Sydney Harbour Hospital: Evie's Bombshell

by Amy Andrews

Just waking up with the person you loved sounded pretty good to her.

  He walked towards her. ‘I have been watching you outside my door for three days now.’ His voice was soft. ‘Would you like to see me?’

  Evie dithered. She wasn’t sure what she wanted. She didn’t know what an obstetrician could tell her that she didn’t already know. And yet here she was.

  ‘Come,’ he murmured, cupping his hand under her elbow.

  Evie let herself be led. Why couldn’t she love someone like Marco? Someone who was gentle and supportive?

  And capable of love.

  She heard the door click behind her and sat in the chair he shepherded her towards. ‘You are pregnant. Yes?’ he said as he walked around to his side of the desk.

  Evie startled gaze flew to his. ‘How did you …?’ she looked down at her belly, placing her hand over the bump that was obvious on her spare athletic frame if she was naked but not discernible yet in the baggy scrubs she wore at work.

  Marco smiled. ‘It’s okay, you are not showing. I’m just a little more … perceptive to this sort of thing. I think it goes with the job.’

  Evie nodded, her brain buzzing. She looked at him for long moments. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m here.’

  He didn’t seemed perturbed by her strange statement. She was pregnant. He was an obstetrician. It was where she should be. Where she should have been a lot earlier than now.

  He just seemed to accept it and waited for her to talk some more.

  ‘I haven’t told anyone. No one knows,’ she said, trying to clarify.

  ‘How many weeks?’

  ‘Eighteen.’

  Marco frowned. ‘And you haven’t seen anyone yet?’

  ‘I’ve been … busy.’ Evie felt her defences rise, not that Marco seemed to be judging her. ‘It’s always crazy in the emergency department and … time gets away …’

  She looked down at her hands still cradling her bump because what excuse was there really to have neglected herself, to have not sought proper antenatal care?

  She was a doctor, for crying out loud.

  ‘You have been well?’

  Evie nodded, dragging her gaze back to Marco. ‘Disgustingly. A few weeks of vague nausea in the beginning. Tired. I’ve been really tired. But that’s it.’

  She’d expected the worse when she’d first discovered she was pregnant. She’d figured any child of Finn’s was bound to be as disagreeable as his father and make her life hell. But it had been a dream pregnancy to date as far as all that went.

  Which had only made it easier for her to deny what was really happening to her body.

  ‘We should do some bloods,’ Marco said. ‘Why don’t you hop up on the couch for a moment and I’ll have a feel?’

  Evie nodded. She made her way to the narrow examination table and lay staring at the ceiling as Marco palpated her uterus then measured the fundal height with a tape measure. ‘Measurements seem spot on for eighteen weeks,’ he murmured as he reached over and flipped on a small ultrasound machine.

  ‘No,’ Evie said, half sitting, pulling down her scrub top. ‘I don’t want to … I don’t want an ultrasound.’

  She didn’t want to look at the baby. Not yet. She’d made a huge leap forward today, finally admitting the pregnancy to someone else. She wasn’t ready for a meet and greet.

  And she knew that made her all kinds of screwed up.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she apologised. ‘That’s probably not the reaction you’re used to.’ She couldn’t explain why she didn’t want to see the baby—she just knew she didn’t. Not yet.

  Marco turned off the machine and looked down at her and Evie could tell he was choosing his words carefully. ‘Evie … you have left it too late to … do something about the pregnancy.’

  Evie struggled to sit up, gratefully taking Marco’s proffered hand as she sat cross-legged on the narrow couch. She had thought about termination but as with everything else pregnancy related she’d shoved it determinedly to one side.

  She’d spent the past eighteen weeks not thinking about the baby—her body aiding and abetting her denial by being virtually symptom-free.

  She looked at Marco. ‘I know. I don’t want to.’

  She stopped. Where had that come from?

  Termination had been an option and one, as a doctor and a woman, she firmly believed should be available, but suddenly she knew deep down in the same place that she’d known she loved Finn that she loved his baby too. And that nothing would come between them.

