Eternally North

by Tillie Cole

  He shuffled close to my back and put his legs on either side. He took my shoulders and gently brought me back flush to his chest. It was all warm and cosy, and it was taking all my effort not to cop a quick squeeze of the amazingly thick thighs keeping me wedged in position.

  I wonder if they are tattooed too?

  Tink was looking at me with concern, and I could see him glare at Tudor from time-to-time. What is he thinking? He looked suspicious for a moment until he caught my gaze watching his and quickly changed his demeanour.

  “You feeling better, my battered sausage?” Tink asked, cupping my cheek and returning to his chirpy, happy-go-lucky self.

  I smiled and confirmed a yes with my eyes.

  “Tash? You need to get this bump on your head checked out,” stated Tudor, running his hands one by one over the top of my head. It felt heavenly.

  I could feel his voice vibrating through me. Being so closely pushed together also enlightened me to the fact that Mr. North was huge… everywhere (wink wink!). That thought was definitely distracting me from the pain.

  Tink looked over my head, I presumed at Tudor, and said, “I’ll be back soon, pork chops, okay?” and turned to Tate, smiling. “Tate, you want to come with?”

  Tate looked thrilled, and they took off. It was silent for a while, and I relaxed further into the best bed ever: Tudor’s chest.

  “You’re an interesting character aren’t you, Ms. Munro? In the space of twenty-four hours I have seen you – what did you call it? – oh yeah, ‘slut drop’, wipe me and my assistant out while trying to perfect another stellar dance routine, and suffer what is probably a concussion through the most idiotic pastime I’ve ever come across.”

  I could feel a single move of his chest, a small laugh.

  “Yeah well, imagine if you were around me twenty-four-seven, I’d be non-stop entertainment for you,” I said, it coming out a bit more snarky than I had intended it to.

  Why did I always feel like a first-class fuck-up around this guy? Mmm, probably because you are, Tash!

  “Yeah, imagine that…” he sighed, and gripped me tighter and shifted closer.

  I was watching the river flow gently south when he interrupted my thoughts, his mouth at my ear. “We are going to have to get you to the hospital, Tash. Head injuries are no joke. Tink has gone to get the car.”

  “Mmm, okay. Are you coming too?” I blurted out sleepily before I even realised what I had said.

  Oh my God, Tash, eager much? You don’t even like him! Well not a huge amount, not really...

  His body stiffened around me.

  No, not more rejection. I seem to repel men these days.

  I tried to think of something to say. I had made him uncomfortable, and his response had made me so.

  As if, Tash! What were you thinking? This is Tudor North: living sex god. He is just being kind right now. He doesn’t fancy you, he doesn’t even know you. Why the hell would he take his kid sister’s clown of a teacher to hospital? You just keep dropping into his probably perfect life like a freakin' tornado! Fix it. Now!

  “I-I mean, of course you’re not. Sorry, I just blurted that out, you know, head injury making me crazy and all. I'll go home and just pray that you forget the twin disaster of last night and this morning." I excused, trying to sound breezy.

  “I'd never forget about you, Tash. You make a lasting impression.” His arms crossed over mine, securing me tightly, his hands grazing over my clenched fists as though he was debating whether to hold them.

  “I… I want to take you but, it’s, it’s probably just better if Tink and Tate go. Unless? No, we would have to go in a side entrance and I…"

  I held up my hand to stop him and his stammering little chat with himself. My self-esteem was tumbling and I couldn’t be humiliated anymore.

  “Tudor, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said anything. Tink and I will be fine, we always are. I’m sorry for ruining your jog and no doubt one of your limited days off,” I said sincerely.

  Where is Tink?

  He sighed loudly and wrapped himself around me, impossibly close. “Tash, that’s not it. You could never ruin anything. You're... It’s just–"

  “Wil! I’ve got the car, sausage. Let’s get you checked out at the Emergency Room.”

  Saved by the bell!

  Tink and Tate were walking down the hill, Tink with car keys in hand. He dropped behind a smiley Tate and blatantly checked out his arse. Tate did look cute, mind, in his jogging pants and black hoodie, with perfectly combed-over hair and striking ice-blue eyes. Tink winked at me and gave me a ‘ten-out-of-ten’ hand gesture.

