Her mind went to Luke, and she gave an internal headshake. Not in a million years would she go that route.
That man knew women. Intimately. It showed in the way he touched her, the way he could keep her on the cusp of an orgasm without actually letting her tumble over the edge. That only came with experience. Lots of it.
Was that why he seemed to get such pleasure out of watching her reactions? Was he sorting and categorizing her every whimper to have fresh material for whatever new woman crossed his path?
He oozed confidence—was the epitome of self-control. They both knew there would be another woman after her...and others after that.
Like her mother and her letters.
She swallowed. Her dad had loved her mom so very completely, would continue to love her memory no matter what he found out about her.
And as much as she loved him, she did not want to wind up like that. In love with someone who would leave her mourning his loss—even if that loss was emotional rather than physical. The loss that came when he inevitably moved on to the next girl in line.
Did Luke have some kind of secret addiction? She’d heard of there being such a thing, but wasn’t sure if it was genuine or simply an excuse for bad behavior. Did Luke have a twisted need to go through woman after woman? Or was he just a shallow playboy?
She’d never gotten that impression from him. Not really. But then again, would her dad have married her mom knowing what was in her past? Knowing the fields of shattered hearts she’d left in her wake?
He might have. But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t.
Someone calling her name made her blink and look up with a start.
Tiggy frowned down at her. Judging from her nurse’s uniform, she was working today. “So sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“You didn’t. I was just daydreaming.”
The other woman smiled. “It’s quite all right. I was on a break and decided to come by and see if you were here. Too bad Nick isn’t still in therapy.”
“Don’t be. I’m glad he’s fully recovered. He was very lucky, from what I understand. If he’d waited much longer to have the surgery...” She let her sentence trail away.
“Yes, he was lucky.” Tiggy dropped into the chair next to hers. “And I’m a lucky woman to have him.”
There it was again. The evidence of their love. Kate was happy for them but more certain than ever that what Tiggy and Nick had was rare.
“Did you and Luke know each other in the States?”
It was as if the other woman knew he’d been on her mind. “No. I met him here in London.”
“He called me, you know, after Nick was admitted. He’s part of the reason we’re back together.”
“I didn’t know that.” Kate touched her hand. “I know it’s been awkward having me around...knowing I’m Nick’s daughter. I’m really sorry for showing up unannounced.”
“We would have had to work through things eventually. You just hurried it along a bit.” The corners of her eyes crinkled as she smiled and rubbed her abdomen. “I’m glad you’re here. I want the baby to know his or her big sister.”
Kate sucked in a quick breath, a wave of emotion rolling through her. The backs of her eyes prickled, and she blinked to keep the sensation from morphing into actual moisture. “Thank you so much. I expected you to want...” She tried to figure out what to say and finally settled for, “Thank you for including me. I’m so very grateful.”
“You’re a part of our lives now. Mine and Nick’s.”
Tiggy rose to her feet with another smile. “I should head back to work. But I’ll see you later.”
As Kate watched her walk away, a pang of envy went through her. She shook it off with a new sense of determination.
Someday. Someday. That was the kind of relationship she hoped to find with a man. Until then she wouldn’t settle for less. She gave a rueful grin. Even if the sex was out of this world.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“IS IT BROKEN?”
The child who sat cradling her right arm on the steel table in the exam room couldn’t be older than four or five.
Luke glanced at the mother, who perched on a chair near the door, hands gripping the bottom of the seat. She looked like she might fly away at any second. She repeated her question. “Macy’s arm? Is it broken?”
He tried to keep his mind on the situation at hand, but all he could hear was Kate’s quiet request. I’d like them unbroken.
In trying to protect himself, he could end up hurting her badly, if he wasn’t careful. And as soon as he got off tonight he was going to call her and let her know he wouldn’t be bothering her anymore.
Thankful he wasn’t dealing with a compound fracture—where the bone pushed through the skin—he laid a hand on the child’s head to reassure her. “I’ll need to get an X-ray, but I’d say there’s a good possibility that this bone right here—” he ran his fingers along the outside of his own forearm “—the ulna, is broken. What happened?”
Her mother spoke up. “She was riding her bike and fell against a brick wall.”
Had she answered a bit too quickly? He glanced down at the child and examined the skin around the injury. “That must have hurt.” The area wasn’t scraped, as he’d expect after contact with a wall, but there was quite a bit of bruising. “Do you hurt anywhere else?”
The child’s glance went to her mother, and then she looked at her shoes—dingy white sneakers that dangled three feet off the floor. She shrugged a too-thin shoulder.
Something about this scenario stuck a familiar chord. Dread crowded his chest.
Luke frowned and took a closer look at the mother. Nervous. Shoulders slumped, a permanent curve to the back of her neck, as if she’d been beaten down her whole life. “Did she mention anything to you?”
“I didn’t see her fall. She rode home and said her arm hurt.”
“She got back on her bicycle after hurting her arm?” That didn’t seem likely. The child was four. Where had the mother been?
