17. She Saw the Patient #2
He was deteriorating into a full-blown panic attack. Any anger in me vanished. I reached for his unbandaged hand and curled my fingers around his.
“I’m here, Aiden,” I said in a soft, even voice. “I’m right here. You’re safe here with me.”
He blinked panicked eyes. My reassuring smile did nothing to calm him. “Lola… Please…” He shifted on the bed, his muscles primed and taut like he was ready to bolt. “I can’t…”
“Let’s take a big breath and count to ten, okay?”
“Ye-yeah.” He squeezed my hand so tight. “Okay.”
I was surprised when he followed my lead.
Slowly counting to ten wasn’t enough. As I counted him through another round and another, my mind never stopped clicking over.
Nothing made sense. The same man who’d sat through six stitches and barely flinched had panicked over a memory.
He’d told me the truth—something wasn’t right about him.
But it didn’t scare me away. Instead, worry swelled in my chest.
By the fifth round of counting, Aiden’s breathing returned to normal.
His head hung low. “Sorry.”
“Aiden, have you seen someone about the—”
“No.” He shook his hand free and hopped off the bed. “Just— no . I don’t need more doctors.”
“You need help.”
He grunted some annoyed noise at me and charged for the door.
“Aiden!” I didn’t bother hiding the frustration in my voice. My hands went to my hips. “Can you at least wait to get a prescription for antibiotics before you storm off?”
He paused, his grip firm on the door handle.
“Unless, of course, you’re happy for your hand to fall off from an infection.” I rolled my eyes. “It doesn’t bother me either way. I’ve got both my hands. It’ll be your loss.”
Aiden refused to look at me, but he hovered by the door long enough for me to scrawl out a prescription. I tore it off the pad and held it out. Before he could grab the piece of paper, I pulled it back.
“Aiden, whatever’s wrong… Just know… It doesn’t need to define you.” Was I saying that more for him? Or me? “You don’t need to battle through everything alone.”
His eyes closed, but some of the strain left his face, and for a moment, I wondered if it was the first time he realised he didn’t always need to be strong.
He looked at me, his mouth opening, but there was no time for words.
Instead, it was the sickening thud of the door cracking against his shoulder that echoed in the quiet room.
Brooke squealed. “What the…?” She stuck her head through the gap. “Urgent message for the big oaf.”
Aiden cocked his head, listening.
“Your ginger sidekick needs rescuing,” she said. “He’s at the Old Cellar.”
“What’s he doing there?” Aiden asked.
“How should I know? The message was to tell you to get to the Old Cellar. Finito . Message delivered.”
“And received.” Aiden sighed, turning back to me. “Lola, I… Thanks. For the stitches. For the, um…” He shook his head. He wasn’t going to mention the panic attack. “Just thanks.”
Exhausted, my shoulders slumping with each slow step, I dragged myself back to my room.
I knew parts of Aiden so well. His patience.
The gentle touches and sensual kisses. His love of books and the quiet life he lived on the mountain.
But there was a side to him I didn’t understand.
Part of him could be cruel and selfish but also so afraid.
Why? The man was a riddle wrapped in red-checked flannel.
I flopped into my chair and jiggled the mouse to turn my computer on. My gaze landed on my phone.
What the heck?
Four missed calls from my father. I snatched my phone and hit redial. The pound of my heart roared in my ears. It was an emergency. It had to be. Dad never called. Was Mum okay? My sister?
When the call connected, I didn’t wait to say hello. “Dad!” I shrieked.
“Hey, Lo… It’s, uh…” He cleared his throat. “It’s real good to hear your voice, bug.”
“Dad, what’s going on? Are you okay? Is Mum?”
“Oh, yeah. We’re just outside of Cairns. We’re good. We saw a croc in the water when we went for a walk yesterday afternoon, but he kept his distance. Hey, what’s the best way to cook a crocodile?”
I groaned with annoyance. I’d gone from a complete meltdown to being subjected to more of his terrible humour. “ Dad —”
“In a croc pot.” He didn’t bark his usual laugh. “Yeah…”
“Dad, what’s going on?”
He sighed. “Lo… Your mother… She… I think she might’ve done something stupid.”
“What? Not another perm? The curls suit her, but she knows she’s allergic to the—”
“She talked to Chris.”
Don’t freak out.
My fingernails dug into my knees, and I forced air into my lungs. This was fine. I expected he’d reach out to them—he always did—and I’d been extra careful about sharing too many details. No places. No people. Only general chitchat.
“Okay…” I trailed off.
“He’s a real charmer, that one. I told her to get off the call.
Lo… Did he…” A shaky inhale crackled through the line.
“Your mother got herself worked up when she got your message all those months ago, and now you keep changing phone numbers. I know you wouldn’t be doing all this for no reason.
Was he… Jesus, Lo… Was Chris putting his hands on you? ”
A few months ago, I would have denied it. Not anymore. “Yes,” I whispered.
Silence, and then a sniffle. “I wish you’d told me, bug. I know we’re not around much—”
“You earned your retirement, Dad. I’m an adult.”
“Maybe, but you’re still my little girl. Always will be. I’m not always great at showing it. And your mother…” He sighed. “She thinks she’s helping, Lo… She doesn’t understand.”
“What did she do, Dad?”
“She gave Chris your new number. He must have been firing questions at her because she was telling him all about the night you rang. Jesus, bug… I’m so sorry. He’s looking for you. He told her to tell you. He’s looking.”