by K T Bowes
She started awake in a fear reaction, her heart pounding. Her legs numbed beneath her and her spine ached from the unnatural position. Hana uncurled her body, unnoticed by the new visitor standing with his back to her. His coat looked damp, darker patches betraying a prolonged walk in the rain. His speech sounded ragged, interspersed with sobbing. Hana recognised his voice and shot up with a snarl of rage. “Get out!” she snapped.
“No, no!” He turned to face her, cheeks wet with tears. “You can’t make me.” His shoulders heaved and he wiped his sleeve across his eyes.
Logan shook his head and looked away, aiming the remote control at the television and hiking the volume. “Do what she says.” He sounded calm, his tone level and unconcerned.
Hana held her breath, straightening her spine and readying herself for the rage building in her chest. Tama leaned over Logan. “Anka left me,” he snivelled. “Why did you turn your back on me?” The tirade continued, fuelled by self-pity and accusation. Hana’s blood pressure hiked, giving her a heady sense of drunken power. She scanned the room for something to hit Tama with as his voice rose against the volume of the television. Her eyes feasted on many metal objects but most of them were attached to Logan. Hana bent and reached for her weapon of choice. Her handbag.
Tama didn’t see it coming but the thwack of the patent maroon handbag echoed out into the corridor. He ducked and the second blow landed with increased force. “Get! Out!” Hana yelled, losing control as she punctuated her words with heavy thuds to his head.
A jangle of metal heralded her keys and change spewing onto the floor as the bag hit its target with force and accuracy. Tama wheeled around to face her and Hana dropped the bag, shoving him with her hands instead. She pushed him around the bed and towards the door. Rage enlarged her pupils until they obliterated her green irises. “Get away from my husband!” she screeched, whacking him around the face with her open palm. Hana felt the hatred rise with every fibre of her being. Tama ruined her friendship with Anka. Tama wreaked havoc on her marriage from the start. Nothing survived around his toxic presence.
Tama ground to a halt in the doorway, proving his worth as a rugby first fifteen player. He set himself against the delicate waif of a woman, lifting her off the ground in a bear hug. With her arms pinned by her sides and her feet off the floor, Hana felt her own vulnerability and channelled it into further hatred. She kicked out hard and contacted Tama’s shin, feeling herself drop from his grasp. As her feet touched down, she lurched again, clawed fingers reaching for his mocking face.
He disappeared from view. One minute he sneered before her and then his grey eyes and snarling lips vanished. Hana kept moving forward, halting as someone pulled her arms behind her. A strong forearm linked around her chest and pinned her against a hard body. “Enough!” Logan’s voice sounded harsh and Hana inhaled with shock. Her foot contacted something and she looked down, seeing Tama sitting on his backside in the corridor. Blood streamed from his face and Hana smirked in satisfaction. She opened her mouth to speak and saw Logan’s finger jab in his direction.
“Bugger off, Tama,” he said through gritted teeth. “Or you won’t get up after the next one.” Hana’s gaze followed the line of his finger to Logan’s knuckles and the streaks of blood which covered them. Her heart sank and failure danced a jig on her soul. After all her scrapping with the giant boy, Logan felled him with one hit. Bedridden, injured Logan.
Anger lit her up from inside and Hana spun, aiming a punch at her husband. She met his open palm with an ineffectual slap. His fingers moved to her wrist without looking, his eyes staring over her head at Tama. He released her and rubbed his right hand against his hospital gown, leaving streaks of blood in its wake. His eyes resembled grey steel and his face wore an unreadable mask.
Tama hauled himself to his feet and staggered away. The sound of his soles pattering down the corridor came back to Hana as an echo. An alarm sounded from the monitor by the bed, the drip cable trailing along the floor and spilling clear liquid into a puddle. Blood ran in a rivulet from the cannula hanging from Logan’s hand.
Hana reacted to the sight of the blood. The last few weeks contained far too much of it. A strange warmth rose from her chest to her head and locked up her lungs, causing her to breathe out but not in. A tingling headache began behind her eyes. She heard a curious gagging sound and realised it came from her mouth as she struggled for air. Someone stole her legs and numbness drifted into her knees as the room spun past her vision.
