by Amy Andrews
Carrie slotted in the last plate and slammed the dishwasher drawer shut.
Charlie sat very still on the stool, realising the error he’d made that night in not correcting her assumption. She still thought he’d run because of Dana’s toy bringing him to his senses. And it was his fault. He’d let her think that because it had been an easy out. But it was coming back to bite him on the butt well and truly. To complicate what should have been a glorious morning after. Whatever else happened today, he had to correct this misinformation.
‘No.’ He stood and moved until he was standing in front of her. ‘No, that’s simply not true. I ran that night because I came so close to doing the one thing I swore to myself I wouldn’t. I made myself a deal after the needle-stick injury—no sex. With anyone. I even threw out all my condoms and didn’t buy any more in case I was ever truly tempted. And I’d made it almost to the end and then you came along. And I was so close that night and if it hadn’t stopped where it did, I would have made love to you unprotected. A stupid thing to do at the best of times but with my potential to pass on a deadly disease?
‘I was shocked and angry at myself that I’d put you at risk. That I’d lost control.’ He stroked her cheek. ‘You assumed it was because of Dana and I let you believe that because it was easier than having to explain everything. But if you believe nothing else today, please, believe this—it had absolutely nothing to do with Dana.’
Carrie saw the honesty, the sincerity in his eyes. She believed him. ‘And this morning?’
He hesitated. ‘She’s wonderful. I adore her…’
‘But.’
‘I don’t know anything about being a father. About four-year-old girls. I’d probably just turn out like my old man and I wouldn’t wish that on any child. I don’t ever want to see that wonderful light in her eyes when she looks at me go out. I don’t want to start something I’d probably just screw up.’
Carrie swallowed a sudden lump of emotion and nodded. They’d both been burned by others. Still, it was good she was finding this out now before things had got too out of hand. Before her stupid heart had built castles in the air.
She wasn’t used to thinking such fanciful thoughts. Rupert had hurt her really badly and she’d shut that side of her down to concentrate on Dana and her career. She’d never even thought of the possibility that another man—that love—might come around for her again.
She nodded. ‘It wouldn’t work.’
‘Maybe if there wasn’t Dana. If it was just you and me and we started a family from scratch and I could learn about being a good father from the beginning. But I don’t want to ruin the beautiful dynamic that exists between you. I don’t want to be responsible for that.’
‘But there is Dana.’ Carrie backed away, the cold metal of the sink stopping her retreat.
Charlie nodded. ‘And the world is a richer place.’
She felt humbled by his words and absurdly like crying. She turned away so he couldn’t see the tears shining in her eyes and leant heavily against the sink. She blinked rapidly as she gazed out the window.
Charlie’s BMW sat in her driveway. It was the first time she’d seen it. Rupert had driven a Beamer. Another rich guy? What the hell had she been thinking?
‘Dana or no Dana, I doubt it have worked anyway,’ she mused.
Charlie raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh?’
‘We come from different backgrounds, Charlie.’ She turned back to face him, feeling stronger now that this horrible awkward morning-after couldn’t be laid squarely at her feet.
‘Your family is practically medical royalty. My father’s a taxi driver. My mother is a housewife. I have a sister who’s a hairdresser and has a market stall on the weekend where she sells her tie-dye designs. I have one brother who’s a mechanic and another who’s a plumber. I’m the only one who went to university and that was on a scholarship. I’m very definitely a girl from the wrong side of the tracks.’
Charlie could feel a flicker of anger building in his gut. ‘You think I care about any of that?’
‘You will, sooner or later.’ Carrie sighed. ‘Your grandfather was knighted by the Queen, for God’s sake. There’s a building with your surname on it, Charlie.’
‘Sure. And my grandfather is a snob, my father’s a cold, tyrannical bore, my mother was never around and my siblings are all egocentric, self-obsessed twits. I see you with Dana and I see how childhood and families are supposed to be. I would have traded our upbringings in an instant.’
Carrie snorted. ‘Well, that’s easy to say when you’re holding the proverbial silver spoon. When you were sheltered from the real world.’
