Making Sense (11 page)

He lowered an arm around her, stroking her damp skin as he looked out the window at the rain.

“Where have you been?”

Freya dropped her handbag by the sofa and put her hands on her hips as she stared at Mia. Grace sat in the chair opposite, feet up on the table, watching them both with amusement. Freya glared at her friend. “Where have
I
been? Where have
you
been, more importantly? I tried to call you last night, but there was no answer.”

“I was out with Ross—so sue me.”

“Ross of the uncooked banger?” asked Grace.

Mia tipped her head. “We managed to turn it into more of a salami last night.”

“Oh my God, Mia, TMI.” Freya flopped onto the sofa. “Honestly, why did you go out with him again?”

“I was lonely.”

The girls fell silent. They’d all been there. None of them could criticise Mia for wanting comfort.

“Fair enough,” said Freya eventually.

“So where were you?”

“I went to see my parents. Lost my car keys and couldn’t get home.”

“Oh shit.” Mia sat up. “Sorry, hon.”

“We were out too,” said Grace.

“I know—I rang your place. Nate told me you’d gone to the cinema.”

“Nate?” The other two girls exchanged a glance, eyes widening. “No…”

“He came out in the storm to pick me up,” Freya said defensively.

They studied her. “Where did you go?” Grace asked eventually.

Freya sighed. “Back to his place.”

The two girls hooted. “Tell us everything,” said Mia. “In great detail.”

“Nothing to tell.”

“Yeah right.” They waited expectantly.

Freya looked at her hands in her lap. What could she say?

When she’d awoken around two in the morning, Nate had been asleep beside her. His arm was still around her, and he was sprawled on his back, chest rising and falling evenly, his face lit by the street lamp outside that had come back on at some point in the night.
 

She’d lain there for a while, watching him, thinking how much younger he looked, the perpetual frown he tended to wear smoothed out by sleep. She knew nothing about him, absolutely nothing except that he worked for Ash, played the guitar and had a brother he was trying to avoid. She also knew he was anti-commitment and had no interest in entering into a relationship. And neither of course had she. What had happened the previous night had been a time out of time, as if they’d been in the eye of the storm that had literally whirled around them that night, protected from their past and future, existing only in the present.

In the end, they’d slept in the same bed all night. When they awoke in the morning, they’d obviously both been prepared that things might be awkward, but in the end, they weren’t at all. They’d chatted over coffee about this and that, then she’d changed back into her nurse’s uniform, and he’d driven her home. When she went to get out of the car, he kissed her on the cheek and thanked her for the lovely evening, and she said the same and told him she’d see him around. It was all very civilised, and his relief at the fact that she hadn’t asked if they were going to meet again had been evident. And she was happy with that. She had far too much on her plate to consider a relationship. She wanted to travel. She had the Big Plan.

When she’d propositioned him, Freya had had no intention of provoking anything other than a night’s hot sex. She’d seen the pain behind his words when he insisted he didn’t want a relationship, and she knew there were valid reasons for why he’d tried to resist her. At the time, it hadn’t mattered. All she’d thought was that it suited her—she didn’t want anything complicated either. Now, however, she found herself wondering why such a kind, gentle man, such a hot, considerate lover, was still single and determined not to settle down. She’d meant him to be a brief diversion, something to distract her from her troubles. She’d expected hot sex, and he’d delivered that expectation a hundred percent.

But she hadn’t expected him to linger in her thoughts like this.

The memory of how he’d kissed her that evening after her mum had texted her filled her mind, his hands warming her face as he seemed to fill her with comfort and strength. And the night before, how tenderly he’d cupped her cheek, asking her if she was sure she wanted to go ahead with it. He tried to pretend he was tough, that he didn’t feel anything. But he wasn’t like that at all. Instinctively, she knew he’d erected his defensive facade to protect a very tender, caring heart. They were both damaged, both desperate—it was as if they had dark, empty spaces inside them, and when they were together those spaces were filled. But it couldn’t happen again, for that very reason. They couldn’t start needing each other.

