Waves of Temptation. Marion Lennox
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had seemed a natural fit.
But she’d spent time in hospitals in training, and she’d assisted time and time again when bad things had happened to surfers. She knew first-hand that doctors weren’t miracle workers.
So now she was staring at the doors, willing them to open. It had been more than three hours. Surely soon...
How would Jess cope if he was left with residual weakness? Or with losing his leg entirely? It didn’t bear thinking about. Surfing wasn’t his whole life but it was enough. It’d break his heart.
And Matt Eveldene was operating. What bad fairy was responsible for him being orthopaedic surgeon at the very place Jess had had his accident? Wasn’t he supposed to still be in Sydney with his appalling family? If she’d known he was here she would never have come.
Had she broken her promise by being here?
You keep yourself out of our lives, now and for ever.
She’d cashed the cheque and that had meant acceptance of his terms. The cheque had been Jessie’s insurance, though. Her husband’s insurance. Surely a promise couldn’t negate that.
The cheque had saved her life. No, she thought savagely. Her Jess had saved her life. Her husband. Her lovely, sun-bleached surfer who’d picked her up when she’d been at rock bottom, who’d held her, who’d made her feel safe for the first time. Who’d had demons of his own but who’d faced them with courage and with honour.
‘We’ll get through this together, babe,’ he’d told her. ‘The crap hand you’ve been dealt...my black dog... We’ll face them both down.’
But the black dog had been too big, too savage, and in the end she hadn’t been able to love him enough to keep it at bay. The night he’d died...
Enough. Don’t go there. In a few minutes she’d have to face his brother, and maybe she would have to go there again, but only briefly, only as long as it took to explain that she hadn’t broken her promise deliberately. She and Jess would move out of his life as soon as possible, and they’d never return.
* * *
It took the combined skill of Matt Eveldene, a vascular surgeon, an anaesthetist and a team of four skilled nurses to save Jessie’s leg.
‘Whoever treated it on the beach knew what they were doing,’ Caroline muttered. Gold Coast Central’s vascular surgeon was in her late fifties, grim and dour at the best of times. Praise was not lightly given. ‘This artery’s been so badly damaged I have no idea how blood was getting through.’
She went back to doing what she was doing, arterial grafting, slow, meticulous work that meant all the difference between the leg functioning again or not. Matt was working as her assistant right now, removing shattered slivers of bone, waiting until the blood supply was fully established before he moved in to restore the leg’s strength and function.
If Caroline got it right, if he could managed to fuse the leg to give it the right length, if there’d not been too much tissue damage, then the kid might...
Not the kid. Jessie.
The thought did his head in.
‘I think we’re fine here,’ Caroline growled. ‘Decent colour. Decent pulse. He’s all yours, Matt.’
But as Matt moved in to take control he knew it was no such thing.
This kid wasn’t his at all.
* * *
The doors swung open and Matt Eveldene was in front of her. He looked professional, a surgeon in theatre scrubs, hauling down his mask, pushing his cap wearily from his thatch of thick, black hair. How did he have black hair when Jessie’s had been almost blond? Kelly wondered absent-mindedly. He was bigger than Jess, too. Stronger boned, somehow...harsher, but she could still see the resemblance. As she could see the resemblance to her son.
This man was Jessie’s uncle. Family?
No. Her family was her son. No one else in the world qualified.
‘It went well,’ he said curtly from the door, and she felt her blood rush away from her face. She’d half risen but now she sat again, hard. He looked at her for a moment and then came across to sit beside her. Doctor deciding to treat her as a mother? Okay, she thought. She could deal with this, and surely it was better than last time. Better than brother treating her as a drug-addicted whore.
The operation had gone well. She should ask more. She couldn’t.
There was only silence.
There was no one else in the small theatre waiting room. Only this man and her.
There were so many emotions running rampant in her mind that she didn’t have a clue what to do with them.
‘Define...define “well”,’ she managed, and was inordinately proud of herself that she’d managed that.
‘Caroline had to graft to repair the artery,’ he told her. ‘But she’s happy with the result. We have steady pulse, normal flow. Then I’ve used a titanium rod. You know about intramedullary nailing? There wasn’t enough bone structure left to repair any other way. But the breaks were above the knee and below the hip—well clear—so we’ve been able to use just the one rod and no plates. He has a couple of nasty gashes—well, you saw them. Because the bone fragments broke the skin we need to be extra-cautious about infection. Also Caroline’s wary of clotting. He’ll spend maybe a week in hospital until we’re sure the blood flow stays steady. After that, rest and rehabilitation in a controlled environment where we know he can’t do further damage. You know this’ll be a long haul.’
‘It’ll break his heart,’ Kelly whispered. ‘It’s going to be six months before he’s back on a surfboard.’
‘Six months is hardly a lifetime,’ Matt said, maybe more harshly than he should have. ‘He’ll have some interesting scars but long term nothing a surfer won’t brag about. Depending on his growth—at seventeen there may or may not be growth to come—we may need to organise an extension down the track but the rod itself can be extended. Unless he grows a foot he should be fine.’
So he’d still be able to surf. She hadn’t realised quite how frightened she’d been. She felt her body sag. Matt made a move as if to put a hand on her shoulder—and then he pulled away.
He would have touched her if she’d been a normal parent, she thought. He would have offered comfort.
Not to her.
It didn’t matter. He’d done what she’d most needed him to do and that was enough.
She made to rise, but his hand did come out then, did touch her shoulder, but it wasn’t comfort he was giving. He was pressing her down. Insisting she stay.
‘We need to talk,’ he said. ‘I believe I deserve an explanation.’
She stilled. Deserve. Deserve!
‘In what universe could you possibly deserve anything from me?’ she managed.
‘Jessie has a son!’
‘So?’
‘So my brother has fathered a child. My parents are grandparents. Don’t you think we deserved to know?’
‘I’m remembering a conversation,’ she snapped, and the lethargy and shock of the last few hours were suddenly on the back burner. Words thrown at her over eighteen years ago were still vividly remembered. ‘How could I not remember? Make no contact with your parents. Do not write. Never tell your mother Jess and I were married. Keep myself out of your lives, now and for ever. You said there were a hundred reasons why I should never contact you. You didn’t give me one exception.’
‘If you’d told me you were pregnant—’
‘As I recall,’ she managed, and it hurt to get the words out, ‘you didn’t want to know one single thing about me. Everything