Charlie ran an exasperated hand through his hair. ‘Have you seen where I work? My clientele is largely drug addicts, hookers and homeless kids. There’s nothing more real than that. Have you seen the car I drive?’
‘Would that be the BMW in my driveway?’
Charlie cursed under his breath. He’d not thought about how uncomfortable a flashy status symbol would make her. ‘The Datsun wouldn’t start,’ he said, running a frustrated hand through his hair.
‘Look, Charlie, Rupert tore a hole in my heart. I was OK to sleep with for two years, but not to marry. Even carrying his child, I still wasn’t good enough for his education, his six-figure bank account or his grand career plans. He hotfooted it to England and eloped with a Nobel Prize winning geneticist two months after my revelation.
‘He never took me home to his parents. And the one time he visited my family he was barely civil. Now that’s my fault too for being so blind, so in love, but I’m not naïve any more. I’ve already been rejected by one wealthy man. I don’t want to set myself up for that again.’
Charlie took two paces closer. He placed a finger across her lips. ‘Carrie,’ he said, ‘Rupert was an idiot. Please, tell me you understand that this isn’t about your background. Who you are, where you’re from means nothing to me. Don’t lump me in with snobs like Rupert and my father.’
He looked so earnest, his thumb rubbing erotically along her bottom lip, her head was spinning. She knew he was right. There was a clarity and an honesty in his steady grey gaze that couldn’t be ignored. And she’d seen enough of him in the last two weeks to know he was nothing like her ex.
He’d knelt on the road to help a stranger, he’d been gentle with a rape victim and helped an overdosed addict without batting an eyelid. He tolerated rap music, knew the complexities of street lingo and spent his lunch-hours with a group of needy boys looking for a role model. He was as far removed from Rupert as a prince from a pauper.
She nodded. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ve just been badly burned, Charlie. I had a touch of déjà vu.’
She leant against his chest for a brief moment, dragging herself away from him with difficulty. No matter how good it felt to be held by him, it wasn’t where she belonged. She belonged with Dana. There was no place for a man who didn’t want them both.
‘You’d better go,’ she said.
Charlie clenched and unclenched his hands. Her voice was husky and he wanted to throw caution to the wind and stay for ever. ‘So where do we go from here?’
Carrie shrugged. ‘Pretend it didn’t happen.’
He snorted. ‘Good luck with that.’
She gave him a wry smile. He was right. Last night was going to be with her for ever. ‘OK, then…you’re right. How about we just be adult about it? We had a great night but it’s not in our destinies to go any further. Let’s just shake on it and be friends.’ She held out her hand.
She was right, of course. But friends? He nodded, took her hand and yanked her against him hard, giving her a decidedly not-friendly kiss hard on her mouth. ‘Friends,’ he agreed, using all his willpower to break away. ‘I’ll see you Monday.’
Monday morning came around and Carrie approached the front door of the clinic nervously. She’d deliberately come in later than usual, ridiculously shy at the thought of seeing Charlie again after their intimacies. She blushed, th
inking about them as she pushed through the front door.
‘Morning, Angela,’ she called as she passed the front desk.
The receptionist grunted at her. Carrie was still in her bad books. As far as Angela was concerned, Carrie was a threat to the centre, to her livelihood and to Charlie’s. And Angela was fiercely loyal towards Charlie. She was like a pit bull guarding her territory and her master.
‘Morning, Charlie,’ she called, not even daring to flick a glance into his office. ‘Oh!’
In one quick manoeuvre Charlie, who had leapt from his desk the moment he’d heard Carrie’s voice, had grabbed her arm and yanked her into his room, kicking the door shut and pushing her roughly against it. He gave her a hungry kiss, his hands pulling the prim clasp out of her hair and luxuriating in the glide of it across his fingers.
‘God, I missed you,’ he muttered, his lips trekking down the line of her neck.
‘Charlie,’ she groaned, knowing this was highly inappropriate but stretching her neck to one side anyway to give him full access. ‘I thought we’d agreed not to do this.’
‘I know,’ he said, plundering her lips again. ‘We’re not. I’ve just been thinking about you since yesterday. About kissing you since yesterday.’ And he kissed her again.
