Hot Christmas Nights

by Rachel Bailey

  She pushed open the door and stepped inside, walked down the little corridor towards the lounge and was immediately assailed by his scent of leather and fresh laundry and man. She breathed it in deeply. Then again, holding on to the banister to steady herself as shivers of something she didn’t want to admit ran through her gut. And then deeper. The man smelt good. So damned good. That much was a given. But having a decent smell was hardly reason to make her change her plans.

  Focus. “Hello-o? Anyone home?”

  At the responding silence she laughed. He was at work. It would be fine. The clock on the lounge wall told her there was at least an hour before he was even close to finishing his shift. Two hours before there was a chance he’d be home. She could get this over with and be gone before he put his key in the lock.

  She glanced around the room. Not a Christmas decoration in sight. Typical Danny. He always hated a fuss, she’d had to fight to get a single bauble through the front door. “What’s the point in such sentimentality?” he’d ask her. “It’s just an excuse to waste money with empty gestures.”

  But he’d finished building the brick fireplace. Sanded the wooden floors and varnished them to a smooth shine. Painted the walls a soft white. Shifted some furniture. More things on their growing to-do list that had never got any attention as they’d filled their days with other things. Sex, at first. Dreaming. Working. Planning. Then more sex. Griping. Fighting. Drinking. Fighting. Nagging. Make-up sex. Then, for a long time, no sex at all.

  And no, things hadn’t always been so bad.

  “Now, where the heck would he have put my things? Spare room, maybe?” she spoke to the air, to the walls, to the shadows of a happier time. Threw her bag onto the plump charcoal-grey sofa, which was definitely new, and wandered upstairs. Ignored the master bedroom…Because memories.

  She shoved open the door to the spare room. Also known as—she took a deep breath and walked in—Danny’s home gym, it would appear. Years ago it had been her study, the storage room, and the place where she’d kept her hobby stuff; all colorful fabrics and swatches and half-finished soft furnishings discarded after she’d given up trying to recover antiquated chairs and allowed her job to fill any spare hours. Anything rather than come home.

  Now it was all sleek masculine lines and steel and black equipment. The balding grey carpet had been replaced with hardwood boards. Everything of hers had been removed and replaced with his things. Just his. He might have still worn his ring, but he’d clearly wanted to erase her from their home.

  And so he should have. But it didn’t stop the sudden swell of tears burning her eyes or the tightening in her chest.

  In the large built-in robe she found a stack of storage boxes with her name on in Danny’s looping handwriting. Her heart had another case of arrhythmia as she pulled off the lid on the first one. Then she breathed easily. Just med school papers, books, nothing too important. Ballet certs and sports day medals. Everything pre-Danny.

  The second box gave her pause. And a sharp sting in her throat. Photo albums. Their photo albums—he’d laughed at her as she’d made them up, carefully writing a caption beneath each photo as she’d catalogued the things they did. Teasing her gently that she didn’t need to make a shrine to their relationship—the digital age meant everything would be preserved in an internet Cloud for ever. And ever.

  But there’d been something soothing and meaningful about making hard copy books about their life together. A tangible memento, something real, like their love. The first date (embarrassed smiles). The morning after their first night together (spectacular smiles). Their holiday in Wanaka (insane grins).

  He’d proposed there. On the top of a mountain, bended knee deep in snow as she’d laughed and he’d hollered so joyfully at her response and they’d both cried. There’d been snow angels and ice kisses and, as they’d taken the photo scanning across the tips of snow-covered peaks, her heart had been as full as it had ever been. Later that evening he’d stood on a chair and announced to the whole bar that they were engaged and he’d looked so damned proud it had been like a sucker punch to her heart. She wondered now if she’d ever feel so free, so loved, so cherished—so whole—ever again.

  She ran a finger down the photograph. Swallowed back the lump in her throat and fought back the tears pricking her eyes again. She was doing the right thing.

  “Hey, I thought you were a break and enter. I was just about to call for back up—”

  “Shit, Danny!” Emma almost dropped the album as she slammed it closed, her heart all over the place with nerves.

