by Fiona Lowe
Flashes of memory flitted in colour across his mind. Memories he’d learned to control. ‘Ironically, I’m told that my skin’s healed perfectly and I don’t have a single scar but the impact stole my sight.’ He forced his hands to stay in his lap and not grip the edge of the table as he braced himself for the platitudes he’d grown used to hearing.
‘That sucks.’
He blinked. She’d just done it again—defied convention. ‘It more than sucks, and coming back to Sydney is proving to be—’ Never admit weakness. He cut himself off before he said more than he intended.
‘Challenging. Purposeful. A relief?’ The words hung in the air, devoid of anything other than their natural sound.
‘I’m not sure it’s a relief.’ He ran his fingers along the edge of the spoon Wayan had put on the table as his marker to find his drink which was on a coaster directly above it.
‘Why did you come back?’
He shrugged, not really understanding the decision himself. ‘There’s something about the pull of home.’
‘Family?’ Her usually firm voice suddenly sounded faint.
He shook his head and tried not to think about his mother. ‘No, but I grew up here.’
Understanding wove through her voice. ‘And you worked at The Harbour. That’s got to be a strong pull too.’
It was like a knife to his heart. ‘Don’t tell me that lecturing is as important as surgery because you know it doesn’t even come close.’
He’d expected her to object but instead she gave a heartfelt sigh. He knew exactly what that sound meant. Before he’d thought it through he found himself saying, ‘There’s something about holding the scalpel just before you cut.’
‘I know, right?’ Animation played through her voice. ‘There’s an exhilaration that gives you this amazing feeling, but there’s also some tiny ripples of concern because no matter how routine the operation, there’s always the threat of the unknown.’
Her words painted the perfect picture, describing with pinpoint accuracy that one moment every surgeon experienced. The image floated around him but instead of bringing on a cloud of bitterness, it brought back the buzz. A buzz he hadn’t known in two long years.
Hell, he missed talking with a colleague—with a fellow surgeon. Sure, he’d talked to doctors in the last two years, but he’d been the patient and those conversations had been very, very different. ‘And in neurosurgery even the known can bite you.’
He felt a flutter of air against his face and his nostrils flared at the softest soupçon of magnolia. He realised she’d leaned forward again.
‘Even with an MRI?’
He responded to the interest in her voice. ‘They’re a brilliant roadmap, certainly, but just like a photograph often it’s all about what isn’t in the picture.’
‘The human body being a variation on a theme.’
The enthusiasm in her voice pulled him in. ‘Absolutely. I remember once when I’d—’ The strident notes of techno music split the air.
‘Sorry, that’s my phone.’ The noise was immediately silenced. ‘Hayley Grey.’
Tom had no choice but to sit and overhear one side of a conversation. A conversation so familiar that he’d said similar words in the past at dinners, from his bed, in the car and on his bike.
Hayley sucked in a sharp breath. ‘When …? A and E …? How many …? Five minutes … Okay, two, then. Call David Mendez … Bye.’
His pulse rate had inexplicably picked up. ‘Problem?’
‘Road trauma.’ The scrape of her chair screeched, matching the urgency in her voice. ‘I have to get back.’
He carefully moved his chair back a short distance and rose to his feet, hating it that he didn’t know exactly where she was standing, although he could smell her—smell the exhilarating combination of her perfume mixed in with her heady aroma of excitement. The thrill of the unknown—a surgeon’s addiction.
‘Tom.’ Her hand slipped into his, her skin soft, warm and fragrant.
A wave of heat hit him so hard he had to fist his other hand to stop it from reaching out and pulling her against him. It was like his body had just woken up from a long, deep sleep and was absolutely starving. He craved to trace every curve and swell of her body, and he hungered to learn if her body was as lush and as sexy as her voice promised it would be, as her summer garden scent taunted that it was.
She squeezed his hand. ‘Thank you for the best satay I’ve tasted outside Asia.’
