by Lily Evans
"Didn't you want the best for me, Mum?" I choked, letting the tears fall unchecked now. I'd soaked so many tissues, I'd given up trying to mop my face. "I'm twenty-seven, for heaven's sake. I'm not going to get left on the shelf. And hey, even if I did, wouldn't that be better than being stuck with someone like Daniel? Why would you want me to be with him when there are other men out there I'd be so much happier with? Because I know that there are now, okay? You see, I met someone when I was in Cornwall, Mum, and he was wonderful. Really wonderful. But I've spent all week feeling guilty about being with him. Because of you. Why should I have felt guilty? I had nothing to feel guilty for!"
I closed my eyes, feeling utterly drained. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea after all. Surely this hadn't been what Caitlin had had in mind? "I'm sorry," I murmured weakly. "I probably shouldn't have said all of that. Maybe I should hope that you didn't hear a word of it. But I meant it. I meant it all. I'm sorry you had a heart attack because of me, I'm sorry you got so upset because I never meant that to happen. But I was upset, too. I needed you to be there for me but you weren't. Maybe—maybe you'll be able to tell me why, when you're better? Because I love you. So you'd better get better soon, okay?"
And finding a space on the bed beside my mother's legs, I rested my head upon my arms, looking up at her face as I listened to the soft whooshing noise of the machine doing her breathing for her, its slow rhythm hypnotically soothing…
"You need to go home."
Startled to hear Luke's voice, I lifted my head feeling horribly groggy, my eyes dry and gritty. "Wh-what?" My cheek felt oddly prickly too. "No," I protested, rubbing at it and finding tiny ridges there. "I'm not going home. I'm staying here tonight."
"I don't think so," Luke countered as I peered at the cellular blanket on the bed, realising its crosshatched pattern was now imprinted across my skin.
"But…" I stared at him in dismay. "Caitlin said I could stay. She said I—"
"The night shift came on half an hour ago. Caitlin isn't here anymore. She's gone home and that's where you're going too."
Unable to decide whether he was serious, I continued to gaze at him, noticing he'd changed out of his scrubs and was now wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, the same pale blue sweatshirt he'd let me borrow after rescuing me from the beach. The same sweatshirt, I realised as I felt a sudden lurch not far south of my navel, I'd been wearing when we'd had 'meaningless' sex.
"No," I said at last, shaking my head. "I'm not going. I'm staying here. You can't make me go."
Luke rolled his eyes. "I can," he said rather wearily, as though he'd been half-expecting a fight. "You see, your mother—who's doing very well, by the way—is my patient. Which means I get to pull rank. If I don't want any of her visitors to stay at her bedside overnight then they don't. It's as simple as that."
"You're going to force me to leave?"
"Hey." Luke shrugged. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way. You can agree to go or I can call security and have you escorted from the building. Either way, I'm driving you home."
I shot him an incredulous look. "Driving me home?"
"I know, what can I say?" He gave me a sudden grin. "I'm a really wonderful guy." And as I stared at him, the full significance of his choice of words slowly dawning, he moved nearer to my mother and touched her shoulder. "I'll bring her back tomorrow Mrs Ashmore, okay?" he said softly, addressing her as though he had no doubt she could hear him. "I'm looking forward to meeting you properly in the morning."
"Luke…"
He smiled, shaking his head as he straightened up. "Say goodnight to your Mum. I'll wait for you outside." And before I could say another word, he'd disappeared.
I swallowed hard, taking my mother's hand in my own and squeezing her fingers gently. "Looks like I've got to go, then," I whispered. "Please stay strong?" Then I bent to kiss her, closing my eyes for a moment as I rested my cheek against her forehead. "I love you. See you in the morning."
Luke was standing by the front desk chatting to two of the nurses but as soon as I approached he made his farewells and fell into step beside me. "Don't worry, okay? They'll take good care of her," he said, opening the ward door and ushering me through. "They're under strict instructions to give me a call if—"
"You were listening?" I burst out, unable to stay quiet any longer. "You heard what I said?"
He had the grace to look sheepish. "I didn't mean to, I swear."
"Luke! That was a private conversation!"