  All tall and official-looking, he was wearing his uniform again. Damn it, but he knew that made her horny. Standing in the doorway as he’d done countless times before, although the smile didn’t reach all the way to those soul-deep dark brown eyes. But the familiar tug towards him damn near made her heart almost stop beating altogether. “God, you made me jump.”

  “Ha. Guilty conscience?” He laughed, as if there was nothing strange about his estranged wife sitting on the floor of his gym trying hard not to cry about something from too long ago.

  As if she didn’t have the papers there downstairs, waiting for his signature. So yeah, guilty as charged.

  She thought about standing up, but that would have made things weird, uncomfortable, trying to fit into a space where she didn’t belong. So she stayed where she was and looked up at him.

  Big mistake. From this angle she could see every nuance of muscle rippling under his shirt, the sinews in his arms. “Er…I hope it’s okay for me to be here? You said…well, I thought you wouldn’t be back yet. It’s not even four o’clock.”

  Tongue-tied? That was new too.

  His eyebrows rose at her stuttering and he paused, watching her, his smile slipping, then back in place. She wondered whether he was consciously choosing a mood.

  “No worries.” Seemed he’d chosen a conciliatory one. “I got in to work early to set up, so they let me finish as soon as we parked the truck. Didn’t see you out there? Mind you, there was a big crowd, I could easily have missed you.”

  He’d looked for her? He’d looked for her. Somewhere in the center of her chest a tiny seed of hope bloomed. She tried not to notice it, because that wasn’t why she was here. “We were late to the party, I’m afraid. Too many people to organize, it was like herding cats. Actually, it was worse than that. Megan’s cousins are…let’s just say, high maintenance, and Bas’s nana needs to take everything very slowly.”

  “That’s weddings for you, you cater to the slowest denominator. What are you looking at?” He strained his neck as she tried to hide it from him, then gave up and came and sat next to her on the floor. Taking the album from her hands he breathed out slowly, opened it to the first page. “Ah. This.”

  “Yes. A little walk down Memory Lane.” She couldn’t read what he was thinking. Usually she’d know just by the tone of voice, or the tightness of his jaw. She’d sense he was angry, or just plain miserable. But today he looked calm, his voice was softer, deeper. Maybe they could do this amicably. If only the large rock in her throat would budge a little so she could actually get words through. “I…I was just wondering what to leave and what to take.”

  “Take what you like.”

  “Thank you. Is there anything you particularly want to keep?”

  He shrugged, looking around at the boxes, shook his head. “Not really.”

  “Nothing special to remind—? No, I don’t suppose there would be…” Her stomach was a churning mess. Because why did she want these mementos? Because they’d had a good thing once upon a time. A damned good thing.

  “Emma? Really? Do you think all I have left is venom? And disappointment? And that lingering useless depression eating at my gut?” He twisted to face her then, dropping the book to the floor as something flared in his eyes. He gripped her hands. They were warm, worn. Big, strong hands. This was how she remembered him; loose-mouthed, passionate. She waited for the anger, the surge of righteous helplessness.
I should have saved him. That kid died and I couldn’t do anything. Useless cop I am.

  But instead of all that he took a deep breath, blew it out. Surprisingly, he steadied himself. Anchored. His voice was deep and resonant as he fixed her with his gaze. “I have every photograph we ever took stored safely in the Cloud. I have every memory, good and bad, cramming my head; I remember every second we spent together, and the lost ones where I wished we had. I have…Okay… you know I’m no good at this, but I’m going to say it anyway because we need to get past it. What we had at the beginning was amazing. The best time of my life, so never, ever forget that. Our relationship was like a bloody miracle. You came along and breathed life into me, you were my everything, Emma, and I’ll never forget how lucky I was that you’d chosen me. Yes, we had a miracle. Don’t let the last few months of torture color that. We were doing great and the end was my fault. I messed it up, I know I did.”