  Uh-Oh, Tate had an admirer.

  I smiled back at Tink and tried to move. I heard Tudor sigh again, and I cringed at the awkwardness of this situation. I bet he wished he hadn’t bothered getting out of bed that morning, now he’d faced one of Tash and Tink’s Calamity Take Outs.

  “Tink, help me up please,” I commanded, gesturing to him with my hand.

  “It’s fine, Tash, I’ve got you. You’re safe with me,” assured Tudor as he gently began to lift me up, his whopping muscles flexing under his clothes.

  His breathing was harsh, like he was fighting to keep himself together. Had I upset him? Angered him? I didn’t know, but I honestly thought I would collapse again. Cause of death: Tudor overdose. He might be moody, but gosh, he made moody sexy. The close proximity to this guy was affecting my nerves, and other areas of my sex-starved anatomy.

  When I was up straight, he put an arm around my waist and began walking with me towards the car at a snail’s pace, which my aching head and I very much appreciated. His torso was too broad for me to put my arms around, so I settled for gripping tightly to his jumper. I noticed that Tink was exceptionally quiet, and I briefly glanced around to see where he was. Not for the first time, he was frowning, squinting his eyes and looking to Tudor, then looking ahead and back to Tudor all over again. I was in too much pain to even guess why.

  Tudor kept me close, and I chuckled internally at the situation. An A-list movie star was walking me, a normal girl from Newcastle, to my car, after I had collided with him whilst roller skating on approximately one inch of ice. You couldn’t make that shit up!

  Arriving at the Bumblebee Camaro, Tudor lowered me into the front seat and looked as if he was about to say something and then just… didn’t. I finally noticed what he was wearing, all dark clothing: gloves, a hoodie that was pulled up over his head and another woolly beanie hat, this time in black. I was desperate to pull it back and see how he wore his hair. I was hoping for shaved – he looked better that way. It was a good disguise; he looked like a generic, albeit ma-hoos-ive, jogger.

  Tudor turned to Tate and whispered something to him. Tate nodded, turned and smiled shyly in my direction, and lowered himself into the back seat, putting a reassuring hand on my right shoulder. He was obviously not a talker, that one, just all quiet and sweetness.

  Resting back against the seat, I felt something lumpy under my back. I reached behind slowly and pulled out a black scarf. What? Where? – ah, the pillow I had felt earlier.

  I brought it to my nose and breathed in the scent that was all him, all Tudor. I smiled. Had he slipped this in the car for me to rest on? That was... unexpected. I clutched it tightly in my hands and turned my head to take in the view of the park whilst Tink was settling into the driver’s side bucket seat.

  Tudor stood on the embankment next to the car and watched us slowly pull away. He looked so sad and alone. As we crawled past him, I looked his way, using the scarf to support my cheek on the door frame. He was staring at me intensely, never shifting his concerned gaze, hands tucked in his sweat-pant pockets. I took the opportunity to mouth a ‘thank you’, and smiled at him.

  His head jerked back in surprise, like he was genuinely taken back by my gratitude. Without breaking eye contact, he gave me a little nod of his head and slowly pulled his face into that heart-melting lopsided smirk.

  This man is killing me!


  Tink put his hand on my knee, sighed and remarked, “At least the skates didn’t end up swimming in shit this time!”

  CHAPTER 10

  There is no such thing as impossible…

  It was a mild concussion. After being checked over thoroughly and forced to wait several hours at Calgary General Hospital, I was given permission to go home with the promise that someone would look after me for the next forty-eight hours.

  I was given a truck-load of pain medication to take away the majority of my discomfort, and so far it seemed to be working. My hair was matted with blood from where I had sliced my scalp in the fall, but luckily it was minor and required no stitches. I was beyond happy to go home; I was tired, felt horrendous and was thoroughly humiliated.