  He may not have let her in, let her love him, but there would be no distance between Finn’s child and her.

  She gave Marco a half-smile. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t think I really accepted until the baby moved a few days ago that I was actually pregnant. I’m still trying to … process things.’

  He smiled back. ‘It’s okay. How about we listen to the heartbeat instead and get some bloods done as a first step?’

  Evie nodded and lay back and in seconds she was listening to the steady whop-whop-whop of a tiny beating heart. Her eyes filled with tears. ‘There really is a baby in there.’

  Marco smiled at her gently and nodded. ‘Your baby.’

  Evie shut her eyes. Finn’s baby.

  Finn Kennedy eased his lean frame into the low squatter’s chair and looked out over the vista from the shaded serenity of the wide wraparound veranda. He liked it here in this rambling old house perched on a cliff top overlooking the mighty Pacific Ocean. He gazed over acres of deep blue sea to the horizon, the constant white noise of the surf pounding against the rocks far below a wild serenade.

  He liked the tranquillity. For too long he’d been keeping himself busy to block out the pain, drinking to block out the pain, screwing around and pushing himself to the limit to block out the pain.

  Who knew that stopping everything and standing still worked better than any of that?

  His muscles ached but in a good way. The hard physical labour he’d been doing the last five months had built up his lean body, giving definition to the long smooth muscles in his arms and legs. He felt fitter and more clear-headed than he had in a very long time.

  He clenched and unclenched his right hand, marvelling in the full range of movement. He formed a pincer with his index finger and thumb and then tapped each finger in turn onto the pad of his thumb, repeating the process over and over. To think he’d despaired of ever getting any use of it back. It was weaker than his left hand for sure but he’d come a long way.

  ‘As good as a bought one.’

  Finn looked up at the approaching form of Ethan Carter, with whom he’d served in the Middle East a decade ago. ‘I doubt I’ll ever be able to open jam jars.’

  Ethan shrugged, handing Finn a beer. ‘So don’t open jam jars.’

  Finn snorted at Ethan’s typical Zen-like reasoning as he lowered himself into the chair beside Finn’s. Ethan, a Black Hawk pilot, had trained as a psychologist after his discharge from the army and Beach Haven had been his brainchild. An exclusive retreat for injured soldiers five hundred kilometres north of Sydney where they could rest, recover, rehabilitate and refocus their lives. Only partially government funded, Ethan worked tirelessly to keep up the very generous private funding that had come Beach Haven’s way.

  Neither of them said anything for a while, just looked out over the ocean and drank their beer.

  ‘It’s time, Finn.’

  Finn didn’t look at Ethan. He didn’t even answer him for a long moment. ‘I’m not ready,’ he said eventually.

  Prior to coming to Beach Haven, Finn would have thought being away from Sydney Harbour Hospital, from operating, was a fate worse than death. Now he wasn’t sure if he ever wanted to return.

  Dropping out and becoming a hermit in a beach shack somewhere was immensely appealing. Maybe he’d even take up surfing.

  ‘Your arm is better. You can’t hide here for ever.’

  He turned to Ethan and glared at him with a trace of the old Finn. ‘Why not?’


  ‘Because this isn’t who you are. Because you’re using this to avoid your issues.’

  ‘So I should go back to facing them in a high-stress environment where people’s lives depend on me?’

  ‘You’ve healed here, Finn. Physically. And mentally you’re much more relaxed. You needed that. But you’re not opening up emotionally.’

  He shrugged and took a slug of his beer. ‘I’m a surgeon, we’re not emotional types.’

  ‘No, Finn. Being a surgeon is what you do, not who you are. Beyond all those fancy letters after your name you’re just a man who could do nothing but sit and cradle his dying brother while all hell was breaking loose around you. You couldn’t help him. You couldn’t save him. You couldn’t stop him from dying. You’re damaged in ways that go far beyond the physical.’

  Finn flinched as Ethan didn’t even try to pull his punches. In five months they hadn’t once spoken about what had happened all those years ago. How Ethan had found a wounded Finn, peppered with shrapnel, holding Isaac.

