by Karina Bliss
Zander said nothing. Better she vent her guilt before it festered and became something toxic and permanent. Only when Elizabeth started repeating herself, did he interrupt.
“Didn’t Pat support you taking this job?”
“Yes, but I knew he’d really miss me and—”
“So you can put his interests first, but he can’t reciprocate?”
“N…no.”
He cupped her chin between his hands and made her look at him. “Guilt is an immobilizer,” he said. “You get stuck in that and you’re no good to anybody. You should eat something too.”
“I can’t eat.”
Zander caressed her pale face. “How about some of that hot tea you like?”
Laying her hand over his, she managed a wan smile. “I’d love a cup of tea.”
While he phoned room service, she dug in the pocket of her robe and checked that her cell was working. She needed distraction. When the tea tray arrived, he said casually, “Remind me how you make this again?”
“Milk last… No, don’t pour yet. You wait for it to draw… Here, let me do it.”
He talked her into eating half the sandwich he’d ordered with the tea.
“I never asked,” she said between bites. “How was the concert tonight?”
“Great,” he replied, because his concerns were trivial beside hers.
“You must be exhausted. If you need to sleep, use my bed.”
There wasn’t a question in her mind that he’d stay for her; that was the part that constricted Zander’s chest. Her trust in him. Don’t. Sooner or later, I’ll let you down.
And yet nothing could have stopped him putting his arms around her and resting his chin on her hair. “I can stay awake for a while yet. Whatever happens, you’ll want to fly home, so why don’t I check flight availability while you pack?”
“I’m desperate to go, but we’re already working to the wire on delivering a draft to the publisher.”
“So I’ll demand an extension. I’m a rock star, they must be expecting delays. You and I can interview via Skype.”
“Thank you.” Giving him a swift, fierce kiss, she dragged her suitcase from under the bed and started packing.
He found a flight leaving the following afternoon and booked Business Class, using Elizabeth’s credit card. Normally Dimity did all this stuff and he knew his PA wouldn’t mind being woken, but he felt the need to care for Doc himself. Tomorrow he’d get Dimity to reimburse her account.
Elizabeth’s cell trilled from her robe’s pocket, and she seized it with trembling hands. “Hello? Luke. What news? Uh-huh.” She looked at Zander, her eyes filling with tears.
Heartsick, he rose slowly to his feet, trying to remember his therapist’s strategies for dealing with grief.
“Thank God!” Her tears brimmed over, rolled down her cheeks and caught in the corners of her smile. “Listen, I’m coming home tomorrow to see him. I’ll text my flight details for a pickup. Phone if there’s any change. Love you too.” She replaced the cell in her pocket. “My brother, Luke. They think Pat will be okay, but they’ll do an angioplasty and—” Her face crumbled.
“Come here,” he said gently.
She sobbed out her relief on his shoulder, while he rubbed soothing circles on her back. “I think we should open your bottle.”
“Yes. God, yes!”
He splashed whiskey into teacups and they toasted Pat’s health. While Elizabeth gulped hers, Zander settled for a single sip. She held out the cup again. “Another.”
“You sure? It’s no fun flying with a hangover.”
“I have to drink one for Pat too.”
“Fair enough.” He refilled her cup and she sipped it while packing. As the alcohol hit her system, she trailed haphazardly between the wardrobe, bureau and her suitcase like a drunken ant, with occasional forays into the bathroom to collect toiletries. Sometimes she returned with an item for her suitcase, others she returned empty-handed to talk.
And talk.
Sprawled on the bed, Zander waited patiently for her to wind down enough to sleep. She had to be exhausted—so was he—but these were their final hours together for at least a week.
And he found her frank disclosures hugely enjoyable—from the confession that she hadn’t wholly forgiven Pat’s tabby for killing the old man’s budgie to esoteric philosophizing on peering into people’s souls.
