by Becky Wicks
She had cried the entire way home...
Sara blinked at the beach scene in front of her. They were building more drama around themselves now; she could feel the weight of it, making her sink again. And when it came to Esme she couldn’t allow herself to sink, or even to float passively along. She couldn’t wait around for anyone to prove themselves to her—not him, not anyone.
Gathering up her stuff, she called to her daughter and headed to a small boat bobbing on the waves. A skinny guy with dreadlocks was arranging water skis on the back of it, checking the fuel tank. As she bartered for a deal she forced herself to feel excited, to focus on Esme and to give her a memory she’d remember for ever—however long that was.
‘Where’s Dr Fraser?’ Esme asked again as they zoomed out onto the ocean, just the two of them.
‘He’s busy.’
‘Doing what?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Is Dr Fraser a daddy?’
Sara’s heart lurched beneath her lifejacket. ‘Why do you ask that?’
Esme just shrugged, staring out at the waves.
‘If you want to come back, remember to pat your head. If you want me to cut the motor, act like you’re slashing your neck with your hand.’
They were bobbing now and adrenaline was making her knees knock as the driver got everything into place.
She glanced around for jet-skis. There weren’t any in the immediate vicinity. Her mind flashed to Trevor and his girlfriend. She would find them and talk to them as soon as they got back to the ship. Again she’d let Fraser distract her from what she needed to be doing; something wasn’t right with them.
The driver started up the boat. Esme started her camera rolling. And Sara had no choice but to do what she’d been adamant she would do...with or without Fraser.
She moved slowly at first, till she caught her balance...then faster, till she felt as if she was flying.
It was a rush, a total thrill when she managed to stand, and when the boat and the driver and Esme were so far ahead that she couldn’t make out their expressions any more.
Her knees were bent, her arms were straight and her head was up, facing forward, with her hair flying out behind her.
‘Whoo-hoo!’ Esme hollered from the boat.
Sara could see her now. ‘Whoo-hoo!’ she hollered back. ‘I’m doing it!’
For the next half-hour or so Sara fell, got up and went again, over and over and over again, until she was buzzing from head to toe. She was a strong, capable woman, able to do things by herself. Fun things.
How many more experiences like this could she squeeze into this trip before she’d have to go back home...? Home to where Esme would be stuck again, waiting...waiting for what?
Was she really going to die?
Her thoughts began to whirl with the wind, like tsunamis rushing past her ears. Fear, loss, guilt. Annoyance that she still couldn’t get Fraser and his deeply upsetting absence out of her head.
She fell—hard.
She crashed into the water like a bomb, face-first, in a move so undignified that she was quite shocked. Her life jacket kept her afloat as soon as she slowed, and she was on her back, blinking her salty lashes at the sky.
It was only then that she realised her face felt as if someone had punched her.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
SARA WAS STANDING by a bed when Fraser arrived, tending to a woman called Jasmine who appeared to have broken her foot or her ankle. The young girl with black bobbed hair, in too-short denim shorts, was sucking in breaths as if it really, really hurt. She had a very large bruise surrounding her right eye, but he recognised her instantly.
She was the girlfriend of Mr Ponytail—one half of the couple who seemed to be permanently at each other’s throats. Trevor...that was his name. Did he even remember the way he’d almost killed Fraser with a jet-ski?
‘She told me she slipped on the bathroom floor,’ Sara said, but the look in her eyes told him something else was going on—just as they’d suspected from the start.
His jaw pulsed as she stepped up close to him and pulled him aside. Speaking of bruises, at least Sara’s face was looking better than before.
He’d been pleased she’d gone water skiing on her own, but he’d told her right there and then, after she’d tracked him down to ask why he hadn’t come to the beach, that something had happened. He’d told her that they needed to talk—but not till they’d left the ship for good.
Then he’d shut the door in her face and reminded himself that they didn’t have long till they left the ship, so he’d do as she had first requested and stay professional, while he processed this life-changing news and while Sara went back to ensuring his daughter was having the time of her life.
‘She’s not saying much,’ Sara whispered. ‘I went to talk to her last night. I told her she had to get away from any situation that was causing her distress. Trevor came back to the lounge and heard me.’
‘This isn’t your fault.’
‘He probably got angry at her...’
‘This is not your fault.’
He turned away from her before he touched her, or pulled her out of the room and asked her how the hell he had a daughter after all this time. Those big eyes could always make him crumble. So could Esme’s. And now he knew why.
He had a daughter. It was killing him, keeping it inside. But it was for Esme’s sake that he had to for now.
Sara was talking quietly to Jasmine. Trevor was staring at him from the plastic seat in the corner, nervously wringing his hands on his lap. His trademark ponytail was dangling limply down his back like the tail of a dead cat.
Fraser held out his hand to him. ‘Dr Fraser Breckenridge—I believe we’ve met already.’
‘Yes, hi...’ He sounded awkward. ‘I’m...’
‘Trevor. I know. What happened? You say she slipped?’
Jasmine was doing her best to straighten herself on the bed without adding any pressure to her leg or ankle. Sara hurried to stop her.
