Anticipation (3 page)

“Don’t waste your time with Blue,” one of the other clients had told him. “She doesn’t do men.”

Eddie had glanced at Blue to get her reaction to the comment, catching the sly little smile that curved her lips for a bare fraction of a second before she schooled her expression. Later, when he was handing over the money for his tattoo, he’d checked that no one was listening before leaning closer and lowering his voice.

“Your secret is safe with me.”

She’d glanced at him, and their gazes had locked for a long beat. He’d known without her saying a word that she understood exactly what he was referring to.

“Let me guess what you want in exchange for your silence,” she’d said.

“A drink after work. That’s all.”

She’d crossed her arms over her chest and given him a look that was dark with knowledge. “For starters, you mean.”

There’d been so much world-weary cynicism in her expression he’d felt insulted.

“You think I need to blackmail women into bed?”

“Oh, no. I’m sure you’re used to them falling like nine-pins, pretty boy like you with your fancy accent.”

It was so close to the truth that he’d shifted his weight onto his back foot.

“One beer,” he’d said, even though a part of him wondered why he was bothering.

She’d messed around with something on the register for a long moment before nodding curtly. That night, they’d bellied up to the bar at the local pub, cold glasses of beer in hand, and she’d confirmed his suspicion that she’d started the lesbian rumor to protect herself from being hit on by clients. She’d been different away from work, less guarded, but also wary in a new way. As though she was waiting for him to make a move again, maybe. As fascinated as he was by her small but very perky body, he’d resisted the urge to try his luck again. She was too prickly, and he wasn’t sure he was up for the challenge. He’d never really had to work for sex before. Then Rafel had joined them, and she’d lit up as she realized they were identical twins, and the great formative friendship of his life had taken off in earnest.

It was Blue who had inspired both him and Rafel to quit their fine arts degrees and secure their own tattoo apprenticeships, and it was Blue who had allowed him to ink his first painstaking lines into her skin. She’d been there when he and Rafel decided they were sick of working for other people, too. In fact, she’d been the one to name Brothers Ink, something she liked to remind them of every few months or so. Just in case they were in danger of forgetting.

“She’s got a broken leg, two broken ribs, a torn liver and concussion.”

Eddie lifted his head to find his brother standing in front of him, hands dug deep in the pockets of his jeans. Eddie had been so lost in thought he hadn’t heard Rafel approach.

“A torn liver?” Eddie asked, focusing on the important stuff.

“The doctor called it a laceration and said she’ll be fine with bed rest.”

Eddie pushed his hair off his forehead with both hands. Trying to think, to get past panic and relief to the place where normal services could resume.

“Can I see her?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t ask.”

Eddie stood. “You should have.”

Rafel followed him into the hospital, where Eddie made a beeline for the nearest nurses’ station and asked questions until he was directed to the surgical ward. From there he was taken to recovery, where he had to talk his way around a formidable looking woman who gazed at him through a pair of steel-rimmed glasses.

“Who are you in relation to Ms. Sullivan again?” the woman asked.

“Her friend. She doesn’t have family. I’m it.”

And Rafel, and the other crew at Brothers Ink, but Steel Glasses didn’t need to know that.

“You can have five minutes. She’s woken from the anesthetic, but she’ll be groggy and sleepy.”

Eddie washed his hands and followed the woman into the recovery room, passing three beds before they arrived at the one containing a small, blue-haired figure. Seeing Blue laid out so helplessly, a tube snaking from her arm to a drip, her right calf heavily bandaged, was like a punch in the gut. She was incredibly pale, the colorful fairy tattoos on her arms and chest and the bruises on her face standing out starkly against her skin.

“Five minutes,” the nurse said before walking to her station.

Eddie moved closer to the bed, reaching for the hand free from the drip. Blue’s touch was reassuringly warm, and his shoulders dropped a notch.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you to look both ways before crossing the road?” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion.

Her eye socket was a deep purple, and a dressing covered her temple. His stomach twisted as he remembered how bloody she’d been when he’d fallen to his knees beside her on the road. The paramedics had said more than once that her denim jacket and leather jeans had saved her from more brutal injuries, and he saw that her other hand was brown with antiseptic where they’d cleaned the road gravel from her palm.

A wave of queasy dizziness hit him, driven by a visceral awareness that someone he loved was in pain. He bowed his head over their joined hands, breathing deeply, trying for the second time tonight to contain himself. When the dizziness had settled, he lifted his head and gazed at her face once more, consciously absorbing the fact that she was warm and alive and breathing. The bruises would fade, the broken bones mend. She would continue to blaze her trail through the world, a five foot tall warrior woman with bright blue hair and attitude to spare.

“Thank you,” he said, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. He wasn’t sure who he was thanking — the universe, maybe — but he understood exactly how lucky they’d all been tonight. “Thank you.”

Blue woke slowly, first becoming aware that her bedroom was too bright — she must have forgotten to close the curtains last night — and then that there was too much noise. Then the pain hit her — a bone-deep ache in her leg, a burning sensation in her hand, a stab of hurt when she tried to frown.

She dragged her eyes open, blinking in bemusement at the bright white ceiling overhead. A vague memory pressed at the back of her mind. Something bad had happened. Something terrifying and unstoppable.

She opened her mouth to call for help, but her throat was so dry she could only produce a tortured croak.

Suddenly Eddie was there, filling her vision as he leaned over the bed, his hand finding hers on the bedcovers.

“It’s okay,
coração
. You’re okay. You’re in hospital. You’re a bit banged up, but you’re okay.”

She stared up at him, unable to fully comprehend what he was saying, but so grateful he was here.

And then she remembered.

Maggie’s party. Fighting with Eddie. Walking across the road. The roar of the motorbike.

