From Doctor to Daddy

by Becky Wicks

  ‘Where would she have gone?’ Jess raked her hands through her hair. ‘I’m so sorry, Sara. She knows she’s not supposed to leave but she keeps on trying to do it.’

  ‘You take the lower floors. I’ll take the top. Tell Security on the way.’

  Jess shot off in one direction and Sara took the stairs to the dining hall.

  ‘Esme!’ In the billiard hall she spun around. ‘Esme!’ The low lights were swaying on the ceiling, making shadows that slashed across the tables. She got down on her knees to check under the tables. ‘Esme!’

  Next came the aqua spa, then the hot tub room, where full-length windows revealed the ocean jumping above the covered well. No sign of Esme.

  In an empty lounge with a shuttered bar she was starting to lose hope. She’d looked everywhere.

  ‘Esme, where are you?’

  The lights were off. An eerie chill cloaked her body.

  ‘Sara? What are you doing out here?’

  Turning around, she lost her balance and Fraser’s hands shot to her forearms, holding her steady. He was clearly on duty and his white coat was open, revealing a red shirt.

  ‘You’re supposed to be in your cabin,’ he said. His voice was gruff. ‘It’s too dangerous to be moving around in these conditions.’

  ‘We’ve lost Esme.’

  His eyebrows arched in concern. ‘How long ago did she go missing?’

  ‘About twenty minutes. We’ve looked everywhere. God, Fraser, what if she...?’

  ‘She couldn’t have got up on deck and fallen overboard. It’s all locked up. She’s inside somewhere.’ Fraser pulled out his radio, calling Security as he stepped with her into the hallway again. ‘Was she alone?’

  He took her hand in a firm grip that kept her steady in more than one way. She’d been about to break. ‘We think so, but we don’t know for sure.’

  Their surroundings creaked and dipped as they made their way down the halls. She told herself he knew the ship much better than she did—every part of it. He would find her.

  The light in the third deck kitchen was on. Fraser stopped abruptly and her hands landed on the solid wall of his back as she stopped herself from falling.

  ‘There shouldn’t be anyone on kitchen duty at this time,’ he told her, swiping his key card and taking her hand again.

  The sight when the door slid open made Sara gasp. Esme was sitting on the floor with Marcus, between two huge steel cabinets. The wooden spoon in a giant tub of ice-cream between them spoke of her sins...and of what Sara knew could potentially harm her.

  ‘Esme—no!’ She ran and ducked for the spoon, then threw it heavily into the sink as if it was made of hot tar. Tears burned her eyes. ‘What are you doing, running away in the middle of the night? You could have been hurt!’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  They reached for each other at the same time. Esme’s frightened face melted her heart in a second. Fear became relief and more tears that Sara had to swipe away.

  Esme started to cry herself. Huge wails in Sara’s ear as she hugged her in her arms. Marcus stood up guiltily, his cactus-prickled backside clearly no longer an issue.

  ‘How did you get in here?’ Fraser scooped up the tub of ice-cream and put it on the counter. He didn’t slam it down but she knew he was angry. He’d been worried for Esme, too.

  ‘We found a key card.’ Marcus held it out to him. ‘Esme wanted ice-cream.’

  ‘She’s not supposed to have ice-cream.’ Sara turned to her daughter’s hot, wet face. ‘Esme, you know you’re not supposed to have ice-cream.’

  Fraser was radioing someone—likely the kitchen staff. She felt his hand on her shoulder from behind, and exhaled deeply into Esme’s hair.

  ‘I only had two scoops.’ She was sniffling now.

  ‘It’s OK.’

  Fraser sent Marcus back to his cabin, being sure to take the key card from him first.

  ‘We’ll need to monitor her closely,’ Sara told him, following him out into the corridor. Esme was a heavy weight in her tired arms.

  ‘Let me take her,’ he said, and he scooped her up as easily as he’d lifted the ice-cream.

  She could see his concern for Esme etched on his face as deeply as hers as they made their way to the dialysis room—especially when Esme stopped him in the corridor.