“I think so. I didn’t see it.”
He forced a smile and looked back down at the girl. “I used to skin my knees or scrape my palms when I fell off my bike. Do your knees hurt?” The child’s palms were as clean as a whistle. No abrasions from trying to stop her fall. The child said nothing, so he looked back at the mom, brows raised in question.
“She fell off her bike.” The mother’s hand went to her own cheek, in a kind of cupping motion that sent a chill down Luke’s spine. His sense of foreboding grew.
The story didn’t waver, no hint of asking her daughter for any kind of clarification. She was hiding something. About her daughter’s accident...and behind her hand.
The woman’s fingers stayed where they were, her elbow resting on her knee in a casual gesture that was made to look like she was propping herself on it.
What was she hiding? And why the hell hadn’t he looked at her more closely when he’d come into the room?
Because you forgot. Grew complacent. And the urge to hide things never quite went away.
He tried again, this time keeping an eye on the mother as he directed another question at Macy. “Did someone push you off your bike?” He gave her a reassuring smile that he hoped didn’t look as scary as it felt. “Or hurt you in some other way?”
The mother was off her chair in a flash, just like he’d known she would be. And he got a better look at that cheek.
“I already told you, she fell off her bike.”
He ignored the words, knowing they were a lie even as his eyes traveled over the woman’s face. Dammit. Beneath a thick smear of beige makeup he caught a glimpse of purple skin. Her fingers were already back at the spot, moving back and forth as if scratching an itch that just wouldn’t fade.
How many of those itches had
she scratched over the years?
How many lights had she turned off so no one would see what she’d hidden from the world? Pretending normalcy where there was none?
He brushed away the thought before it took hold.
This is not about you, Blackman. Get your head back in the game.
“What happened to your cheek?” He knew better than try to pull her hand away and force her to admit the truth.
“M-my cheek? Nothing.” She licked her lips, her hand going back to cover the spot, no longer trying to make it appear casual. “It’s just a rash. I get them sometimes.”
I bet you do.
“Let me take a look. Maybe I can do something about it.”
“No!” She moved away from him a pace or two before the backs of her knees hit the chair, and she went down with a plop. “It’s eczema. I already have medicine for it.”
How many lies did that make so far?
The last thing he wanted was for her to turn combative, though, and drag her daughter out of the room with a possible bone fracture. “It’s okay. We’ll just need to send Macy for an X-ray to see what’s going on.”
“I want to go with her.”
“Of course you do.” He picked up a phone. “Let me call and have them send someone down for her.”
“O-okay.” She twisted her hands in her lap. “I want to go with her.”
The words were almost a whisper this time, and Luke wondered if it was a mother’s silent plea not to be separated from her child.
Maybe so. But he couldn’t dredge up much more sympathy for her than he’d had toward his own mother, who’d let her husband pound on her—and him—when he’d tried to step in between them. She’d never once tried to stop him from intervening.
Had little Macy done the same? Stepped in front of her father’s fists, only to have him strike out at her instead? If she’d lifted a hand to ward off a blow, this was exactly the type of fracture that might have occurred.
He put in a call to Claire Mathers, the hospital administrator, who picked up right away.
“This is Dr. Blackman. I have a little girl down here around four years old with a possible fractured ulna. I need an X-ray and a consult.” He said it with just enough emphasis that Claire would understand what he was saying.
It was one of the things he’d insisted on when he’d come to the hospital, that he have a way of reporting possible child abuse cases without raising alarms. He knew from experience that mothers did sometimes drag their children away from much-needed medical care if they feared they were about to be discovered. Claire had told him to call her, and she’d take it from there, alerting the authorities before the mother had a chance to take off.
“Just keep her there for a few minutes, and I’ll send for someone.”
“Thanks. Let us know when they’re ready for her in X-Ray.”
The mother settled back down in her chair, her chest rising in a sigh of relief. “It won’t take long, will it?”
“Shouldn’t be more than fifteen or twenty minutes.” He wasn’t leaving the room until Claire arrived. Glancing around the sterile white walls, hoping to find something to take the girl’s mind off her pain, he came up empty. He’d have to go back to the old blow-up-the-surgical-glove trick. He drew one from a nearby dispenser, blew it up and handed it to the child, who gave her first tentative smile. He glanced at the mother again. “Is there anyone you’d like me to call? Macy’s father, perhaps?”
She shook her head, settling deeper in her chair, her hand no longer covering her injury. “We’re divorced.”
“How about you? Do you want someone here with you while you wait? If Macy’s arm is broken, it could be a while before they can set it. Your mother?” He paused, then said, “How about a boyfriend?”
A spot of color appeared along the woman’s left cheekbone—the makeup and bruising hiding anything on the other side. “My boyfriend isn’t home right now.”
Otherwise she wouldn’t be here with Macy. Another puzzle piece dropped into place.
“I see.”
