Chalking it up to a surreal experience, I reached out my arm and tucked it over her shoulder. As we walked to the lift, I adjusted my stride to hers, just as I used to. I’d missed her, the rightness of her scent and the warmth of her hip against my thigh. She pressed herself tighter into my side as we walked, just like she used to. Like she wanted to get closer, be nearer me.
For the first time, I wondered if she was trying to hide from her uncle. Anger settled low in my gut, burning in sharp bursts. Mila wouldn’t have run from me if her mum helped her go to the police the first time Jordan tried something—she’d been young, just twenty-one, when she left her first uni and fallen into the anonymity of Sydney’s less savory side. A side she dressed to fit into—all tight tops and ripped jeans, too much makeup, and a don’t-mess-with-me vibe. Over time, as more of the real woman appeared from that hard shell, I learned she’d lived fearful, alone, long before we met.
Why hadn’t I read the signs then?
In part because I was too dazzled by the woman. The vulnerability and intelligence just under the layer of hard-rock girl. The desire to protect her was still strong, and if she turned to me, I wanted her to burrow into me, trust me to take care of her.
We’d just . . . ended. We’d just never quite gotten to the closure part everyone made such a big deal about.
We stepped out of the elevator as Hayden and Briar turned the corner toward the lift. For a long moment, we stood there, mouths gaping.
“Officer?” I called. He’d continued toward the door. “Would you mind staying with Mila? I need to speak with them.” I pointed at Hayden, whose mouth tightened.
Officer Reims nodded, his hand dropping to his holster as he glanced around. Mila tilted her head back so she met my gaze.
“I thought you and Hayden weren’t getting along,” she murmured. A frown formed as her cheeks reddened. So Mila kept an eye on me via gossip sites. While flattering and scary as hell—spectacularly stupid and I became best mates this past year or so—I needed to set things to rights with Hayden and Briar if I could. And this was a chance I couldn’t let pass.
“You’ll give me a mo’?”
Her brows pinched tighter. “Mind if I say hi?”
Right-o. She knew Hayden. Not as well as Jake, but I should’ve known her feelings would be hurt—she’d assumed I wanted to cast her off. Which I did because . . . didn’t. I just . . . well, sometimes karma’s a bitch. Grovel in front of her it was.
I sucked on my lip ring, fiddling with it as I headed toward Hayden and Briar. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to his body much as I’d done moments before with Mila.
“Hayden,” I said, dipping my head. “Briar. I didn’t fancy seeing you here. Thought to call you once I got Mila settled.”
Hayden’s eyes darted down to Mila’s face, his widening before a slow smile crept over his lips, lighting him up. Briar studied Hayden, then Mila, and finally me. I held my breath as she met my gaze, wishing I could take back the worst of my mistakes. No, all of them.
“Mila! If you aren’t a sight,” Hayden said. He didn’t let go of Briar, but he did grab Mila’s hand. She stiffened, her body much more rigid than seemed normal. I pulled my gaze from Briar’s intense scrutiny to gauge Mila’s mood.
“G’day, Hayden,” she said. She exhaled softly, her body loosening, then a smile built across her lips as well. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“Crikey. It’s been ages! Where have you been?”
Mila dropped his hand and licked her lips, eyes darting around the lobby. People had stopped, many were openly staring. Not every day two of the biggest names in indie rock stood in a hospital lobby.
I leaned in closer, kept my voice low, even as Hayden stiffened, his jaw tightening. “Mila’s got a stalker, mate. You saw him accost her at our show last night. Well, he attacked her friend this morning.”
Briar leaned in to hear my comment and Hayden jerked her back, away from me. I understood his reaction—instinct most likely—but his lack of trust still cut deep. I pressed my lips together and stepped back out of their space. This was one more emotional minefield. One I misplayed.
“That’s terrible,” Briar murmured. “Do you need anything?”
She directed the question toward Mila, but Hayden clutched Briar closer to his side, almost expecting me to physically harm her. Shock detonated through my gut. I was Hayden’s version of Mila’s stalker. Bloody perfect. He turned her toward the open elevator without answering me.
