Chapter 10
OVERSHARING
When he came out of his room, she wasn’t there. The blanket was there, and the glass of wine, but no Skylar.
He stood there thinking, Probably best, feeling oddly empty. Tired, probably. But when the blue door opened and she stepped out, he wasn’t feeling tired anymore.
Some sort of PJs, because the trousers were pink and soft. A flowered dressing gown over them, all pink and white and pale green. And those corkscrews of hair. She looked like the most alive thing there ever was, and oddly comforting, too. Like you could just sink into all that softness.
Do not think about sinking into anything. A quick check, and you’re done here.
Unfortunately, she was holding a bottle of wine. And an empty glass.
“I got un-lazy,” she said. “Or I thought you deserved a break after all that. All that … effort and everything.” She set the bottle and glass on the table.
“Did you eat, though? Should we order food? I don’t know what rugby players eat after the match.
Protein, probably. Burgers? Chicken? You must be starving. ”
I’m starving, all right, he thought. But not for that. “No worries,” he said. “Ate in the sheds.” He took the seat beside her and stuck his legs out in front of him. What a luxury to stretch out, even in a plastic chair.
“Oh,” she said. “What do they offer you?”
“Sushi. Bao buns. Curries. Smoothies. Yoghurt. Chocolate milk. Like that.”
“Sushi.” She pushed back some curls and laughed. “Sounds too sophisticated for what I saw.”
He smiled. “Quick protein and heaps of carbs, is the idea. What did you eat?”
“I’m afraid it was a hot dog and chips. In my defense, that’s what was on offer.
I skipped the mini donuts, though.” She raised her glass.
“Saved the calories for wine, I’m telling myself, though I should’ve packed my beans and greens and grains one more time and eaten that.
Unfortunately, I’m a bit tired of them.” She poured him a glass of wine, and he didn’t object. He didn’t have to drink it all.
“You packed the wine, though.” He tapped his glass against hers. “Cheers. And why shouldn’t you have a hot dog?”
“Calories. As noted.” She had her legs stuck out herself, and she was wearing fuzzy slippers.
Pink. “And I didn’t pack the wine. Granddad must’ve left it at the desk, because when we got back here, he and your Nan sort of melted away, and when I went into my room, the bottle was there along with a note. ”
He frowned. “What note?”
“Here.” She pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket and handed it over. He unfolded it and read,
Check on the other kids, will you? M. will worry otherwise. Here’s some wine for afters. Take a lovely bath, maybe.
“A lovely bath?” Zane blinked. He tasted the wine. Mostly cab sauv, with some merlot and cab franc. “Pretty choice, though, this.”
“We have one bath at home,” she said. “I’m normally in and out of the shower pretty fast, as you can imagine.”
“And they left all the kids to you. They left all my kids to you.”
“Well, to be fair,” she said, “they mainly left them to Scarlett, but I lent a wee hand. And as this outing was Granddad’s shout …”
“And his idea, too.” Zane was still frowning. “Or Nan’s, more likely. I’ll have a chat with her in the morning.”
“Or,” she said, “you could say that as our families seem to be getting more … more entwined, it was good for me to interact with your kids a bit. Duncan especially, of course, as I haven’t had him in class.
Scarlett is much the same as before, I’d say.
Bound to be Head Girl.” She looked at him sidelong, a little smile on her pink lips.
That was nice, and so was that husky voice.
Even though they were talking about his kids.
“Tell me you weren’t Head Boy yourself.”
He shifted in his chair. “Probably gave it to me because of the rugby. I’m no kind of anointed prince, or whatever you’re thinking. Hard worker, that’s all.”
“Ha. Please remember that I’m a teacher.
” She was laughing a little, the green of her eyes barely visible in the dim light, but he could still see her, and he could practically feel her warmth.
“And that’s not how it works. I’m guessing you feel uncomfortable when you’re given too much credit, unless that’s just some reflexive humble-Kiwi thing.
Interesting, because I think I told a story about you tonight.
About you and your brothers. To your kids, that is, not mine.
I’d love to know if I was right. If I see you as well as it feels like I do. ”
This was why wine could be such a bad idea.
He’d never exactly slouched—could he slouch?—but now, he sat up straighter, that intensity on his face again, and she shivered. All the way down her body. And she knew he saw it.
He’d think she was pathetic. Some sort of rugby groupie, whatever that was called, excited by the big tough rugby captain. Which was probably more than a tiny bit true. What a cliché she was.
She was still trying, in a somewhat wine-fuzzed moment—the half-glass she’d drunk had gone straight to her head—to come up with a way to back out of all that when he asked, “What kind of story?”
“I’m afraid you and your brothers were rats,” she admitted.
“Feel free to be outraged. My brain tends to make … connections, and before I know it, they’re out there.
It was watching the match, of course. I’m sure you get tired of people telling you how impressed they were.
Especially women. That’s the reason for the comment earlier. Ugh, am I right?”
“Sorry to say, not necessarily.” The dark eyes were more focused than ever. “Depends on the woman. I could be interested in what you had to say.” He smiled a little. “About the rats. And the match.”
“Oh.” She explained. Briefly. “Because it was a story for Georgia, though she fell asleep halfway through it, and she adores you. And I was probably curious to hear what they’d say. Which rat they’d pick.”
