For the first time since she’d become a nurse, Freya could imagine him as her own son lying there, suffering, and it was becoming harder to distance herself from him. When she felt overcome with emotion, she’d walk out to the nurses’ station and pretend to read a file or something, and concentrate instead on the memory of Nate’s hands cupping her face, his lips firm on her own. It calmed her, grounded her, and for that, if nothing else, she was thankful.
The week passed quickly and got gradually busier, and she worked over the busy Waitangi Day weekend. By Tuesday the following week, after several twelve-hour shifts, she was ready for her days off, even though the hot and sultry weather had turned to thundery showers.
With half an hour to go before her shift ended, she checked on Josh one last time, then nipped to the canteen and flipped open her mobile. She wanted a few days of peace, without having to worry about visiting her parents, and therefore planned to go around there that evening and get it out of the way.
The phone rang several times before her mother answered. “Hello.”
“It’s only me,” said Freya. “What are you up to? Thought I might pop around after work.”
“Freya?” After a few seconds of silence, Sarah said, “Er, I don’t that’s a good idea right now, love.” In the background, a huge crash echoed, and Sarah swore.
Freya frowned. “What was that?”
“Nothing. Look, I’d better go…”
“Mum.” Freya spoke sternly. “What’s going on?”
“It’s nothing—it’s just your father.”
“What’s he done now?”
Sarah sighed. “He’s had another bad day at the races, love, and he’s a bit annoyed…” Another crash sounded, this one closer.
“Mum? Is he drunk?”
“A bit. It’s okay, I can handle him.”
Shit. “How much did he lose?”
“He told me not to tell you,” said Sarah, her voice thick with tears. “Honestly, I’m okay.”
“Mum! Tell me, for God’s sake.”
“Just under five hundred,” said Sarah, cursing as something else shattered closer to the phone and Harry Fletcher started yelling in the background. “Stop it!” she yelled back, covering the phone with her hand, but her words still rang in Freya’s head. “Love, I’ve got to go. Please don’t worry—this isn’t the first time this has happened. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” She hung up.
Freya swore, clipping the phone shut and storming back to her ward. She worked silently for half an hour, then said goodbye to Josh before making her way down to the cashpoint in the lobby. She fumed as she withdrew five hundred dollars, cursing all the way to her car in the rain, only then realising she’d forgotten to get changed and still wore her uniform. She cursed again, got into the car and slammed the door shut. This was not how she wanted her break to start.
She drove the twenty minutes to her parents’ house in mute rage, the wipers almost double speed, parked outside and ran up to the house. Before she could knock on the front door, however, it opened, and her mother slid out, carrying an umbrella that she held over the two of them.
“I told you not to come,” Sarah hissed. She looked old, thought Freya, her salt-and-pepper hair scraped off her face in a rough ponytail, no makeup, her skin wrinkled with worry lines. Her left cheek sported a large red mark.
“I was worried about you.”
Sarah looked over her shoulder toward the house. “I can handle him, Freya. You should go.”
“Did he hurt you?” Freya shook with anger.
Sarah touched the red mark. “I fell.”
“Oh Mum, for fuck’s sake…”
“Don’t swear,” said Sarah automatically. “Freya, I’m okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, I promise.”
Freya took the money out of her pocket and pressed it into her mother’s hand. “Take this.”
“Freya…” Sarah’s eyes filled with tears. “I can’t.”
“Mum, please. I hate the thought of you worrying.”
“Dad will go spare. He hates you helping us out.”
“So don’t tell him,” said Freya harshly. “What does he expect you to do, magic the money out of nowhere?”
“He doesn’t mean to do it,” Sarah said.
“But he does. And it sucks.” Freya nodded toward the house. “Are you sure you don’t want to come back with me? Leave him to it?”
Sarah smiled then, reaching up a hand to touch Freya’s face. “I know you mean well, and it confuses you why I stay, but he’s my husband. You’ll understand one day.”