"I know, I know. And I'm sorry, I really am. But I came up to see how your Mum was doing and there you were, pouring your heart out," he winced slightly, "no pun intended."
I stared at him, torn between anger and relief. "How much—how much did you hear?"
He shot me a rueful glance. "Pretty much all of it, I think."
"Luke…"
"But I'm glad I did. Bloody hell, Becks." He blew out a sigh. "I thought you were back with him. I thought you were back with Daniel."
"So did everyone else. Well, everyone except Sarah." I bit my lip. "It was such a stupid thing to do. But I thought—I thought Mum was dying."
Luke slid his arm around me, hugging me awkwardly as we walked. "You do realise her heart attack wasn't your fault, don't you? That was the result of years and years of accumulated damage. A time bomb waiting to explode."
"But all the stress—"
"Maybe hurried things along a bit but it was going to happen anyway, babe. She's probably had undiagnosed high blood pressure for years. I saw her heart this afternoon, okay? It wasn't your fault, I promise."
I saw her heart. I grimaced, trying to chase away the startling image in my mind of Luke rummaging around inside my mother's chest.
"Yeah, probably best not to think about that too much," he murmured sounding amused, apparently reading my mind.
"You mended her broken heart," I said, glancing up at him, wondering if he remembered what he'd said to me that night in the hotel.
He smiled. "Hey, I told you I could."
He remembered. And remembering exactly what we'd been doing—what he'd been doing to me when he'd said it, I suddenly felt very warm indeed. "How—how was the wedding?"
Luke's smile broadened into a grin at the abrupt change of subject. "Good. The weather was fine, the bride looked pregnant—I mean, radiant."
"Julie's pregnant?" Why did it seem as though every woman in the world was pregnant right now?
"Hey, it's a family tradition. My grandmother was pregnant with my Dad when she got married. My mother was pregnant with me when she got married."
"And your speech?"
He shot me a curious look. "Who have you been speaking to?"
"Caitlin. She said you were worried about it."
"Did she indeed?" He rolled his eyes, holding up his hand and flapping his fingers against his thumb. "Nice girl, but boy, can she talk. Don't tell her any of your secrets."
I hesitated. "She also said you were supposed to be on leave this week."
"See what I mean?"
"So why were you here?" The question had been whirling about in my head ever since Caitlin had told me. "You shouldn't even have been here."
There was a slight pause. "No, I guess not. Lucky coincidence, eh?"
I stopped dead in the middle of the hallway, something about the lightness of his tone giving him away. "It wasn't a coincidence," I breathed, staring at him in frank astonishment. "You knew."
"Becks—"
"How on earth…? You knew? You knew she was my mother?"
"All right, babe. Stay calm." And gently taking my shoulders, Luke gazed into my eyes. "Yes, I knew."
"But how?" I shook my head in bewilderment. "I don't understand."
He drew in a breath. "That Saturday morning at the hotel—when I went back to your room, you'd gone. The cleaners were in there. And when I asked at Reception and they told me you'd checked out…" He frowned. "I couldn't believe you'd left without saying goodbye."
"I was going
to leave a message."
"I know." His eyes softened. "The girl on the desk told me. She said there was a guy with you but she didn't know who he was. But it turned out she'd only just started her shift. The girl who was on before saw Daniel. He'd told her that your Mum had had a heart attack and she was the one who told him which room you were in. He told her he was your fiancé."
"Right," I murmured. And then I frowned. "I still don't understand. How did you know Mum was here? How did you know where I lived? Did they tell you? Because they shouldn't have—"
Luke shook his head. "Oh I'm sure they wouldn't have told me. But they didn't need to. I already knew."
"What?"
He gave me a rueful smile then glanced down at my right forearm. "I put those stitches in, Rebecca Marie Ashmore, remember? And by the looks of things, I'm going to have to take them out again, too."
I stared at the use of my full name, finally comprehending he'd seen that and my home address on my notes at the Minor Injuries Unit. "You knew all along?" I said slowly. "You knew we lived in the same city?"