‘Yes, I slipped.’ Jasmine said it with a clenched jaw and a quick glance at Trevor which told Fraser pretty much all he needed to know. She was covering for him.
‘Any more pain?’ In his peripheral vision, he saw Sara going for the X-ray machine.
‘No, not really. Just the entire leg now.’
‘We’re going to help you—don’t worry,’ Sara said, wheeling it over.
He helped her prep it and adjust Jasmine, and as they took the X-rays he wished to hell that he could see inside Sara’s head, too.
Of course he wanted to talk now, but waiting for the right place and time was vital. It was better than raising their voices in an emotional confrontation, if it came to that, or having to spend the rest of their time here working together when...when she might have been lying to him for years.
He literally couldn’t stand the thought.
‘Nothing else hurts,’ Jasmine said now as he continued checking her over.
‘What about that mark on your face?’
She looked away. ‘It’s...it’s nothing. That’s an old bruise.’
‘It doesn’t look old,’ Sara said.
‘Well, it is.’
‘Well...as far as your foot goes it looks like a sprained ankle, but we have to be sure it’s not a fracture.’
Jasmine’s ankle was swollen to about three times its regular size, and was already turning a nasty shade of grey, ringed by an angry purple.
Fraser took over while Sara helped her to get more comfortable, stabilising the suspected fracture site with a pillow splint. Trevor still looked anxious. He kept standing up and then sitting down again on the hard plastic chair in the corner, twiddling his ponytail and his fingers.
‘Do you want to wait outside?’ Fraser asked him.
‘No. I want to be here with Jasmi
ne.’
‘Just go, Trevor,’ Jasmine’s voice was weary as Sara adjusted a pillow under her head.
‘Wait outside, please,’ Fraser said sharply.
‘Why?’
‘Just go. I’ll be out in a second.’
They all flinched when Trevor slammed the door behind him.
‘What were you doing when you slipped?’ Fraser asked Jasmine quietly.
‘I told Nurse Cohen here—there was water on the bathroom floor. The pain shot up my leg...sharp, it was, like someone with a chainsaw was inside it... Then it all went numb. He had to carry me here.’
‘We’ll give you something for the pain,’ Sara said, ‘but, Jasmine, you have to tell us the truth about what happened. Covering for him won’t solve anything.’
Jasmine bit her lip, but refused to say anything more.
‘You have a lateral malleolus fracture—that’s a fracture at the end of the fibula, right here,’ Fraser informed her minutes later, once he’d looked at the X-rays. ‘Luckily your tibia is OK. Nurse Cohen, would you prepare a cast?’
‘Of course.’
‘We’ll have to get you crutches, I’m afraid, Jasmine, and put you on some painkillers. They’ll make you more comfortable. I’ll be right back.’
Outside, he folded his arms in front of Trevor. ‘I’ve heard you and Jasmine arguing before now. And I have to ask: does this injury have anything to do with an argument?’
Trevor stiffened and mirrored his stance with his own arms. His biceps were covered in black and white tattoos.
‘What are you implying? She slipped in the bathroom—she already said that.’
‘What happened to her face? It’s not an old bruise. I know what a fresh bruise looks like.’
Trevor looked directly into Fraser’s eyes with his small beady blue ones, then appeared to bloat with pure, unadulterated anger. ‘Why are you asking me all this anyway?’ he yelled, waving his arms in the air. ‘Your job is to fix her foot and nothing else. What gives you the right to ask about my personal life?’
Fraser didn’t budge an inch. ‘Please don’t raise your voice to me. With all due respect, this is part of my job.’
The door opened and Sara stepped outside. ‘Dr Breckenridge?’
‘Everything’s OK,’ he told her.
‘Jasmine seems pretty shaken up over something,’ she said, looking at Trevor now. ‘More than just her ankle, maybe.’
‘You’re still going on about this? Seriously?’
Trevor seemed outraged at her presence, and made to step towards her. Instinctively Fraser put an arm between him and Sara, and held his hand up to stop him.
‘Is this because of the jet ski thing?’ Trevor seethed. ‘It was Jazz’s fault anyway—she was telling me to go towards the dolphin!’
‘Would you please lower your voice?’ Sara said.
Fraser stepped slightly in front of Sara. ‘Trevor, tell me, is there anything else you want to tell us about what happened to Jasmine today?’
Trevor made an obnoxious snarling noise and then stormed off away from them.
‘He shouldn’t be left alone,’ Sara told him.
‘I’ll keep an eye on him.’
Fraser headed for the elevator, frowning. He knew Jasmine hadn’t simply fallen in a wet bathroom, so why on earth was she defending Trevor? He couldn’t get his head around it. But he was no psychologist, and who knew how hard the heart fought the head in those situations? How many couples put up with months, even years of arguing and abuse out of fear or out of love?
He couldn’t even imagine getting so sick of someone that it got to the point of physical abuse; he’d never been in a relationship like that in his life. He would only ever love Sara Cohen—and, more than that, their daughter.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
‘SO, WHAT’S HAPPENING with you and that sexy Dr Breckenridge?’ Jasmine asked as Sara prepared her cast. Her voice was the kind of faux chirpy that spoke volumes about her pain.