“And you said that. That the second rat was more carefree, and the third rat was the stroppiest. Had an attitude, eh.”
“Well, yes,” she said, knowing she was blushing.
“That was my story. And Scarlett, naturally, picked the oldest rat, because he was in charge, and the most responsible. Which is clearly how she sees you, and also may be how she sees herself. Interesting.” The kids.
That was the point. “Duncan thought the biggest rat might not try hard enough, because he was the leader. He clearly didn’t connect the rats to you and your brothers, because nobody who watched you out there tonight could think that. Do you ever do anything halfway?”
He considered that. “Dunno. I’ve never thought about it. Why would I want to do something halfway, though? Not give my best?”
“Because most people don’t operate at that intensity?” she suggested.
“I’m too much, you’re thinking.” Did the man ever look away? “It’s been said before, no worries.”
“No.” She had to be honest, didn’t she? “I think you’re … that it’s an enviable quality. An attractive quality. A quality that a woman would—” Wait. No.
“That a woman would what?”
She shrugged, felt the dressing gown slip off one shoulder, revealing the strap of the pink camisole—whoops—hoped her entire breast hadn’t been on display, tugged the two halves of the dressing gown together, considered retying the belt, and gave it up.
It would look self-conscious. They were getting to know each other, talking about his kids. Having a chat.
“That a woman would what?” he asked again. Oh.
“That she’d want. That would make her feel lucky.” Blame the wine. “If you focused on her the way you focus during the match. If you focused on your family like that, too. If she knew you were all in.”
“Ah.” It was a breath. He drank some more wine, and she watched his brown throat work. He had some dark scruff, exactly like his sister had said, and, yes, that was a good look. “If she were doing the same for me, wouldn’t I want to?” Those dark eyes on her again. “You were married, eh. Divorced?”
Oh, bloody hell. They were going there. “Widowed.” She held up her left hand. It was ringless. “Six years ago, when I was pregnant with George. And I’m still sorry I said that to you. About the bus. I know it isn’t funny.”
“Can’t say I’m not surprised you said it,” he said. “As we’re being honest.” Or ripping away the layers to expose the truth, possibly. “As she was hit by a bus. Or close enough.”
“Wait.” Her head actually spun a little. “I didn’t—she was?”
“Oh. You didn’t know.” He let out a long breath.
“Makes more sense, then. Yeh. Riding with Georgia in the trailer behind her when a delivery van pulled out straight into her. Looking the other way, he said. Knocked the trailer over, too. Samantha was wearing a helmet, but by the time the driver realized, she was under his wheel.”
“Oh, my God.” Her hand was on her heart. “Oh, Zane. I’m so sorry.”
“Yeh. Not good.” He stared into his wine glass. “I was in London. End-of-year tour. The journey home was …” He stopped, and she could see why. How could you bear to remember that?
“And Georgia?” she asked quietly.
“Strapped into the trailer, and wearing a helmet. Sam was careful, always. Georgia broke an arm, was in a cast. But she was OK.” He stared into the darkness. “Thank God.” Then seemed to shake himself, turned back to her, forced a smile, and said, “You’re probably sorry you asked.”
“Just that …” Her hand was still on her chest. “It hurts to see you hurt like that. To think of you hurting like that.”
A huff of laughter. “I know how to chat up a pretty girl. Smooth as, wouldn’t you say? Oversharing a bit there. And here.” He took the bottle of wine and poured her another glass. “We’ll let that fade. And you haven’t told me your story. I’d have said ‘divorce.’ Don’t know why.”
“Because people don’t usually lose their spouses in their twenties, that’s why.
” She drank another mouthful of the wine, even though it was a bad idea.
It was just too delicious. “Nope. Not a tragic case of brain cancer or whatever you’re thinking, either.
It’s more of a … mixed-emotions thing. Part of it could even make you laugh. ”
“It’s going to make me laugh,” he said slowly, “to think about your husband dying and leaving you and your kids alone. You must have some opinion of men.”
She flushed. She couldn’t help it. Defensive. Embarrassed. He saw too well. Who’d have thought there was that much under the tough exterior? “I should go inside,” she said. “That’s enough for one night, and it’s late. You should, too. You have to be so tired.”
“It’s my job,” he said, the dark brows coming down again. “Not some act of heroism. Stay out a bit longer with me. We don’t have to talk about this. Could talk about your rats instead.” He gave her a smile. It was disarmingly sweet.
She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t. Her emotions were all over the place, and what if she cried?
She said, the words coming out too fast, “No. It is that. It was. Heroism, I mean. Courage. You should be—you should be proud. I can— I’ll go to bed.
I’ll see you in the morning, at breakfast. I think we’re doing breakfast together, anyway, because Granddad didn’t provide much instruction before he buggered off.
Oh—drink the wine. I’ve definitely had enough.
” She got to her feet, and he did the same beside her, frowning once more.
She focused on all her wrappings, because she wasn’t going to trip in front of him.
“Good night. And congratulations again.”
Somewhere out there, some woman was swanning out of a too-intense moment with a man, fully under control and dignified, even wrapped in a blanket, slippers, and dressing gown. Unfortunately, that woman wasn’t her.