’d used her. Or maybe—

  “Are you okay, Will? You’ve gone very pale,” his sister said.

  “I’m fine. Just tired, that’s all.”

  “If you need to rest, you rest,” his mother said. “We can wait. We don’t mind.”

  “We like watching you while you sleep,” Ness said.

  He forced a smile. “Creepy.”

  “That’s me.”

  He let his eyes drift closed, suddenly realizing how very weary he was. The worst jet lag in the world, times one hundred.

  “You sleep, sweetheart.” His mother stroked his arm soothingly.

  His broken, unresponsive arm.

  He pushed the thought away, along with all his doubts and hopes where Leah was concerned.

  Right now, he needed to sleep....

  * * *

  LEAH HAD NO idea how she got through the next few days. She went to bed thinking of Will, she woke thinking of Will, she dreamed of Will. Every day she had agonizing battles with herself over whether she should visit him, whether she should call. So far, the cautious, sensible part of her had won, but it got harder and harder to stop herself from caving and rushing to his side.

  Only the thought of how uncomfortable that might be for him held her at bay. He was recovering from major surgery. It was possible he would be more than happy to see her. But it was also possible that she might be unwelcome. Which would be horrible.

  She’d read his letter dozens of times since that first morning, and she understood now that everything between her and Will had occurred in a bubble for him, a strange limbo-land he’d existed in while he waited to learn his fate. She’d been a distraction, a balm, a comfort, and she had no doubt that last night they’d spent together had meant a lot to him.

  But it hadn’t existed in the real world. It wasn’t part of Will’s real life. It was separate, a sidebar. An extraordinary adventure—and not necessarily a good one.

  For all she knew, everything between them had been fueled by whatever anxiety or fear Will had been experiencing at the time. The tuning-fork sensation may have been completely one-sided. Or it might not have been at all.

  The only way she would ever know would be to ask, and she wasn’t about to put that on Will right now. He had enough on his plate, and she’d asked for too much from him already. Tomorrow, maybe, she would allow herself to visit him briefly. She’d take him something good to eat—she could remember him talking about liking red licorice one time—and she would let him know she was thinking of him and that she cared. But under no circumstances would she step over the bounds of friendship.

  She was very aware of the comings and goings next door, the sounds of the TV, the occasional peal of laughter. Will’s family was obviously using the apartment as a base, since it was so close to the hospital and they lived so far away.

  She was tempted to go next door and introduce herself to them all. But if she was wrong about the tuning-fork thing, Will might think she was trying to insinuate herself into his inner circle. He might think she was presuming a great deal based on a handful of orgasms and a few hot hours together.

  And maybe she was.

  She was returning from a grocery run Tuesday night when the elevator opened on her floor to reveal Will’s mother and father.

  “Hi. Good to see you both.”

  “You, too, Leah,” Denise said.

  Leah hesitated, but she was never getting a better opportunity than this. “I’ve been checking in with the nurses but they’re not allowed to tel
l me much. How is Will doing?”

  “Oh, he’s doing really well,” Denise said with a bright smile. “His doctors are very happy with him and they’re talking about letting him go home in the next couple of days.”

  “That’s great. Really wonderful to hear.” She had about a million other questions, but she was blocking the elevator doors. “I should let you go—you’re obviously on your way out. Thanks for the update.”

  They both nodded, then they were gone. Leah let herself into her apartment and dumped the groceries on the kitchen counter, then continued to the living room. The sliding door to the balcony pushed open beneath her touch, and she stepped into the cool night air.

  Her gaze automatically went to the adjacent balcony. Of course, there was no Will lounging around in his faded jeans, his guitar in his lap. He was long gone, and soon he would be going home to Barwon Heads, because he was okay, he was doing really well, and his doctors were happy with him and he was about to launch into the rest of his life.

  Great news. Wonderful, amazing news.

  She pressed a hand over her heart. “You freaking idiot.”

  Because maybe it was just her, but right now seemed like a really, really bad time to understand that she’d fallen in love with him.

  She thought about the way he made her laugh, how kind he’d been, how patient and accepting. Remembering the way he made her heart race, his casual, confident sexiness, the excitement of being with him. Was it any wonder that she’d fallen for the man? He was charming, he was beautiful, he was talented.

  And for one incredible night, he’d been all hers.

  She stepped into the apartment, pulling the curtains shut after her. Working on autopilot, she put the groceries away, then she went and sat on her bed.

  She would go see Will tomorrow. She couldn’t not—it had almost killed her to stay away this long. Somehow, she would have to look him in the eye and smile and talk without giving herself away. Because that would be embarrassing and awkward, not to mention uncomfortable for both of them.

  Arms wrapped tightly around herself, she reflected on how sad it was that loving another person could be seen as a source of embarrassment. Loving someone was a gift. It should be considered the ultimate compliment.

  In reality, though, unwanted love was a burden. Love came with expectations, hopes and strings. It placed the recipient in the difficult position of rejecting someone’s most tender feelings.

  Leah didn’t want to do that to Will. Frankly, she didn’t want to do it to herself, either.

  What would be really perfect would be if he felt the same way about me. If Will Jones has fallen in love with me as deeply, as crazily, as wildly as I have with him.

  She smiled grimly in the darkness. Her clever brain was her saving grace, the foundation stone of who she was, and she was far, far too smart to allow herself to fall into the trap of believing in the fairy tale her heart was only too willing to spin.

  Will had come to the city to wait and to hope. For a short time—too short—they had shared something. But his life was so much larger than the time they’d shared together. He had an amazing career that was only just taking off. He had a circle of family and friends that she knew nothing about. His world, his life, was elsewhere. Hers was here, in the medical world.

