Читать книгу Just One Last Night... - Amy Andrews - Страница 8

‘ANXIOUS about today, darling?’

Anxious? Grace was so nervous she could barely pick up her cup of tea without it rattling against the saucer.

Why her mother was the only person on the planet not to have switched to mugs was a complete mystery.

She looked around at the expectant faces at the table. It had been nice to slip back into the family breakfast ritual but this morning she could have done with a little less companionship.

The kids were inhaling cereal like they’d never eaten before. Her father was reading the paper. Her brother Marshall had called in on his way to work to drop off his two kids and was currently eating his second breakfast of the day.

‘No.’ Grace shook her head and forced down the toast that her mother had insisted on making her.

The food was in imminent danger of regurgitation but at least it gave her something to think about other than Brent.

Chew. Chew. Chew. Swallow.

Chew. Chew. Chew. Swallow.

‘You’ll be fine once you get stuck in,’ Marshall added.

‘I have a five-day hospital orientation first. Boring stuff like fire lectures and workplace health and safety stuff, so I won’t be getting stuck in until next week. But at least its nine to five.’

‘I hate starting a new job.’ Marshall shuddered.

Trish nodded. ‘It’s always hard starting over somewhere new.’ She squeezed her daughter’s hand. ‘I know you’re my oldest and you haven’t been little for a very long time, but I’ll still worry as if it was your first day at kindy. It’s not easy walking into a place where you don’t know a soul.’

Irritated by being babied and by their incessant need to talk about what was making her feel incredibly nervous, she blurted out, ‘Brent works there.’

There was a moment of double-take around the table that would have been quite comical to an outsider. Her mother sucked in a very audible breath. Her father looked up from his paper. Marshall stopped chewing in mid-mouthful.

‘Brent Cartwright?’ her father said.

‘You didn’t mention that before,’ her mother said.

‘Wow. That’s a blast from the past,’ Marshall said.

Tash looked from one adult to the other. ‘Who’s Brent Cartwright?’

‘Grace’s old boyfriend,’ Marshall said, reaching for his fourth slice of toast.

Grace glared at him and turned to Tash. ‘He was someone I knew a long time ago. We went to med school together.’

‘I didn’t think you were still in touch with him?’ Trish said.

‘I’m not.’ She shrugged with as much nonchalance as she could gather. ‘I … bumped into him when I came down for the interview. He works at the Central.’ Grace kept it deliberately vague.

‘Well, how is he? What’s he been doing with his life? Goodness … it’s been, what … twenty years? Is he married? Does he have kids?’

Grace realised she couldn’t answer any of the personal questions about him. She hadn’t asked about his life and he hadn’t volunteered.

Had be been wearing a ring?

The lump of lead sank a little deeper into the lining of her stomach at the prospect. Which was utterly ridiculous. Of course he’d be married by now. With a swag of kids to boot. It was all he’d ever wanted.

A family to call his own.

She shook her head. ‘I don’t know, we barely talked,’ she said.

‘Well, how’d he look?’ Trish sighed and fluttered her hand against her chest. ‘He was always such a handsome boy.’

Marshall gave a hoot and Grace shot him her very best I-used-to-change-your-nappies look as she stood. ‘I guess he still looks okay,’ she muttered, figuring she was probably about to be struck down dead and that would, at least, cure her horrible bout of nerves.

He’d looked incredible. Just like the old Brent but with a maturity that had taken his sexiness to a whole new level. ‘Anyway, gotta go.’

She bustled around to the other side of the table and dropped a kiss each on Tash and Benji’s heads. Benji gave her one of his sweet smiles but Tash fluffed her hair as if to erase it.

Grace ignored the pointed action. ‘See you both about five-thirty,’ she said, picking up her case and turning to go.

‘You should invite him to dinner one night. It’d be lovely to see him again.’

Grace stopped in mid-stride. She looked at her mother, ever the hostess. ‘Mmm …’ she said noncommittally, ignoring Marshall’s wink in her peripheral vision, and headed towards the front door.

