Chapter 16
Day Seven
“Hey, do you think you could help me out here?”
Haley’s voice drifts up from where she sits cross-legged on the lounge floor. She’s in another set of those crazy pyjamas. The girl seems to have a different pair for every day of the week. These are possibly the least offensive I’ve seen.
On her bottom half, the pants cling tight to her legs, following every curve, even the riotous tartan pattern unable to mask the shapeliness of what lies beneath. The top is a simple white sweater with a huge red tartan heart and the words ‘Santa Baby’ in gold. Yep, I’d sign up to be Santa if she’d come and sit on my lap.
Tully sprawls beside her, legs dropped wide like a harlot, exposing her soft beige tummy and saggy teats. Haley says she was used for breeding, maybe to produce guard dogs, or worse fighting dogs. It’s hard to imagine anything produced by this amiable boofhead could have an ounce of aggression.
The hated cone lies discarded on the floor. Free of it, no wonder Tully’s mouth hangs open in a broad smile, huge pink tongue unfurled.
“I need help to hold her. She’s so damn wiggly.”
“You’d be wiggly too, if you’d just got rid of a plastic neck wrap you’d been forced to wear for a week.”
I slide to the floor, facing Haley across the furry bundle of writhing joy. She reaches a hand to the coffee table where a small curved scissors sits on a cloth. There’s a long set of tweezers and some small foil packets of antiseptic wipes.
“Figured I’d do the job myself.” She slides the blunt tip of the scissors under one plastic knot of suture thread. “It’s healed really well. I don’t think a vet’s going to have any concerns. No point paying someone to do what I can do myself.”
Trapping her lip between her teeth, she leans in closer and carefully lifts the thread away from the skin of the crinkled seam. With a click, the stitch is cut. She swaps to the tweezers and pulls the thread clear.
“Nice work, Dr Templeton,” I say as she settles to work on the next stitch.
“Nice assist, Nurse Steele. One down, nineteen to go. Just keep the patient steady,” she says, a grin pulling her mouth wide.
I tickle at Tully’s bristled neck, and she relaxes under my touch. Haley’s hands are so careful I hardly need to distract the dog. I’ m sure she doesn’t feel a thing.
Remembering that same gentle touch, those soft fingers trailing over my stomach the other day, when she helped me dress after Sam checked my arm, I crave to feel it again. But I swallow hard, focus my mind on the task, and try to damp down the surge of desire at the closeness, the smell of her. Her . Not only the green apple of her shampoo, or the delicate floral perfume she wears—but her own sweet scent that hints of warm secret places. I inhale slow and deep, enjoying the time afforded by the unhurried movements of those dainty hands. It’s precious moments like this I never expected to have, without Ollie’s presence always there between us. I savour it knowing there’s a deadline looming, where I’ll be gone and he’ll be back.
“Not going into work?” I watch as she tackles the next stitch, her pink tongue caught between her teeth, eyes narrowed in focus.
“It’s my exam today. One o’clock. They’ve given me the morning off as well for study.”
“Ever thought of doing the full vet training?” I say. “You’d be good at it.”
She says nothing at first. Have I upset her? Then she sighs.
“I have. But it’s not easy.”
“Bullshit,” I protest. “You got your A-levels, right?” I’m sure her parents would have insisted. There’s no way two teachers would let their kid drop out of school early. “And to get your vet nursing qualification is no small thing. What did it take? Two or three years?”
“Three. I did it part-time—nights and weekends—while I worked at a clinic.”
“Which proves you’ve also got some determination there. Hell, I couldn’t stick with something that long. ”
She silently plucks at another stitch. Her face is all concentration, but there’s a whirl of trouble in her eyes.
“Look, it’s not that I couldn’t do it. I’m good at the practical stuff.”
“I can see that.” Her hands are steady, her touch gentle but confident.
“The study doesn’t bother me. With Mum and Dad on my case right through school, I learned how to do that.”
“Then what’s stopping you? Is it the time? Like it would be five years, wouldn’t it?”
“Probably four. My vet nurse diploma would credit across for some. Four or five years, it’s all the same. It’s not happening.” Her sigh is deeper, sad and resigned. When she meets my eyes, there’s a defeated expression there. “Do you know what it costs?”