“Geez, Hana!” Logan caught her and struggled to hold her up as she sank to the floor. She heard him grunting with the effort. Anger filled her mind at the sound of his voice, but exhaustion robbed her of the energy required to react. As Hana’s cheek touched the floor, the nauseating scent of disinfectant added itself to the mix and nausea filled her stomach like a rising tide. Littered around her face, she saw the contents of her handbag. Lipstick, keys and odd bits of stationary occupied her outlook and she shied away from the thought of retrieving it all with her uncooperative body.
Her vision didn’t blacken like on the movies. It faded away like a piece of music and the frantic need for air stopped. Relief overwhelmed her as if the fight for life belonged to someone else.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Hana regained consciousness beneath an oxygen mask, panicking at the restriction it provided. “Steady, steady,” a female voice said as Hana tried to rip it off. It pinged back and slapped her in the cheek. “That’s what happens,” the voice soothed, like a teacher to a child. The nurse slipped the mask over her head and Hana looked down, finding herself in Logan’s bed. She turned her face sideways to see her husband sitting in the armchair and another nurse waving a needle above his elbow.
“I don’t want it!” Logan snapped. “Let me speak to my wife.”
“She’s just coming around,” the nurse said, pushing the needle towards the crook of his elbow.
Logan dodged it and withdrew his arm. “I told you, I don’t want it!”
“I need to get this in.” The woman sounded as though her patience might be about to snap. “You messed up your hand pulling the last one out. I can’t put it back in there.”
“I don’t want it at all.” Logan put his hand behind his back.
“Did it just come out or did you actually rip it out?” she demanded, glancing up at Logan’s impassive face. He shrugged and didn’t answer. “You ripped it out then, didn’t you?” The nurse sounded cross. “Hold this!” she put Logan’s finger over a piece of gauze that soaked red in seconds. “I’ll be back in a minute with more. Don’t take that off!”
Hana turned her face away, feeling nauseous. Running a mental body-check, she discovered a weird tingle in her lips and a tightness around her face. A familiar male voice broke through her stupor. “I think she hyperventilated.” Mr Singh felt the pulse in her left wrist while staring at his watch. He harrumphed and looked hard at her. “Your pulse rate is very low. Do you suffer from heart problems?”
Hana shook her head and pushed herself into a sitting position. “I’m fine, just embarrassed.” The fog threatened to descend again and she sat for a moment, waiting for it to clear.
Mr Singh turned to Logan, watching as the nurse returned and tried to stop the bleeding on his hand with more packs. She glanced towards him. “I’ll stop this and then try a different site.” She held gauze with one hand and mopped up blood with the other. Mr Singh raised an eyebrow and shook his head.
“I shouldn’t bother,” he concluded.
Logan watched the nurse’s ministrations with disinterest, his face a veil of frustration. She stopped her mopping with a look of confusion. “Don’t bother stemming the bleeding or inserting another cannula?”
“Either.” Mr Singh cleared his throat and paused until he gained Logan’s reluctant attention. “I’ve completed the research and tests I began at the Waikato and have reached a conclusion.”
Hana turned her face away, consciously breathing in
and out in a steady rhythm as the doctor spoke. “You’re an idiot, Mr Du Rose and I don’t have time for this.”
Hana watched Logan’s neutral expression, but saw a vein ticking in his neck. He didn’t answer and the doctor continued. “You haven’t attended a clinic for your haemophilia for almost two years. Yet, you’ve required three infusions of Factor 8 in the last four months. You don’t take care of your own body and expect us to patch you up when it all goes wrong. Would I be correct in that assumption?”
Hana’s sigh sounded audible. Haemophilia. Mr Singh sounded capable and Hana hung onto his confidence as hers waned. “Your medical notes are incomplete, which doesn’t help.”
Logan’s jaw worked through the rough skin on his face, the grey bristles intermingling with the black. Even unwell, he still managed to look handsome. “That’s a breach of confidentiality,” he growled.
