The Doctor's One Night to Remember

by Charlotte Hawkes

  ‘But I won’t transfer,’ Isla stated flatly. ‘What are you so afraid of, Nikhil?’

  He blinked. It was fleeting, but it was there nonetheless, and it told her that her hunch—this odd, alien sense—about him had been right.

  Isla felt as though she was splitting in two. One part of her celebrated the fact that she knew this incredible, enigmatic man better than he even knew himself.

  And the other part of her... That was terrified at the notion. Because she didn’t want to be connected with him—with anyone—again. Not after Bradley.

  And yet you never felt you knew Bradley a fraction of the way you feel you know Nikhil, whispered a voice inside her head. You never wanted to.

  ‘You misunderstand.’ His cold voice dragged her back to the moment. ‘I’m not afraid. I’m never afraid.’

  * * *

  He knew it wasn’t true even as the defiant words left his lips.

  He was more afraid than he’d ever been in his life. And not least because the way Isla looked at him right at that moment made him feel as though she could read every last dark thought engraved on the cold, hard stone that sat in place of his heart.

  ‘You were afraid the moment that message arrived at your cabin the other night, and instead of keeping it from me, as you would have done a week ago, you handed it to me to read.’

  ‘It was just a message, Isla.’

  ‘We both know it wasn’t. You let me into your life and now you’re regretting it. This is your way of pushing me away.’

  ‘It’s for your own good,’ he ground out.

  ‘Because you’re a monster?’ she asked scornfully, and he loved the way she sounded so fierce. For him.

  ‘Because in your head it’s somehow your fault that your stupid brother left you to suffer everything alone, and never came back?’

  He wanted so much to believe her. He almost did—even though, unlike her, he knew the truth.

  ‘I told you that he came to the funeral?’ The words might as well have come out independently of his mouth. Certainly, independently of his brain.

  ‘Your father’s funeral, yes.’ She dipped her head carefully, after a moment.

  ‘He didn’t come to the grave, but he stood by a tree and watched. I saw the disgust in his eyes. Like he thought I should have done better for the old man. The bastard was lucky I even gave him that much.’

  ‘You didn’t talk to Daksh?’ Isla asked softly.

  ‘No more that he talked to me.’ Nikhil inclined his head curtly. ‘I looked up one moment and he was there, then when I looked up again he was gone.’

  ‘And that’s why you think you are this...monster?’

  ‘It’s what I am. Even he could see it.’

  ‘You’re not. You’re a man. And a good man, at that. But the sad part is that you will never take my word for it. I don’t matter enough to you.’

  And he wanted to refute it, so fervently. But he couldn’t.

  ‘So speak to your brother, Nikhil,’ she continued, and he would have given so much to erase that desolation from her voice. ‘Whatever he has to say, it can’t be any worse than this hell that you’ve put yourself in.’

  Then she kissed him and walked out of the door. Out of his life.

  And he tried not to wonder what the hell he’d just done.

  * * *

  So this was what the most exclusive hotel in Rotterdam looked like, Nikhil thought as he glanced around the elegant lobby that practically oozed money.

  He could pretend that he wasn’t looking for answers that would make him the man Isla deserved. Maybe he should tell himself that he was here because the Captain had pulled him in less than twenty-four hours earlier to tell Nikhil that the promotion he’d been working towards for the better part of a decade was now his for the taking. Captain of his own ship.

  But, on both counts, Nikhil knew he’d be lying to himself.

  Moreover, he didn’t deserve a promotion any more than he deserved her. Isla.

  These past ten days without her had been hell. His entire ten-week cruise had been a rollercoaster—like being on the swell, far out at sea—but the fun part had only started in that third week when he’d walked into that bar in Chile.

  And as he’d walked out of the Captain’s office he’d found himself heading to the medical centre—instinctively wanting to share his news with Isla.

