The Wife He Couldn't Forget. Yvonne Lindsay
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he could go home tomorrow, or maybe even later today. He’d used the mobile phone Olivia had left with him—his had apparently been pulverized in the accident and his laptop, as well, had been smashed beyond repair—to call the house and get her to bring him some clothes. He’d missed her, and she wasn’t answering her mobile phone, either.
He’d go home in his pajamas if he had to. He couldn’t wait to get out of here and back to their house. He liked to kid himself he could even see its green corrugated iron roof from the hospital window. It gave him a connection to Olivia in the times she wasn’t here.
It had been three weeks, but, God, he still remembered that first sight of her when he’d fully woken. The worry on her exquisitely beautiful face, the urge to tell her that everything would be all right. Sleep had claimed him before he could do anything more than smile at her. This damn head injury had a lot to answer for, he cursed inwardly. Not only had it stolen the past six years from his memory but it had left him as weak as a kitten. Not even capable of forming proper sentences on occasion. Each of the therapists he’d seen had told him he was doing great, that his recovery was progressing well, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough until he could remember again and be the man he was before his crash.
He couldn’t wait to be home. Maybe being around his own familiar things in his own environment would hasten the healing process. He looked out the window and cracked a wry smile at his reflection in the glass. At least one thing hadn’t changed. His levels of impatience were right up there where he always remembered them being.
Xander caught a sense of someone in the doorway to his shared room. He turned and felt the smile on his face widen as he saw Olivia standing there. Warmth spread through his body. A sense of rightness that was missing when she wasn’t with him.
“You’re looking happy,” Olivia remarked as she came over and kissed him on the cheek.
Her touch was as light as a butterfly. Even so, it awakened a hunger for more from her. He might not be at his physical peak, but the demands of his body still simmered beneath the surface. They’d always had a very intense and physically satisfying relationship, one he couldn’t wait to resume. He laughed inwardly at himself. There was that impatience again. One thing at a time, he told himself.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “I might be able to come home today. I tried to call you—”
“Today? Really?”
Was he imagining things or did the smile on her face look a little forced? Xander rejected the thought immediately. Of course she was as genuinely excited as he was. Why wouldn’t she be?
“Dr. Thomas just wants to run some final tests this morning. Provided he’s happy I should be able to leave here later this afternoon.”
“Well, that’s great news,” Olivia said. “I’ll shoot back home and get some things for you.”
Xander reached out and caught her hand in his. “In such a hurry to leave me? You just got here. Don’t go yet.”
Her fingers curled around his, and he turned her hand over before lifting it to place a kiss on her knuckles. He felt the light tremor go through her as his lips lingered on her skin and her fingers tightened, saw the way her pupils dilated and her cheeks flushed ever so slightly.
“I miss you when you’re not here,” he said simply, then examined the hand he held more closely. Her nails were short and practical, and even though she’d scrubbed at them, he could still see traces of paint embedded in her skin. It made him smile. “I see you’re still painting. Good to know some things haven’t changed.”
She bit her lower lip and turned her head, but not before he saw the emotion reflected in her eyes.
“Livvy?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you okay?”
“Sure, I’m fine. I’m just worried I’m going to have to cart you home in those,” she said lightly as she tugged her hand free and pointed at his striped pajamas with a disparaging look on her face. “And yes, I’m still painting. It’s in my blood. Always has been, always will be.”
He laughed, like she wanted him to, at the line he’d heard her say so many times. He saw the strain around her eyes lift a little.
“Fine, you better go then, but come straight back, okay?”
“Of course. I’ll be as quick as I can,” she said, bending down to kiss him on the forehead.
Xander leaned back against his pillows and watched her departing back. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something wasn’t right. They’d talked about him going home for days. Now that the time was finally here, was she afraid? He mulled the idea over in his head. It was possible. He’d been through a lot, and maybe she was worried about how he would cope on his reentry into the real world. She was such a worrier, always had been. He guessed that came with the territory of being the eldest out of four kids growing up on a farm without their mother. His Livvy was used to micromanaging everything around her so that nothing would go wrong.
When he’d married her, he’d silently promised himself that he would never be a burden to her—that he would never make himself one more responsibility she had to shoulder. Even now, he was determined to make certain that his recovery didn’t weigh her down. He’d do whatever it took to ensure that the rest of his recuperation went smoothly so that the worry would disappear from her eyes once and for all.
“Nothing will go wrong,” he said aloud, earning a look from the guy in the bed opposite his.
* * *
Olivia hastened to the car parking building and got into her car. Her hand shook slightly as she pressed the ignition, and she took a moment before putting on her seat belt and putting the car in gear.
He was coming home. It was what she wanted, so why on earth had she run like a startled rabbit the minute he’d told her? She knew why. It meant she would have to stop putting her head in the sand about the life he’d created when he’d left her. It meant taking the set of keys that she’d been given, among the personal effects the hospital had held since his accident—ruined bloodstained clothing included—and going to his apartment to get his things.
She knew she should have done it before now. Should have gathered together what he would expect to find at their home. His wardrobe, his toiletries. Those were pretty much all he’d taken with him when he’d left. There was nothing for it but to steel herself to invade the new home he’d created. At least she knew where he lived. That was about the only thing the legal separation documents had been any good for, she thought grimly as she drove the short distance from Auckland City Hospital to the apartment block in Parnell where Xander had taken a lease.
She parked in one of the two spaces allocated to his apartment and rode the elevator to the top floor. Letting herself in through the door at the end of the corridor, she steeled herself for what she would find on the other side. As she stepped through the entrance hall she found herself strangely disappointed.
It was as if she’d stepped into a decorator’s catalogue shoot. Everything perfectly matched and aligned—and totally lacking any character. It certainly didn’t look as though anyone actually lived here. There was none of his personality or his love of old things, no warmth or welcome. She walked through the living room and toward a hallway she hoped would lead to his bedroom. It did, and she was surprised to discover the bedroom was in the same pristine, sterile condition. Not so much as a stray sock poking out from the simple valance that skirted the king-size bed. It wasn’t like the Xander she’d known at all—a man who was meticulous in all things except what she teasingly referred to as his floor-drobe. Maybe he had a cleaning service come through. Or maybe, the thought chilled her, he really had changed this much.
Anyway, she was wasting time. She needed to get his things and take them back to her house on the other side of the harbor bridge and then get back to the hospital again before he began to think she wasn’t coming to take him home after all.
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