From Heartache To Forever / Melting The Trauma Doc's Heart. Alison Roberts
Читать онлайн книгу.
pink rubber gloves that matched the awful walls, a streak of dirt on her cheek, and his heart crashed against his ribs.
How could she look so sexy?
‘Wow! That’s amazing. It’s gorgeous!’
It wasn’t alone. He dragged his eyes off her, looking way more appealing than she had any right to look with dirt on her face and her hair all sweaty, and studied the floor. ‘Well, I don’t know about gorgeous, but it knocks spots off the carpet and it’ll save me money. I wonder if the hall’s the same?’
It was, so was the dining room, and he was stunned.
‘It’s incredible. I love it. I think you’re right, a bit of polish and it will be gorgeous. Right, let’s go. It’s late, you’re working tomorrow and I could kill for a cup of tea.’
‘Me, too. It might wash the dust out of my throat.’
He chuckled, and her eyes softened with her smile. Without thinking, he pulled her into his arms and hugged her, burying his face in her hair and breathing in dust and bleach and something else, something familiar that made his heart ache.
‘Thank you. Thank you so much for all you’ve done. You’ve been amazing and I wouldn’t have got nearly as far without you.’
She eased away, leaving him feeling a little awkward and a bit bereft. ‘Yeah, you would, because you wouldn’t have stopped. Right, time to go.’
‘Tea or coffee?’
‘Tea would be lovely, thank you. Want a hand?’
‘No, you’re fine. Go and relax, I won’t be long.’
Relax? He was too wired for that, and stiffening up nicely after all the heaving and bending. He was going to hurt in the morning. Ah, well. At least they’d made a start.
He flexed his shoulders and strolled over to the shelves in the corner of her sitting room beside the fireplace, where a silver trinket box had caught his eye. It was a heart, he discovered, smooth and rounded, incredibly simple but somehow beautiful, and crying out to be touched.
He picked it up, and it settled neatly into the palm of his hand as if it belonged there, the metal cool against his palm, the surface so smooth it felt like silk. There was something written on it, he realised, and he traced it with his fingertip, his heart starting to pound as he read the tiny inscription.
A date. A date he recognised, a date he could never forget because it was carved on his heart, too.
He heard her footsteps behind him.
‘Tea,’ she said, her voice sounding far away, the clink of the mugs as she put them down oddly loud in the silence. He turned slowly towards her, the heart still nestled in the palm of his hand.
‘What’s this?’ he asked gruffly, knowing the answer, and her smile nearly broke his heart.
‘Her ashes.’
Her face blurred, and he bent his head and lifted the tiny urn to his lips, his eyes squeezed tightly shut to trap the tears inside.
‘You kept them,’ he said, when he could speak.
‘Of course. I didn’t know what else to do. You weren’t there by the time I picked them up, and I didn’t want to stay where we were because of all the reminders and I knew if they were there I’d feel tied, so I had to keep her with me until we could decide together what to do.’
He looked up, blinking so he could see her face, and her smile cracked.
‘Oh, Beth…’
He reached out his free arm and pulled her against his side, and she laid her hand over the delicate little urn in his hand, her fingers curling round over his as she rested her head on his shoulder.
‘Grace didn’t suffer, Ry. At least we know that.’
He nodded, and she lifted the little heart gently out of his hand, kissed it and put it back on the shelf, next to a pretty cardboard box. She touched it fleetingly.
‘That’s her memory box,’ she said softly. ‘The midwives gave it to me in the hospital. Would you like to see it?’
He shook his head, mentally backing away from it, unable to face it. ‘No. Not tonight. I’m too tired, Beth. I think I might head up to bed. I’ve got another long day tomorrow and you’re working.’
Her smile was understanding, as if she’d seen straight through him.
‘When you’re ready,’ she said gently, but he’d spent two long years running away from it and he wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready for what he knew must be in that memory box.
Time to stop running? Maybe, but not now. Not tonight.
Not yet…
‘ARE YOU OK?’
Ryan propped himself against the doorframe of his newly acquired home and gave her a slightly crooked smile.
‘Yeah, I’m fine.’
‘Are you sure? Because you didn’t look it last night.’
He hadn’t felt it, and between the memories that the little heart had dragged up out of their hiding place and the knowledge that Beth was just on the other side of the wall, he’d hardly slept at all. And then seeing this place in daylight, realising the enormity of the task, had made him wonder what on earth he was doing.
So, yeah, one way and another, he was very far from fine.
He scrubbed a hand through his hair and shrugged away from the doorframe, stepping back into the hall to let her in. ‘I was tired. And, yes, OK, I was—uh—I was a bit emotional. It was just holding it, you know? Knowing Grace was in there.’
She nodded. ‘I know.’ Her smile faltered, and she sucked in a breath and looked around, then blinked. ‘Oh—wow! What happened to the pink?’
He laughed. ‘Three coats of white paint happened to it.’
‘Three? Already? What are you, Superman?’
‘It’s been a nice breezy day and I’ve had all the windows open so the paint’s dried quickly and it really doesn’t take that long. I’ve done the sitting room, as well. Have a look.’
He pushed the door open and followed her in, and she gasped.
‘Oh! It looks so much bigger. And brighter.’
He chuckled. ‘That wouldn’t be hard. Cup of tea?’
‘That would be lovely. I haven’t had a lot to drink today. I’ve brought scruffy clothes.’
He frowned at her. ‘You’ve been working all day.’
‘So? It was the sensible Friday shift. The late shift won’t have it so easy.’
He headed for the kitchen. ‘Tea or coffee? I bought a kettle and some mugs and stuff.’
‘Tea, please.’
He felt her watching him dunking tea bags, pouring milk, his hands covered in paint. There was some in his hair, too, he’d noticed. He was going to have to do some serious scrubbing to get it off by Monday.
‘So how was work?’ he asked, handing her the mug. ‘Anything interesting?’
‘Not really, a few sporting and gardening injuries, the odd fall, but nothing nasty, just busy.’
He thought of his average day with MFA and laughed. ‘I’ll take that.’
‘I