‘No …’ Huskiness clung to the word and he cleared his throat. ‘No problem. I’ll walk you back.’
‘Thank you, but I have to run.’
He’d heard the regret in her voice before she’d even said the word. He couldn’t run.
She quickly withdrew her hand. ‘I won’t ask if you’re all right to get home because you’d probably bite my head off.’
He forced a smile against the cold grimness that was washing through him and leaving behind a film of bleakness on every part of him that it touched. ‘You’re right about that.’
‘I’m right about a lot of things. Goodbye, Tom.’
‘Good night, Hayley.’
He heard her rapid footsteps, the tinkle of the bell as the door opened, the jet of winter night air that raced in around his ankles, and then the thud of the heavy door closing. And she was gone, running down the street with adrenaline pumping through her veins and her mind alert with every diagnostic possibility.
And he couldn’t even freaking escort her back to The Harbour, let alone be involved with the emergency.
His hands fumbled with fury as they sought the back of the chair and with a curse he sat down heavily and felt his hand collide with the plate. Cold rice squelched through his fingers. He swore again and pushed the plate away. A crash followed.
The disappointments of the day and the bitter fury that had been his companion since the accident rolled back in like a king tide. With a gasp he realised their arrival meant they’d been absent. Gone for the hour he’d spent at dinner.
The hour you spent with Hayley.
But now every single feeling was back with a vengeance—stronger and more devastating than before. It swamped him with the reminder that his current life was a very poor relation to the one he’d lived before. It clawed at him, pulling him down and forcing him back toward the pit of despair he’d only half dug himself out of.
Hayley would be operating within the hour. She would be saving lives. And what was he doing? Sticking his hand in cold food and making a damn mess. He fought for his breath against a tight and frozen chest. So what if she smelled like summer sunshine or if the timbre of her voice stroked him like a hot caress, sending his blood direct to his groin? If attempting normality meant being reminded of everything he’d lost, he wasn’t ever doing it again.
‘Wayan!’ He heard himself yell and didn’t care that probably every other patron in the small restaurant was staring at him.
‘Yes, Tom?’
‘Bring me the rest of that bottle of red wine. Now.’
He intended to lose himself in Connawarra’s finest merlot and forget everything about Hayley Grey.
CHAPTER FOUR
HAYLEY woke up slowly, blinking against the sunlight that streamed in through her open curtains, and stretched out with a sigh. The brighter the light, the better she slept, and today was an exceptionally sunny day. It was also her day off—a day she usually spent studying.
At high school she’d spent her weekends studying instead of partying, and that had continued through medical school. Now her days off often came during the week but the pattern hadn’t changed. She’d sleep really late and then study well into the night until she fell asleep at her desk under the glow of her reading lamp. There she could get a few hours’ sleep, unlike in her bed.
She threw back the covers and got up, padding directly to her small kitchen to make a huge pot of Earl Grey tea and a plate of hot, buttered toast. While she waited for the kettle to boil, she opened up her study planner to s
ee what the next topic of revision was, only this time her usual buzz of enthusiasm didn’t stir. Instead, she had an overwhelming urge to do something totally different with her day. An urge so unexpected that it swooped in and changed the shape of her loneliness.
She bit her lip. She was intimate with loneliness—it had been part of her from the moment death had stolen not only her twin sister’s life but a part of her life too. Over the years it had become a living thing—a constant companion—despite other friendships. She’d thrown herself into study and then work, and she enjoyed being part of a huge institution, but the empty space inside her had never filled. She’d tried a few times to be a girlfriend, but she’d never found the connection strong enough. Eventually she’d accepted that there was always going to be a space between her and others. Still, she was a healthy woman with needs like anyone else so in the past she’d settled on two ‘friends with benefits’ arrangements—one at university and another last year in the UK. Both men had eventually wanted more than she could offer so she’d let them go, and happily watched each of them fall in love with a woman they deserved. A woman who was whole and could love them the way she never could. Now she was back in Sydney she didn’t have time for anything other than work and her exam preparation. She’d spent years working toward this exam so she could proudly hang up a brass plate with her name on it—Ms Hayley Grey. Surgeon. FRACS.