He nodded. "When I got back on Sunday, I contacted Admissions and asked whether a Mrs Ashmore had been admitted with a heart attack. And lo and behold, she had. I was down in the Cath Lab on Friday and just happened to notice she was on the list for an angiogram today. I've always got a mountain of paperwork to get through anyway, so I thought it wouldn't hurt to be around, just in case. Besides, the guy who's covering for me this week, well." He grimaced. "He's an okay enough surgeon, but…"
Luke the perfectionist. I gazed at him, my mouth suddenly going very dry. He'd done all that for me. "It really wasn't a coincidence, was it?"
He shook his head. "Nope."
"So when you came up to talk to us after the operation—you knew you were going to see me?"
He grinned. "Well, there was always the chance it was a completely different Mrs Ashmore, I guess. But yes, that was the plan."
"And there was I—"
"—all wrapped up in Daniel's arms." He grimaced. "Seeing that was bad enough, but when I realised your Daniel was that Daniel…"
I stared at him, my sense of euphoria dissipating. "Chloe," I faltered.
He nodded slowly, his gaze remaining steady on mine. "I know. There are things we need to talk about. But not here." And letting me go he dropped his hand into mine, tugging me into motion. "Come on. Let's get you home."
Chapter 8
I awoke with a start, uncomfortably warm, the bedclothes stifling, wrapped far too tightly around me. Judging by the darkness, it was still very early. In fact, somehow the room appeared a little too dark. Puzzled, I lifted my head and shoulders from the bed to look towards the window, wondering whether there'd been a power cut and the street lamps were out. But to my astonishment I couldn't see the window.
I couldn't see a thing.
"Fuck!" I gasped, sitting bolt upright and waving my hand in front of my face. "What the fuck?"
"S'okay," a male voice murmured sleepily. "Lie down, babe. Go back to—"
I screamed, scrambling out of bed as fast as I could. "Fuck!" I yelped again as it occurred to me exactly whose voice it was, my heart thudding painfully in my chest. "Oh God!"
"Good morning to you too." Luke sounded both amused and apologetic. "I should've known there wasn't a chance you'd sleep straight through."
"What? Where am I? Where are you?" Hearing movement, I peered through the gloom, just about managing to make him out. "Why the hell is it so dark in here?"
"You're at my place, in my bed. Well, you were in my bed. And it's the middle of the night, why do you think it's dark? " He patted the duvet. "Come on Becks, get in again. Let me cuddle you back off to sleep."
"Your place?" Desperately trying to remember how I'd landed up there, I stared at him, suddenly realising the reason I was so warm was because I was still fully dressed, minus my shoes. "Your bed?"
"You fell asleep while we were driving, just for a change. What is it about my car? And before you ask me why I didn't wake you up, I tried, okay? Maybe not that hard, but you were out for the count. You didn't even stir when I carried you up here."
"You carried me up here?"
"Are you just going to repeat everything I say? Babe, you need to get some rest. Back to bed, now."
I didn't move, the previous day's events streaming back to me like a clip show on fast forward. The operation, the conversations I'd had with Sarah, with Daniel, with my mother. With Luke.
"You're not going to do as you're told, are you?" he said at last, sounding resigned.
I hesitated, playing for time. "I need the loo."
"Of course you do." He sighed. "Okay. Hang on." I heard him fling back the duvet and then a click, the room suddenly flooding with low warm light. I blinked hard, watching as he slid out of bed himself, rather relieved to see he was wearing a dark T-shirt and boxer shorts. "Bathroom's just there," he said, pointing towards a door in the corner of the room. "The light switch is on the wall outside."
"Thanks," I mumbled, already stumbling across the room. And flipping on the switch I burst through the door, closing it behind me as fast as I could. But when I turned around, I felt my jaw drop in astonishment. "Wow."
The bathroom was as big as my bedroom at my mother's house. Bigger, probably. Alongside the toilet there was a huge white bathtub with gold-coloured fittings, on the other side a black-topped vanity unit with two gleaming white basins. And to my right there was a walk in shower—good grief, a huge shower, big enough for a family of four to wash in all at once. On closer inspection I saw not one but two showerheads and a ridiculously complicated-looking control panel.