  Nikhil still wasn’t sure how he’d stopped himself. He only remembered standing on the deck, on a mercifully cold, rainy sea day, which meant that only a handful of other, waterproof-clad souls had been out there, braving the bracing air. And he’d finally admitted that Isla had been right that his shattered relationship with his brother had been eating him up inside all these years.

  In that instant he’d wondered what he had to lose.

  Before he could talk himself out it, he’d hurried back to his cabin, conducted an internet search for DXD Industries and picked up his phone.

  And then, suddenly, his brother had been at the end of the phone, and Nikhil knew he’d have recognised that voice in an instant.

  He’d even imagined he’d heard Isla’s voice in his head, encouraging him, as he’d told his brother that their next port of call was going to be Rotterdam. And now here he was, sitting in the plush hotel lobby and waiting for the man he hadn’t seen since they’d both been kids.

  And then Nikhil saw him.

  There was no doubt that Daksh Dara had money. More than that—wealth. It was in every long line of his body, every expensive stitch of his tailored suit.

  The two brothers eyed each other for several long moments—perhaps a lifetime—each on their own side of the room. And Nikhil could practically feel the storm of recrimination at the centre of it, cracking and sparking, as the two of them held their ground. As if neither wanted to be the first to make a move.

  Eventually, however, to Nikhil’s shock, it was Daksh who began the approach—every long, powerful stride seeming to strike the ground with force—making Nikhil wonder which one of them was actually the stronger, after all.

  ‘Nikhil.’ Daksh spoke at last.

  ‘Brother,’ he replied, infusing each syllable with as much insult as he possibly could.

  ‘It’s been a long time.’

  ‘Since we last talked? Or since we last saw each other?’ Nikhil asked icily.

  The last thing he expected was a flash of something that looked suspiciously like remorse in Daksh’s eyes. It knocked him off-guard.

  ‘I was a coward for not talking to you at...his funeral.’

  Nikhil couldn’t answer. He was too caught up in the way his brother had not only refused to call it our father’s funeral, but also the hit of repulsion in the way he’d said his. As though he couldn’t stand the old man any more than Nikhil could.

  ‘I thought it was because you felt he deserved better than I gave him,’ he managed stiffly.

  And there it was, the look of disgust on his brother’s face that Nikhil had seen at the funeral. Nikhil braced himself as Daksh opened his mouth to speak again.

  ‘I didn’t think he deserved anything even that good.’

  It was about as far from anything Nikhil had been expecting as it could be.

  ‘Say again?’

  ‘He was a monster. I didn’t think he even deserved the dignity of a funeral.’

  Something coursed through Nikhil at that moment. Thick, and intense, though he couldn’t have said what it was.

  ‘Then why the hell didn’t you even say one word to me?’

  For a long moment Daksh didn’t speak, and when he did it wasn’t to answer.

  ‘Shall we order a drink?’ he asked, though it wasn’t really a question.

  Then he simply lifted his hand and a suited man moved instantly, one of several discreetly dotted around the room that Nikhil now realised were part
of his brother’s entourage.

  Daksh had an entourage?

  They sat in a heavy silence, each silently evaluating the other, until a waiter materialised with two tumblers of rich amber liquid. Its peppery tobacco heat pervaded his nostrils, telling him this was a quality not even seen at the Captain’s table.

  They both took a pull simultaneously, sending heat and spice across Nikhil’s palate, followed by a creaminess that ended in rich, spicy fruits. It was impressive, though he wasn’t about to tell Daksh so.

  ‘I was ashamed.’ His brother spoke suddenly. ‘And full of guilt. That’s why I didn’t talk to you that day. I couldn’t.’

  It was such an unexpected confession that Nikhil didn’t know what to say. He simply sat, every muscle in his body taut and still, unable to move.

  His brain conjured up an image of Isla, and somehow that seemed to soothe his soul.