Mr Singh shrugged and raised an eyebrow. “Slip of the tongue, Mr Du Rose. “So sorry.” He bowed, a single, jabbing motion of the head. “Do you have brothers with this problem?”
Logan’s jaw ground as he dealt with being bested by a skinny, tired man in a pink turban.
“How do they cope with it?” the doctor asked, unfazed by the dangerous look in Logan’s eyes.
Logan bit his lip, stared hard at the man and answered, “They die.”
Mr Singh ran a hand over his black beard. “Right then. You know the odds, don’t you? When you decide you’d like my help, come find me.” He placed a couple of leaflets on the end of the bed with careful fingers and strode away, stepping over the nurse wiping blood from the tiles with a paper napkin.
Hana swung her legs over the side of the bed and leaned forward, waiting to see if the nothingness engulfed her again. Part of her wished it would. The smart grey tiles danced towards her and away and she fought the nausea with valiant determination. “I’m leaving now,” she said, hearing the wobble in her voice.
The nurse with the bloody paper towels grovelled under the bed after the contents of Hana’s handbag. “Here,” she said, piling them on the bedspread next to the upended handbag. “Check they’re all there and I’ll examine you before you go.”
“Thanks.” Hana’s answer sounded wooden and she perched sideways on the bed, scooping the sundry items into the bag’s depths without care. Logan faced her, clutching the gauze to his dripping hand.
“Hana, I’m sorry.” He sounded chastened, like a naughty schoolboy.
Hana shrugged. “Why should I care? It’s not like I’m your wife or anything, is it?” Sarcasm covered her disappointment and fear.
“Hana, it’s not like that. I hate weakness. I didn’t want you to see what it did to me.”
“Save it!” Hana raised her palm in his face. “You don’t want to share with me. Fine! Good to know where I stand in this relationship.”
Logan’s face clouded and he gritted his teeth. He reached forward as Hana fingered loose change and an earring. With his left hand, he picked up a metal box which clung to everything else on the bed. The fingers struggled through the restriction of his cast and he dropped it twice. He moved it around the bed as coins and a paperclip stuck to it, flicking everything off with his fingernail and then repeating the action.
Hana sighed and spoke to the nurse. “I’m sorry to be such a pain,” she said. “I feel an idiot. I must be coming down with a virus.”
“It’s fine,” the woman soothed. “How do you feel now?”
“Stupid. But better. I’ll get out of your way. Please accept my apologies.”
Logan revolved the metal box in his fingers, enjoying the smoothness of it as the nurse padded from the room. “That’s what Tama said.”
“What? He said what?”
“Please accept my apology.”
“Oh.” Shame lit Hana’s cheeks red. “I didn’t hear that part.”
Logan smirked. “Hit first and ask questions later. Who knew, Mrs Du Rose?”
Hana’s lips tightened and her face clouded. “Don’t call me that if you don’t mean it.”
“I do mean it.” Logan spun the box and dropped it, his broken arm failing him. His jaw worked beneath his cheek. “I wanted to tell you heaps of times, but not like this.”
“How Logan? How else did you think I’d find out? It’s not something you drop into a casual conversation, is it?”
He shook his head and avoided her gaze. Hana leaned forward to hear as he muttered under his breath. “The family say it’s a curse.”
“Is that what you believe?” Her brow creased and his answer mattered.
“No. It’s genetic, courtesy of my mother.” Logan inhaled through his nose. “But it weakens me. I didn’t want you to see that.”
“So you hid behind a smokescreen instead?” She shook her head and her red hair slipped forward over her shoulder. “You ask me to trust you but don’t return the favour. Where does that leave us?”
Logan reached for her hand. “Better than before. You know the truth now.” His grey eyes implored her to forgive him.
“But you’re not sorry, are you?” Hana’s eyes narrowed and Logan shook his head.
“No. For a little while, I enjoyed your belief in me. Now you see me as defective. Caroline said it made me weak.”