There was a loud rap on the door. ‘Police, Charlie,’ Angela called.
They froze. Carrie recovered first giggling at the absurdity of the situation. She felt like a teenager who’d been caught necking by her mother.
Charlie laughed, too, as he buried his face in her neck. She smelt so good right there. So sweet. His hot breath stirred and intensified the perfume at the pulse that beat rapidly just beneath his lips. He brushed his mouth across it lightly and pushed himself away.
‘Send them in,’ he called, his eyes devouring the thoroughly kissed look on her face.
Carrie felt paralysed by the look of pure craving in his eyes.
‘Better straighten up.’ He grinned. ‘You look like you’ve just been ravaged.’
She nodded, still not able to move.
He chuckled and reached out to straighten her collar, pull her jacket into place and hand her her clasp. He removed a trace of smeared lipstick from her mouth with his finger. Her eyes flared as he pushed the digit into her mouth and he felt a kick in his groin as she sucked it clean. He swayed towards her.
A knock sounded at the door again. Carrie gathered herself at last. ‘Yes, well…’ She cleared her throat, turning her back to him and pulling open the door. ‘I’ll get right on that, Dr Wentworth.’ She smiled at the two police officers who were standing in Charlie’s doorway as she departed. Carrie felt Angela’s narrow-eyed stare as she slunk down the hallway.
As the week progressed their ‘just friends’ pact was continually breached. On Tuesday it was Joe who caught them. He’d come in the back door via the basketball court to find them in an intimate clinch in the staffroom doorway.
He slammed the door loudly and they both jumped. ‘Well, well, well. Lookee here.’ Joe grinned. He shook his head. ‘Pinstripes. Should have guessed.’
‘Hi, Joe,’ Carrie said, straightening her shirt. ‘This isn’t what it looks like.’
Joe laughed. ‘Oh? Trying to remove an obstruction from his airway with your tongue?’
Charlie laughed, too. Carrie turned and pushed his chest. ‘You are not helping.’
‘Next time get a room.’ Joe was still grinning.
‘There won’t be a next time,’ she said primly. ‘We’re just friends. Aren’t we, Charlie?’
‘Right…friends.’
Joe shrugged. ‘OK. Whatever.’
On Thursday morning Charlie’s office was empty as she passed and she popped in to look for some paperwork in his filing cabinet. He found her there a few minutes later and trapped her against it.
‘Charlie, we really have to stop this,’ she said as she came up for air. She was going to explode from sexual frustration if they kept this up.
He smiled and nuzzled her neck. His hand worked its way under her jacket at the back. ‘I agree. This is bad…very bad.’ His fingers moved round and found a lace-covered breast and he stroked it.
Carrie shut her eyes against a surge of desire. ‘Charlie!’
He laughed and cut off her husky protest with his mouth. He felt himself harden as she sighed against his lips.
‘Ahem.’
Charlie froze. He’d know that disapproving noise anywhere. Carrie pressed desperately against him to get away. ‘I really need a lock on that door,’ he announced loudly enough for his father to hear.
‘Maybe a little self-control wouldn’t go astray, either.’
Charlie made sure Carrie was together and smiled at her before he turned around. ‘Hello, Father.’
Oh, God! Mr Wentworth, Charlie’s father, eminent thoracic surgeon, had caught them necking like a pair of horny teenagers.
‘Charles.’
‘This is Carrie,’ Charlie said calmly.
‘Who is just leaving,’ Carrie said, her legs shaking as she made a quick escape.
At Friday lunchtime Carrie was sitting at the table, trying to concentrate on a bunch of exceedingly boring, exceedingly depressing figures. Damn it. The hospital board was going to have a field day. The centre wasn’t viable. The previous year’s figures were a mess. She knew she would have to make a recommendation to the board that would destroy Charlie and his beloved centre.
And their so-called friendship. And most definitely their snogging. After she delivered her verdict she was pretty sure he’d never want to see her again—never mind kiss her.
It was developing into a true conflict of interest for her. She was torn. Torn between what the figures told her, the black and white, and what she knew about Charlie and his goals and aims for the centre—the grey.