But even more disconcertingly, as I took a few tentative steps forward I discovered I could see myself from every conceivable angle in the mirrors banding the walls. Every surface glittered beneath the tiny spotlights in the ceiling, the wall tiles above and below the mirrors shining like highly polished marble.
"Becks?" Luke called as I drew level with the bath. "I've left you some towels and a toothbrush by the sink. Help yourself to anything else you need. There's a T-shirt there too if you want to get out of those clothes."
I hesitated, looking at the neat pile on the vanity unit. "You know—maybe—maybe you should just take me home."
"Babe." His sigh was clearly audible through the door. "It's two in the morning. I'm not taking you home. And before you ask, I'm not calling you a cab either. If it makes you more comfortable, I'll sleep on the couch and you can have the bed, okay?"
I bit my lip, knowing from his tone he wouldn't back down, not entirely sure I wanted him to. "I'll sleep on the couch," I said at last. "It's your bed."
"I don't think so." There was a pause, a pause in which I could easily imagine the half-amused, half-irritated expression on Luke's face. "I'll go and make us some hot chocolate."
"What?"
But there was no reply.
Trying to ignore my three hundred and sixty degree reflection, I used the loo then padded across to the vanity unit. And after peeling off my clothes, I had a quick wash, burying my face in one of the wonderfully soft white towels when I'd finished. "This is crazy," I whimpered, wondering whether I could stay locked in the bathroom for the rest of the night, knowing if Luke so much as kissed me, I'd be lost. I wanted to be in his arms, in his bed. I longed to feel his skin against mine, to feel him inside me, filling me in the way only Luke could fill me, thrusting slow and deep. But I couldn't let that happen. Not while there were questions that still needed answers, questions I was frightened to ask. Questions I had no right to ask.
Sighing, I lowered the towel and studied myself in the mirror. "Hey there, gorgeous," I muttered sarcastically, shaking my head at the sight of the dark rings beneath my eyes and my mussed-up hair. But then Luke had never seen me looking exactly at my best, had he?
"Your hot chocolate's ready. What the hell are you doing in there?"
I started at the sound of his voice then grimaced at my reflection. "
Nearly—nearly done," I called back, unfolding the T-shirt he'd left me and rolling my eyes at the logo emblazoned across the front. Oxford University. Well, of course he'd gone to Oxford.
When I finally emerged Luke was standing outside the bathroom door holding two steaming mugs. "Nice," he murmured with a smile, eyeing me up and down, his gaze warmly appreciative. "You look so much better in my clothes than I do."
I felt the colour flooding my cheeks, growing hotter still when he noticed my discomfort, his smile broadening. He'd seen me naked more than once, yet somehow I felt way more exposed like this, his T-shirt barely reaching the tops of my thighs.
"Come on then." He jerked his head towards the bed, already moving towards it. "Come and try some of this chocolate. It's my Granny's recipe. I promise you'll never—" And then he stopped, seeming to realise I wasn't following. After placing both mugs on the bedside cabinet he turned around, his smile waning. "Okay, I get it. I've got to sleep on the couch, haven't I?"
Not at all sure what to say, where to start, I stared back at him miserably, watching as his expression hardened.
"This is about Chloe, right? You want me to tell you what happened. Now?" He blew out a sigh. "What is it with you and this need to have middle of the night chats?"
I swallowed hard. "You don't have to tell me anything," I managed at last, unable to look at him any longer, my gaze dropping to the cream carpet. "Because it isn't any of my business, is it? And you're probably thinking that you shouldn't need to explain. That I should be able to trust you after everything we've been through together, after what you did for my Mum. And you're right, I should. The trouble is, it isn't you I don't trust, Luke."
I paused to draw breath, feeling oddly weak. "It's me. I can't trust my own judgement. I spent all those years with Daniel, believing everything he told me, believing all his lies. How could I have not seen what was happening, what he was doing? How could I have been so stupid? I let him treat me like a fool. I was a fool."
"Oh no, babe." Having neither seen nor heard him approach, I gasped as Luke's arms swept around me, his voice gentle in my ear. "No, no, no. You're nobody's fool. He was the fool. He didn't deserve you darling, d'you hear me? He never deserved you."