  ‘I feel sick,’ she announced.

  ‘I’ve got you, Spielberg.’

  He started moving faster with her, running with one hand on the golden rail to keep them both steady as the ship rocked—less menacingly now, but still enough to topple him or upset Esme’s stomach more. She could see her daughter’s forehead was clammy. Esme knew she wasn’t supposed to have ice-cream.

  Fraser was trying to calm her. ‘Wow, you’ve got heavier. Is that all the delicious dessert you just ate?’

  Esme giggled in spite of her tears and again Sara felt so...grateful? In awe? Both. He was a natural with Esme.

  In the dialysis room, she hurried for a bedpan as Fraser laid Esme down. She watched the way he acted, with such tenderness, and was thrown right back to their kiss on the terrace. It had shaken her. All the potential consequences and outcomes—those had been the tsunamis in her dreams.

  ‘Do you still feel sick?’ he was asking Esme now.

  She nodded miserably.

  ‘It’s probably just seasickness and excitement,’ Sara told him, stroking Esme’s soft blonde hair. The little girl’s eyes were red and swollen. ‘She didn’t eat that much. Two scoops, right, Esme?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Sara called Jess. Fraser prepared some insulin and shot her a look over the needle. He was asking if she was OK. She gave him a nod and his brow wrinkled under his hair.

  ‘I’m OK.’ Sara said it out loud. She was fine now, because Esme seemed fine, though she knew she shouldn’t have eaten anything this late, or this near to her dialysis—least of all dairy.

  Potassium levels increased whenever kidney function decreased, and things like ice-cream could cause all sorts of problems. She felt the guilt start to creep its way in. She shouldn’t have brought her here, away from her usual daily routines, it was too risky.

  Once Fraser had placed Esme carefully back in her bed in the nursery, he took Sara aside in the hallway. The last hour or so had passed in a blur and she was exhausted. She should probably go and sleep with Esme. But the way he was looking at her...

  ‘You should stay with me,’ he said.

  She’d known he was going to say it.

  ‘I’m just down the hall. It’ll be even bumpier down on your level—you won’t get any sleep.’

  ‘I don’t know if that’s a good idea.’

  Guilt was already making her want to run back to Esme, to cradle her in her arms, and now it was twice as strong because she also wanted to stay in Fraser’s.

  ‘I have a big enough space for two,’ he said. He leaned in even closer, till his lips were almost brushing hers. ‘And I really need to kiss you again. It’s been too long.’

  ‘It’s been two days.’ The scent of him filled the air in his suite as she stepped inside it behind him.

  ‘So this is where they put you,’ she said as her hand found the wall. Her heart bounced in her chest as the door closed.

  ‘It’s better when it’s not moving.’

  Her eyes rested on the four-poster bed as he walked to a huge couch smothered in cushions. Maybe she shouldn’t feel guilty for being here. Things happened, and Esme was having an adventure she’d remember for the rest of her life. Maybe she was, too. Besides, they didn’t have to sleep together. That would complicate things and she’d regret it tomorrow—she knew it.

  She observed the mahogany backdrop of cupboards, shelves and wardrobes while he poured her a glass of water.

  ‘There’s a big storm coming in the next few days or so,’ he said, han
ding it to her and guiding her onto the couch.

  ‘I thought this was a storm.’

  Fraser took off his white coat, draped it on the back of a tall leather armchair, then sat down next to her. ‘This is nothing—just a prelude to the main event. We try to be in port when bad weather like this is predicted. How are you feeling?’

  He was so close she could practically feel the sparks flying. ‘I’m fine, thank you, Fraser. Really. And I appreciate what you did tonight.’

  His hand covered hers completely, where he held it on her knee. ‘I did what anyone would have done. But are you sure you’re fine? You’ve had a bit of a scare.’

  ‘I’m processing it. I’m glad you’re here.’

  He brought her hand to his lips and let them linger there a moment. She felt the familiar urge to be closer to him as tingles ran up her thighs.

  ‘Esme’s quite a handful, I can see,’ he said, and she smiled, nodding.