  ‘I should never have left you to deal with him alone,’ his brother continued, every word measured and heavy, as though he found it the hardest thing to say, as though he’d spent years rehearsing it. ‘I knew what he was capable of. Most of the time he managed to keep it to just a beating, with a black eye or bruises that took weeks to heal. But there were a number of times I ended up in hospital because of him. Once with a broken leg, twice with a broken arm, twice with broken ribs.’

  ‘Broken ribs. A knife wound. And once he sliced the bottom of my feet.’

  Daksh cursed, a hollow, rasping sound loaded with hatred and suppressed fury. Somehow, it made Nikhil feel better.

  ‘I thought he wouldn’t touch you,’ Daksh bit out. ‘Or at least that was what I told myself. I thought that he targeted me because I looked more like our mother. I guess I wanted to believe that so that when I got out I could justify not going back. The one time I did, when he’d come out of rehab, you never mentioned anything. But I should have come back. I should have known he’d turn on you once I was gone.’

  ‘He didn’t at first,’ Nikhil heard himself say. ‘That first time you came back, he hadn’t done anything. He went into rehab, and kept it going for a few months. I thought he had changed, but with hindsight I think he was just scared in case the authorities cottoned on. Not that they were any good back then.’

  ‘I should have said something but...’

  ‘You were embarrassed,’ Nikhil finished when his brother trailed off. ‘A grown-up kid getting beaten by his father. I know that feeling only too well.’

  ‘You never should have had to. I was the older brother; I should have taken care of you.’

  ‘Eighteen months older.’ Nikhil shook his head. ‘I don’t think I’d have come back either, in your position. Though I’ve blamed you for it, all these years.’

  It was odd how things could change in a heartbeat. Decades of censure and bitterness, gone in the space of half a conversation.

  Because of Isla, a voice whispered. But Nikhil shut it down. She deserved better than him. She deserved a man who was good and true, who didn’t have a black heart. At last Daksh had owned up to his mistakes, whilst he still hadn’t faced up to his.

  Maybe now was the time—there would be no other.

  ‘I killed him, you know.’ The confession scraped inside him, cutting and twisting as it left his body. And yet, even with the words out there, he felt something inside him begin to stir to life.

  ‘No,’ Daksh bit out instantly. Harshly. ‘No, you didn’t.’

  ‘I had a knife.’ For the first time in forever, Nikhil let his mind go back to that night, the silhouettes beginning to take better shape as the fog finally, finally began to lift. ‘I stuck it in him.’

  ‘No, you didn’t.’ Daksh recoiled, and Nikhil suddenly hated the horrified expression on his face.

  It was extraordinary to find that after all these years he still sought his big brother’s approval. He still felt lacking when Daksh looked at him with anything other than love. And still Nikhil forced himself to continue.

  ‘I did. He was raging, and he had a knife. We wrestled and I managed to take it from him, I remember that. But then I felt suddenly angry, so angry, and he was still coming at me, and...then he wasn’t.’ Nikhil swallowed. ‘I looked down, and there was blood, so much blood, and then his body was slumping on top of mine and I knew.’

  ‘Christ, Nikhil...’ His immaculate brother raked his hand through his hair, looking dazed. As if the two of them had just gone ten rounds.

  ‘He was a monster, yes,’ Nikhil ground out. ‘But he didn’t deserve to die. Not by his own son’s hand.’

  ‘You didn’t kill him, Nik.’ The unexpected nickname fired a salvo of memories at him, bombarding his head and bursting in his chest. ‘Have you believed that all these years?’

  ‘I remember it,’ Nikhil managed harshly.

  ‘You remember it wrong.’

  Daksh sounded so certain, so angry, that Nikhil hesitated. It was as though he was standing right on the edge of some black, bottomless precipice—he wanted to back away; he just didn’t know how to.

  ‘You weren’t there, Daksh.’ He shook his head.

  ‘But I read the police report.’

  Snapping his head up, Nikhil could only stare at his brother.

  ‘Not that I would care if you had killed him. He deserved it. But did you never wonder why, if you had killed him, you’d never been arrested?’