Finn Kennedy was right. The exam was a bastard and the pass rate first time round was very low. She was determined to pass on her first attempt and for that to happen, study must be her priority. Nothing was going to derail her from her goal.
You enjoyed having dinner with Tom Jordan.
The kettle boiled and she poured the water over the fragrant leaves and breathed in deeply. To her total and utter surprise, the quick dinner she’d shared with Tom hadn’t been the horror she’d anticipated. Sure, Tom had his own set of demons, but the flipside meant he wasn’t interested in hers. Added to that, his conversation style was in such sharp contrast to the usual ‘first date’ scene that it had been both refreshing and stimulating.
It was hardly a date.
I know that.
She quickly buttered her toast but she couldn’t deny that Tom’s rough-edged charisma and wickedly deep voice kept coming back to her at all times of the day and night, making her feel flustered and tingly all at the same time. God, maybe she did need to have sex with someone soon.
Tom Jordan is not that one.
And she knew that. Dark and brooding was not for her. She needed light. She needed sunshine and happiness, which was why the two men she’d chosen in the past had been benign in comparison with Tom’s rugged cynicism. But the problem was, she’d glimpsed the man who was buried under all that anger and sadness, and she wanted to see him again.
Her cheeks suddenly burned when she thought about how during the emergency surgery three nights ago she’d asked Theo in a roundabout way where Tom lived.
‘You had dinner with Tom Jordan?’
Theo’s eyes had widened so much that Hayley had thought they would explode and she’d realised she’d just given out information to a hard-core gossip.
‘Yes, and I had to dash back here. I was just wondering if he’d chosen the restaurant because it was close to his place. If I was blind, I think I’d stick to known places.’
Theo had nodded and said, ‘His apartment’s on the top floor of the Bridgeview Building. I can’t believe that all this time he’s been blind and living in Perth, and none of us knew. Did he say what happened?’
Hayley didn’t like to gossip but as she’d been the one to bring the topic up she took the middle road. ‘I only met the man this morning and he said he was knocked off his bike. I’m sure now that he’s back in Sydney he’d appreciate a call from friends and he’ll probably tell you a lot more that he did me.’
Theo had almost dropped the Yankauer sucker. ‘Tom Jordan was incredibly well respected amongst the staff but he wasn’t someone you made friends with or saw much outside the hospital. Believe me, many of the nurses tried but he pretty much held himself apart. Tom could talk surgery for hours, but put him in a staffroom with a group discussing last night’s favourite TV show and it was like sticking him in a foreign country where he didn’t speak the language. Put it this way, the man doesn’t do small talk.’
How long have you been scared of the dark?
Hayley smiled at the recollection as she bit into the toast. Theo was right. Tom still didn’t do small talk but, then again, neither did she—or when she tried she didn’t do it very well. She totally understood what it was like to feel completely at sea when surrounded by an animated discussion about who would be eliminated next from the phenomenally popular cooking show on television. She hardly watched any TV and if she did have some downtime she tended to re-watch her favourite movies on DVD.
She gave herself a shake. Enough of straying thoughts and Tom Jordan. It was time to knuckle down to her day. But as she rinsed her plate and mug, the need to move, to do something different, intensified. It was as if her entire body was fidgeting. With a sigh she tossed the tea towel over the dish drainer.
Go for a run. She smiled at the thought. Exercise was the perfect solution to working off this unusual lack of focus and after a long run she’d be able to settle down to study.
Five minutes later and with her MP3 player strapped to her arm, she slipped a key into her pocket and headed out the door. She usually ran down towards Luna Park, but today she just started running, letting her feet take her wherever, and it didn’t take long before she realised she was almost at the hospital. When she reached it, she ran along the back boundary, past Pete’s and the crashing sound of bottles being thrown in the dumpster for recycling, and then across into the strip shopping centre. Dodging through the building lunchtime crowd, she automatically slowed as she passed Wayan’s.
