Burnt (3 page)

‘It's my job.'

‘You were almost killed.'

‘
Again.
' His gaze hardened. ‘And yet here I am – still alive.'

She definitely didn't want to go digging beneath that loaded reply and yet every instinct screamed at her to get her shovel and start excavating – for professional reasons. Unfortunately, she suspected she already knew what lay buried there, and had her own reasons why she didn't want to get into that mess.

‘We done?' he asked, already making moves to get off the bed.

‘I need to make an appointment for your rehab. We have a physio who comes here a few times a week, so I'll book you in and give you a call to let you know what time. Other than that, you just need to go and get this prescription filled.' She unclipped a prescription sent up with his medical records.

He gave a stiff nod and reached for his shirt.

She leant across and snagged a sleeve for him, helping him slip it over his shoulders. Her gaze wandered across his chest and biceps.
Sweet lord
,
she thought. His body was like a work of art. He'd certainly filled out since the last time she'd seen him half naked – his training had honed his body into a hard, efficient machine. Even battle scarred and wrapped in bandages, he was still magnificent. That thought brought her back to the present with a jolt. She wasn't going to go there right now – that was unprofessional.

Seemingly oblivious to her chaotic thoughts, he got to his feet and finished buttoning up his shirt, eager to get away. She couldn't blame him really; she'd just inflicted more pain than any one person deserved to have in one sitting, then practically drooled all over him.

‘I see the address you've given is out at your dad's. How's he doing?'

‘Not great. He's let things go since Mum died.' The slight change in his expression was the only thing that gave any indication he wasn't as indifferent as he'd like the world to think. ‘Same time tomorrow, then.' It was more a statement than a question, but she nodded anyway.

She watched him walk out the door, spine straight, shoulders broad against the light, before sinking onto one of the chairs next to the bed, the shock of the last half-hour filtering through her body.

Sebastian Taylor.

Oh … my …
god
.

Seb walked back to his car, his jaw clenched tightly.

Rebecca Whiteman.

Shit.

Of all the people he could have ran into on his return, she had been the
last
one he'd expected. He couldn't think about it; the pain was still too raw. And yet, there she was. His gut had clenched so badly the minute she turned around, he thought he'd been hit by a goddam IED, but an improvised explosive device had nothing on the impact he'd felt seeing Bec again.
Christ!
What the hell was she doing back in town?

Surely he was seeing things? But then there she was, up close. So close he could breathe in her clean, fresh smell that somehow managed to overcome the sterile hospital tang he detested so much. He'd stared, captivated by the tiny freckles across her nose she used to hate and the bottomless brown eyes he'd fallen into more than once in the past. He'd inhaled the scent of her hair. Apples – she'd smelled like apples. Her dark, burnt caramel-coloured hair was tied back loosely at the base of her neck, but small bits had fallen forwards, framing her face.

Before she'd started on his dressings, he'd noticed one of the wisps irritated her and she'd rubbed the side of her face against her shoulder, unable to use her freshly gloved hands. His fingers had itched to reach over and tuck it behind her ear for her – to the point that he'd had to clench his fists on his thighs to stop them.

Once he'd had the right to touch her. Once he'd done a hell of a lot more than just touch her, but that was a long time ago. Then when she'd leant across him just now, he'd practically run from the room like a frightened bloody schoolgirl.

Rebecca Whiteman … How much more screwed up could his life get?

‘You know you don't have to move out. We love having you and the girls here,' Eliza Whiteman said as she watched her daughter packing a suitcase on the end of the bed.

Rebecca sent her a gentle smile. ‘Mum, we're not leaving town. We'll only be on the other side of the bridge.'

‘But with your shift work it just makes more sense that you all stay here. The girls will be in their own beds. You won't have to wake them to take them home.'

‘I shouldn't have that many late shifts from now on, so it won't be too bad. Besides, knowing my two, they'll still be wanting a sleepover way too often at Nan and Pop's and you'll probably get sick of them under your feet.'