Grace and Mia were waiting for her to say something, exchanging glances as the silence lengthened. Freya swallowed. “He was nice,” she said.
 

The tears fell before she could stop them.

Chapter Nine

“Oh crap.” Grace moved to sit on her left and Mia plonked herself on Freya’s right, and the two girls hugged her. “Love, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m all right, really,” said Freya, wiping away the tears. “It’s okay. It was only the one night—we both knew that, no surprises. I don’t know why I’m crying. I think it’s…under other circumstances, you know, we could have been quite…” She bit her lip.

“There’s really no chance?” said Mia, brow furrowed.

Freya shook her head, clearing her throat. “He’s very defensive, determined to protect himself. And that’s fine—I knew that before I slept with him. I don’t want a relationship either. But I didn’t expect him to be quite so…lovely.” Mia and Grace exchanged another glance. Freya shook her head. “Don’t. I’m just tired. I wanted hot sex, and I got hot sex. I’m not complaining, really.”

Grace’s lips curved. “How hot was it?”

Freya’s cheeks burned, but she smiled sheepishly. “Lava-hot. I’ve never had sex like it.”

“Swear-out-loud hot?” said Mia, making them all laugh. Before Grace had met Ash, Mia had told her she needed to find a man who could make her swear out loud during sex. Apparently, Ash had obliged, which had both amused and intrigued Freya at the time. Like Grace, she hadn’t had that many partners, and as she’d told Nate, she’d experienced nice, gentle lovemaking, but not so much of the blow-your-head-off stuff. Now, though…

“I didn’t,” said Freya, adding mischievously, “but I could have. Three times.”

Mia looked envious. “Oh my God, I’ve so got to get myself some decent sex.”

“Wasn’t Ross’s salami up to scratch?” Grace asked, amused.

Mia shrugged. “He’s very…meh. Better than being alone. I think. He’s not The One, though.”

They all sat and thought about that comment. Grace had found The One, although previous to meeting Ash, she’d been doubtful he’d ever turn up. Freya sighed, wiping her face free of tears. Who was her Mr. Right? Surely there was someone out there who was as good as Nate in bed, but who wasn’t so scarred, so insistent he didn’t want a relationship? Maybe when she’d fulfilled her Big Plan, when she eventually came back to New Zealand, she’d meet him then, and he’d be everything she ever dreamed of.

The memory of Nate’s hands on her ass, pulling her against him as he kissed her soundly, lingered in her brain, but she pushed it away impatiently. Nate wasn’t the man of her dreams. And the sooner her brain got the memo, the better.

Freya’s four days off seemed destined to be fraught with minor complications and irritations. The unsettled weather plagued the city with showers and thunderstorms. She found it difficult to switch off from work completely, as the condition of her young patient, Josh, continued to deteriorate, and she popped into the hospital a couple of times to check on him. She had some unexpected bills come in, which put a strain on her already tight finances. And to top it all, on Thursday she received a phone call from her mother to say that her oldest sister, Cissy, had some great news.

“She’s pregnant!” Sarah said, sounding overjoyed.

“Again?” Freya replied, dismayed.

Sarah went quiet. “Really, love,” she said eventually. “That’s hardly the attitude.”

Freya put her head in her hands. “Sorry. But honestly, can they afford another kid?” Cissy and her partner already had two children, and they were struggling.

“If you wait until you can afford it, you’d never have kids.”

“I suppose so.” Freya knew she should be more congratulatory. But she also knew her parents would feel bound to support Cissy and their grandchildren, and that would inevitably mean Freya would be supporting her parents once again.

“Money’s not everything, love,” said Sarah.
 

Freya stood up. It took every ounce of willpower for her not to throw the phone across the room. “Sorry, Mum,” she said through clenched teeth, “I’ve got to go, I’ll talk to you later.” She hung up before Sarah could reply.