What are you doing? Tom won’t be there.
She looked anyway.
Told you he wouldn’t be there.
Shut up.
She continued the run, silencing the chatter in her head by pushing her body hard and turning her mind over to the demands of keeping one foot in front of the other until she reached a small park close to the sparkling waters of Sydney harbour. As always, the harbour was busy with yachts, motor launches and the ever-present green and yellow ferries that carried commuters all over Sydney. Panting, she stopped at a water fountain and quenched her thirst before leaning over a park bench and doing some necessary stretching. She’d taken a zigzag route from home but now she was at the lowest point. It was going to be a long, uphill climb all the way back.
Giving her body some recovery time, she walked slowly through the small park and came out on the high side, away from the water. It took her a moment to work out exactly where she was and then she saw the gold letters on the building in front of her. Bridgeview.
Tom’s building?
She crossed the street and peered at the list of names next to the pad of doorbells. His name was at the top of the list. A zip of heat shot through her and without stopping to think she pressed her finger to the button.
Her brain instantly engaged. What are you doing? She pulled her finger off the button as if it was on fire, but it was too late. The peal of the electronic bell sounded back at her from the intercom.
‘Did you forget your key, Jared?’
Horrified, she stared at the intercom.
‘Jared?’
Say something or walk away. ‘I’m not Jared.’
‘Who is it?’
Tom’s voice sounded deeper than ever through the intercom and her heart skipped a beat.
‘It’s, um …’ Oh, for heaven’s sake, you know your own name. She gave herself a shake and tried to settle the cotillion of butterflies that had taken over her stomach. ‘Hayley.’ She quickly added, ‘Grey’ for clarification, and then gave a silent groan of humiliation.
She stood there in her running gear, dripping in sweat and feeling incre
dibly foolish. What on earth had possessed her to ring his doorbell? Worse still, what was she going to say if he actually asked her why she was there? “Just passing. Thought I’d drop in …”
With a groan she rested her head against the wall and closed her eyes, lamenting the fact she hadn’t thought this through at all and hating that she’d allowed her wayward body to make decisions for her. Meanwhile, the silence extended beyond the time it would take to reply and had moved from a polite pause into seriously uncomfortable nothingness.
Just go home.
She pushed off the wall and then jumped as the buzzing sound of amplified silence blared out of the speaker.
‘Are you still there?’ Tom demanded.
Say nothing. Pretend you’ve left. ‘I am.’
‘I suppose you’d better come up, then.’
Her lips twitched into a half-smile. As invitations went, it summed up Tom perfectly—direct and straight to the point.
The door buzz sounded for a long moment. You’re committed now so open the door. After a short hesitation she bit her lip, pushed against the heavy glass and stepped into the foyer. A whisper-quiet lift whizzed her to the top floor and then she was standing in front of an ivory-coloured door. Tom’s front door. As she knocked, another zip of panic ricocheted through her. Oh, God, what was she doing? She was hot, sweaty and probably bright red. She wiped her hands down her running shorts and for one purely selfish moment she was glad he was blind.
The door opened and Tom stood in front of her, his chocolate-noir hair spiked as if his hands had ploughed through it a thousand times and strands of silver caressed his temples. Deep lines pulled around his bright green eyes and bracketed his generous mouth, and the familiar aura of strain circled him. Today, instead of being dressed head to toe in what she’d assumed was his signature black, he wore dark brown cord, slim-fit pants, a white shirt with a button-down collar and a chocolate-brown moleskin jacket. His clothes were all perfectly colour-coordinated and although there was no sign of any tweed, he looked every inch a university professor. Not that he technically was one, but she wondered if one day in the future he might just choose that path. His ruffled hair added to the look, although Hayley knew that was all to do with him not being able to see, because there was nothing about Tom that was absent-minded.