That was so not going to happen.

As it played out it wasn’t until lunch of her third day that she finally met up again with Brent. She was standing in line at the cafeteria when a familiar sense of him surrounded her. She didn’t have to look to know he was near.

It had always been like that between the two of them.

‘Grace.’

She gripped her tray as his quiet greeting brushed her neck and nestled into her bones as familiar to her, even after all these years, as her own marrow.

She didn’t bother to turn and face him. ‘Brent.’

‘What are you having? They do a good Chicken Parmigiana.’

‘The quiche.’

Brent frowned at the continued view of the back of her head. ‘Let me guess. With chips drenched in vinegar?’

Grace smiled. ‘Yes.’

The waitress interrupted them and Brent let her order.

‘That’s twelve dollars fifty, Doc.’

‘Here,’ Brent said, smiling at the middle-aged woman behind the counter, ‘add up mine too and take them both out of this.’

Grace, who was handing over her card, froze and finally faced him. ‘I pay my own way, Brent.’

A man would have to be deaf, blind and stupid not to pay heed to the ice in her tone and the chill in her gaze.

But somehow it just made him more determined.

He shrugged. ‘For old times’ sake.’

A surge of molten rage erupted in her chest so fast it took her breath. Hadn’t he learned anything from the old times? He’d wanted to take care of her and all she’d wanted had been for him to realise she could take care of herself.

She hadn’t needed a carer. She’d wanted a partner. An equal. Someone who didn’t need the trappings of the traditional to be validated. But Brent, a product of a broken home and an even more broken foster-system, had craved the conventional.

He’d wanted roots. A wife, some kids, the whole white-picket-fence catastrophe. And she’d just wanted a career.

‘No.’

She didn’t mean it to come out as a growl but she suspected from the rounded eyes of the nurse standing behind Brent that it had. ‘Put it away.’

Brent nodded and withdrew his money, cursing his stupidity under his breath. It had been the wrong thing to do and the wrong thing to say.

Why did he suddenly feel like a gangly eighteen-year-old around her? Trying to prove he was a suave urbane gentleman and not some gutter urchin who had been dragged through a system that had been underfunded and overstretched?

She hadn’t treated him as if he’d been unworthy back then—why would she now?

Grace paid for her meal. ‘We need to talk,’ she said, before she stormed off to an unoccupied table as far away from the nearest lunchtime customers as possible.

Grace continued to fume as she watched Brent charm the woman at the register and then his unhurried stride towards her. He’d been in a suit that day of the interview, which had only hinted at the perfection she knew lay beneath. But today he was in trousers and a business shirt that left nothing to the imagination.

Was it possible that he was even broader twenty years on?

‘I’m sorry,’ he said as he placed his tray on the table and sank into a chair. ‘It won’t happen again. In fact, I think you should pay for me next time. I reckon I could set up a tab here and have them bill you at the end of each month. You could also pay for my parking if you like.’

Grace, who’d opened her mouth to launch into her how-dare-you diatribe, shut it again. He was grinning at her and it seemed like nothing had ever gone wrong between them. How many times had they sat in a cafeteria, eating some awful uni food and laughing at his silly jokes?

It seemed like yesterday.

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Surely the director of emergency medicine gets his own car space?’

Brent grinned again. ‘Yeah, you got me there. So, just my cafeteria bill, okay?’

Grace felt all the angst melt at his infectious smile. Seemed like she was still a sucker for that mouth.

The urge to reach out and stroke the rich-looking fabric of his shirt, as she once would have done, prowled inside her like a living, breathing beast. She forced herself to pick up her cutlery instead.

As they ate they chatted about her orientation and Grace also told him about the house she’d bought. Twenty minutes passed easily. He loved listening to her talk. Her voice was just the way he remembered—soothing and melodic.

In fact, so many things about her were the same. Familiar. Her great big smile. Her mannerisms.