On impulse, he squatted beside her and looked into blue eyes that appeared just as washed out and hopeless as the rest of her. His mother had had that same look at times. That trapped, hopeless, beaten-down facade that hid a wealth of pain. He despised whoever had caused that. And yet by her silence she was resigning her child to the same sad existence.
He touched her hand. “Is there anything you’d like to talk about? We can step outside if you’d like.”
A sound like the quick squeak of a child who couldn’t see past the needle to the lifesaving vaccine came out of her throat. “No. Macy and I are fine. We’re going to be just fine.”
Hell. Why couldn’t she just admit the truth? A small bead of anger coursed down his spine.
“Take a good look at your daughter, and tell me again how fine you are.”
She met his eyes, the pain finally out in the open. “He loves us. He does.”
How could she even say those words?
His mother had said the same thing. Over and over. He had never been sure if it had been a statement of fact or a prayer.
Luke had wanted no part of that particular cycle. He figured if he had some kind of genetic defect, he was going to turn it on himself and not someone else. He’d engaged in dangerous behaviors that had slowly escalated over the years. Going from merely reckless, to possibly deadly—as he’d found out during that knife fight.
Maybe his leg injury had been part of that quest to save others by harming himself. And just like this mother, he hid his scars from everyone. Even himself.
He stood to his feet, feeling defeated. She wasn’t going to come out and admit the person she was with was an asshole, any more than his mother had.
Well, if she wouldn’t do this the easy way then he hoped the authorities saw past the lies and took Macy out of that home before something much more valuable than her arm was broken. Maybe it would even shock the girl’s mother into getting the help she seemed to desperately need.
“Will they be doing Macy’s X-ray pretty soon?”
“I hope so.”
Come on, Claire. She’s getting spooked.
Just then there was a knock on the door and the administrator herself appeared, along with an orderly pushing a wheelchair.
“Hello, Dr. Blackman. Is this your patient?” Claire, her short dark hair dancing around an elfin face, glanced at him for confirmation. She smiled, looking as sweet as pie, but beneath the cheerful facade was a shark, one who wasn’t afraid of taking a chunk out of anyone who deserved it.
He nodded. “Yes, this is Macy.” He tweaked the child’s hair. “Ms. Mathers is going to take you upstairs to get a picture of your arm.”
“We’ll just get her into the chair and be on our way.”
Luke scribbled the word Boyfriend on a sheet of paper on the metal chart holder, handing it to Claire. The other woman nodded that she understood. Then, before the orderly could move, Luke scooped the little girl into his arms and settled her into the wheelchair, making sure he didn’t bump her arm in the process. “They’ll get you all patched up.”
At least physically. Who could say what kind of scars she’d carry on the inside? His palm scrubbed over his leg as he watched the group go out the door, the mother’s frightened eyes glancing one last time at his face.
As soon as they were gone, he dropped into the chair the woman had vacated and dragged a hand through his hair. He felt awful about betraying her, but he’d had no choice. Not only was it the law to report suspected cases of child abuse, it was the right thing to do. He’d never have called Claire if he hadn’t been very sure of the warning signs. From what he could see, Macy was being abused, and her mother wasn’t able—or willing—to put a stop to it.
Instead, she’d hidden it, much
like Luke’s parents had hidden what had happened in their household.
All it would take was letting one person see the truth, and the spell would be broken forever. Macy’s mom could then leap over the roadblock that kept her imprisoned. But she had to be willing. Once she took that first step it would get easier to take the next one...and the next.
He frowned. Wasn’t he doing the same thing with his scars? He hid them even from himself. Why? Because if he didn’t acknowledge they existed, he could pretend his life was normal.
Like Macy’s mother did each and every day?
He’d been perfectly willing to stand there and lecture her, all the while knowing he was no better than she was.
Maybe he should follow his own diagnosis. Maybe it was time to let at least one person—besides his medical providers—in on his secret. But how on earth was he going to do that?
He could leave the lights on the next time he had a date, and just let the chips fall where they may.
Right. And if he did that with someone at work, he’d have to face them again day in and day out. No, he’d rather it be with someone outside the hospital. Someone he wasn’t afraid would flinch away in disgust or coo with pity as soon as she got a good look at his reality.
Kate’s image came to mind, the way she’d asked him to leave the lights on. And she’d already seen a good portion of his leg during that massage she’d given him.
Take that first step. Just like you urged Macy’s mother to do. You can do it.
He took a steadying breath and tried to think. Kate had brushed away his arguments and hadn’t made a single sound when she’d slid that towel up—not high enough to see the worst of the damage but enough that she had a pretty good idea what was there. And she had to have seen the difference in size between his legs.
And yet she’d slept with him, anyway. Had whimpered his name. Had wanted the lights on.
Even as he told himself it was crazy, he stood, wondering if Kate was still over in the physical therapy wing. They wouldn’t have sex. He’d just take her to the nearest safe place and let her see the truth. Not for her sake but for his. He could—and would—expose who he really was once and for all.
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