Her Favorite Temptation (12 page)

At least until after she’d had breakfast.

Her hair was a tangle around her shoulders, and she grabbed an elastic from the drawer of her bedside table before slipping into her bathrobe. She used the bathroom and headed for the kitchen, yawning loudly. She needed coffee, and she needed food. Then she needed to think. Sort a few things out in her mind.

Her step faltered when she heard a noise near the door. As she watched, a long white envelope was pushed underneath the door, coming to a stop a couple of inches in.

She was there in three strides, pulling the door open.

“Will—”

A blond-haired woman in her mid-fifties whirled to face her, one hand pressed to her chest in shock. “Oh. You startled me.” She gave a little laugh.

“Sorry,” Leah said, confused. “I thought you were someone else.”

She glanced over her shoulder at the envelope. Why would a complete stranger slip a note under her door?

“Will asked me to give it to you,” the woman explained, obviously reading her confusion. “Well, he left a note asking me to get it to you, anyway.”

She pressed her lips together, and Leah realized she was trying not to cry.

An awful feeling crept over her. “I take it Will’s not home.”

“He’s at the hospital. Didn’t he tell you his operation was today? Typical Will.” She sounded fondly exasperated.

Leah could only stare at her. Operation? Will was having an
operation?

“I’m Denise, by the way. Will’s mum.” She offered Leah her hand and Leah shook it automatically. Later she could kick herself for not guessing the connection straight away, since Will had inherited his mother’s bright blue eyes.

“Leah. Will’s...neighbor.” She opened her mouth, trying to work out what she wanted to say. It was hard, when there were suddenly so many thoughts bouncing around in her head. “Is he all right?”

“We don’t know yet. Dr. Chang couldn’t tell us how long the operation might go for, which is why I’m here. I couldn’t stand sitting around, waiting. And I thought I might take his guitar in for him. A little bit of home in a strange place.”

Dr. Chang. Leah didn’t recognize the name, but the Alfred was a big hospital, sprawling across many blocks.

“That’s a nice idea,” she said numbly.

“I’d better keep moving. I don’t want to miss anything, even though Reg said he’d call if there was any news.” Denise slipped into Will’s apartment.

For a moment Leah could only stand in the hallway, trying to wrap her head around what she’d learned. Then she turned and regarded Will’s letter.

She scooped it up, the door slamming behind her as she tore the envelope open. Her hands were shaking as she unfolded two sheets of handwritten paper.

Leah,

The first thing I should say is I’m sorry. But this might be the last letter I write and I’m not going to lie—I wouldn’t take tonight back for anything. What happened between us will stay with me forever—however long that may be. Perhaps what I should say is I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you in any way. That was never my intention.

I want to explain a few things, though. And when I get to the end you’ll probably be wondering why I didn’t tell you this up front, but I’ll get to that.

Short story: I have a brain tumor. It was diagnosed approximately nine weeks ago after I had an MRI following months of headaches and a few weird episodes. You’re a doctor, and I know you’re going to want all the fancy names and details. It’s in my left frontoparietal lobe, and my surgeon estimates it is 5 cm x 6cm x 5xm, although, he tells me he won’t know for sure until he goes in to take it out. I came to Melbourne for a course of steroids to try to shrink the tumor prior to surgery, but the flu threw everything out of whack and things had to be rescheduled.

All things being equal, I should be out of surgery by now. Or, you know, I won’t be. Whatever happens, I want you to know that knowing you, even for only a few weeks, has been pretty damn cool, Dr. Leah Mathews. Talking with you, eating pizza with you, laughing with you has kept me sane. Having someone in my life who didn’t need to know what was happening inside my head stopped me from spinning my own wheels dusk till dawn. You let me just be me, no strings, no expectations, and for that I will be forever grateful.

I’m sorry if you feel I lied to you. I didn’t mean to. I meant to keep my hands to myself. When you offered me one night, I let myself take it because I wanted you too badly not to. I told myself that my diagnosis didn’t make a difference if it was only one night. I told myself you would never need to know.

And now you’re probably wondering why I’m telling you all this now, when I was all bent out of shape about you knowing beforehand.

Sitting here in the dark with you asleep in the next room, I figure I owe you the truth, Leah. If things go wrong, I want you to know why you won’t hear from me. And I want you to know that if tonight is the last memory I make, I will die a very, very happy man. I wish we could have had more time together, but life sucks the big one like that sometimes.

Thank you for your trust and your openness. I hope you don’t feel as though I’ve abused it, because I think it would be a great loss to the world if you lost the ability you have to offer yourself up to people so wholeheartedly. It’s one of the many things I admire about you.

