CHAPTER THREE #2
“I give it a month,” he mutters, moving behind his desk and opening his laptop.
I hesitate, waiting for him to elaborate. Nothing comes, so I clear my throat. “A month?”
He doesn’t look up. “Before you run back home to mummy and daddy.”
I wince. “My mum’s dead.”
My words are met with more silence. I thought maybe he’d at least react, apologise, because that’s what normal people do. He doesn’t even flicker, keeping his gaze fixed on the screen in front of him.
“That’ll be all, Ms. Lee.”
Something in my chest tightens. I turn, heading for the door. At least he hasn’t fired me . . . yet.
“Wynter.” I pause. “Try not to rant about me on your way back,” he adds coolly. “There are cameras.”
My hand tightens on the door handle. “Yes, Mr. Carmichael.”
Anika watches me as I change the drainage bag on her catheter, her gaze a little too knowing.
“You must have one question,” she argues.
I keep my focus on what I’m doing. “I don’t,” I reply, a little too quickly.
She smiles. “You do.”
I hesitate. It’s not that I don’t have questions. It’s that I don’t think I’m allowed to ask them.
Ray always seems to be around. Watching. Listening. And something tells me he wouldn’t approve of whatever this is, this easy back-and-forth she keeps trying to build between us.
“Please,” she says softly. “One each. You ask me something, and I’ll ask you something.” I glance up at her. “It’s a good way to get to know each other,” she adds. “And I’m stuck in bed all the time, I need entertainment.”
A small smile tugs at my lips despite myself. “That’s your sales pitch?”
“It’s a good one,” she says with a grin.
I sigh quietly, finishing up and disposing of the bag before turning back to her.
“One question?”
“One question,” she confirms.
I hesitate again then give in.
“Fine.” I nod towards the corner of the room. “Why don’t you ever use that?”
Anika follows my gaze to the sleek, untouched wheelchair. Her expression tightens slightly.
“I hate it,” she says simply. Then, brightening again, she says, “My turn.” I raise a brow. “Tell me about your parents.”
I huff out a small breath. “That’s not exactly a fair trade.”
She grins. “I didn’t say the questions had to be equal.”
I shake my head, reaching for the supplies. “And that’s a big question,” I add. “We’ll be here all day.”
She watches me closely as I move around the room, gathering what I need. “Then you’d better start talking,” she says lightly.
I pause, glancing back at her. “Fine. But if I’m telling you all that,” I gesture towards the bed, “we might as well get your bed bath done at the same time.”
She pulls a face, clearly less enthusiastic about that part.
“Multi-tasking,” I add with a small smile.
She sighs dramatically. “Alright, but I’m asking follow-up questions.”
“Of course, you are,” I mutter. “Let me get set up first.”
Ray is in the kitchen with Catherine when I walk in. They fall silent. They always do that, like I’ve interrupted something I’m not meant to hear, like they don’t trust me. Or at least, Ray doesn’t.
There’s a lot of that in this place—whispered conversations, half-finished sentences.
I push it aside.
“Anika would like her bed bath,” I say, directing it to Catherine. “I’m happy to do it, if that’s okay?”
Before she can answer, Ray speaks. “I’d rather Catherine help.”
Catherine sighs softly, reaching out to pat his hand. “Ray,” she says gently, “Wynter is more than capable.” He doesn’t look convinced. She turns to me, her smile warm. “Give me a shout if you need anything. Everything you’ll need is in her bathroom.”
I nod. “Okay.”
I don’t look at him as I turn to leave, but I feel his eyes on me the whole way out.
Anika’s bathroom connects directly to her bedroom. It’s large, though the harness takes up most of the space. Catherine explained the nurses use it every couple days to bathe her properly.
I fill a bowl with warm water, add soap until it foams, then grab a couple washcloths and drape towels over my shoulder before heading back in.
“So,” I say lightly, setting everything down, “I lived with my dad, Alec. He’s a firefighter. And his sister, my Aunt Lucy. She’s a nurse.”
Anika watches me closely as I begin.
“I grew up in Stamford,” I continue, “where nothing exciting ever happens, unless you count the gossip in the local bar. Affairs, scandals, that sort of thing.”