But the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she laughed was new. She’d obviously done it a lot and he was torn between being happy for her and annoyed that she’d obviously had a rich and full life without him.

Of course her hair was completely different. And then there were the glasses. He knew she was severely long-sighted and was essentially as blind as a bat without some kind of corrective device, but what had made her switch from contacts?

‘So, why the glasses?’ he asked as conversation dwindled.

Grace shrugged and adjusted them with sudden nervousness. This was moving into personal territory.

‘I’ve had so many problems with contacts over the years. Glasses are simpler. And they’re excellent splash protection. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve copped an unexpected spray of blood in my face and they’ve saved my eyes every time.’

Brent nodded. Having had a couple of splash injuries over the years, he could relate to that.

He liked the glasses very much—they, along with the short, layered hairdo, took her to a whole new level of sexy. There was a maturity to her sex appeal now that pulled even more treacherously at his libido than it had when he’d been a teenager.

She seemed all schoolmarm, all touch-me-not.

Perversely, it had the opposite effect.

He swallowed his last mouthful and pushed his plate away, sinking back into his chair. ‘Have you been avoiding me?’

Grace looked at him, startled for a moment, before forcing herself to calmly pick up her cup and take a sip of her tea. They’d definitely moved beyond hospital safe-lift policy and dreadful wallpaper.

‘The boss of the emergency department has an ego, I see,’ she said dryly.

Brent chuckled. ‘Is that a yes?’

Grace fought the urge to shut her eyes as his laughter bathed her in testosterone. No one chuckled quite like Brent. ‘It’s been a busy few days—that’s all.’

‘If you say so.’

Grace ignored the jibe and watched as he picked up his coffee cup the way he always had. His long, strong fingers disregarded the convenience of the curved handle, preferring to encompass the whole cup.

No ring. ‘You’re not married.’

The statement slipped out unchecked. Not surprising since his marital status had weighed on her mind since her mother had put it there.

But not something she’d wanted him to know she’d been thinking about.

Brent looked at her for a moment before looking down at his bare left hand. ‘No. Not now.’

Now? Oh. ‘Divorced?’

Brent nodded. ‘Twice.’

Grace blinked. ‘Twice?’

He nodded. Marrying twice and failing at both wasn’t a record he was proud of. ‘In my early twenties.’

After Grace had walked away Brent had been determined never to date another career-woman. And while party girls had been fun and up for anything, the reality of married life with a poor medical student or an overworked, underpaid resident had soon lost its sparkle.

‘They were both brief. My first one didn’t see out a year. The second one didn’t see two. Both of my exes have since happily remarried. One now lives in Hong Kong. The other in Darwin. They were both amicable.’

‘Okay,’ she said. Because frankly she didn’t know what else to say. She certainly hadn’t expected that.

Deep down she’d secretly thought he’d never find anyone to replace her. That what they’d had was a once-in-a-lifetime thing. She’d certainly never found another man who’d come close to measuring up to Brent.

Brent could see she was grappling with the news. ‘I was looking for … I wanted …’

He stopped. He hadn’t known what he’d wanted.

Grace. But not Grace.

She nodded. ‘Yeah … I know.’ He’d wanted connection. Family. Roots. The perfect white-picket life he’d never had. ‘Any kids?’

Brent shook his head. Forty years old and the kids he’d always imagined he’d have hadn’t panned out.

He’d never been short of partners. In fact, he’d earned quite the playboy rep. But the problem with dating party girls was that they were as reluctant to settle and have babies quickly as career-women were.

And after two divorces, the idea of the perfect family had taken a battering. He’d resigned himself to the fact that he just wasn’t meant to be a father.

‘I guess I never found the right person. It just hasn’t happened.’

Maybe perfect only came along once? Maybe he’d been holding out for another Grace? Sitting opposite her, he suspected that it could possibly be true. The thought alarmed him and he opened his mouth to distract himself from it.