Yours,

Will

The pages were shaking by the time she’d finished reading. She was so stunned, so blindsided, she read it all again, just to make sure. Then she thought about some of the things Will had said and done last night, the way he’d held her, the way he’d touched her, and couldn’t keep the tears at bay.

Why hadn’t he told her? If she’d known, she would have—

What?
Coddled him?
Insisted he talk?
Felt sorry for him?
Handled him with kid gloves?
Put on your doctor’s hat and tried to find a way to ease his doubts and uncertainty?

Probably all of the above, and then some. She wouldn’t have made love to him all night, knowing he’d be going under the knife the very next day. She certainly wouldn’t have used him as her very own shoulder to cry on, moaning about her parents, about her career, about her sister.

She would have done everything differently.
Everything.

You let me just be me
,
no strings
,
no expectations
,
and for that I will be forever grateful.

She wiped her cheeks, then took a shuddery breath. Intellectually she knew she should be angry with Will, but she couldn’t work herself up to it. She understood what he’d done. She might not necessarily agree with it, but she couldn’t deny that if she’d known about his diagnosis, their whole relationship would have been rewritten.

Like Will, she wouldn’t take any of it back, even if she could. It had been too special. Too real. Too good.

She sniffed, and folded Will’s letter very carefully, knowing that she would want to read it many, many more times in the future. No matter what.

She strode into her bedroom, opening the closet and throwing clothes onto the bed. She shed her robe, then went into the en suite and started the shower.

She could sift through the minutiae of her many interactions with Will later, looking for clues, resolving questions, putting the pieces together. Right now, she needed to be at the hospital.

CHAPTER NINE

H
E
WAS
IN
the last bed in the intensive care unit, curled on his side, his back to the door. His mother sat beside him, a trim, balding man in his fifties standing behind her. Will’s father, Leah guessed.

In the waiting area, she had already passed two women who had to be Will’s sisters, Vanessa and Izzy, the family resemblance was so strong. No doubt they were taking turns sitting with Will while they waited for him to wake.

Leah swallowed past the tightness in her throat as her gaze returned to his still, prone form. She walked the final few feet, hands clenched inside the pockets of her white coat.

They’d shaved his hair. She hadn’t been expecting that. These days, many neurosurgeons attempted to preserve as much of the patient’s hair as possible, only shaving the immediate area surrounding the craniotomy site. But Will’s head had been completely shorn, his signature lion’s mane of hair gone, leaving him looking impossibly vulnerable and exposed. Staples glinted along the curving suture line on his scalp, the arc of the incision curling from the center of his hairline toward his left ear.

“Hello.”

Leah tore her gaze from Will to find his mother looking at her, a confused half smile on her face.

“It’s Leah, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Denise’s gaze dropped to her coat. “Are you a doctor here? Will didn’t mention that.”

“I’m a surgeon. At least, I used to be. I wanted to see how Will was doing.” She took a step closer to the bed. Will’s left eye socket was bruised, not uncommon for a craniotomy of the frontal lobe. His lashes seemed impossible dark against the pallor of his cheeks.

“Technically I’m not supposed to be here,” she said. “But I figured if I wore my coat and ID tag, I could swindle my way in.” She offered Will’s parents a shaky smile. “I promise I won’t stay longer than a couple of minutes.”

The older man stepped forward, offering her his hand. “I’m Reg, Will’s father.”

“Leah,” she said. “I live next door to Will. At least, I have for the past few weeks.”

“Denise mentioned you.” Reg gave her a penetrating look, clearly trying to understand her relationship with Will.

“Have they said anything? How did the surgery go?” Leah asked.

“The tumor was benign,” Denise said. “And Dr. Chang said he was confident he got it all. We figure that’s as good as it gets with this sort of thing.”

The band of tension circling Leah’s chest eased a little. Benign was the best possible news. Will wouldn’t have to worry about secondaries, and the odds of the tumor recurring were very, very low. She rested her hand on the end of the bed, feeling a little shaky with relief.

“That’s wonderful news.” She felt a flush of emotion heat her cheeks. “You must be very relieved.”

“We are,” Denise said simply.

“Has he woken up at all? Said anything?” Leah’s gaze traced the line of Will’s body beneath the sheet.

Last night, he’d picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. And now he was here....

“He was awake immediately afterward, apparently, but he had some nausea and they gave him something for it and he hasn’t woken since then,” Reg explained.

Leah nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

“Would you like to sit for a minute?” Denise said, standing to offer Leah the chair, her expression concerned.