Hana’s snort forced him to meet her gaze. “Defective and weak? You? Give me a break.” She snatched her hand free and ran it across her stomach, testing her resilience to movement. “You need to find better friends and I need to go home.” She snatched up the metal box and shoved it into her handbag with the remainder of her possessions. The tiles felt solid beneath her feet and her equilibrium returned. She shoved the doctor’s leaflets in her bag and turned back to Logan. “Why did you hit Tama if he came to apologise?”
Logan’s eyes narrowed and he looked at his bleeding knuckles. Blood soaked gauze covered the back of his hand. “He touched my wife.” His lips curled back in a snarl. “Nobody does that.”
Hana swallowed at the vehemence in his tone. “Did I look like Miss Piggy, swinging my handbag at him?”
Logan’s laugh sounded natural, the first time she’d heard it in days. “I found it sexy.” He viewed her from beneath dark eyelashes and Hana felt her stomach respond with darts of pleasure at his approval.
“I can’t work you out,” she sighed, gathering up her handbag and jacket.
“You will one day.” Logan got to his feet, almost tripping over the wheeled legs of the drip rack. His patience snapped and he kicked it, sending it flying into the wall. “I’m over this!” he shouted. “Wait for me. I’m coming with you.”
Logan refused all forms of dissuasion and faced with his silent determination, the nursing staff gave in. Mr Singh added a complicated flourish to his signature and passed the prescription to Hana. “Your husband is more trouble than all my state healthcare patients put together! Make him listen to you. I don’t want to see the inside of his guts again.”
Hana gripped the what-to-do-if-it-all-turns-to-custard leaflet and gave him a lame smile. As the embattled pair stood on the steps down to the car park, the good Lord sent a watery sunshine to lighten their slow walk to the BMW. Hana settled Logan into the car, fussing a little too much to mask the nagging sickness in the pit of her stomach. She stowed his bags in the boot and slammed the lid, giving herself a moment of nose breathing to alleviate the nausea. Turning, she let out a yelp of fright.
Tama stood over her, his height blocking the sun. Hana took a step back, but he reached for her. Tears streaked his cheeks and his red-rimmed eyes betrayed his distress. She slapped his hand away. “Touch me again and I’ll kill you,” she threatened, not recognising the enraged woman’s reflection in the side mirror of the car.
“Please. You have to help me.” The impact of Logan’s earlier punch left a bruise on Tama’s chin and his lip oozed. Blood streaks on his sleeve showed his efforts to stem the flow. He looked scruffy up close, a day or two’s worth of boyish beard covering his upper lip an
d the underside of his chin.
Hana took a step forward and jabbed her finger into his chest. “I don’t have to help you with anything!” She raised her voice, the list of his offences forming in her brain.
“I’m sorry for everything!” Tama wailed. He brushed away the embarrassing tears as they dripped onto his jacket. “I didn’t mean to hurt him.” A shaking finger pointed over the roof to the passenger side of the car. “I don’t have anyone else. You need to make him understand how sorry I am! He won’t listen to me.”
He reached for Hana’s hand again, recoiling at the contact with her soft skin. Logan’s words stood between them like an unwritten code and Tama got the message. He mustn’t touch her. Despite her desire to kick him into next week, Hana’s heart saw the small boy in a man’s body. The tears didn’t fit with the hairy face and masculine form. “I’ll tell him you’re sorry,” she said and edged past him.
Logan’s grey eyes watched the scene with a blank expression. The cast from his broken left arm rested on the roof of the BMW, his body still and the muscles of his upper body bunched. He said nothing but his interest paralysed both Hana and Tama.
Hana sensed her husband’s powerful mana cover her with a sense of safety and peace. Tama halted and his eyes widened as he stared at Logan. Tired of the violence, Hana closed her eyes against the sickness and reviving headache. When she opened them, she gaped in surprise. Tama sobbed against Logan’s broad shoulder and her husband rested his chin on the top of the boy’s head.
“No!” Hana groaned, disturbed by the lack of forgiveness in her heart. Logan shrugged and gave a look of resignation.
“Whānau is whānau,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Forgive but not forget.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake!” Hana exclaimed and climbed into the driver’s seat.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Where’s your car?” Logan spun in the passenger seat with a wince. He directed his question at Tama as Hana drove through Hamilton.