‘I coach a football team, though. Made up of kids in the system. It’s run by a Melbourne-based charity.’ He smiled, thinking about his beloved Little Warriors. ‘They range in age from five to twelve. They’re a bit of a ragtag bunch, but they’re keen and they love their Aussie rules.’

Grace watched as Brent’s face softened, his sexy mouth moving into an easy smile. His admission didn’t surprise her. His time in foster-care had given him deep insight into a fraught system. That he would be doing his bit to improve it all these years later was typical of the Brent she’d known.

And after remembering him with her siblings, it was easy to visualise him running around on a field, chasing after a bunch of kids, a whistle in his mouth, laughing.

‘Every few weeks I hire a corporate box at the MCG and we all go and watch a game together.’

Grace whistled. That wouldn’t be cheap. ‘They’re lucky to have you.’

Brent shook his head. ‘I’m lucky. They’re great kids.’ He gave a half-smile. ‘They keep me young.’

Grace wished she could say the same about her kids. Tash was single-handedly turning her grey. ‘Sounds great,’ she said, trying not to sound resentful. Coaching a bunch of kids who hero-worshipped you for a couple of hours was very different to parenting day in, day out. Especially when you weren’t wired that way.

‘Enough about me,’ he said, looking directly at her. ‘You never married?’

She shook her head. ‘Nope.’

‘Why?’

There was a certain amount of amazement in his voice and she laughed. ‘Women do chose to stay single, Brent. It’s not a crime. Especially in a field like medicine where the climb to the top is a long, hard slog. I made a choice to put my career first.’

And it hadn’t even been difficult. Sure, there’d been relationships over the years but none of them had stimulated her like medicine. Or Brent. She’d always figured she’d had her shot at grand love and blown it.

And if sometimes, deep in the night, she’d craved a man’s arms around her, dreamt about Brent, it was the price she’d paid. And she didn’t have any regrets.

At least she hadn’t until Brent had swept back into her life, reminding her of things that could have been.

‘And yet you had children?’

Grace frowned. It took a second for her to understand what he was saying. He still thought Tash and Benji were hers …

‘Ah. Actually … I have a confession to make.’

Brent raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh?’

She took a deep breath, already dreading the way she knew this conversation was going to go. Rehashing all the grief and opening all the wounds again. ‘They’re not mine. Tash and Benji. They’re Julie’s.’

‘Julie? Your sister?’ She nodded and he continued, a smile lighting his face. ‘Do you remember that time she called us at three in the morning from that nightclub? She was underage and had drunk too many West Coast coolers and she was scared she was dying from alcohol poisoning?’

He laughed at the memory. ‘What the hell she thought two green medical students could do I have no idea.’

Grace smiled the familiar ache in her chest roaring to life. She remembered it as if it was yesterday. Julie hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol since that night.

They’d been so close. With only eleven months between them they’d been more like twins—inseparable. And when Grace had made the heart-wrenching break to Brisbane to finish her medical degree she’d missed her sister almost as much as she had Brent.

‘She threw up for a day,’ Grace murmured. ‘I had to come up with that elaborate lie for Mum and Dad.’

Brent chuckled. So the kids were her sister’s. It certainly made a lot more sense. The notion of Grace having kids had been completely foreign to him and he’d spent a lot of time in the last weeks trying to wrap his head around it.

But that didn’t explain why she hadn’t set him straight from the beginning. Had she wanted him to think they were hers as some kind of proof that she’d been fine without him?

‘So … you let me believe they were your kids because …?’

Grace cleared her throat of the huge lump that had suddenly taken up residence. ‘Because they are. Mine. That is. Julie and Doug were killed in a car accident eighteen months ago. I’m …’ She drew in a shaky breath. ‘I’m their legal guardian.’

Brent felt his gut twist at the huskily imparted news. He sat very still for a moment, watching Grace fight to stay contained, observing the thick mist of grief clouding her grey gaze.