“Sometimes I think how cool it would be if all the superficial stuff, how we look, speak, our culture, our education is stripped away.” Shampoo tucked under one arm, whiskey in hand, she blinked owlishly from the end of the bed. “And we’re all jus’ orbs of light…like the one balancing on ET’s finger. An’ you can see immediately what a person truly is by how bright or dimly their light shines.”
Zander grinned. “Can you change the bulb or are you born a certain watt?”
“Oh, you can change it,” she said sagely. The shampoo dropped into the open suitcase with a thud. “The bulb dims or brightens all the time depending on what you do.”
“Or don’t do.” Some of his amusement faded. “All those people who stepped over the guy lying in the road before the Good Samaritan got there… They can’t go back, can they?”
“No, but they can pick up the next person.” She tipped her head back to catch the last drop of whiskey in the cup. “There’ll always be someone lying on the road. I read this saying once, ‘a good life is the result of a thousand small choices and so is a bad one.’” She dumped the empty cup in her suitcase.
“Are you always this deep when you drink?”
“Oh,” she waved airily. “This stuff swills around in my brain all the time, it jus’ comes out when I’m tipsy.” She flung herself down beside him, all wild red hair and puffy eyes. “Don’t you find it fascinating?”
He tucked a corkscrew curl behind her ear. “I find you fascinating. You’re unguarded when you’re tanked. So, Doc, how do you feel about me?”
“Na-ah!” She waved a finger lopsidedly. “I’m not falling for that one. Who confesses first loses.”
“Confesses first?”
With her finger she drew a heart on his chest. “Love stuff.”
Zander swallowed. “Why?”
“Because it’s kinda like who loves who the most and the other person can use it against them or something.” She rolled on her back, getting tangled in her oversized robe. “Can’ remember. It was in a book or something my sister gave me. Gives the other person control.” She licked her lips and said drowsily, “So thirsty.”
“I’ll get you some water.”
When he returned, she was out cold, snoring lightly. Zander put the glass on the bedside table, loosened the robe and maneuvered her under the sheets. “You’re a lump when you’re asleep,” he said, covering her with the duvet and resetting the air-con. He found some Advil in the bathroom cupboard and placed it beside the water, then repacked her suitcase—removing the teacup—and adding everything she’d forgotten. Zipping her interview notes into the laptop bag, he paused. All those files on him, truths, selected truths and half-truths. But if he told her everything he was, she’d despise him. And what Elizabeth thought of him mattered.
Oh. Shit.
By the time he’d finished packing, dawn was creeping through the crack in the drapes and he had to leave. Her rules. And another secret.
Zander sat on the bed and gently laid a hand on Elizabeth’s bright hair. “Doc, we’re on the road this morning, I have to go.”
With a grumpy mutter, she rolled away from his touch and hunched a shoulder under the blanket.
Leaning forward he kissed the pulse at her smooth temple, tasted the salt of dried tears and breathed in whiskey and warmth.
He recalled Stormy once talking about falling in love. There’s a point I guess where you can pull back, but you choose not to. She could have been speaking Swahili at the time, but—finally—Zander got it.
Professionally, he’d never backed away from a challenge; personally, he kept hi
s heart permanently locked in a panic room. It beat against his ribs now, in a hard staccato beat. Dontsayit! Dontsayit! Dontsayit!
He took a deep breath. “I love you.”
And got another grumble. He stood and looked down on his lover’s sleeping form. Smiled. “Maybe one day I’ll tell you that when you’re awake.”
The irony of his situation struck him on the way out.
He was a guy with a master plan for world domination. But when it came to making Elizabeth love him, Zander had no fucking clue what to do next.
Chapter Twenty
“You sure you don’t want to go home and grab a shower first?” Marti asked as she drove Elizabeth into the hospital drop zone. “You’ve been traveling, what…thirty hours?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I won’t relax until I’ve seen for myself that Pat’s okay. You drop my bags home and go to work. I’ll catch a taxi later.” She climbed out of the Prius, keeping hold of the door until the slight woowoo of jet lag passed.