A few weeks ago she’d been nothing but a bottom-line girl. A black and white girl. But the longer she spent at the centre and witnessed the difference Charlie and the centre made, she knew she couldn’t be objective. She had gone to the grey side.
She threw down her pen and glared at the stack of paperwork in front of her. The jukebox thumped away in the background and somewhere outside a car backfired. How the hell was she going to tell him?
Maybe this was an easy out for her? This crazy passion-fuelled supposed friendship they had now couldn’t go on. Their issues hadn’t changed. Her time there was almost up. If she left, putting the final nail in the centre’s coffin, it would achieve what they’d so far not managed to achieve. The end of their impossible, never-going-to-happen relationship.
Carrie was still musing over the problem a couple of minutes later when Angela burst through the door.
‘I need you. Now. I have a GSW outside.’
Carrie startled at the receptionist’s abrupt entry and rapid-fire demand. A gunshot wound? Oh, no! She stood on shaky legs. ‘Get Charlie.’
Angela glared at her impatiently. ‘Do you think I’d be here, asking you, if Charlie was around?’
Good point. She watched Angela’s brisk retreat.
‘Stat,’ Angela bellowed from down the hallway.
Carrie jumped, her heart leaping in her chest. Her legs responded to the brisk command, her thoughts jumbled as she felt the familiar edge of panic.
She entered the treatment room, nausea slamming into her gut at the bloodied victim.
‘Shotgun blast to the abdomen,’ Angela said, thrusting a pair of gloves at her. ‘That car backfiring earlier was not a car backfiring. The ambulance is eight minutes out.’
The patient looked like a teenager. He had an oxygen mask on and was writhing around the examination bed, holding his abdomen. Blood was oozing out all over his hands, and its metallic aroma wafted towards her, fuelling even more nausea. It was all over his clothes and the clean white sheets. Oh, God, why wasn’t Charlie here? Where the hell was he?
Another teenager was pacing in the corner. He had blood all over his clothes, too. ‘Help him. Don’t just stand there. He
lp him,’ he yelled at Carrie, running his bloodied hands through his hair.
Angela looked at her sternly. They were it. She was it. She was what stood between this boy and death. Did she want another boy to bleed and die before her eyes?
Her thoughts crystallised. Her thinking became ordered. D.R.A.B.C.H.
The first four letters checked out already. There was no danger, the boy was obviously responsive and, at a quick glance, his airway and breathing weren’t compromised. She noticed a blood-pressure cuff wrapped around his arm and a pulse oximeter attached to his finger.
She strode closer. ‘What’s his pressure?’
‘Eighty systolic,’ Angela returned quickly. ‘Heart rate one-twenty. Sats ninety-eight per cent.’
Carrie nodded. ‘I’ll get some lines in. Have we got a plasma expander?’
Angela nodded as she pushed the IV trolley towards her. ‘I’ll set up two Haemaccel lines.’
Carrie snapped on a tourniquet. Her hand trembled as she attempted and gained access to a vein in the crook of the teenager’s elbow. In trauma situations these veins were the most commonly used. They were big, allowing a decent-sized cannulae to be placed for rapid infusion of large amounts of fluid, and were generally easy to find.
Angela taped it in place while Carrie moved around to the other side and placed one in the opposite arm. In a few minutes they had two litres of fluid running into the patient. ‘Pressure?’
‘Ninety systolic.’
Improving, but there was no way of telling just how much blood their patient had lost or was continuing to lose. Carrie turned her attention to the wound. There was a large hole in the abdominal wall, with loops of bowel protruding. Blood oozed out continuously. Where exactly it was coming from was anyone’s guess. In all probability there could be multiple sites. Bowel, kidney, liver, stomach. And that wasn’t even counting the threat to major blood vessels.
‘He needs a laparotomy,’ Carrie said. There could also be spinal complications although, given the boy’s powerful thrashing, everything appeared intact.
Angela nodded. ‘In the meantime, let’s put some moist packs in the hole to protect the exposed bowel. The ambulance should be here in a couple of minutes.’