‘Oh, no, Gracie …’ He reached for her across the table, his hand squeezing her forearm. He knew how close they’d been. ‘I’m so sorry.’

His touch and the way he said her name, like he could see deep inside her bruised heart with just one glance, nearly brought her undone and she snatched her arm back. She would not break down in front of Brent.

In a public cafeteria.

For God’s sake, she hadn’t seen him in two decades!

It was ridiculous.

And if she started to cry now, she didn’t know if she could stop. And then he would haul her into his arms and the way she was feeling right now, she’d go willingly.

Absurdly, he’d been the one she’d secretly craved most after Julie’s death. Having him so near now was dangerous. Her life was complicated. Chaotic.

There wasn’t room for any more.

‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly, refusing to acknowledge the flash of emotion she saw in his hazel eyes at her rejection of his touch.

‘What happened?’

Grace filled him in briefly on the accident. ‘Doug died instantly,’ she concluded. ‘Julie was cut free but died shortly after arriving at the Royal.’

Brent frowned. ‘I must have been on holidays when it happened.’ He thought back. Yes, he had been. He’d gone skiing in France with friends. ‘I wish I’d been there when she came in.’

Grace sucked in a husky breath. She wished he had too. It would have made it somehow easier to bear to know that Julie had had a familiar face with her that night. To know that maybe she might not have been so frightened.

It should have been her.

If she’d been there, maybe she could have saved her sister. Maybe Brent could have.

‘Me too.’

Brent nodded. She was hugging herself now, so removed, so shut down. It was clear she was hurting and it killed him. He’d do anything to take her pain from her. But she was as closed off, as forbidding as that day she’d told him she was leaving and excised him from her life.

And it hit him—any thoughts he’d been harbouring deep down that they might have a chance at rekindling their relationship were utter fancy.

She was no closer to committing now than she had been back then.

And he was no sadist. In the aftermath of their devastating break-up and two failed marriages he’d hardened his heart to relationships and happily settled into a life of playing the field.

After a childhood of being pushed from pillar to post, Brent knew all about loving the one you were with.

He wasn’t about to lose his head to her a second time. She’d walked away last time. And he was damned if he was going to allow nostalgia open the door to her again.

‘I wish I’d known,’ he said, falling back on polite socially acceptable conversation. ‘I know it’s probably too late but is there anything I can do …’

Grace shook her head. ‘You already have. I’m very thankful that you offered me this job when I didn’t get yours. Not many places offer part-time work at my level and I really appreciate it.’

Grace had been devastated when she’d been informed she hadn’t been successful. And had rejected Brent’s job offer that had come soon after. But then Tash had gone AWOL after school a few days later, scaring the absolute daylights out of her, and as much as she knew it would be challenging for them to work together again, she’d known she needed to come home.

So she’d swallowed her pride and emailed him.

He shrugged. ‘I want the Central’s emergency department to be the best. It makes sense to hire the best.’

Grace paused, trying to decide whether to mention the elephant in the room or not. But she’d always believed in tackling things head on. ‘I appreciate that it’s not easy, given our history. I know it’ll be awkward to start with.’

Brent nodded. Then he held out his hand. If they set the boundaries at the beginning, they’d both be on the same page. ‘So let’s make a pact. The past is the past. Today is a new page. Friends?’

Grace’s heart thunked in her chest as her hand slid into his and his warmth flowed up her arm and through her body. ‘Friends.’

Brent felt it too and quickly withdrew his hand. ‘We kinda skipped that part, didn’t we?’

Grace gave a half-smile. They certainly had.

She suddenly felt on steadier emotional ground. She looked at her watch. ‘Gosh. I have to go.’ She stood. ‘Thank you. For … being so understanding.’

He shrugged. ‘What are friends for?’

Grace smiled, picked up her tray and departed. Brent watched her walk away. The sway of her hips drew his gaze to their hourglass curve and her cute bottom and he had to remind himself of the pact he’d made just a few seconds before.

Friends.