It’s obvious now. I’m such an idiot. I may not be rolling in cash right this minute, but there’s a steady inward stream of pounds into my bank account. I can’t wildly throw money at big items, like a flash car, but I can sleep at night free of any financial worries. Unlike many people. Unlike Haley. I shake my head, feeling an awkward flush at my insensitive probing.
“Around nine thousand pounds a year,” she says. “And I’d have to give up work. I did the vet nursing diploma on the job. But you can’t do a degree like that. Sure, I might be able to squeeze in a few hours’ work each week, but that’s not going to get me through.” She blinks at me, dark lashes fluttering, pink rising on her cheeks. “Christian, this past year has been hard. I had a few changes in my living arrangements that put financial pressure on me.”
I suspect I know who caused those problems. I’m fairly sure she lived with that creep I met down at Ollie’s country house one time. My face is a blank, masking the hatred for the prick that flares from this knowledge.
“Staying here in London, trying to be independent, having too much pride to be a twenty-something moving back in with her parents—well, it wasn’t the smartest move.”
She shuffles uncomfortably under my sympathetic gaze.
“I had debts up to my eyeballs. It’s only moving in here that’s allowed me to claw my way back. I’ve almost finished paying off my student loan. I can’t put myself back in that position again. Not now, when I’m finally almost free of it.”
“I get it,” I say. “But that’s a shame.” I can’t help but tell her what I see, an intelligent woman who could be so much more if she just had a chance, and would be brave enough to take it. “You would make an amazing vet. You remind me of the woman who saved Jet. Good hands and a big heart. That’s what really counts, right?”
She nods, turning her attention back to the job, but I see her hands shake a little now.
Yes, I regret saying anything because I’ve upset her. But I despair at how circumstances hold this capable woman back, denying her what I have, what her brother has; the chance to wake up every day and do the thing you love. For Haley, being a vet nurse, must be like it would be for me if I was a sound tech, watching the music happen but not allowed to make it. There must be a way out for her.
“Your parents wouldn’t…”
“No way I’d ask that of them.” She tries to shut me down.
“Didn’t they put Ollie through?”
I’m still not prepared to let this go. I love Ollie like a brother, but it’s become all the more clear over the time I’ve spent here that Haley stands in his shadow. I don’t think they meant to do it. The Templetons are good people, but while helping their famous golden boy reach his dreams, they’ve neglected their other child, someone just as talented, and just as deserving of their pride.
“Ollie was eighteen when he went to the Academy. I’m twenty-five. I’m not their responsibility.” There’s a fierce independence in this woman, and while I admire it, I’m disappointed there’s not some way for her to honour that spirit while still chasing her dream.
The flash of her eyes and the terse tone tell me this conversation should end now. There’s no good will come of it. But I can’t leave it alone; it seems so wrong. There has to be some way. As if she reads my mind, she fixes me with a determined look.
“Just let it go, Christian. I have. Now, can you please hold Tully still?”
The dog’s head has been swivelling between us, following the conversation, as if watching a game of ping-pong.
“Not much more to go, girl.” I stroke her velvety ears. “Good girl.”
That’s what Haley is, too. A good girl. Never rocking the boat. Never demanding anything. Supporting everyone else. Taking care of them. But who’s taking care of her? I want it to be me. So I shut my mouth and let her think that’s the end of it. But it’s not.
Over this last week, so much has changed. I arrived here on Saturday as someone Haley knew, but didn’t, really. Some of what she knew was great: Ollie and I are good friends, I love my music, I’m committed to the band. And then there were the things she thought she knew, like everybody else; all those lies and the shade cast on me simply because it makes a better story.
Spending these days together, we’ve become friends, confidantes. There’s trust between us. I’ve let myself share stuff with her I’d never offer even a glimpse of to anyone else and she’s received it with a wide open heart and a generous spirit. I’ve always avoided making myself vulnerable. A glowering expression and a prickly attitude is an effective set of armour against the world. Here with Haley, I don’t feel any need to put it on. What it would be to wake up every morning like this and for a few hours each day, just be me.
It’s not purely selfish. Haley has let me in too, and I’m starting to wonder if there are things I know about her she doesn’t normally share, either. I suspect her friends don’t know about this dream of being a vet she’s put aside as out of her reach. I bet Ollie doesn’t realise she won’t accept help from her parents like he did.