“I’ll never let a man treat me like this,” Freya said, tears burning her eyes.
Sarah’s hand dropped, and her eyes hardened. “Don’t judge me. You don’t know everything.”
“I know enough, Mum. How can you continue to put up with it, day after day, year after year?”
“Because I love him,” Sarah said simply. “And we don’t get to choose who we love.”
“Bullshit.” Freya was angry now. “Nobody’s powerless to control their feelings. That’s just a weak excuse for why you’re such a coward.”
Sarah stared at her. Then she turned around and walked back into the house without saying another word.
She kept the money, though.
Tears scorched Freya’s face, mingling with the rain that soaked her uniform and plastered her hair to her head. She stormed back to her car and took out her keys. Her fingers fumbled, and she dropped the keys, which clattered onto the curb and tumbled off the edge—right into the drain.
“Shit!” Freya dropped to her hands and knees, but water gushed down the drain from the channel running alongside the road, and she couldn’t see a thing. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” She pushed herself to her feet, angry and frustrated, kicked the car and then stood there, glancing over at the house. No way would she go back and ask for help. Instead, she walked along the pavement to a bus shelter and stood there, dripping, crying furious tears. Her watch read seven thirty, and there wouldn’t be a bus along at that time of the evening.
She took out her phone and rang home. No reply. Mia must be out, she thought irritably. She rang Mia’s mobile, but she’d turned it off. Who was she out with—Ross again? Getting desperate now, she rang Grace’s mobile, but that was off too. “Damn it!” She rang Ash’s house, wondering if Jodi was in and might know where Grace and Ash had gone for the evening.
A deep male voice answered. “Hello?”
“Ash?”
“No,” said the man. “He’s not in at the moment. Who’s calling?”
“It’s Freya,” she said, suddenly realising who it was. “Nate?”
“Yeah. Hey, Freya.” He sounded pleased.
“Are Ash and Grace there?”
“No, they’ve gone to the cinema. I’m just catching up on some paperwork. What’s up?”
For some reason his voice, low, gentle and calm, brought more tears to her eyes. “I’ve done something stupid…” Her voice tailed off in a squeak.
“Hey, calm down. It’s okay. Take a deep breath. What’s happened?”
She cleared her throat and forced herself to take a deep breath. “I’m at my parents, but we had a row, and I dropped my keys down the drain.” She cursed herself for sounding so stupid. “And now I’m fucking stranded, and I can’t get home, and even if I do go home, I can’t get in the fucking house. And Mia’s out trying to get her bloody leg over, and she’s turned her mobile off.”
“I’ll come and get you,” he said without hesitation.
She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead, trying to calm herself. “It’s okay, honestly, don’t worry. I’ll get a taxi or something…”
“I’ll come and get you,” he said again. “Where are you?”
She said nothing, closing her eyes, cursing herself silently. She was supposed to be a strong, independent woman. She couldn’t ask a guy she barely knew to come out in the middle of a thunderstorm to rescue her.
“Aroha,” he said, his voice gentle
, “I was just leaving anyway. It’s not a problem.”
“Okay,” she whispered. She told him the street name and gave directions, still cursing herself in her head.
“Don’t move,” he said. “And keep safe. I won’t be long.”
She hung up and sank onto the seat in the shelter. Hot tears joined the cool rain on her face. The damn situation with her parents was hopeless. She would never be free of them, would never be able to fulfil her dream and travel. She cared too much, worried too much. This would be her life, bound by obligation and burden, forever shackled by the responsibility and duty of caring for her parents. At that moment, she hated them, her mother for being weak and her father for not caring that he’d ruined their lives.
And then she felt guilty and cried some more.
It took Nate fifteen minutes to get there, driving through the rain, which had turned torrential. At one point, lightning cracked the sky in two, and thunder rolled about five seconds later. He cursed as he thought of Freya standing there alone, in the dark.