  My ego had taken a bit of a battering after my second encounter with a certain movie star. I knew I was not a Playboy model by any stretch of the imagination, but I wasn’t ugly, and Tudor’s reluctance towards me was bruising. I felt a pain in my heart, a physical and sharp pain, every time I thought about his reaction when I had asked him to come to the hospital with me. Realistically, I knew that Tudor was just helping a girl out in her time of need, and I berated myself that I was so bothered by the fact that his behaviour didn’t mean anything more.

  I had assumed that from last night’s disastrous meeting that he was a grade-A twat, one who I would probably never meet again. But today, his physical actions seemed to show him in a different light. He was gentle and caring.

  Had I misjudged him? Judged a book by its cover? Did he have a warm, gooey centre under that rock-hard and stunningly tattooed outer shell? And more to the point, why was I so hurt by his rejection? He was unattainable, both physically and emotionally, and I was just making my headache worse by considering something that was so undeniably impossible. Absolutely bloody impossible.

  Ahh well, enough of that now.

  Tink and Tate had waited the day away with me in the ER, and it was lovely to see my normally bolshie and commitment-phobic best friend humbled by a geek-chic lovely with the sweetest disposition I had ever encountered.

  Tate was very quiet in nature and only spoke when necessary, the polar opposite of me and Tink, the Odditt and Dodditt of Gobshite Central. Easy conversation had flowed and they chatted non-stop – well, mostly Tink chatted – but they each gave fleeting flirty glances and gentle touches at any given opportunity.

  When we were leaving, all discharge papers signed and aftercare instructions dictated, we waved goodbye to Tate, who jumped into a nearby taxi, much to Tink’s disappointment but Tate made sure that before he left, he and Tink exchanged phone numbers and home addresses for the impending first date that had been promised during ‘skater-gate’. My loved-up fairy chatted excitedly about potential venues all the way home.

  Walking through the door to our condo gave me that ‘there’s no place like home’ feeling à la Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz. Tink placed me on the sofa and turned on the fire, making me all warm and cosy, the room only lit from the amber glow of the coals. He brushed a kiss on my head and walked towards the bathroom, where I heard the calming sound of running water. Tink may be as daft as a brush and as ditzy as all hell, but he is as loyal as they come and fiercely protective of the people he loves. I closed my eyes and let the world drift away.

  “Oh no, missy! No closing those bush baby-sized shutters. Doctor’s orders,” chastised Tink from the end of the sofa, with his arms crossed and a disapproving look on his face.

  I opened my eyes slowly and sighed heavily. “Okay, babe. Sorry.”

  He smiled lovingly. “Come on, sausage, I’ve run you a bath. Have a lush thirty-minute soak and you’ll feel loads better afterwards.”

  Tink led me to my bathroom, where he had lit all my strawberry-scented Yankee Candles, illuminating my cream-and-gold en-suite into a sumptuous haven. My bath tub was huge and filled to the brim with bubbling vanilla foam, enticing me to envelope my aching and battered body in its depths.

  Tink moved to the iDock situated on the shelf above the vanity cabinet, and within seconds Bruno Mars was serenading me about girls being perfect just the way they are. My fairy saviour helped me undress, and guided me as I sank down into the hot and soothing water. He then pulled down the gold gilded padded toilet lid and made himself comfortable.

  My bestie and I for many years have had our best discussions whilst one of us soaks in the bath and the other sits astride the loo seat. We can chat for hours. Actually, for me it’s weird to have a bath without the ramblings of Tink filling the room.

  As I lathered up my nourishing coconut milk shampoo to try and remove the dried blood from my hair, I glanced at the toilet fairy. He was contemplating something. I knew because he had captured his tongue between his teeth, a dead giveaway to the fact that something was bugging him. He would tell me when he was ready, and in the meantime I enjoyed the peace.

  The intro to ‘Grenade’ had just kicked in when Tink spoke. “Wil?”

  “Mmm?” I murmured.

  “What do you think of Tudor?"

  I stared at him. “What do you mean?”

  He leaned forward, resting his chin on his fist. “Like, do you like him? Do you think he’s nice?”

  “He’s gorgeous, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  He shook his head. “No, I mean do you like him? His personality.”

  He was completely serious – very out of character.