  Her heart squeezed so hard it hurt and she had to bite down on her bottom lip to stop it from wobbling. He’d never been one for saying how he felt, but this…? She didn’t know what to think, how to feel. Except that ray of hope flickered back to life, dancing a little in the new light of his words, and a sadness deep in her bones that they hadn’t been able to talk like this years ago.

  “I could have done more. Stayed around…I’m sorry…” She trailed off, not sure what more to say. Because it was finished, done. In the past. And sad. So sad. And more, she was glad she’d left. She’d needed to go. She’d done as much as she could to help a sick man who didn’t want helping. What was the point of being a doctor if you couldn’t heal the person who needed it most?

  But that didn’t stop the ache in her throat, and her heart.

  His fingers tightened around hers. Firm, but gentle. “You have nothing to be sorry about, but me? I should have worked harder, I should have fought for us, but instead I drank myself stupid and blocked everyone out. I’m sorry, I really am. I messed up.”

  I’m sorry. How much she’d wanted to hear that at the time. But she couldn’t help thinking that this was too little, too late. From both of them. “You don’t know how much that means to me, hearing you say that. But the breakup wasn’t one-sided.” She squeezed his hands, felt his warmth ooze through her. Felt a tug, an unbidden need that both excited and scared her. She put it down to the fact that this was the first time they’d managed a prolonged conversation without accusations, blame or just plain shouting. Or the long harrowed silences—they had been the worse. “I could have stayed and fought harder too.”

  “You were better off out of it, trust me. Look at you, you’re glowing, you’ve achieved everything you wanted. I’m pleased for you.” He nodded and looked down at their joined hands. Then he tugged his away, scrambled to his feet and started to stack some free weights onto a shelf.

  She felt very off-balance. “Really? Pleased? In all honesty?”

  He looked back at her, genuinely surprised. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Because I left you here and went off on my own little trip to the other side of the world. I thought you’d hate me for that.”

  “God, no. I hated myself for long enough, there wasn’t room in that black hole to drag anyone else in. I was messed-up, I know. I broke us, I broke me, and I almost broke you. You had a lucky escape before I brought you down to my level. I should have gotten help.”

  How many times had she told him that? How many times had he refused to listen? A rookie cop trying to deal with a hit and run on a young boy needed support. Period. Especially when he’d tried so hard to save him. “They should have provided help. You can’t be expected to deal with the death of a kid on your own, not when you’d fought so hard to keep him alive.”

  At the mention of his most haunting failure—his words, not hers—he didn’t even flinch. Either he’d worn it so close it had become part of him, or he’d somehow worked out how to deal with it. Finally. “I know that now, Emma. I should have listened to you. But there’s no point going back over that, right? Should haves won’t change anything. We need to look forward and leave the past behind.”

  Did he mean their marriage too? Of course he did. It was over. No point raking over that. The marriage was over but there was certainly unfinished business on the attraction front. Which meant the next few days were going to test her resolve. The merest touch of his hands had unleashed a deep longing. So not the plan. She had a job and a future far away. There was nothing for her here; no jobs at least, and she’d tried once with Danny and failed. She needed to keep reminding herself of that.

  She brightened her voice, changing the subject away from something so intense. “So, look at what you’ve done to the house—it’s amazing. I bet you’ve almost finished our never-ending list.”

  “That bloody list. It will haunt me for the rest of my life. Wait there.” He disappeared out of the room. And she was glad of the reprieve but also surprised at the tightening thrill in her gut at the thought of him coming back. When he did he was holding a tattered piece of paper covered in mind-map trails and multi-colored handwriting, arrows and scrawl. He handed it to her. “This list?”

  “You actually kept my Rich-bitch list? Oh, my God. You did.” She read through it. “A new ensuite bathroom with a rain shower head and marble tiles. A Mercedes. Really? God, I was such a spoilt cow. A corner lounge suite from Dervills? Typical, I had to want everything from the most expensive shop in the city. Leather kitchen stools. As well as a new top of the range car? Wow. Go me. All I want these days is a cup of hot cocoa and eight hours’ sleep a night. Possibly a glass or two of prosecco on a Saturday night if I’m pushing the boat out. How the mighty fall.”

