‘How’s his wife?’
‘You heard her. Devastated. They’ve got three young boys and at the moment she’s not coping. But with help she’ll get there.’
That could be Tamara with Sebastian. She was saying the woman would manage but, sorry, what the hell did she know? She hadn’t lost her child as the result of a heart attack. Or her husband, who’d sworn to always support her and watch her back. Yet. His hand rammed through his hair. The screams, those sobs, they’d hit him deep, dried up the happiness that’d been fizzing along his veins for nearly two weeks. Brought him back to earth. ‘I’ve been fooling myself.’
Spinning around, he strode quickly towards his office, almost running but managing to hold himself back.
‘Conor, wait for me.’ From directly behind him came the one voice he did not want to hear right this minute. Not until he’d sorted his head space.
‘Carry on with the patients, Tamara.’ His watch read two thirty-five. Nearly home time. Well, he wouldn’t be going home to stare at his four walls, but he’d be out of here fast, away from the sounds of ED, which he usually enjoyed. But not today.
‘Talk to me.’ She didn’t give up easily.
He spun around, stabbed the air between them with his forefinger. ‘No. Not now. Leave me.’
She stumbled but kept walking towards him. Shock blazed at him, but didn’t slow her down. ‘We’re in this together, Conor. You can’t walk away from me as and when it suits you.’
I can when it’s for your own good.
‘I can’t think clearly with you talking. Give me some space, Tamara.’
Tamara. Not Tam. He could see the hurt that inflicted and briefly contemplated pausing long enough to give her a hug and tell her not to worry. But she might have every reason to worry so he refrained.
‘What’s this about, Conor?’ That doubt she carried everywhere was wide awake and glaring at him.
‘Nothing to do with you, right?’ he lied, then strode into his office and banged the door shut. Twisted the lock for good measure.
Guilt warred with the need to be alone. Now he was shutting Tamara out completely. Snap. The door was unlocked. But not open. He wasn’t going to be able to undo that lie as easily.
At his desk he dropped onto the chair, hefted his feet on top of the desk and leaned back to stare at the ceiling, his hands clasped behind his head. His chest was pounding, his head starting to fill with haze.
‘I am not having a panic attack.’ He kept his elbows wide, refusing to let them fold in on his chest. He wasn’t having an attack of any kind.
Except fear. Fear for Tamara and Sebastian. Fear that one day it would be her screaming in an emergency department as he left her to bring up their son alone. Fear that his little boy would spend years looking for him because he didn’t understand what death meant.
The door opened and in walked Tamara, a mug in her hand and a wary smile on her face. ‘Coffee.’
He wanted to say, ‘Go away,’ but the words refused to come.
She came around the desk to place the mug on the desk and stood there gazing down at him. ‘Whatever you’re thinking, Conor, it’s too late. We are having a baby. The future may be an unknown on some levels but you’re going to be a father and there’s no changing that. Don’t even contemplate becoming a remote parent. That would be far worse for Sebastian than the scenario I imagine is going on in your head right now.’ Her kiss was soft on his cheek, her scent light. The bands around his chest loosened as she said, ‘We’re going to be fine.’
Then she left him to his thoughts, the door closing with a soft click behind her.
He went back to staring at the ceiling. ‘You think?’ How could Tamara be so positive? She’d been to hell and back, wore the scars from her own battles. Was strong because of them.
Could be a lesson here for you, boyo. Could be that Tamara is showing you a thing or two on how to grab life with both hands and enjoy it.
Could be he was wishing for the impossible. He did best by being alone.
* * *
Conor ran along the pavement circling the waterfront at Mission Bay, dodging around late-afternoon strollers enjoying the spring sunshine. His shoes slapped the concrete as he increased his pace, trying to outrun the torment in his head.
Tamara. She’d changed everything for him, given him hope, made him admit how much he wanted her and their baby. Yet he couldn’t go through with it.
Stepping sideways onto the grass verge, he dodged around an elderly couple shuffling along arm in arm with smiles on their wrinkled faces. Beautiful. He wanted that. To do the whole lifetime-together thing with Tamara, to raise their child, or children, and be able to relax into old age and watch over everyone without getting too tied up in arguments and dilemmas. That’s what he wanted. More than anything. But today reality had woken him up.
Increasing his pace until he was racing, not jogging at a sensible speed that’d last the distance, Conor sucked in abrupt breaths and ignored the occasional stabs of pain under his ribs. If he didn’t leave the head stuff behind there’d be no peace. He ran and ran and ran until he could no longer put one foot in front of the other. Then he sank down onto a park bench and dropped his head into his hands, stared at the grass between his sports shoes.
The turmoil still pounded at him. Might as well have stayed at home. Or gone to the pub with Mac and sunk a few beers.
Might as well have visited Tamara and got this over and done with.
I don’t want to hurt her.
I can’t do what I’d planned on doing.
I can’t live a lie.
I can’t tip Tamara’s world upside down again.
Conor’s chest tightened. In a familiar, frightening way.
He jerked up straight, his hands fisted, his legs tense.
Not now. Go away. Breathe, damn it, long and slow, deep. Breathe.
Damn, but he was a useless piece of work. He would not have a panic attack now. Not when he had to front up to Tamara. That’d be like asking for sympathy when he should be thrown down the street on his face. It was time to deal with these stupid attacks once and for all.
Pain stabbed him behind his sternum. Swift, hard, intense.
So you’re going to make it hard for me.
Gritting his teeth, Conor waited for it to pass. If it would go. If this wasn’t a genuine heart attack. He had been running like he was being chased by a hungry tiger.
Stab. He gasped around the second burst of pain. Breathed in long and slow, relaxed his lungs to push the air out again. Stood up and walked slowly forward six paces, walked back to the bench. Yeah, that worked. The tightness was easing.
Do it again. And again.
* * *
‘I got a parcel today.’ Tamara forced a smile, despite the unease ping-ponging back and forth between her and Conor. He’d turned up at her flat just as she’d been pretending to cook dinner. An inedible chop and spud were now in the bin. And Conor wasn’t happy about something.
‘About today—’
‘From Ireland.’ She reached across to her dining table and held up the express package.
Conor’s eyes widened. ‘That’s Mam’s handwriting.’
‘She must’ve held a gun to the courier company’s representative to get it here this fast.’
‘Knowing Mam, she probably fronted up to the pilot on the next flight coming down this way and begged him to bring it. What’s in there anyway?’
‘Your first booties.’ Her heart expanded. ‘She kept them all this time.’
‘I’m not that old,’ Conor choked out.
‘Judy has plenty more to send later. I think she must’ve been so excited she had to send these straight away.’ Tamara tipped the booties out of the courier package and into her hand. ‘Blue, not pink.’ So soft, and cu
te. Adorable.
‘Mam’s not thinking straight,’ Conor snapped.
Here it comes.
‘Are you?’ She pulled a chair out from the table and plonked her butt down. Her elbows hit the table top too hard. Her head was whirling with wanting to know what Conor’s next move would be. Everything had happened so fast it had only been a matter of time before he stalled, and proved her right not to give in to the love growing in her heart for him.
‘I’m trying to.’ He sat opposite her, like they were strangers.