“No. I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I just needed to make sure he was okay. I don’t want to cause a fuss.” She took a step backward. “Thanks for letting me look in.”

Not that she’d really given them much of a choice.

“Thanks for coming by,” Denise said. “I know he will appreciate it.”

Leah forced a smile, then nodded goodbye before exiting. The waiting area was a blur in front of her and she blinked to clear her vision, worried she’d walk into someone. On the other side of the room, Will’s sisters were talking to each other quietly, one of them checking her phone.

Leah walked to the nearest empty seat and sat, a move that caused a number of waiting relatives to shoot her curious looks. Quickly she shrugged out of her white coat, folding it into her lap. She stared at her hands and tried not to think of all the hurdles that still lay ahead of Will. His brain would be swollen, and he might be dealing with any number of residual effects. Loss of balance, problems with speech, mood swings, memory issues, motor difficulties...

She closed her eyes, imagining how terrified Will must have been while he waited for today. Not knowing if he’d survive. If he did survive, what life might look like for him post-surgery.

It must have been very hard. And yes, she knew that people dealt with those sorts of uncertainties every day, that she’d operated on people living on a knife’s edge, but this was Will. This was personal, very intimate.

She had no idea how long she sat there—an hour, two. It was hard to keep a track of time in the waiting room unless you made an effort. Sometime in the midafternoon, Denise emerged, a tremulous smile on her face. Will’s sisters leaped to their feet, their expressions impossibly hopeful and fearful. Leah couldn’t hear what Denise told them, but she could see the relief sweep over them. They hugged each other, passed around tissues, all three of them unable to stop smiling.

Will was okay. There was no way they would be smiling and laughing like that if he wasn’t. Leah lowered her head, breathing deeply through her mouth in an attempt to control her emotions.

After a few minutes she stood, her coat held tightly to her chest, and headed for the exit. She wanted to check in with Will’s family again very badly, but she’d already imposed on them enough. She might feel an intense connection to him, but they didn’t know who she was. To them, she was simply the woman who had lived next to him for a few weeks. And, in reality, that
was
who she was. She may have slept with Will, but there were probably more than a handful of women in the world who could claim that privilege.

Bone weary, she headed for home.

* * *

W
ILL
WOKE
SLOWLY
, gradually becoming aware of movement in the room, people talking softly around him. At first he couldn’t understand why there would be people in his bedroom while he was sleeping, but slowly it came to him. The MRI. His diagnosis. His surgery. Finally he managed to force his eyes open.

“Will.”

His mother’s voice. He turned his head toward the sound and there she was, her face etched with concern.

“Hey,” he said, smiling. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“
Will
,” she said again, half laughing, half crying. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek, cupping his jaw with her hand.

Will saw his father over her shoulder. “Dad. Good to see you.”

“Good to see you, too, Will.” His father was suspiciously shiny-eyed as he cleared his throat.

His gaze found his mother again. “Did they...?”

“Benign. And Dr. Chang is happy he got it all.”

Will closed his eyes for a long beat.

Benign.

Thank. Freaking. Christ.

“Good to see you back with us,” a crisp voice said, and he turned to see a nurse standing at the foot of the bed. “How are you feeling, Will? How’s your pain level?”

He thought about it for a moment. He was muzzy-headed, everything a little blurry around the edges, but he figured—he hoped—that was the result of some pretty serious painkillers. As for any discomfort...there was a tightness across the front of his skull, and, now that he thought about it, his left eye hurt when he moved it too quickly. But mostly he felt sleepy. And a little dazed.

“Pretty good, thanks,” he said, a little surprised.

“Good to hear. I want to run a few checks with you. Can you tell me what year it is?”

“It’s 1969. Neil Armstrong just taught Michael Jackson how to do the moonwalk.”

The nurse smiled appreciatively. “That’s a new one.” She glanced at his parents. “I bet he was a handful when he was a kid.”

“Two handfuls,” his mother said affectionately.

The nurse refocused on Will. “Want to try for the real answer now?”

“It’s 2013. I’m thirty-one years old, born on May 20, 1982. My middle name is Alex. Today is a Saturday. What else do you want to know?”

“I’d like to do a few neurological obs, check your reflexes, et cetera.”

“Are we in the way?” his father asked.

“It might be better if we had a few minutes,” the nurse agreed.

His mother stood. “We’ll be back soon, sweetheart. So good to talk to you. Love you.”

“Love you, too, Mum.”

The nurse waited until his parents had left his bedside before pulling the curtain around the bed to give him some privacy.

