Sydney Harbour Hospital: Tom's Redemption. Fiona Lowe
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green jack?’
He felt strands of her hair brush his cheek as she leaned past him and this time he caught the scent of coconut and lime. It took him instantly to a beach in the tropics and for some crazy reason he thought of a bright red bikini and a deep cleavage. He felt a tightening against his pants.
It had been so long since anything had stirred in that region of his body that part of him was relieved it still all worked. Most of him wasn’t.
Stop it. Concentrate on work.
Out of habit, he closed his eyes to rid himself of the image. The irony hit him hard—the only images he saw now were in his imagination and darkness didn’t affect them one little bit.
‘You only missed by one.’
The admiration in her voice scratched him. Once he’d been admired around the world for groundbreaking brain surgery. Now he needed help with basic technology. ‘Just push the damn plug into the damn jack.’
He thought he heard her mumble, ‘I’d like to plug it somewhere else.’ A moment later music blared through the speakers. ‘Good. It works.’
‘So it does.’ She paused as if she expected him to say something. Then she sighed again. ‘If that’s all, I’ll leave you to it.’
Her tone reminded him he should thank her, but it was bad enough having to ask for help without then having to be permanently grateful. He almost choked on a clipped ‘Thank you’.
‘Any time.’ Her polite response held a thread of relief that she could now leave and that ‘any time’ really meant ‘not any time soon’.
He could hear the clack of heels and the firm tread of rubber as people entered the auditorium in large numbers. There’d been a reason his first lecture earlier in the day had been to the medical students. He’d warmed up on a less demanding audience—practised even—but now his colleagues were filing in and taking their seats. Some had come to hear him speak, some had come merely to confirm if the rumour that he was now blind was true, and he knew that a small number of people he’d ticked off over the years would have come to gloat that the mighty Tom Jordan had taken one of life’s biggest falls.
His right hand fisted. He would not fail in front of them. Even when he’d been sighted he’d known how fickle technology could be and there was no way was he was going to have an equipment stuff-up or malfunction that he couldn’t see. He would not stand alone at the front of the theatre, hearing twitters of derision or pity.
He checked the time again with his fingers, and his chest tightened. The IT person still hadn’t arrived and Jared’s worst-case scenario had just come true. He thought of how he’d once commanded a crack team of surgeons, nurses and allied health professionals, and how their groundbreaking surgery had made headlines around the world. He’d demanded perfection but he’d never asked for anything.
But everything in his life had changed and he was being dragged kicking and screaming in the slipstream. His throat tightened and he gripped the lectern so hard the edge bit into his palm, but that pain was nothing compared to what was about to happen. Summoning up steely determination, he made himself say the words he never wanted to utter. ‘I need you to stay and be my eyes.’
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