Her sister passed her the handbag she’d forgotten without comment. “Take this.” Marti shrugged off her coat and handed it over. “You’re in winter now. And phone me later when you’ve had some sleep.”
The coat was still warm and she snuggled into it gratefully. “Thanks for getting up at dawn to pick me up.”
“Love to Pat.”
Elizabeth waved until the car disappeared, then sank onto a nearby bench for a couple of minutes, waking herself up with gulps of crisp air. Her hangover had lasted until the stopover in Bangkok and she’d spent the last leg of the flight sleeping. Joggers emerged like wraiths from the early morning mist hanging over the park opposite.
Glancing at her watch, she did the time conversion. Zander would be at his Cardiff hotel, preparing to leave for the stadium. He’d been so lovely last—two—nights ago. The perfect person to get messy with because he didn’t pass judgment. She was in better shape to cope as a result.
Feeling more alert, she entered the hospital and followed signs through a labyrinth of corridors to the coronary unit.
Pat had undergone surgery as she’d flown across the world—stents to widen a narrowed artery; she’d ask for more details when her brain worked properly. At the nurses’ station, she inquired for his room number.
“He’s only seeing family,” said a male voice behind her.
Elizabeth turned to the guy sitting in the waiting area. Judging by his jeans and sweater he wasn’t a doctor. “I’m family,” she said. As good as.
“You’re not. I’ve never seen you before.”
“I’ve never seen you before either.” Although the jutting brows and coloring gave him away. Trying not to sound accusatory, she held out her hand. “You’re Pat’s son, Sean, and I’m Elizabeth, your dad’s neighbor. He had the attack when we were Skyping and I flew in from Lon—”
She didn’t get a chance to finish before Sean was on his feet and pumping her hand. “Thank you,” he said fervently. “If you hadn’t been around to call for help, it could have been so much more serious. Dad hit his head in the fall, that’s why he didn’t respond. He’s sleeping, but of course you can go in.”
Pat lay under the covers, his breathing sonorous, his brows upstanding and his color good. The last of her fear evaporated when Elizabeth touched his arm, warm and solid. Real. Pat’s eyes opened briefly, as blue as a glimpse of sky. “Muirnin,” he said and went back to sleep.
She had coffee in the hospital’s cafe with Sean.
“I’ve been trying to get him to move down to Palmerston North for months, to avoid precisely this kind of situation,” he said. “Neither of us could stand living with each other—we’re too alike—but there’s a terrific retirement village close by. Dad could buy a one-bedroom place and have all the independence he enjoys now and family ten minutes’ walk away. You’d think I was suggesting prison.” Sean rubbed the bridge of his nose. “We got to the point where he hung up on me if I brought it up—and I really hate being hung up on.”
“Who doesn’t?” she agreed.
“So we haven’t talked in months. Both of us waiting for apologies and the kids missing Grandpa.” He sighed and cupped his coffee mug. “It all seems so stupid now. The doctors reckon he’ll be discharged in five days and I’ve suggested he come to us to convalesce and take a look at the unit. I have to fly back for work tomorrow, but I’ll return on the weekend… If you could help me convince him?”
Elizabeth didn’t want Pat to move away. Well tough. She didn’t want another fright like this either. “I’ll talk to him.”
* * *
Pat clutched his chest.
“Stop that,” Elizabeth said sternly.
“I never thought you’d turn on me,” he said. “Take Sean’s side.”
“All I’m asking is that you look at a retirement village website.” She rested her laptop on the skinny legs under the hospital bed’s blanket and adjusted the blinds to deflect the light.
Pat closed the lid. She opened it. “I saved your life, you owe me.”
Taking his snort as consent, she clicked through the photographs. “I did some research and read the reports. This is a first-class facility.”
“Hmph.”
“You can’t tell me the gardens aren’t stunning.” She paused at a shot of a fountain surrounded by colorful garden beds.