“I’m Nancy, by the way.” She pulled a penlight from her pocket. “We’ll start at the top. How does that sound?”

“Like you know what you’re doing.”

She leaned over him. “Look into the light for me.”

She flicked the penlight across first his right eye, then his left. “Good.”

“It’s normal for me to be able to see through walls, right?” Will joked.

Nancy laughed. “I can see we’re going to have to sedate you soon. Or maybe move you to the regular ward. I don’t think you need our kind of help anymore.”

She moved to the end of the bed and pulled the sheet off his feet.

“Okay, I want you to push against my hand if you can.” She started with his left foot. “Good. Now with your right.”

Will frowned as he tried to flex his right foot. In his head, his foot was moving, pressing against the nurse’s hand. In reality, he could barely manage to bend his foot at the ankle.

“Okay. Some weakness there. Nothing to be too worried about at this stage,” Nancy said brightly. She stopped to write something on his chart.

“Hands next.” She moved up the bed, offering him her hands. “I’d like you to grip them and squeeze them, please. As tightly as you can manage.”

Will attempted to do so, watching with frustration as his right hand—like his right leg—stubbornly refused to cooperate. He could lift it off the bed and open his fingers, but for the life of him, he couldn’t get his hand to make a fist or even close lightly around Nancy’s fingers.

Dread tightened his chest.

“It’s okay, Will. Don’t push it. We’re very early days yet.” Nancy patted his arm reassuringly. “As I’m sure your doctor told you, there’s always residual swelling after a resection. What we’re seeing now isn’t necessarily an indicator of where you’ll end up. Okay?”

“Sure.”

She continued with the exam, checking his reflexes and his vital signs. He answered her questions, but his mind was racing.

There had been so many things he’d been afraid of, leading up to his surgery. Dying on the operating table had been high on the list. Losing parts of himself that he considered core to who he was—his memories, the way his brain worked, his creativity, the way he looked at the world—had been next. Physical considerations had come in after that on his sliding scale of unbearable to bearable, but they’d definitely been prominent among his fears.

From what he could tell so far, he’d been incredibly lucky. He could talk. He recognized his family, could even make jokes with Nancy. There was, however, a very real possibility that he would have issues with motor control on his right side.

Walking. Driving a car. Getting around in general. Brushing his teeth. Cutting up his food. Getting dressed.

Playing his guitar.

He stared at the ceiling, telling himself it was way, way too soon to hit the panic button. The important thing—the amazing thing—was that he was alive. Everything else was manageable. Bearable.

Nancy whisked the curtain aside and went to let his parents know it was okay to come in to see him. He used the time to attempt to fist his right hand a few more times. His hand remained stubbornly unresponsive and weak, even when he willed it to clench with all his might. He had sensation—he’d been able to feel Nancy’s hand when she touched him, could feel the sheets beneath his arm, and the heat from his body. He simply didn’t have the fine motor control he’d had previously. The ability to hold a plectrum, for example. To be able to strum or pick out a tune.

“Hey, baldy. How are you doing?” It was Vanessa, with his mum at her side. Clearly his family was playing tag team with the visiting.

“That’s your best shot?” he asked her as she leaned in for a kiss. Her gaze went to his head and he knew she was looking at his incision.

“How bad is it? Shark-attack bad?” he asked.

“Honestly? It looks as though you’ve had a zipper installed in your head.”

She’d always been the pithy sister, the one who had no qualms about punching him if he pissed her off. He should have known better than to invite honesty from her.

“
Vanessa
,” his mother said, clearly appalled. “You have staples, Will, and the doctor assures me they will come out in a few days. Once your hair grows in no one will know there’s a scar.”

“Remind me to tell you about how Freya looked like a wrinkled little monkey when she was born,” he told his sister dryly, referring to his eldest niece.

Vanessa grinned. “You’re on.” Then she reached out and caught his left hand in hers, squeezing it tightly. “God, it’s good to see your too-handsome-for-your-own-good face again.”

“If you cry, Ness, I’m never going to let you live it down. Consider yourself warned.”

She gave him a watery smile.

His mother touched his right forearm to get his attention.

“Will, I forgot to mention. Your friend Leah came to visit.”

“What?
Here?
” He stared at his mother.

“You’d just come out of surgery. She wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Will tensed. He should have known Leah would have been worried about him, that she’d want to check on him.

“On a scale of one to ten, how bad was I? Drooling? Raving like a madman?” He was only half joking. The idea of Leah seeing him unconscious with—apparently—a zipper in his head was not a pleasant one. He didn’t want her to think of him as a patient, a victim. He wanted her to think of him as—