‘Rubbish. I've missed them too much to ever get sick of them.'

Rebecca hugged her mother tightly. ‘And it's really good to be home. It'll be okay, you'll see.'

Rebecca finished her packing and took the second load of suitcases and boxes out to the car. Her mother followed her and they settled themselves in the car for the drive to the new house. It had been a whirlwind of a week. Within a day of calling real estate agents, Rebecca had lined up a place to rent. She'd picked up the keys this morning, paid the bond and filled out all the paperwork. The removalist she'd hired would pick up her furniture from her storage container and deliver it by lunchtime, and she and her mother had the whole day to unpack and set up the place while the girls were at school.

The house was one that Rebecca had always admired. It was an older home, but had recently been renovated, with fresh paint inside and out and a modern kitchen and bathroom installed. It was also within walking distance of the girls' school and the centre of town. When Rebecca and Eliza pulled up, the removalists were waiting and Rebecca rushed to let them in.

By the time school was out, Rebecca and her mother had made considerable progress on the unpacking. She left Eliza to admire their handiwork, coffee in hand, while she walked across the road to meet the girls.

‘Mum, can we get a dog now?' Natalie begged as she ran into the kitchen and threw her arms around her grandmother.

‘No, I want a cat,' Sarah said, dropping her backpack on the floor as she followed her older sister.

‘Nobody's getting anything just yet, we haven't even finished unpacking the house,' Rebecca said, picking up the coffee Eliza had made for her. She could get used to this walking across the street to pick up the kids after school business. No more drop-off-zone stress, no searching for a parking space.

‘Please, Mum, you said we could when we got our own house,' Natalie continued, moving to an empty box and idly pulling some tape from it. ‘Nan, tell Mum how good we are at taking care of pets.'

Eliza shook her head. ‘It's not up to me, sweetheart. This is your mother's house.'

Natalie might be ten but it was eight-year-old Sarah who was the more outgoing of the two, and Rebecca cast her youngest daughter a suspicious glance. ‘Did you put your sister up to asking after I told you last night it was too soon to get a pet?'

‘I told her not to ask,' the blonde-haired angel blinked her big blue eyes innocently, and Rebecca had to bite back the smile she felt building. Yes, this child was destined to take on Hollywood when she grew up. She was a right little actress already.

‘Mum, when are we going to go and see Dad?' Sarah asked, probably to deflect further questioning. Rebecca almost wished they'd stuck to the discussion about pets instead.

‘I don't know, honey, we'll see what happens when he gets back from Japan.'

Watching her children's happiness deflate like a week-old balloon, her frustration reignited as it usually did whenever her ex-husband was mentioned. Why couldn't the man see what he was missing? He had two beautiful children who worshipped the ground he walked on, just begging for a few minutes of his time, and he couldn't even be bothered to put them before his business, just
once
. Unless they called his mobile, he didn't even speak to them on a regular basis. It hurt her to see the disappointment cross their faces when he forgot to call as promised, or if he was unreachable and all they got was his voicemail message.

‘Come on, girls, how about we go and get some of those boxes unpacked in your bedrooms?' Eliza said.

Rebecca smiled gratefully at her mother. It was getting harder to distract them as they got older; soon they'd be – god help her – teenagers. Shaking herself from that depressing thought, she followed them into the bedroom and began to sort out piles of clothes, soft toys and Barbies. She watched them rediscovering favourite and long-forgotten toys as they dug through the boxes that had been packed and stored away for the last twelve months or more. A familiar surge of guilt began to rise inside her at the memory of the luxury they'd lived in before Rebecca had finally realised she couldn't take the farce that her marriage had become.

For a long time, she'd wondered how her life had gotten so far off-track – she'd gone from independent city girl to stay-at-home mother of two children so quickly. But the first few years had been wonderful; she loved her girls more than life itself and couldn't bear to put them in day care to go back to work. It wasn't until after Sarah had started school that she'd realised how much she'd missed the company of adults, and nursing. Mind made up, she'd organised a meeting with her old employers before she'd had a chance to think twice, and was excited when they offered her a few shifts a week.