“Briar’s late for a meeting,” Hayden said, his voice cooler than his eyes. “Are you in town for a while?”
I glanced down at Mila, who watched the byplay, her eyes darting between the three of us. “I hope so.” I ran my tongue over my lip ring. “I’d like to talk to you.” I forced my gaze back to Briar’s. She deserved to hear the words more than Hayden. “And I need to apologize for the way I treated both of you.”
Briar opened her mouth but Hayden jerked his head in a curt nod and turned away. I sighed, regret making it harsh. Mila turned toward the doors so I followed suit. Officer Reims stood nearby, hand hovering near his gun.
“Didn’t seem like a friendly conversation,” he said. “I wasn’t sure if I should intervene.”
“Hayden’s right angry with me,” I said.
“Don’t you normally have a security team?” Officer Reims asked.
“Yes. But I asked Kevin—he’s my guard—to get my mum and brother to the airport. He’ll be back around four thirty. Wherever we are, he’ll meet us.”
“Good.” Officer Reims set his arm in front of me and stepped through the sliding doors. I instinctively moved closer to Mila, doing my part to block her from any potential harm.
“I’m in this lot. There.” I pulled the key fob from my pocket and pressed the button. Officer Reims motioned us on, standing near his patrol car parked a few rows in front of my rental.
“You’re driving a Chevy?” Mila asked.
“What they had at the rental place.”
“But you’ve always been a car snob.”
“Have not. I just appreciate a beautiful machine.”
“Not as much as you do a beautiful woman, though.” Mila clapped her hand over her mouth and turned a funny shade of yellow. Shock reverberated through me just before satisfaction slicked over the top. She was jealous. Of the other women. Unexpected but not unwelcome because I hated the idea of another man touching her.
“So who’s your current chap? There has to be one. You’re too gorgeous for the blokes to ignore.”
“You know very well I don’t have a boyfriend,” she snapped. “Officer Reims thinks we’re together. You should correct him.”
Didn’t plan to. Not now. “Well, then in the past year. I had to fend off more than a few interested parties whilst we were together.”
“Unlike you, I haven’t been interested in screwing my way through life. I spent more than a week in ICU and then several more in physical therapy.”
My guts hollowed out, all teasing and even the jealousy overcome with remorse. “You shouldn’t have gone through all that.”
“I did. And then I moved to Seattle because Noelle bought me a ticket and set me up with a great residency here so I can continue to practice medicine. The first few months were hectic, studying for my certification, and they were also scary. America isn’t that much like Australia, no matter how much telly you’ve watched. Took me months to feel settled here.”
“Sounds like a lot to handle. But even with all that, no one would expect you to be celibate, Mila.” Yes, I was fishing. No, I didn’t feel bad about it.
“Seeing as how Noelle loved to lecture me on my lack of love, I’m sure she also told you and anyone else who’d listen all about it.” She stopped walking, shading her eyes. “Is this part of that honesty thing you were pushing, Murphy? Want to hear the words straight from my mouth? Here you go: I haven’t dated anyone else.”
She opened her car door while I gawked at her. No bloody way.
She slammed her door shut.
I stepped back. Between Jordan’s attack and the loss of the baby . . . was something wrong with her physically? Mila was too beautiful, too smart and too fun-loving to sit at home, wasting away in solitude.
But she was also the victim of sexual assault.
7
Mila
Even as the words tumbled out, my skin flamed with mortification. I never spoke first and thought later. That was my mum’s philosophy in life, and I’d vowed, at the age of nine, not to be like my mum.
I squeezed my eyelids shut. Hard. My phone beeped. Probably the hospital needing me to read some lab results. I was too mortified to open my eyes and focus on someone else’s life let alone pretend mine was normal.
Why did Murphy have to come back into my life? Sure, I bought a ticket to his show last night on the off chance I might see him, but my life had taken a turn straight back into a scary, unpredictable mess. All because Jordan’s obsessive need to control me kept growing. Initially, I liked having a father figure in my life, and I assumed he wanted my mum, who boasted a handful of years on him.