When he reached the street, he coasted down looking for the bus shelter and finally spotted it two-thirds of the way along, between two oak trees. He pulled up in the centre of the road, leaving the car in park, and got out, seeing her huddled at the back of the shelter with her arms wrapped around her knees.
“Freya!”
She looked up and saw him, picked up her bag, and ran toward the car. He got back in, already soaked from those few seconds in the rain, and waited for her to fall in beside him. The rain had drenched her, and the white nurse’s dress clung like a second skin, her blonde hair fitting like a skullcap. Her makeup had run, and her eyes were red. But she was still incredibly beautiful. He’d forgotten how beautiful she was.
“Sorry to bring you out in this,” she said, wiping her face with her hands.
“It’s not a problem. Ash would hate to think of you stranded.” Coward, he thought. As if you didn’t care she’d been all alone.
She sank back into the seat, exhausted, looking so miserable that his heart went out to her. He put the car in drive and pulled away, running a hand through his wet hair, wondering where to take her. “What do you want to do?” he asked. “Can your landlord let you in?”
“He’s away in Auckland.” She flipped down the sun visor and looked at herself in the mirror. “Fucking hell. Sorry.”
“Sorry for swearing, or sorry for looking like a drowned rat?”
She glanced across at him, a ghost of a smile appearing on her lips. “Both.”
He’d thought he might take her to a bar for a drink if she’d had a rough evening, but she wouldn’t want to go out looking like she did. “Do you want me to take you to Ash’s house? Or do you want to come back to my flat? The flat’s nearer.” He looked across, winking at her. “For a purely platonic shower and drink.”
“I don’t doubt it. Nobody would make a move on me looking like this.”
He glanced at the road, then back at her again. “You’re kidding me? You are wearing a nurse’s uniform.”
That made her laugh, and he smiled as he guided the car through the traffic. What a pair they were, he thought. Stumbling from one disaster to the next.
“Do you have any whisky at your place?” she asked.
“Hell yeah.”
“Then let’s go to your flat.” Her smile had faded, and she looked out of the window instead. “Aren’t you going to ask me what happened with my parents?”
He looked across at her. “None of my business.”
She smiled. “You’re a strange one, Nate Taylor. Anyone else would’ve immediately wanted to know all the details.”
“If you want to tell me, you’ll tell me. If you don’t, the last thing you’ll want is the third degree.” He indicated and turned onto the main road. Overhead, lightning flashed, and a few seconds later, thunder cracked. The humid air made their damp clothes steam and the smell of roses rise from her skin. He couldn’t stop himself glancing at her legs where the skirt of her dress had risen up. They glistened from the rain, not plump, but not skin and bone either. He could imagine stroking his hand up her thigh, tanned against her paler skin.
He looked back at the road. Best not to think about that, Nathaniel, my boy. “Not far now,” he said.
They drove the rest of the way in silence. Freya seemed caught up in her thoughts, in a world of her own. He manoeuvred through the traffic, which grew lighter as the storm worsened, and turned into his road, then pulled up outside his apartment building. “Ready?”
“I can’t get any wetter.”
“True.” They got out together, and he led the way to the front door, clicking the button on his key as he ran, locking the car. At the door, he slid the key into the lock and opened it as quickly as he could, standing back to let her precede him. He followed her in and led the way up the stairs to the first floor, opened his front door and indicated for her to go in.
She walked into the hallway and stood there, dripping onto the carpet. “Hold on,” he said, “I’ll get us a towel.” He toed off his shoes and walked down the corridor to the bathroom, retrieved a couple of towels and brought them back. He handed one to her. “You might want a shower in a minute, but this’ll stop you dripping everywhere.”
“Thanks.”
He rubbed his hair and towelled his arms, watching as she tried to dry herself ineffectually. “Drink?”
“God, yes.”
He led the way into the living room, grabbed a couple of glasses from the cupboard in the kitchen, pulled out a bottle of thirty-year-old Glenfiddich and poured her a generous measure. He poured himself a few millimetres, knowing he might have to drive her again later. “Ice?”