  ‘But I think you find some kind of emotional release in operating. I think that with every person you save, you bring back a little bit of Isaac. And if you’re not going to open up about it, if surgery is your therapy of choice, then I think you should get back to it.’

  More silence followed broken only by the pounding of surf.

  ‘So you’re kicking me out,’ Finn said, staring at the horizon.

  Ethan shook his head. ‘Nope. I’m recommending a course of treatment. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.’

  Finn’s thoughts churned like the foam that he knew from his daily foray to the beach swirled and surged against the rocks with the sweep and suck of the tide. He knew Ethan was right, just as he’d known that this reprieve from the world couldn’t last.

  But his thoughts were interrupted by the crunching of tyres on the gravel drive and the arrival of a little red Mini sweeping into the parking area.

  ‘Are we expecting an arrival today?’ Ethan frowned.

  ‘Not as far as I know,’ Finn murmured.

  They watched as the door opened and a woman climbed out. ‘Oh, crap,’ Finn said.

  Ten minutes later Evie leaned against the veranda railing, looking out over the ocean view, the afternoon breeze blowing her loose hair off her shoulders. It ruffled the frayed edges of her denim cut-offs and blew the cream cotton of her loose, round-necked peasant blouse against her skin. She breathed the salt tang deep into her lungs.

  ‘Wow,’ she said, expelling her breath. ‘This is a spectacular view.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Finn said, irked that he was enjoying the view of her perky denim-clad backside a hell of a lot more than the magnificent one-hundred-and-eighty-degree ocean view.

  Since he’d slunk away in the night after their explosive session on his couch he’d thought about Evie a lot. Probably too much. Some of it R-rated. Most of it involving her big hazel eyes looking at him with love and compassion and pleading with him to let her in.

  Up here he’d managed to pigeonhole her and the relationship she’d wanted so desperately as a bad idea. Standing a metre away from her, the long, toned lines of her achingly familiar, he had to clench his fists to stop from reaching for her.

  Once upon a time he would have dismissed the impulse as a purely sexual urge. Something he would have felt for any woman standing here after five months of abstinence. A male thing. But solitude and time to think had stripped away his old defence mechanisms and as such he was forced to recognise the truth.

  Evie was under his skin.

  And it scared the hell out of him. Because she wouldn’t be happy with half of him. She would want all of him. And as Ethan had not long ago pointed out, he was damaged.

  And it went far beyond that awful day ten years ago.

  He didn’t know how to love a woman. He doubted he’d ever known. Not even Lydia.

  ‘How did you find me?’

  Evie turned to face him, amazed at this version of Finn before her, lounging in a chair, casually knocking back a beer.

  Had he ever been this chilled?

  Okay, there had been a wariness in his gaze since she’d arrived but this Finn was still a stark contrast to Sydney Harbour Hospital Finn. The old Finn was a serious, driven, sombre professional who oozed energy and drive from every pore. His mind was sharp, his tongue even more so, and his pace had always been frenetic.

  His drink of choice was seriously good Scotch.

  This Finn was so laid back he may as well have been wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a flower behind his ear. His body was more honed, spare, and his skin had been kissed to a golden honey hue. A far cry from the haggard shadow he’d been when last she’d seen him.

  Had he been surfing all this time?

  The incredible blue of his eyes, so often frigid with disapproval, were like warm tropical waters amidst the golden planes of his stubbly face. And she wanted to dive in.

  She’d been nervous that he’d take one look at her and know she was pregnant. Which was ridiculous given that it would be at least another month, maybe more, before it was obvious to anyone. But she really needn’t have worried. This Finn didn’t look like he’d be bothered if she’d turned up with his triplets.

  Something rose in her chest, dark and ugly. It twisted and burned and she realised she was jealous. This was the kind of Finn she’d longed for, had known was there somewhere. The one he’d never shown her.

  ‘Daddy get a private detective?’ he goaded.

  His voice had an edge that she recognised as the old Finn and she found herself responding accordingly. She was like Pavlov’s dog, still salivating over the slightest crumb.