Over about ten months his desires built, but once I realized what he wanted, what he’d tried to take from me that night midway through my third year at uni, I ran away.
As fast as I could. I changed schools from the University of New South Wales, and I took fewer classes and worked two jobs to complete my undergraduate and then my medical degree at the University of Sydney. Not far, but I used only my initials on my application and transcripts. I didn’t list my name on a lease, and I applied for a job in the school clinic and also as a waitress in a ratty bar instead of the doctor’s office I’d originally lined up, hoping Jordan wouldn’t find me.
But I hadn’t been smart enough to keep my picture out of the paper, inciting Jordan’s wrath by having a boyfriend. Jordan told me not to get serious about anyone else that night he pinned me to my bed. That my body belonged to him and only him.
I hadn’t listened.
Mum coming home when she did, her shocked expression, her babbling questions, was the reason Jordan never actually assaulted my body. He’d wanted to, and that’s why I ran.
I shoved the heels of my hands into my eye sockets, trying to force my mind back to blankness. My phone beeped again.
Murphy opened his door and settled into the small sedan. Once upon a time, I would’ve kept teasing him about the inexpensive car. Instead, I sat, frozen by my words and memories.
“So do you want me to ignore that or should I forge ahead and get all the hard bits out of the way now?” His voice dropped, deeper than usual. I couldn’t pinpoint why.
I dropped my hands and cleared my throat. How to answer that? Finally, I said, “What do you want to know?” I kept my head toward my window, unable to look at him while I answered his questions.
“Could we—” Murphy cleared his throat. “I’d like to know about the baby,” he said, his words rushed together. “I read about your miscarriage in the paper,” he said.
I’d expected it, sure. He’d read about it but never bothered to call. The weight of those words smashed at my crumbling control. He hadn’t wanted me enough to find out if the child was his.
“I was almost five months pregnant with him when I miscarried. Everything had been going great. The trauma from the accident . . .” I trailed off. I hated talking about that day. I’d flipped over the handlebars and landed on my side, trying even then to protect my baby. I broke my three lowest ribs and even my leg trying to stop my fall. As soon as I hit the ground, as the sting of scraped skin seared through my awareness, I’d known I wasn’t going to last long without support. I didn’t go straight into shock, but my body shut down from my injuries within minutes. I didn’t get to the hospital fast enough for the initial blood transfusion to stabilize the baby’s supply as well as my own.
“The bloke came after you. To Perth. That’s where you went after you broke up with me.”
I nodded. I didn’t want to do this. While I thought I wanted to have this conversation, wanted to share the loss with Murphy, I didn’t. I wanted to crawl into my bed and never climb out.
“You said ‘him.’ A boy,” Murphy whispered. “Was he . . . He was mine?”
“Yes,” I said, still refusing to look at him, angry he’d had to confirm that. The ache in my throat built, as did the one in my chest.
The silence between us stretched and built, becoming untenable. My neck tensed with the need to turn my head. But I couldn’t. Though I desperately wanted to know what he was thinking, the expression on his face might just devastate me.
“I had a son,” he said, his voice thick.
I dug my fingernails into my thighs and opened my eyes wider, unaware of my surroundings. I focused on the small pain, the little grooves in my thighs so I wouldn’t cry. Tears wouldn’t change anything. A horn honked and we both jumped.
Murphy started the car. “Right. Officer Reims is waiting for us to move. What’s your address?”
I gave it to him and Murphy put the car in gear once the route popped up on the screen, reflected in my window.
Such a short time for so many changes in something as basic as a car. Five years ago, few boasted GPS-enabled maps. Now the large LED screen, like cell phones, seemed status quo. The minimum necessity to have a reasonable life in this country.
Moments like this, I missed the more laidback Australian culture. Not because gadgets weren’t important. They were. Just not American keeping-up-with-the-Smiths important.