  I thought about my answer. “I don’t know. He seems too abrupt and moody at times, but then today when he let that slide he was… I don’t know… kind of… sweet.” I shrugged. “I don’t know him, Tink, and probably never will. He has a wall build up around him so high that I’ve decided not to think about it as it makes my head hurt,” I said, trying to sound convincing.

  Tink shifted uncomfortably. “I’ve been watching him. In fact, I made a point to watch him all last night and today while he played nurse.”

  I sat up slightly. “Is this you telling me you like him – like, like him, like him?” I asked, feeling my stomach doing more flips than an Eastern European gymnast.

  Woah! Calm down stomach. Why did I just react like that?

  “I don’t want you to use Tate to get close to him. Tate’s lovely and I don’t want you to hurt him. He is clearly into you,” I continued, scolding.

  Tink lowered his wrist from his chin and glared at me, raising his pierced eyebrow. “I like Tate too, and I am not using him to get to the obviously straight Tudor.”

  “Okay,” I said crinkling my forehead in confusion.

  He sat up, slapping his hands on his knees. “I think Tudor likes you,” he blurted out suddenly.

  I simply stared at him in response.

  “Hear me out, Wil. Last night everyone at the restaurant commented on how he watched you. You didn’t see it, as you had no clue he was even sitting at the back table. I thought that was strange enough. But today, well today it was… I don’t know how to explain it. He was about to blow a fuse at being ploughed down by us on our fabulous new skates and his face was fuming with rage, until he looked down.

  “When he realised it was you underneath his bulk, his whole attitude changed. You could see it physically in his face, like he had just been told he’d won the lottery – I actually got chills. Then when he saw you were hurt, the sheer panic in his eyes was haunting. He began freaking out, and ripped off his gloves just to touch your face, took off his scarf to put under your head. I couldn’t look away and nor could Tate. When we pulled away to go to the hospital, I swear he looked broken, Wil. I-I just… I am…” Tink let out an exaggerated sigh. “I just don’t know what to make of it all. I can’t figure him out.” He physically slumped forward, the enormity of his revelations now off his little fairy chest.

  I was as still as a statue, taking in everything that he had said. I shouldn’t have let myself be affected, but I couldn’t help it. I remembered some of what Tink was telling me: the fingers brushing across my face, the smal
l laughs, the protective embrace and the crestfallen expression on his rugged face as we pulled away from the curb.

  What did it mean? Did it mean anything at all? No, his reluctance at going to the hospital confirmed that.

  “Tink, it’s nothing. If he was so worried he would have took me to the hospital himself,” I argued.

  My frazzled bestie frowned at my words. “He talked to me about that just before I got into the car. He said that he didn’t want it to be a circus, and that it would have been with him there. Said that he can’t go anywhere anymore without causing riot and that your health was the priority and an impromptu autograph signing would distract the doctors from focusing all their attention on you.” Tink looked away and then back to me. “Tate told me something else too. He said that Tudor hates hospitals.”

  I sighed. “Well who likes them?”

  Tink shook his head. “No, Wil, like he can’t go in them without freaking out. He didn’t say why, but I have a feeling there’s more to it than just a general dislike. Tate made it seem that he’d react like trying to get a Geordie lass to step out of the house with non-fake-tanned naturally pale skin – an absolute no go!”

  He moved to kneel at the bath by my head. “Wil, I don’t know if you should have anything to do with him. Something feels off to me, he seems too locked up, too distant, and the way he looks at you scares me – it’s possessive, bordering on obsessive. There’s more to Mr. North than we could ever know, and I want you to stay away for your sake. If not yours, then for mine.”

  “Tink, I can guarantee you that Tudor North is not interested in me, and I have only known him for a grand total of, what? Eighteen hours? I am not putting myself down when I say this, but I am fully aware that I am not Miss. Universe and that people like Tudor North do not look at and desire people like me. I think he was just looking out for his sister by helping her clumsy teacher who he keeps unfortunately running – or should I say ploughing – into. It’s impossible that he would feel that way for me, just… impossible. I’m not being a Debbie Downer but him liking me will never happen. We are in two different leagues. But on the off-chance of him liking me, my new-found lifestyle would encourage me to go for it, would it not?” I joked.