“Fuck!” she yelled out loud at the phone, prompting Mia to come running in. Freya was hardly able to tell her what the problem was, she was so angry.

“What an incredibly insensitive thing to say,” Mia told her, flushed and upset for her friend.

Freya finally gave in and threw a cushion across the room, which promptly knocked over a picture frame on the shelf, and then she collapsed in tears. “I hate her,” she sobbed. “I hate her for making me feel like this, and then I feel guilty as well.”

It took several hours, two glasses of Pinot Gris, half a tub of chocolate-mint ice cream and a hot bath for her to calm down. A heavy weight remained on her chest, however, and on Friday morning she felt tired and depressed from a night of tossing and turning and cursing in the dark.

The last thing she really wanted to do was to go back to the hospital, but she kept thinking about Josh, and she knew she’d only be wondering how he was doing all weekend if she didn’t go and check on him now. So she pulled on a pair of trackpants and a T-shirt, scraped her hair back in a clip and drove there in the pouring rain.

She ran across the parking lot to the foyer and took the elevator to the oncology ward. Once there, she checked in at the nurses’ station, asking the ward sister, Katherine, how Josh was doing. She crossed her fingers behind her back as she did so, begging any superior being who happened to be listening not to let it be bad news.

“Actually,” said Katherine, checking Josh’s file, “he’s improving.”

Freya stared at her. “What?”

“I know. One of life’s little miracles. His kidney and liver functions have improved, and the infection’s not as bad as it was. I wouldn’t be surprised if his next blood count saw an improvement, either.”

Freya shook her head, studying the chart. “I don’t believe it. I thought he had days to live. How on earth could this happen?”

Katherine shrugged. Then she leaned forward on the desk, resting her chin on her hands thoughtfully, lowering her voice as she said, “Actually, I know it’s probably all nonsense, but there’s this guy who’s been coming in to see Josh. He’s a certified member of the WHF.”

Freya knew about the Wellington Healing Foundation. Members of the Foundation often visited the oncology wards, offering a variety of alternative treatments from aromatherapy massages to Reiki healing to crystal therapy. Freya was ambivalent about these treatments, but more often than not, the patients found them relaxing, even if they weren’t “cured” as a result, so she was prepared to be open minded about it. “Oh?”

“Yeah, he’s been in several times over the last two or three days. I’m sure it’s a coincidence, but Josh has definitely improved since this man’s been in to see him.”

“What does he do?” Freya put down the file.

“Just holds his hands over Josh’s body. Actually he’s in there now.” She rose from the seat and beckoned Freya toward the ward.

Freya followed her, curious about the stranger who might have had a hand in helping her patient to improve. They stopped at the entrance to the ward, and she looked over at Josh’s bed.

Josh was asleep, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling evenly. Usually, his skin was almost a transparent white, the blue veins noticeable on his eyelids, but that day Freya could see a healthy flush in his cheeks, and for the first time in ages he slept peacefully, without the twitches and jumps in his muscles that denoted the pain he often felt.

But it was the man standing next to the bed who drew her attention, and Freya stared at him, her heart banging frantically against her ribs.

Nate’s eyes were closed, his hands held out, palms down, over Josh’s chest. He wasn’t moving, just standing there breathing slowly, his head slightly bowed. Outside the window above Josh’s bed, the rain had stopped and the sun had come out, and thick yellow rays slanted across the room, casting the man who stood there in golden light.

Vividly, Freya remembered the way he’d cupped her face on the evening he’d kissed her outside her house, and the way his palms had grown warm on her cheeks. He’d been trying to comfort her. To heal her. And it had worked, temporarily at least.

What was he doing here? Then of course, she remembered that she’d told him about Josh when she was at his flat.

She recalled Grace’s words, back in the bar.
I suspect Nate has hidden talents only Ash knows about.
Grace had obviously been spot on.