If Ollie had any idea of Haley’s secret ambition and what stands in the way of her achieving it, he’d write the cheque. But letting him in on that information won’t help. Haley’s obviously not one for charity and I can see even living in this house of his doesn’t always sit comfortably. She’d knock him back. Hell, I know I could do the same, but she wouldn’t take money from me either. There’s stubbornness under that agreeable facade.
Silently watching her work, the capable movements of her hands, the quiet murmurings of reassurance to the dog, is a beautiful thing. I might not have the solution to all of this yet, but I’m not letting go of the possibilities—for Haley to do the thing she was born to do, and for me. I should be grateful to have her in my life as a friend; but I’m a greedy bastard where she’s concerned. I want more.
“There, all done,” she says as she drops the last thread onto the cloth on the table. She brushes over the zig-zag line with a wipe and then ruffles the dog’s neck with a playful hand.
Tully springs to her feet and begins a celebration wrestle with Mularkey, who’s been supervising with interest. They roar off up the hallway and I hear twin thuds as they land on my bed. Playful growls and small yelps drift our way, and Haley and I smile at each other like indulgent parents enjoying their offspring.
“I know. I should have shut the door,” I say. My bed will be a whirlpool of sheets and covers, with pillows tossed around, and I don’t care in the slightest.
A loud howl echoes from the kitchen. When a text comes in on Haley’s phone with that damn bizarre ringtone, you’d swear Mularkey was right there beside you. She leaps to her feet and heads to grab it from the counter.
I follow, seeking a jolt of caffeine to kick start my day. Helping with Tully offered a brief reprieve from my troubles. I tossed and turned all night and through the quiet morning hours, barely sleeping, my mind full of anger and frustration. I lay in the dark, fighting the desire to get up and destroy something. The sum of those hundreds of minutes spent turning it over in my head is the crushing realisation: if I thought I was fucked before—now I’m really fucked.
There’s no escape from what’s about to happen. The ugly rumours about me and Waverley I thought might finally no longer dog my every step are certain to come hurtling back. And hard on their heels, a new rumour—that I did something shady to Loreena Bunt—and there’s nothing I can do about it.
Haley’s frowning down at her phone.
“Everything OK?”
“Yeah,” she says absently, while her fingers tap away.
“Coffee?” I offer.
“Sure.” She’s still in another world .
“Haley,” I say, fearful of the answer but desperate to know. “Are we good? Still? You and me, after last night.” I rush on. “I’m sorry for bashing your remote around like that and all the door slamming. I wasn’t the best version of myself. And I felt like a right prick when I cooled down and found the pictures of Jet. That you’d do that for me…I don’t deserve it.”
“Christian,” she looks at me, eyes soft. “I know you didn’t do anything bad to Loreena. You haven’t got it in you to hurt people like that.”
That’s what I really needed to hear, but was too frightened to ask, and she knew that. It’s dizzying yet scary to be so seen by someone. To have a person sense the very things that are ripping you apart inside, and to know instinctively how to put you back together. I’m humbled by her belief in me. She rests a hand on my forearm, tracing the lines of ink, delicate fingers making the hairs stand on end.
“And I know it doesn’t seem like it right this minute. I know it’s eating you up, Christian.” I shiver as she leans into me, eyes wide and intense. “But we will find a way out. I know we will. Especially with Rachel on the case.”
“She’s a bit of a ball-buster, your friend.”
“She is.” Hayley’s face broadens with a grin. “And right now she’s got the balls of a few people at Wild For The Win in her sights. They should be very afraid.”
Reading has always been a refuge for me. So I’m pleased to be deep in an imaginary world this morning, a fantasy book—no, a romantasy she called it—that Haley threw at me yesterday. I’m hoping if I give my brain a rest from the relentless search for some solution, it may actually come up with one.
In this chapter, the main character—a High Fae Lord, who has a disturbing physical resemblance to me as well as possessing a similar bad reputation—is slowly revealing his obsession for a human woman. I look up from the page when, on quiet footsteps, the woman I’m definitely obsessed with appears in the doorway.