  He knew she’d been a mess, inside and out, probably, when Esme had gone missing. Did he also know the added torture of feeling so torn, like this? He was a total distraction from every moment she might have left with her daughter.

  He took the empty glass from her. ‘So...you can sleep in the bed and I’ll take the couch.’

  What? Sara blinked as he got to his feet. She hadn’t been expecting that. She watched as he went about getting some blankets and a pillow from a cupboard above the bed and—forget the excuses—all she could think was, No way...no way. How dare you do this to me now?

  So she said, ‘Stop it, Fraser. You’re not sleeping on the couch.’

  She stood up, realising how forward she’d been but feigning confidence anyway. ‘You’ve just worked a long shift. You should definitely have the bed.’

  He dropped the spare blankets onto the quilt cover and raised his eyebrows. ‘I am kind of tired. I guess if you insist...’

  She watched him put his fingers to his shirt and pop the buttons one by one, slowly, on purpose, to make her smile. He unbuckled his jeans and she trailed her eyes over his lean, muscular thighs as he shook them aside. This was ridiculous.

  ‘Having second thoughts?’ he asked provocatively. ‘You know it’s much better when we stick together.’

  He pulled the quilt aside, and when she reached him he pulled her close and kissed her in a way that made the bouncing in her chest turn to explosions. She raised her arms and he helped her off with her clothes, down to her underwear, stopping to admire her body just as he’d used to.

  ‘I probably look different now,’ she said, a little shy suddenly.

  ‘Not so different,’ he told her, stepping back to appraise her.

  She saw the desire in his eyes and it boosted her, somehow. It had been a long time since anyone had seen her like this.

  Still standing, Fraser swept her hair aside and kissed her neck, then her lips, and when the ship tilted they fell to the bed, still kissing. But when he pulled the sheets around them he spooned her from behind, holding her close.

  ‘Much safer in here,’ he whispered into the back of her neck. ‘Remember the first time we slept together?’

  He ran a hand along the length of her body, leaving flames in its wake. She wouldn’t tell him she’d been thinking the same thing...or how much she was burning to have him touch more of her.

  That first time they’d been in a bed smaller than anything on the cruise ship, in her student lodgings, drunk on each other...and she just a little on cheap Chardonnay.

  ‘How could I forget?’ she smiled. ‘We broke a wine glass.’

  ‘We’re not doing that now, though,’ he said, nuzzling her neck and lacing his fingers through hers.

  ‘We don’t have any wine glasses,’ she whispered.

  ‘That’s not what I meant. We’re not making love, because I know you’ll wish you hadn’t in the morning. Even though I want to do that with you all...night...long.’

  She sucked in a breath. Her heart was a freight train. He knew her so well.

  ‘Who says we would have slept together? The past is the past,’ she said defensively.

  But he chuckled and pulled her in tighter, and said nothing.

  The rocking of the waves, now much gentler, lulled them to sleep eventually, and she dozed with her back to his chest and his arms locked around her. She had no dreams that she could remember; she just felt safe and content. But when sunrise crept through the windows she sat bolt upright.

  The bed behind her was empty. Fraser was already gone.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE SUN WAS hot on Fraser’s shoulders as he swigged his coffee and crossed the street onto the Florida pavement. His mind was still racing over the details of last night, and the sight of Sara’s head on his pillow after all this time.

  It was a miracle they’d stopped at just kissing, but having her in his bed and in his arms again had filled him with fresh hope, and he was damned if he was going to ruin that by having her over-analyse any heat-of-the-moment sexual encounters—as he knew she would. Not unless the time was completely right.

  She was worth waiting for.

  The waiting room was empty when he walked in. He was more nervous than he’d anticipated he would be as he approached the young red-haired receptionist. The words ‘Someone you know is hoping for someone like you,’ were framed on the wall behind her. He took it as a sign that he was doing the right thing.

  ‘Fraser Breckenridge—good to see you again.’ Boyd Phillips appeared from the hallway and offered his familiar firm handshake before motioning him through to a seat in a small quiet room.