“What happened to your mum?” she asks.
I pause. “That’s another question,” I say, glancing at her. “I thought we agreed one each?”
“It takes my mind off you stripping me,” she replies, completely unfazed.
Heat rushes to my face.
She laughs. “Sorry, couldn’t resist. But it does help. Let’s be honest, no one wants to be wiped down in silence like a dirty surface.”
I huff out a small laugh despite myself. “She died. How long have you known Ray?” I ask.
Her smile softens. “Too long,” she says. “I had a massive crush on him at school. I was thirteen, he was sixteen, completely inappropriate, but he was the local bad boy. And you don’t care about the age difference when you’re in love.”
I grin. “And?”
She sighs. “Oh, I chased him. Hard. Until one day he pinned me against a wall and kissed the life out of me.”
I blink.
“That was the best kiss I’d ever had,” she adds, amused. “But it was never going to be anything more.”
“Why not?”
“Because Ray . . . is Ray,” she says simply. “But, somehow, he always showed up when I needed him most. We’ve been friends for so long, he’s basically family now.”
I nod, running the cloth gently over her legs.
“Do you have siblings?” I ask.
“My turn,” she counters, narrowing her eyes playfully. “Why did you move to London? And I want the real reason, not the chasing dreams version.”
My smile falters. I don’t answer straight away.
“After Mum died . . .” I start, choosing my words carefully, “everything felt off. Like nothing fit anymore. And I’d always wanted to come here, so it felt like the right time.”
It’s not the whole truth, but enough to get her off my back.
“I don’t have siblings,” she says after a moment. “It’s just me. Sebastian. Ray. And Dale.”
“So, if you’re all that close,” I ask, “why didn’t it ever work out between you and Ray?”
“You’re supposed to cover her as you go!”
The door slams back against the wall as Ray storms in.
Everything in me freezes. He grabs a sheet and yanks it over Anika, his movements sharp, controlled, but furious.
“You wash one area, then you cover it before moving on,” he snaps. “And you close the door properly. Anyone could walk in.”
My throat tightens. “I was just—”
He takes the cloth from my hand. “I’ll do it. Get out.”
“Ray—” Anika starts, but he’s already steering me towards the door.
I stumble back into the hallway as he shuts it firmly in my face.
“He’s having a hard time adjusting,” Catherine says quietly from behind me.
I swallow hard. “I was about to cover her.”
“I know,” she says gently. “But Ray . . . likes things done a certain way.”
I nod, pushing past her towards my room. My chest aches, and the tears are threatening to escape, and I don’t want her to see. But she follows anyway, closing the door softly behind her.
“Don’t take it personally,” she whispers.
“I don’t know what I did to him,” I choke out. “He hates me.”
“He doesn’t hate you,” she says. “He had someone very specific in mind for this role. Older. More experienced.” She gives a small, knowing smile.
“Anika wanted the exact opposite.” I frown.
“She misses her life,” Catherine continues.
“And I think she chose you because you remind her of it. Something lighter. Someone she can connect to.”
“That’s not a bad thing,” I say quietly.
“It’s not,” Catherine agrees. “But Ray worries. He thinks you’ll leave. That you won’t cope.”
“I watched my mum die,” I say, my voice steadier now. “I can cope.” She studies me. “And I’m not leaving,” I add. “I can’t afford to. I had nothing left before this job. This . . . is everything.”
Catherine nods slowly. “Then tell him that.”
I let out a weak laugh. “Have you met him? He’s terrifying.”
She smiles. “He respects honesty and people who stand their ground.” I hesitate. “Maybe,” she adds, brightening slightly, “you could cook him dinner.” I stare at her. “He loves my homemade pie,” she continues. “I’ll give you the recipe.”
“I’m not exactly . . . great in the kitchen.”
“I’ll help,” she says. “Step-by-step. We’ll go shopping, get everything you need. I’ll tell him not to order from the chef tonight and to be home for eight.”
I hesitate.
Then, for some reason . . .
I nod. Even though the thought of sitting across from Ray Carmichael over dinner might be the most terrifying thing I’ve ever agreed to.