She’s wearing a slim, soft grey skirt that ends just above her dimpled knees, grey tights and black knee-high boots that make her legs look twice their length. There’s no ugly Christmas jumper today. Instead, it’s a luxurious pink sweater, fluffy and soft, like fairground candy-floss. The playful colour only serves to highlight the delicate pink of her cheeks.
The only nod to the season are her earrings, tiny silver snowflakes glittering under the curtain of her silky brown hair. It’s hanging long and loose, and the memory of what it feels like, what it smells like, swamps me with an overwhelming need to touch it.
She’s put on a bit of makeup, only a little. I love that she doesn’t slather herself in it like so many girls. She doesn’t need it. But the flick of eyeliner and the way she’s emphasised her curved brows and dense black lashes magnify those eyes. I marvel at the way they surprise, the exact shade of green unpredictable. Right now they’re bright emerald, sparkling. Perhaps it’s nerves as she prepares to face her exam; or maybe anticipation because she knows she’s going to nail it .
There’s a sweep of pink lipstick that draws my gaze to her soft mouth, lips glistening, inviting. I remember the warmth of them against mine. It may have been impulsive on her part, the glow of the alcohol making her bold, but I’m hopeful it won’t be the last time I get to feel the press of her mouth. Surely she can see how fucking beautiful she is, reflected in my eyes.
“Pretty nice outfit for an exam. And makeup too. You look great. Extra points for presentation?” I tease.
She colours a little.
“Just something to give me a bit of confidence,” she says.
Her voice is anything but. It quavers with uncertainty. She breathes in and I see the small shudder as she huffs it out, as if she’s preparing to step in the ring for a fight.
“You’ve got this Haley. You’ll smash it.”
I know she will. She’s been in her bedroom studying her notes for the last four hours. There can’t be a thing about dog and cat dermatology she doesn’t know by now.
“What time will you be home? I’ll cook.”
Not only is cooking something I love doing for Haley, it’s another way I can soothe my frustration at this whole fucking mess. There’s something so simple and normal about working in a kitchen that helps to push away the world outside and all its crap.
“Not sure,” she says, her voice trailing off as she fumbles in the drawer of the hall table for her keys.
“Hey, that’s OK, just whenever. I’ll make it something quick. Maybe a pad thai?”
I shouldn’t have asked her to commit to a time. Who do I think I am, imposing a commitment on her? She might want to go for a drink afterwards. Let off some steam with her vet nurse friends. I wonder if they’re all female? I resent the thought some big-hearted, animal-loving dude might charm her. I shouldn’t. I have no right to Haley’s affections, but damned if I can help it.
She nods. “Sounds good.”
“And let’s crack another bottle of Ollie’s wine. To celebrate you finishing up your course.”
“Yeah. Let’s do that.” There’s hesitancy. Her chin dips, she sweeps her hair behind one ear, and doesn’t meet my eyes. The confidence of earlier, when she spoke of her studies, seems to have deserted her.
“Go well,” I say. “Remember, you’ve got this, babe.”
I swallow back the word the moment it’s out. Babe. God, there’s no way I should let these little terms of endearment pop out. I’ll scare her off. But she doesn’t seem to notice.
“Thanks, Christian. You’d make a great cheerleader,” she smiles, edging on her coat and pocketing the keys with a rattle.
Once she’s gone, I settle back onto the sofa and dive back into the book. The dark pointy-eared dude is about to make a move on the girl, having prised her off some other limp-dick fairy guy who seems to think he still has a right to her. Maybe the bad boy will get the girl after all. It might be a sign.
My attention flits towards a sound. The garage door opening. She must need something in there, but my brain doesn’t linger on exactly what. I’m too invested in my fictional doppelg?nger’s success right now.
Until a distinctive rumble vibrates through the house. There’s a surge of the engine, a few stutters, and then a motor roars.
She’s taking the fucking Porsche.
I leap to my feet, fling open the front door and almost arse over on the icy steps. The skin on my bare feet screams from the pain as an intense chill shoots through them, and every nerve burns. My toes recoil from the stinging sensation and I spring back to the safety of the doorway.
I’m helpless to prevent this disaster. In fact, I unwittingly aided it when I neatly backed the car into the garage on Sunday. The Porsche surges out into the thankfully empty street. Haley doesn’t drive, but she is. And there’s nothing I can do to stop her.