“I can’t afford it.”
“I know what I paid for my house and yours is mortgage-free. You can cover the cost and have money left over for a trip to the Emerald Isles.”
“You’re trying to get rid of me, is that it? You don’t want a silly old fool to worry about.”
“I don’t want a silly old fool dying before his time. He means too much to me. I’ll come visit, you’ll come visit. Don’t you want a closer relationship with your son?”
“Hell no, we’re too much alike.” Funny how he repeated his son’s words almost exactly.
“Grandkids then, your daughter-in-law.”
His expression softened. “Fiona’s a good girl and the kids are corkers. But I’m not keen on living with a bunch of old people.”
“Some of my best friends are old people,” Elizabeth said. “Stop being ageist.”
He scowled. “New owners wouldn’t look after my garden.”
“They might not,” she said. “But when you stay with me, we’ll do midnight weeding raids and spray the greenfly on the cabbages.”
“If you’re even living here,” he said gloomily. “What if you marry that rock star fella?”
“I told you, we’re not serious.”
Pat snorted. “It wasn’t for the sake of my pretty blue eyes he learned the song. Clear as day he’s in love with you.”
“You met him for ten minutes,” she countered. “Your pretty blue eyes were full of tears for most of them and you were building up to a heart attack!”
“Sweet Jesus.” Pat rolled his eyes. “And you say I’m in denial.”
“I’m being very careful not to say that,” she retorted, “but you’re wrong about Zander. Neither of us is interested in something permanent.” It was the mantra that kept her grounded and she repeated it every day.
“You keep thinking that, muirnin.”
“Pat,” she said softly, refusing to be distracted. “We both know family is everything to you. What’s the real sticking point?”
He started fingering the edge of the sheet. “It was our house,” he said at last. “Mine and Kathleen’s. I can look at the curtains and remember her making them, the trees and remember us planting them. I’m worried she might not come with me if I move.”
“It’s only a house. Here’s where you keep her,” Elizabeth touched her head, “here’s where she lives,” she tapped her heart. “I think Kathleen would be saying, you’ll be seeing her soon enough. Until then, wouldn’t she want you spending that time with your son and grandchildren?”
He peered at the pictures on the screen. “They probably don’t take pets.”
“I checked and yo
u can take Butterball.” She added dryly, “Apparently, as a cat, she qualifies as orderly and well-behaved.”
Pat chuckled. “We’d shake up the place I expect, the pair of us.”
“So you’ll think about it?”
“I’ll think about thinking about it.”
* * *
“I hope you’re being photographed with plenty of starlets and models,” were his biographer’s first words to him after three days apart.
Zander leaned against the headboard in his Glasgow hotel room and maximized his screen to bring her into better focus—his redhead sitting in her study in New Zealand. “I miss you too.”
She grinned. God, he loved that grin. “Let me start again.” Her gaze softened to something like shyness. “Hello, Zander.”
“Hello, Elizabeth.” A little awkwardly, they smiled at each other. Time zones and schedules had limited their previous communications to e-mails and texts. “Let me guess, you’ve been fielding some tough questions from local media since you’ve been home.”
Frowning, she raked fingers through her red hair and it bounced back into tendrils. “They start by inquiring about my progress on the memoir, but it soon turns personal. ‘Is he as sexy in the flesh?’ Notice however I answer, I’m agreeing you’re sexy. All leading to whether we fancy each other.”
“‘Fancy,’” he drawled. “Such a polite word for what we’ve got, don’t you think?”
She straightened her mouse pad and said lightly, “So I didn’t imagine us. It seems surreal, now I’m back in the real world.”
That bothered him. “And what makes your world more real than mine?”
“For a start it has bills, an overgrown garden, and supermarket queues. I have a lot more privacy in my public life and way less in my private life.” She’d barely finished talking when the door behind her opened and a slender strawberry blond appeared.