Sara pulled on latex gloves, resting a bowl of cold water on the table by the bed. ‘We just work together,’ she said. She steadied Jasmine’s raised ankle and separated a pile of fibreglass strips. ‘I’m more interested in what’s happening with you and Trevor.’
‘Nothing’s happening. Like I told you before, Trevor is just a bit crazy sometimes. You’ve seen it yourself—he almost killed your boyfriend. He blames me for everything.’
‘With his voice, or with something else?’
Jasmine looked away.
‘It’s OK to tell me. It will go no further than you want it to,’ Sara said.
She picked up one of the strips and dipped it in water. The water started to swish a little.
‘He is your boyfriend, isn’t he? Dr Breckenridge? We had a bet, me and Trevor.’
‘How long have you two been together?’ Sara kept her voice low and calm, applying the strip over the padding. Jasmine was not going to quit.
‘Me and Trevor met at college—it’s been five years too long now. You didn’t answer my question.’ She was drumming her nails on the bed now, doing everything she could to distract Sara from the issue at hand. She seemed to harbour some deep-rooted fear of getting Trevor into trouble.
‘Nothing is happening with me and Dr Breckenridge.’
‘Nothing?’
Sara sighed as she worked. She wished she could talk about it to someone. There had been something serious and unrecognisable in Fraser’s tone, and in his eyes too, when she’d found him that night...when he’d told her they had to talk but only once they’d left the ship for good.
It had chilled her to the bone. But she respected that whatever he had going on, if it was that serious, it made sense for them to talk later. They were working together, after all.
She considered that maybe someone on the ship had spoken to him about them and he didn’t want to embarrass her. Or maybe he’d finally woken up and realised that Esme was getting too close to him, that she herself was carrying too much baggage. She was afraid now even to approach him about that. She knew she wouldn’t actually be able to stand to hear him say that and then have to work beside him without being able to get away. He was right—maybe they did need some space.
Jasmine had been watching her laying the strips. But now she said, ‘I don’t believe there’s nothing. I can practically feel the flames coming off the both of you. I’ve seen him playing with your daughter, too. I thought she was his for a bit.’
‘No, she’s not his,’ she replied, laying another strip across Jasmine’s calf.
Jasmine lay back down again. ‘We saw you all together on that boat. Is that stuff allowed when you’re working on these cruises? Don’t they get all funny about staff hooking up unless they’re married?’
‘I don’t know.’
Sara’s brow was perspiring slightly under the fan. The gentle pattering sound at the windows had turned to heavier rain. The ship was moving with what felt like a lot more purpose too—up and down, up and down. She could feel it in her stomach again, like the night they’d lost Esme.
Jasmine was looking at her expectantly.
‘It’s...complicated,’ she told her. ‘Keep still, please.’ She moved the swishing bowl of water closer, worried that it might tip over.
Jasmine groaned. ‘All relationships are complicated.’
Sara considered her words. ‘Is yours? Tell me how you really got that bruise.’
‘I told you.’
‘Tell me the truth.’
‘There’s nothing to say.’
Sara’s reply was cut short by a huge crash of thunder. It ripped through the room, through the walls, and made Jasmine almost jump off the bed. She yelped as her ankle slipped from its support and the bowl of water went flying.
Sara hurried to reposition her. ‘Sorry—try to stay as still as you can. Can
you believe this weather?’
‘They said it would rain, but this is actually a bit scary. I knew we should have paid for the good season cruise.’
Jasmine clutched at the sides of the bed as Sara retrieved the bowl and ran fresh water. She carried on with the cast as quickly as she could, while the rain lashed even harder at the circular windows. She caught sight of the sky through the glass for the first time in hours. It was a deep, dark grey, verging on black.
‘You’ll have to stay here for now,’ she told Jasmine when she was done. She snapped off her gloves, moved the bowl of pasty white water to the sink. ‘Dr Forster will be in soon to monitor you. If you touch it, please just use the palms of your hands—we don’t want you denting it, OK? That could irritate the skin under the dressing and you don’t want to be left with sores and scars.’
She crossed to the cupboard and took out some crutches. ‘Usually we’d wait forty-eight hours or so to move you, but with weather like this we’ll leave these here just in case.’
Another strike of lightning lit the sky outside.
‘Will I be able to fly home when we get to Florida?’
Sara paused with the crutches. ‘With Trevor?’
Jasmine shrugged.
‘Jasmine, I would advise against going anywhere with him after this.’ She gestured to her cast. ‘You’re not fooling anyone—or yourself, I’d imagine. Do you really want to spend your life with someone who treats you like this? What if you say nothing and he does it to someone else?’
Jasmine closed her eyes, balled her fists.
‘You should be able to fly just fine if you can get an upgrade that allows for more leg room,’ Sara said, her tone softer this time. ‘But we’re stopping in Puerto Rico first—how would you like to say goodbye to him there?’
‘That wouldn’t be a good idea.’
‘Why?’
Jasmine was still clenching her fists. ‘He hits me.’
She said it through gritted teeth, as if even getting the words out finally was painful.