Being nearly dead, losing the only people who mattered in my life, changed me, made me less dependent on other people’s opinions. Perhaps because I simply didn’t care about their pity or scorn because I generated enough of both for myself.
I refused to bring up the topic of our baby though I did glance at Murphy from the corner of my eye. He fiddled with his lip ring, tonguing the small silver circle. He wasn’t just thinking, he was processing the information, and I’d once known him well enough to know now he struggled with the loss of a child he hadn’t known existed.
“Did you,” he cleared his throat when his voice cracked. “Did you name him? Did our baby have a name? Does he have a grave marker?”
“Yes to both,” I said.
“Give me more than that, Mila,” he said, voice so full of pleading. I sighed hard enough to fog my window.
“I named him Kyle Murphy Etsam. Your mum had once mentioned Kyle was your grandfather’s name. I wanted him to be named after people who would’ve loved him.”
Murphy made a choked sound. I still refused to turn his way. If I did, I wouldn’t be able to get through the rest of this conversation without bursting into tears. The pressure built, hard and fast, in my chest and behind my eyes. I hated feeling this way.
I couldn’t change the past. I’d tried every night in my dreams for months afterward, waking to a soaked pillow. Nothing would give me the opportunity to hold Kyle, to watch him grow.
“I planned to call you, tell you about the bub, but I ended up in ICU. My leg wasn’t a clean break.”
“If you’d called me, I would have come,” he sighed out. “I still loved you. So much.”
I bowed my head, trying to get a handle on my emotions. Loved. Past tense. Part of my heart, the little bit still intact, I guessed, broke apart. “I tried. I—I needed someone then. When they told me Kyle died. I called your phone, and some woman answered.” The acid still burned the back of my throat when I thought of that. He’d held a woman, rooted her in his bed, while I was in the hospital, mourning our baby. Alone.
“Why didn’t you call me back? Or leave a message?”
“With your fuck buddy?” I made a noise filled with disgust.
“Mila.” His voice broke.
“I called your mum. Let her know what had happened. I needed someone to grieve with me.” I was quiet for a long moment. “That day was horrible. I’ve never been so alone.”
“She never said. She never told me you called
.”
I turned toward him. He’d wanted honesty. Well, he could have it. In the form of my anger. “I told her not to.”
“I would have come,” he insisted again.
“How would I know that? You were wrapped around all those sexy blondes. You were singing the hell out of that song, put our relationship out there for the world to rip apart. You used my words in that song.” Oh, that still stung. No, the fact he’d used me to further his career hurt.
“I was angry. You didn’t give me any warning. Any reason. You just left.”
“So that made what you did okay?” I asked. He winced. Good. He should feel guilty.
Not that his guilt now would change the past. We were over. Our baby was dead. “Within a few days of the song hitting YouTube, you had over two million watches. I couldn’t compete with that. All my news would do was land you, hard on your bum, in Perth with a broken and depressed ex. If you even bothered to come at all.”
The heat from his skin enveloped my hand. It shook even though my fingers were clenched in my lap. But no tears fell. I wouldn’t let them. I wasn’t that weak.
Not anymore. More than the attack, I’d struggled with the loss of my child, my last connection to Murphy. One nurse, Sammi, talked me into meeting with her friend, a psychiatrist at the hospital, to help me work through the worst of my depression and help me find a discreet psychiatrist here in Seattle. Now, I could see the aftermath of the miscarriage, of losing Murphy, was debilitating, probably life-threatening. That’s when I started taking Xanax, my life saver.
With the little pills working magic through my system, I quit thinking such negative thoughts over the ensuing days, but I learned talking through my feelings didn’t make the loss of my baby any less painful.
I fought the growing urge to shake out another pill into my hand, knowing it would take the edge off my reality. Instead, I took a steadying breath and told Murphy the rest of the story, keeping it as unemotional as possible.
I’d see Alpie soon. She’d nuzzle my neck, cuddle me as I needed.
Hold You Close (Seattle Sound Series Book 3) Page 7