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That’s enough. Evie rippled with annoyance. “Would you guys quit it?” She met Sam’s angry gape. “If you’re gonna argue, go outside. I feel like shit and don’t need this.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Nick caressed her hand, and she met his eyes again. “For so much.”
He’s apologizing for…? Her heart tripped. She sucked in a staggered breath.
“Evie, you need to know the truth. About our split. About the night of your surgery.”
“The night of—?” Evie glanced between him and Sam, who slumped into the neighboring arm chair. “Why? What happened?” she murmured, letting go of Nick’s hand.
THIRTY-ONE
NICK
Then, Tuesday, September 14, thirteen years ago
“Come on, COME ON!”
His foot frantically tapping as he gnawed his bottom lip, Nick cursed the slow blink of the elevator’s floor numbers. Ticking upward, they took their own…sweet…time. “It’ll be bloody Christmas by the time I get there!” His pulse, fueled by caffeine and worry, pummeled beneath a cellophane-wrapped bouquet of daisies pressed against his car coat. “Hurry—the fuck—UP!” he growled.
DING!
He yanked his hefty suitcase forward. “Finally!” Squeezing impatiently around the sliding door, he bolted down the hall, past a bank of telephones and an empty vending machine, his overstuffed knapsack bouncing against his back.
“Tigs, where ARE you?” Looking frantically left then right, he tossed his hair from his eyes and scoured the hospital’s signs. Ward 4A? 4—oh! Down here. He took the corner sharply and his trailing luggage clobbered something, creating a clatter.
“What. Now?!” Nick grumbled under his breath and threw a harried glance over his shoulder. A tray from a diagnostic cart laid on its side, its ear thermometer and blood pressure equipment scattered on the worn vinyl floor.
Turning back with a quick crouch and a determined swoop, Nick set the cart back on its wheels and safely returned the medical gear to its basket as the squeak of running shoes drew closer.
“Nick? What the hell are you doing here?”
I know that sing-songy accent. The tightness in Nick’s chest gave way as he spun around, clocking Sam in a rumpled plaid button-down and faded jeans, a tea-stained paper cup in his right hand. “Mate, I’m so glad to see you! I’ve been all over trying to find Evie. I couldn’t call you because my bloody phone ran out of juice.” He sucked in a much-needed breath and exhaled forcefully. “How’s she doing? Is she awake?”
Exhaustion creased Sam’s brow as he scratched his auburn stubble. “Shouldn’t you be on a plane to Japan?”
“I would’ve been if Sunita hadn’t called. Just in time, too. I was literally handing over my passport at check-in and—”
“You shouldn’t be here, Nick.”
“Oh…yeah, I know all about that now, thanks to Sun.” The daisy bouquet crinkled in his hands. “Typical Tigs, not wanting ME to worry. But once Sunita told me, I dropped everything, jumped on the first flight up here.”
“What about your tour?”
“I’ll catch ’em up. Opening night is in a week’s time. As long as I’m in Japan a few days prior, I’ll be good.” Nick eagerly gripped the handle of his suitcase and craned his neck, surveying the hallway. “So, what room’s she in? I can’t wait to see her.”
“She’s sleeping.” Sam tore the paper lip of his empty cup. “Mum and Dad went for some dinner—finally. I was taking a walk, stretching my legs. It’s been a long, nerve-racking day.”
“I was going to say, you look knackered. Why don’t you go, get some rest? I can take over. Do the night shift.”
“And what about tomorrow and the day after that?”
Nick smiled. “I’ll be here.”
“But you’ll be gone by the weekend.”
“Well, yeah…I kinda have to be. I signed a contract, Sam.”
He jutted out his chin. “You could break it.”