“Please.”
He fetched a handful of cubes, dropping them into the glasses. “’Scuse fingers.” He handed her the glass and held his up to her. “What shall we drink to?”
“To freedom.” Her eyes watered. “Sorry. It’s been a hell of a week.”
“That’s okay. You don’t have to explain.”
Clearly, she wanted to, though. “There’s a patient at work who’s really ill with leukaemia, a boy, and I keep thinking about him, even when I’m not at the hospital. I know I shouldn’t, but he’s really got to me, you know?”
“What’s his name?”
“Josh,” she said, clearly too distracted to think it odd that he’d asked that question. “I don’t think he’s got long.” She took a large mouthful of the whisky, sighing as she swallowed. “Oh, that’s nice. And then all that thing with my parents. And losing my keys, and the storm. It just overloaded me. But thanks for rescuing me.”
“I didn’t rescue you,” he said, smiling. “You don’t strike me as the sort of person who needs rescuing. I just helped out, that’s all.”
She met his gaze for a moment. “That’s quite possibly the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
He couldn’t think what to say to that, and could only stare at her, thinking how beautiful her eyes were, so oddly mesmerising with their blue-and-green gaze, shining with her unshed tears.
She blinked and turned, and he sipped his drink as he watched her walk around the room, suddenly seeing it through her eyes. Hardly any furniture decorated the room, just a settee and two chairs, one bookshelf, and a small table, although he had treated himself to a large TV and home movie theatre system.
“You like the minimalist look,” she observed, flashing him a quick smile as she looked at his small collection of DVDs, his shelves of books, the three precious guitars he kept propped on stands. “You like astronomy a lot. And music.”
“Yeah.”
By the time she came back to him, the tears had stopped, and curiosity shone in her eyes. “There’s nothing feminine about this place.”
“I don’t do pink.”
She smiled. “You know what I mean.”
He glanced around. “I’ve never brought a girl here before.”
“Never?” She stared at him, clearly surprised.
He looked back at her, his lips curving. “That doesn’t mean we’re engaged or anything.”
She laughed. “You realise you’ve ruined my reputation, bringing me here. They’ll never accept me at court now.”
He chuckled. “More Jane Austen references. We’re getting positively nineteenth-century.” He watched her drink her whisky. “You want to try Mia again?”
“Yes, okay.”
“You can use the phone on the table.”
She picked up the receiver and dialled, waited for thirty seconds or so, and hung up. “Still not in.”
He repressed the surge of pleasure that threaded through him at the thought that she’d have to stay a bit longer and gestured down the corridor. “Would you like a shower?”
She gave a big sigh. “I’d love one, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“Of course not. I don’t have any women’s clothes here, though.” He led the way to his bedroom and opened the wardrobe, rifling through his T-shirts. He pulled out an old Northland rugby shirt. “This one’s a bit snug on me—it’ll be the smallest I’ve got. And these trackpants have a tie at the waist—they might do.” He turned to see her standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. “You want a pair of boxers?” He grinned.
She scratched her nose. “I think I’ll make do, actually.”
He turned and shut the wardrobe doors. “Here.” He went over to her and handed her the clothes, pointing to the bathroom. “In there. Help yourself to whatever you need.”
“Thanks, Nate.”
He smiled. “No worries.”
She hesitated, looking up at him. Then she smiled back. “I won’t be long.”
She went into the bathroom and shut the door. He rolled his eyes and walked into the living room. He would not think about her standing naked under the hot water spray. Nor going commando in his trackpants. He was a gentleman, and she was a damsel in distress. No way would he think about her naked, glistening under the spray, washing her body with a wet sponge, letting soapy suds drift over her breasts.
“God damn it.” He sat on the sofa and dropped his head back, staring at the ceiling. Please let Mia be in when she rings again. Please don’t make me sleep on the sofa, knowing she’s in my bed all night.
Making Sense: Sensual Healing, Book 2 Page 5