Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 164838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
“Whatever you’re about to say, don’t.” I flicked a look at the nurses still watching us under the guise of sorting paperwork.
“Aw, come on. I know you didn’t perve. After all, the window fogged up real quick.”
“And how would you know that?”
“Because I’m a man, and I sneaked a peek. Just like I’m sure you’ve sneaked many a peek because you live next door to a beautiful woman who makes you act like a teenage boy who doesn’t know how to speak to girls.”
I couldn’t win with him.
I’d never been able to. Didn’t matter I’d graduated with top honours and was the most promising surgeon in this hospital, every brain cell decided to go on the fritz. After such a long shift and a few sleepless nights, I knew better than to even attempt to take him on.
“I’m leaving.” Striding down the corridor, I rolled my eyes as he fell into pace with me.
“Going home, huh?” He grinned. “But your sexy neighbour won’t be there. What will you watch when her house stays dark with no snippets of her walking from room to room?”
Irrational anger chose that moment to slip free. Snatching his collar, I yanked him into the stairwell and growled. “She’s in the hospital, asshole. By the guy who tried to murder her. I will never be able to ‘sneak a peek’ again. I feel guilty enough as it is.”
“Hey, Zan, it’s okay, mate.” He threw his hands up in surrender, all signs of needling me switching into compassion. “I didn’t realise she meant that much to you. I’m sorry. Truly—”
“She doesn’t mean anything to me.” Smoothing out the collar of his scrubs where I’d yanked him, I backed up. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to grab you like that. I’m just…it’s been a long day.” Pushing my glasses up my nose, I shrugged. “She’s the granddaughter of my gran’s best-friend, that’s all. I’ve told you this. I feel…responsible for her. Just like I felt responsible for Melody in her later years.”
He pursed his lips and wisely said nothing.
Raking a hand through my hair, I huffed. “Whatever. I need to go to bed. I’ll catch you around. Sorry again for my outburst.”
“No need to apologise. I get it. You on shift tomorrow, or are you free?”
“I’m free. I actually have forty-eight hours off. Provided I don’t get called in, of course.”
“Great.” He grabbed the door handle to return to the corridor. “In that case, I’ll bring some beers around. I think we both need to remember how to relax a bit. This job is rewarding, but it sure isn’t healthy when we take on the pains of others. Do yourself a favour and stop thinking about who you’re responsible for. In fact, do whatever it takes to knock yourself out for eight hours, and then I’ll pop round in the afternoon to chill. We’ll have a barbecue, some beers, and some sun. That work for you?”
No, that didn’t work for me.
What would work was returning here at ten a.m. tomorrow to be the physician to give the all clear to Sailor and take her home.
After all, we lived side by side. It wouldn’t be a hassle to carpool.
I needed to see how she’d react stepping back into the scene of her crime.
Would she cope?
Would she freak out?
But…Colin was right.
She wasn’t my responsibility—no matter the promise I’d made as a kid or the twinge in my heart as an adult—and I wasn’t on shift. Besides, it already sounded as if Lily was abducting her for the time being.
She isn’t mine to worry about.
A couple of beers to remind me to let shit go was definitely needed.
“You’re on.” I forced a smile. “See you there.”
* 3 *
Sailor
Home is Where the Pain is
“ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO DO this?”
I scowled at Lily as she asked the same question she’d asked a hundred times since she’d picked me up from the hospital and kindly driven me back to Ember Drive.
I went to speak and remembered the many guidelines the elderly doctor had advised before discharging me this morning. He’d suggested I stay for another day’s observation, but I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t relax—constantly on high alert in case Alexander North popped by again.
I hated the fact that I was as wary about him as I was about Milton. That he’d been the catalyst for all my pain, and my body refused to forget that.
I’d refused to stay, but I had agreed not to use my voice for a week to let the swelling in my throat recede. My bruises would fade. My cuts would heal. My slight concussion would disappear on its own. What happened yesterday would be a distant memory in six to eight weeks.
However, that wasn’t what the counsellor had said when she came to visit me as I awkwardly dressed to leave. She warned me of flashbacks and panic attacks, and I’d politely nodded along, all while convincing myself that I would be fine.