  It was a miracle their orbits had intersected at all, and she would be forever grateful that they had.

  And forever wounded, because it would be hell getting over Will.

  Pure hell.

  Every man she met for the next fifty years or so would be measured against him. She laughed hollowly. Good luck following that act, gentlemen of the world.

  She hadn’t had dinner, but she didn’t want any. After a while she undressed and slipped beneath the covers, drifting into a troubled sleep.

  * * *

  LEAH WOKE FEELING heavy-eyed and fragile, filled with a complicated stew of excitement and dread over finally seeing Will.

  She made herself complete her normal morning routine, pulling on her running gear and taking to the street. It seemed important to do that, not simply to race into the hospital now that she’d given herself permission to do precisely what she wanted.

  She was jogging back to her building when her gaze was caught by a couple having breakfast in a local café. The woman was pregnant, her baby belly just starting to pop, and he was reading the paper, one hand resting casually on her thigh. They looked so happy, so easy and content. So comfortable in their love.

  Leah’s steps slowed as envy squeezed her heart. Then her gaze caught the front page of the newspaper and she stopped dead as she read the headline. Cut Down in His Prime, Tragic News for Our Will.

  For a moment she could only stare. Then she started for the table, fully prepared to rip the newspaper from the man’s hands so she could confirm the horrible suspicion in her mind. Fortunately, common sense kicked in before she reached her goal, and she turned to scan the street instead. She never bought the paper, since there were always plenty kicking around at work, but she knew there was a stand around here somewhere....

  She spotted it across the street and waited for a break in traffic before dashing over. Acquisition in hand, she frowned fiercely as she read the article splashed across the front page.

  One half of the Grammy Award—winning duo Galahad Jones, Will Jones, is fighting the battle of a lifetime as he struggles to recover from major surgery to remove a large tumor from his brain. Sources close to the talented musician reveal that Jones had been suffering from symptoms for months before he received the shocking diagnosis. Jones was rushed straight to the Alfred to go under the knife of renowned neurosurgeon Alistair Chang the moment the tumor was detected.

  While Jones’s camp is remaining tight-lipped about the singer’s future, the Herald can reveal that Jones has been told that it’s unlikely he will ever be able to play his beloved guitar again. Small price to pay for being alive, some might say, yet even that outcome cannot be confirmed.

  Professor Harding at the Monash Medical Centre confirms that aggressive forms of brain cancer can be extremely difficult to treat, with tumors recurring no matter how many surgeries and other treatment options are employed. While there is no confirmation as yet about the type of tumor Jones was suffering from, sources inside the hospital report that the mood is grim as family and friends struggle to cope with the crushing side effects of his potentially lifesaving surgery.

  There was more—a half page of the stuff—and all of it written in the same overwrought, hand-wringing style. So many of the details were wrong—Will hadn’t been “rushed straight to the Alfred,” his tumor was benign—it was hard to give the article any credence at all, but Leah still broke into a run. The newspaper trembled in her hands as she took the elevator to her floor. She walked straight to Will’s door and knocked. She felt sick with adrenaline and anxiety as she waited for Will’s family to answer.

  His mother opened the door, wearing her dressing gown, her hair bed-messy, a wary expression on her face.

  “Oh, Leah. It’s you.”

  “Is it true?” Leah asked. “Will won’t ever play again?”

  Denise’s gaze went to the paper and her expression hardened. “They printed it, did they? They’ve been haranguing us for days, trying to get information after someone at the hospital blabbed. What did they say?”

  She held out her hand for the paper and Leah passed it over.

  “How bad is he, Denise?”

  Leah held her breath as she waited for the other woman to scan the first paragraphs.

  “He’s well. He’s mostly pain-free, which is remarkable, considering. But there’s been some damage to his right side. He’s got weakness in his right leg, and he’s lost fine motor control in his right hand.”

  “What do the physiotherapists say?” Leah said, her heart in her throat.
r />   “That it’s early days yet.”

  Reg appeared behind her shoulder. His gaze went to the paper, his lips thinning. “How bad is it?”

  “I haven’t had a chance to read it yet,” Denise said.

  “Keep it,” Leah said. “I don’t want it.”

  “Thanks. I’d rather not have to fork over money to those snakes just so we can find out if we need to call Will’s lawyer or not,” Denise said, her disgust and anger more than evident.

  “Do you know who talked?” Leah asked. Not that it mattered hugely, but on a professional level she hoped it wasn’t one of the staff.

  “We think one of the other patients’ relatives. At least, that’s what we’ve been able to work out based on the sorts of questions they’ve been asking.”

  Leah shook her head, thinking of all those tense, worried faces in the waiting room. How could someone even think of betraying Will and his family when they were at their most vulnerable?

  “People are assholes,” she said.

  Reg nodded grimly. “Sometimes they really are.”

  The phone rang in the apartment, and both Denise and Reg looked over their shoulders.

  “You need to get that,” Leah said, already backing away. “I’ll see you later.”

  Even though she probably wouldn’t. They’d said Will would be going home in the next day or two, which meant they would be, too.

  They murmured their thanks, and Leah entered her apartment. Only when she was alone, her privacy assured, did she let her guard fall.

  “Oh, Will.”

  One of the things she’d found online when she gave in to her own patheticness and checked him out had been a YouTube clip of him playing an acoustic guitar in a recording studio somewhere. He looked exactly as he had the whole time she’d known him—a bit messy and scruffy and a whole lot beautiful. He sat on a stool and played his guitar and was so patently at peace with himself, so obviously moved by what he was doing, so connected.... It should have been embarrassing, watching him pour so much of himself into his art. He’d made himself so vulnerable, putting it all out there. But it had been impossible to look away from the intensity of his emotion, impossible not to feel his music.