  ‘Thank you for seeing me at such short notice, buddy.’ Fraser realised he was wringing his hands in his lap and moved them quickly to the arms of the chair.

  Boyd noticed. ‘Always happy to squeeze someone like you in. Everything OK? You look nervous.’

  ‘I’m a little nervous,’ he admitted, ‘but only ’cause I might not be eligible.’

  Boyd studied him over the rims of his glasses. ‘Understandable. This is an admirable decision, and obviously an important one to you.’

  A cactus sat between them, along with a photo of Boyd and his husband Bob, an addiction psychiatrist he’d met at a conference right here in Florida.

  ‘I feel like it’s the right decision,’ he said.

  ‘Aye, well, that feeling will help you a lot in the weeks to come. Hold on to that.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Boyd gathered a set of forms that had to be filled out before proceeding with the tests. Fraser was grateful he actually knew this man, and could trust him. They’d known each other a long time, and Fraser knew Boyd probably wanted to ask him more than he was asking, but Boyd stuck to the essentials, as he’d hoped he would.

  He knew the psychologist would be a different story.

  Speaking to a psychologist was standard for non-directed kidney donors. And, in a green-carpeted room next to Boyd’s, covered in posters much like the one in the waiting room, Fraser was made to talk about his reasons for wanting to donate.

  The psychologist, a woman who looked considerably younger than Fraser’s thirty-two years, was twizzling a pen in her manicured fingers, pursing her painted lips thoughtfully between questions.

  ‘I used to be in a relationship with this little girl’s mother.’

  ‘Interesting... How long ago?’

  ‘Six years, more or less. You could say life got in the way.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ She was drumming the pen on her knee now.

  ‘Well, we were pretty young back then. I had to focus on my career and my family’s practice in Edinburgh, while she moved back to London to help her family. Her mum died, and she had to... It’s a long story. We just met up again.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘How did we meet up again?’ He paused.

  She was looking at
him intently. He couldn’t exactly tell her he’d done his best to ensure they were on the same cruise ship in spite of knowing Sara probably wouldn’t have wanted to see him. He hoped things were different now.

  ‘As I said before, we’re both working on the Ocean Dream. I found out her daughter Esme is on dialysis. She’s part of a new programme on the ship to care for the dialysis patients while they have a vacation. I suppose I saw things through both Esme’s and her mother’s eyes, and if I’m able to donate I want to.’

  The psychologist chewed on her lip and scribbled on her clipboard, studying the forms Boyd had passed to her. She crossed one leg over the other and looked him in the eyes. ‘Is it possible you’re doing this just to get back into a relationship with this child’s mother?’

  Fraser sat back in his seat. He forced his gaze to stay directly on hers. The question shouldn’t have surprised him at all. Obviously she wanted to know he was doing this for the right reasons. He couldn’t deny it all came back to Sara. But, whatever happened between them in the future, this was still something he wanted to do. If Esme had been Sara’s niece, or cousin, or even the daughter of a friend, having seen first-hand the struggle they were enduring, he’d have wanted to help if he could.

  ‘I asked myself that at first,’ he said, ‘but, no. I’m a professional. I live to help those I can help—as do we all. I would do this for Esme whether Sara and I were together or not.’

  ‘I see.’

  He found himself smiling, picturing Esme’s little face and enquiring eyes. ‘You should see this kid—she’s incredible. She has this camcorder that she takes everywhere. She’s the brightest thing—always asking questions, making life out to be an adventure. I just want that to continue for her, you know?’

  The woman started scribbling furiously, and although he was itching to find out what she was writing he shut his mouth. He had to let her make her assessment. He just prayed he’d said and done enough.

  Next up was the urine test.

  ‘This is the fun part,’ Boyd said as his intern, a gangly guy with braces called Rishi, presented Fraser with a tube.

  He was led down a sunlit corridor to the bathroom. Palm trees waved at him from outside through the windows. Sara would be awake now, probably wondering where he’d gone, and a twinge of guilt struck him. He hadn’t told her his plan.