  She cleared her throat as emotion lodged like a fist in her trachea. ‘Lydia.’

  ‘Lydia?’ Finn sat up. ‘Lydia told you I was here?’ Isaac’s widow, the woman he’d had a seriously screwed-up co-dependent relationship with in the aftermath of his brother’s death, had been talking to Evie?

  He frowned. ‘You know Lydia?’

  Evie nodded calmly. Well, she’d met her anyway—she still had no clue as to their relationship. ‘I met her outside your apartment a couple of days after you left. She came to pick up some stuff for you. Told me you were okay. That you needed space. Time … She gave me her card.’

  Finn shut his eyes and leaned back into the canvas hammock of the squatter’s chair. Trust Lydia to interfere. He opened his eyes to find her looking at him.

  ‘Your arm is better, I see.’

  Finn looked down at it. He clenched and unclenched his fingers automatically, still amazed that he could do so. ‘Yes.’

  Evie pressed her butt hard into the railing. She wanted to launch herself at him, throw herself into his lap, hug him to her, tell him she’d known it would get better, that he’d just needed a little faith and a lot of patience. But he didn’t look so laid back now and memories of what had happened last time she had been in his lap overrode everything else.

  There was even more between them now than there’d ever been—more than he certainly knew—and she couldn’t think about any of it until she had him back in Sydney, until after he’d operated on their celebrity patient, until after she’d told him about the baby.

  ‘You must be very relieved,’ Evie murmured.

  Finn didn’t want to make small talk with her. His mind had been clear ten minutes ago and now it was all clouded up again.

  Seeing Evie after five months’ break made him realise how much he’d missed her wide hazel eyes and her interesting face. How much he’d taken her presence for granted when they’d worked in the same hospital, when she’d been there for him during his ops. How much he’d come to depend on seeing her, even though he’d pushed her away at every turn.

  He’d been able to ignore all of that five hundred kilometres away from her—out of sight out of mind. But it was impossible to ignore now. She made him want things he didn’t know how to articulate.

  And he wanted her gone.

 
So he could go back to ignoring her and all the stuff that bubbled to the surface whenever she was around all over again.

  ‘Why are you here?’ he demanded.

  Evie swallowed at his sullen enquiry. His gaze was becoming chilly again and she shivered. ‘Prince Khalid bin Aziz.’

  Finn frowned at the name from his past. Several years ago he’d revived a man who had collapsed in front of him on the street a couple of blocks from the hospital. He’d had no way of knowing at the time that the man was a Saudi oil prince. There’d been no robes, no staff, no security. He’d just been another heart to start and Finn’s medical training had taken over.

  But it had certainly worked out well for the hospital, which had benefited from a huge donation.

  ‘What does he want?’

  ‘He wants you.’ Not as badly as she did, however. ‘He needs a quadruple bypass and he wants you and only you to perform it.’

  Finn gripped his beer bottle harder as Evie opened a door he’d shut firmly behind him and a surge of adrenaline hit him like a bolt from the blue. He could almost smell the chemical cleanliness of the operating room, hear the dull slap as an instrument hit his gloved hand, feel the heat of the overhead lights on the back of his neck.

  He shook his head, quashing the powerful surge of anticipation. ‘I’m not ready to come back.’

  Evie’s looked down at him as he absently clenched and unclenched his right hand. Her heart banged loudly in her chest. What on earth was he talking about? Finn was a surgeon. The best cardiothoracic surgeon there was. He had to come back. And not just for the amir.

  For him. For his sanity. For his dignity. The Finn she knew needed to work.

  ‘You look physically capable,’ she said, keeping her voice neutral.

  Finn pushed up out of the chair as the decision he’d been circling around for five months crystallised. He walked to the railing, keeping a distance between them, his gaze locking on the horizon. ‘I don’t know if I’m going to come back.’

  Evie stared at his profile. ‘To the Harbour?’

  Finn shook his head as he tested the words out loud. ‘To surgery.’

  Evie blinked, her brain temporarily shutting down at the enormity of his admission. Quit being a surgeon?