  Nikhil felt as though his brain was swimming through treacle.

  ‘I thought it was because I was fifteen, and there were no witnesses.’

  ‘No, Nik, it’s because you never did it. A neighbour heard the noise and they called the police. By the time they broke the door down, you were still in the position you’d been. Slumped on the floor with your back to the wall, and Dad on top of you.’

  ‘But the knife was in my hand. It was in him.’

  ‘The knife was there, in him, yes. But you didn’t go for him. He put that knife right through your shoulder, didn’t he? Pinning you to the wall? Your blood was on the knife, and the wall—it all fitted.’

  ‘Yes...’ Nikhil heard the voice but it took a moment to realise it was his own.

  He’d never told anyone any of this—except for Isla—there was no way Daksh could have known it unless he had, indeed, read the report.

  ‘The blood mark from your shoulder travelled down the wall, where you’d slid. There was no break, which means your body never left the wall.’

  ‘No break?’

  ‘None,’ Daksh confirmed. ‘Which means that if you didn’t move off the wall, you couldn’t have lunged for him. He had to have been the one to come at you again. And you were in the process of collapsing to the floor, Nikhil, so the only possible explanation is that he came at you too hard, maybe he stumbled, but, either way, he impaled himself.’

  ‘No...?’ Nikhil choked out.

  Could it really have been that simple? Had he been carrying around a guilt, all these years, which had never been his to bear?

  ‘Yes, Nikhil.’ Daksh gritted his teeth. ‘The angle of your hand, the force, it just wasn’t there. You didn’t do anything, little brother. I would say you were just at the wrong place at the wrong time.’

  ‘No.’ Nikhil shook his head again.

  Was he really not the monster he’d believed himself to be? Had he sent Isla away from him, to protect her from him, for no good reason?

  ‘I killed my father,’ he repeated dully. ‘I’m a monster.’

  He watched, almost in slow motion, as Daksh threw himself up from his seat and came to crouch in front of him, his hand grabbing the back of Nikhil’s head and pulling until they were forehead to forehead. The way they used to do as kids.

  ‘You’re no monster, little brother,’ he bit out hoarsely. ‘He was the monster. Always him. And me, for leaving you there to suffer at his hands.’

  ‘You were never a monster,�
� Nikhil managed, lifting his own hand to grab the back of his brother’s head too. Like the biggest, most important of all the pacts they’d ever made. ‘Though if you were I’d forgive you. I’d always forgive you.’

  And despite the fact that he knew one conversation couldn’t undo decades of self-loathing and recrimination, it somehow felt as though they’d made that first crucial step. The one that was always the hardest to make.

  As if some healing process had begun—just as Isla had predicted. And it never would have happened without her. She’d already begun to change him. To help him take that step out of his past.

  How had he failed to see that before? Or had he just been denying it to himself?

  He was an idiot.

  ‘I spent years thinking I had left it too long for us to ever stand a chance of healing the rift between us. I’m glad it wasn’t too late.’

  ‘It’s going to take time.’ The words were out before Nikhil had time to think about them. ‘But it isn’t too late after all.’

  Was there such a thing as too late? he wondered suddenly.

  What about Isla? Was it too late with her?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ‘WHAT ARE YOU doing here, Nikhil?’

  Her heart was hammering so loudly, so wildly, inside her ribcage. But she couldn’t allow him to see it. She wouldn’t.

  ‘I owe you an apology, Isla.’

  Isla. Not Little Doc. She should feel triumphant.

  She didn’t. She just felt shaky. Edgy. Her eyes were drinking him in greedily, when she shouldn’t have cared at all. It was galling the way she noticed the fit of his clothing, black jeans and a rock band tee, far more casual than the uniform he had practically lived in—unless they’d been naked in each other’s beds, of course.

  She swallowed hard and his eyes caught hers immediately. They darkened, and in that moment she hated herself for her weakness, and hated him for noticing.