The split-second of pure, ice-cold fear as she’d understood what was going to happen to her.

“Don’t cry,
coração.
Don’t do that to me,” Eddie said, but she was powerless to stop the hot tears sliding down her cheeks.

She gripped his hand as tightly as she could, needing his strength to anchor her.

“I thought I was going to die,” she whispered, staring up into his face.

“You are not the only one.” His accent was thicker than she’d ever heard it, his forehead creased into a deep, pained frown.

She couldn’t seem to stop the tears, and after a moment Eddie swore quietly under his breath. The next thing she knew he was on the bed beside her, his arms coming around her as he cradled her ever-so-gently against his chest. She breathed in the smell that was uniquely Eddie — clean clothes, warm skin, traces of aftershave — her good hand clutching at his shirt, and allowed herself a small moment of weakness.

“I’ve got you, Blue. I’ve got you,” he said, and it was exactly what she wanted — needed — to hear.

He kissed her forehead, and she ducked her head beneath his chin and pressed her face against his neck. She could feel his pulse against her cheek, and the rough rasp of his beard growing in. For a few precious seconds it was the safest place on earth.

She closed her eyes, savoring the moment, but as her brain came back online, it started hitting her with fragments of memory.

A flash of someone — a stranger — in a paramedic’s uniform leaning over her, asking if she knew her own name.

Someone repeatedly insisting that she remain awake.

Bright lights.

And pain — or, at least, the memory of it — burning along her nerve endings, stealing her breath.

And, most disturbingly, that moment, over and over, when she’d stared in frozen horror at the headlight coming toward her and understood, absolutely, that she would never know what it was like to make love to the man who was now holding her in his arms, to have him inside her, to know him the way she’d always wanted to know him. That her chance to love and be loved by him was gone, forever.

She lifted her head, pulling away from him. Confused and confronted by the images and memories and thoughts pummeling her.

“Am I hurting you?” Eddie asked.

“A little.”

He released her immediately, as she’d known he would, easing away from her and sliding off the bed. The relief she felt was indescribable. As lovely as it was having him hold her, it scared her how much she wanted it, how weak she was feeling. She’d always been so clear about what she wanted from him, about who he was and who she was. But that remembered moment of regret…

It was profoundly unsettling to realize that her — potentially — last mortal thought had been about what could have been, if she’d been brave enough to go there. It overturned everything she thought she knew about herself.

“You want some water? They said you’d probably be thirsty when you woke up,” Eddie asked.

“Yes, please.”

She watched as he poured her a glass from the jug beside her bed, taking note of his five o’clock shadow and wrinkled shirt and jeans. The same clothes he’d been wearing at Maggie’s party.

“What day is it?” she asked.

“Monday morning. Early.”

Maggie’s party had been Saturday night, which meant Blue had lost a whole day and a bit. Eddie handed her the glass, then helped her sit up enough to swallow. The movement made her ribs and belly ache, and she let out a little gasp, almost dropping the glass. Eddie’s hand was there to steady hers, his green eyes dark with concern.

“You okay? Need me to call a nurse?”

“I don’t think so. It just hurts.”

“You’ve got some busted ribs and a lacerated liver.”

She blinked, taking it in. “Is that all?”

“Concussion, bruising, and a broken leg.”

“No wonder I feel like shit.” Another thought occurred to her. “How’s the other guy?”

“Fine. Barely a scratch. The police are talking to him.”

“It was my fault. I should have crossed at the lights.”

“He was speeding. He came out of nowhere.”

Eddie raised the glass to her lips and she took two grateful swallows before he eased it away.

“I’m not done,” she protested.

“They said you need to take it easy at first.”

Normally, she would have argued with him, but her body felt heavier than lead, and suddenly it was impossible to keep her eyes open. She sank onto the pillows, her good hand tugging feebly at the covers. Eddie pulled them up for her, and she struggled to stay awake to thank him.

“Go to sleep,
coração
,” he said gently.

She wanted to, so badly, but her mind wouldn’t let go until she’d puzzled something out. Her Portuguese was limited to a handful of words — most of them rude — courtesy of her time spent with Rafel and Eddie. She’d heard both Eddie and Rafel say
coração
before, and suddenly the translation came to her: sweetheart.

He’d called her his sweetheart, more than once.

Puzzle solved, she let sleep take her.

Chapter Three

[Eddie waited until Maggie came to relieve his bedside vigil before allowing himself to leave Blue’s side.

Blue was okay, and he knew he’d be good for nothing if he didn’t get a shower and some sleep. He’d been running on vending-machine coffee for more than twenty-four hours now, and the need to lie down was dragging at him.

There was one task he needed to do before he hit the sack, though. Tooling through the early morning streets, he made his way to the ugly red-brick apartment block that Blue called home.

They both had spare keys to each other’s places, just in case, but he’d never had reason to use his before. It took him a few seconds to remember the security code at the entrance to the building, and he climbed two flights of stairs to her level before letting himself into her apartment. It was overcast outside, and the interior was dim enough that he reached out to flick on the lights.

Her place was small — one bedroom, with one living space, one bathroom and a small kitchen. She’d been here for a couple of years, even though he knew she could afford to rent something much more spacious and luxurious, or even buy a place of her own if she wanted to.

His gaze took in the black leather two-seater couch, the wide-screen TV with its proliferation of video-game consoles, and the Ikea coffee table sporting a caddy full of remote controls. Everything was scrupulously clean and tidy, and he knew before he went into the kitchen that it would be the same. Blue was anal, verging on obsessive, about keeping her spaces military neat and spare. There wasn’t a single cushion or throw blanket, vase or knickknack in sight. The kitchen was the same — no funny fridge magnets with pithy sayings, no cookie jars shaped like Winnie-the-Pooh. She kept things spartan, and claimed she liked it that way.