Telling Matthew about her decision, though, was harder. With his import business a booming success, he was regularly away on business trips and, as it happened, he was away the day Rebecca had spoken to her old boss. When he'd called that evening to tell Natalie he wouldn't be able to come home for the ninth birthday party that she'd been so excitedly counting the days to, all thoughts of telling him about going back to work had been pushed from her mind at the devastation on her child's face. She was furious, but not surprised – as far as her husband was concerned, his job always came first.

When he eventually came home almost a week later, Rebecca had already started back at work. The confrontation hadn't been pleasant, and Matthew had walked out and not come home for two days. She'd known of his lonely childhood, and of his desire for his girls to grow up in a different environment, but his vehement refusal to even discuss her return to work had opened her eyes to a side of her husband she'd always tried to ignore. He could be arrogant, aggressive and dominating if his opinions were ever challenged, and she'd grown accustomed to backing down, too disheartened to push the matter.

How had she not realised how bad things had become? Was this why some of her closest friends were distant with him? Flashes of memory had begun to play over in her mind and she'd slowly come to recognise the signs other people had seen, and that she, in love-swept, rebellious pride, had refused to acknowledge. She didn't know this man who was her husband. She felt as though she were sharing a house with a stranger – a man who made it increasingly difficult for her to keep the love they once shared alive; a man she was no longer in love with. She had almost convinced herself that she could sacrifice her happiness for her children, just so they could enjoy life with both parents under the same roof. But after a year of trying to balance her kids, her job and her husband, who no longer even tried to hide his growing hostility, she'd realised she was the only one trying, and life was far too short to waste on a man who refused to acknowledge his part of the blame.

Guilt was a hard thing to live with, and as a mother she'd discovered it came with the package. Did you breastfeed or bottle feed? Did you start them on solids early or late? Should they have learnt to spell their name before kindergarten? And if not, would it affect them for the rest of their school years? And now, a new cause for guilt. Would their parents' divorce screw them up and ruin their chances for a normal, healthy relationship in the future? Guilt was a constant companion, but not a new one for Rebecca; she knew better than most that guilt could stay with you for a long time and it didn't come just from parenthood. She'd lived with guilt for the last eighteen years – it wasn't anything new.

‘Mum, I can't find Mr Ted.'

Rebecca looked down into Sarah's troubled face as a wave of gratitude washed over her for the two precious gifts she'd been given. ‘He must be hiding, because I know he was packed,' Rebecca said, cupping her child's cheek gently in her hand. ‘Come on, let's go and look for him.'

Seb took his coffee out to the side verandah and inhaled a deep breath of the early-morning air. It was getting cooler; he could feel the difference in the few short weeks he'd been here. He'd only seen Bec twice during his visits to the hospital, and they'd kept their conversations to a minimum. He was an expert at shutting out the world; he'd had eighteen years to perfect it, thanks to the army honing his skills a little more.

After that first visit, he'd realised if he had to stay put until he healed, he wasn't going to be able to cope with feeling like the irrational, out-of-character doofus he'd been after that first visit. He knew Bec had been hurt by his cold-shoulder routine the next time he'd come in to have his dressings changed, but she'd accepted it. There was no more prying or questions. She seemed willing to play by the new rules with little resistance, for which he was thankful: he wasn't completely sure he would have been able to keep his defences up if she'd challenged him on it. It was safer for both of them if they forgot who they used to be and just concentrated on who they'd become.

He let his gaze roam across the neatly mowed lawn and pruned hedges. He'd decided to use tidying up the place as therapy, both physical and mental, and had thrown himself into the task, spending a slow week tidying up. He still couldn't lift his arm as high as he wanted, but the physio had improved his mobility a little and he already had noticeably more freedom of movement.