  He gave a wry smile, arms loosely folded across his chest, showcasing muscles…well, everywhere. “You certainly aimed high back then. You shouldn’t change that. Dream big, Emma, you deserve to.”

  “I did. I do.” She gave him the list back and shuddered. Had it been aiming high or just her greed and self-indulgence that had helped push him into a place he got stuck in? “The GP job takes a lot of commitment, more than I realized, to be honest. I’ve spent two years working in a pretty deprived area so I have a very different perspective these days. You’re not the only who can change, you know.”

  “That’s a shame.” He smiled and his eyes blazed. Hot. “I kinda liked you as you were.”

  Oh, and how well she’d known that. In the dark he would whisper all the things he loved about her. The way she nibbled on his lip when she kissed him. The way she breathed his name when he was inside her. The way she straddled him…

  She caught his gaze, snagged it and held as the memories of hot nights and steamy kisses rolled through her; the surge of heat making her tremble. Before she could stop herself she put a hand out, placed it against his chest. Felt the calm beat of his heart and his heat through the rough starched fabric.

  And the thought of ripping that shirt from his body flitted through her head.

  Danny’s hand curled around her fingers and he held them against his heart as he had when they’d slow-danced at their wedding. “Emma?”

  At his raw, cracked voice she dragged her eyes away from his, studied his face. The proud stubbled jawline, the tiniest bump in his nose from a rugby tackle in senior school. That sultry mouth with the all-knowing smile. He had given her such pleasure with that. And he was close enough to do it all again.

  Because, yes, she wanted to kiss him. To taste him. To feel his skin beneath her fingers. She wanted to explore this new Danny, the one who was gentle and kind and steady. The one who had ticked off most of the things on her list. Who had danced on a police float. Who had saved lives and delivered babies.

  Mostly, she wanted to reignite the passionate Danny, to feel him hard against her. Wanting her.

  Damn right she did. And more. God, would she never stop wanting him?

  They were married after all.

  Not for long. There were papers to be signed. Don’t lose yourself again.
<
br />   With her free hand she traced his lips, tears pricking her eyes. Stupid. Stupid. It had been hard enough to love him once, she would not do it again. “I’m sorry, Danny.”

  “Yeah. Me too.” Acknowledging the barriers they’d both erected, he let her hand drop and stalked to the door, his gait less self-assured. More distance. More space. “I’ll put the jug on? Tea? Coffee? Er…wine?”

  “Coffee… maybe?” It probably wasn’t wise to stay. “But…”

  There was always that but running around in her head. The reminder that when things weren’t going well he hadn’t turned to her, but to a bottle. He hadn’t trusted her to steer him back on course, to work with him, like a husband and wife should. He’d pushed her away.

  Emma looked at the debris around her; the boxes and the books and her discarded sandals, and tried to focus on that.

  “Actually, make that a no. I’ll just clear up here and then go. I still have a few Christmas gifts to get and I’d earmarked this afternoon to shop. I’ve brought some nice things from England, but there are a few bits I need to get here too.”

  He paused, once again leaning in the doorway. “Going all out as usual? You must have loved being over there for Christmas; all that snow and dark evenings and log fires?”

  “Yes, yes, it was magical. Just as you’d imagine. Perfect for a Christmas addict like me.”

  “And now you’re back to barbecues and sunshine and heat.”

  “Tough life, but someone’s got to live it.” But right now she couldn’t think about Christmas or weddings or summer… all she could think about was the way he’d looked at her. The way she’d felt when she touched him again.

  And the fact that she needed to get the hell out of this house. And quick.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Dan hauled the final kayak to the water’s edge, scratched his head for the fifteenth time and growled at Bas, “Do I really have to wear this lame Christmas hat?”

  “Awww, it suits you, Santa’s little helper. You only have to wear it for the kayaking— you’re the leader, so wearing something bright red and flashing like that will let everyone know where you are.”