Hot Island Nights (18 page)

He shook his head. “I need to get back. But thanks.”

He walked to his car. She wanted to say more to him, to reassure him that Nate would change his mind, that this decision to opt out of the business once and for all was only a knee-jerk reaction. But she knew it hadn’t been. Nate had stayed up half the night reviewing the accumulated Smartsell paperwork. Then he’d made a very cold, very considered decision and asked her to drive him to the city so he could act on it.

Jarvie’s engine fired and she stepped to one side as the car shot out into the street. Gravel spurted under the wide tires as the car took off.

She walked up the driveway, and with each step her anger grew. Nate had made huge decisions—major, life-changing decisions—and hadn’t said a word to her during the two-hour drive to the city. He hadn’t said a word last night, either, or this afternoon when they drove home again. She’d told him about her plans to apply for a teaching job in Melbourne—to move
countries,
goddamn it—and he’d been sitting on this huge, monumental decision all along.

She unlocked the house, then stood in the kitchen frowning and fuming and feeling helpless. Nate selling his half of the business was a mistake—a huge one. The life he was living now—this small niche he’d carved out for himself of sun and surf and sex and beer—was a coping mechanism, a holding pattern. It wasn’t forever. It certainly wasn’t the measure of his world. She understood that perhaps he couldn’t see that right now, that he was too busy surviving one day at a time and keeping his demons at bay, but she could and she knew that he would regret divesting himself of what was once obviously a huge part of his life.

So many times over the past few weeks she’d bitten her tongue and chosen not to push Nate. But maybe she should have. Maybe she should have urged him to find a therapist, or return to his therapist, if he’d ever had one. She’d been quietly encouraging him to drink less and open up more, but maybe she should have forced him to talk every time he clammed up instead of waiting for him to talk in his own stubborn time.

She sighed and pushed her fingers through her hair. She didn’t know. She wasn’t an expert. She’d simply been following her instincts where he was concerned, but maybe they’d been wrong.

She looked at the clock on the kitchen wall. He’d been gone for nearly half an hour. If he was acting true to form, he wouldn’t be back for hours yet.

It was nearly full dark by now. She paced a little, then decided to have a quick shower to wash away the stress of the past few hours. Maybe by the time she was done Nate would be back and they could have the heart-to-heart they so sorely needed.

She headed into the bathroom and turned the shower on. Water sprayed out onto the bathroom floor and she tugged the shower door closed to stop the tiles from getting soaked while she undressed. The door slid two inches before jumping its tracks and wedging itself open. She ground her teeth. This was exactly what she didn’t need. She gave the screen an experimental tug, but it didn’t budge.

Is it too much to ask for this one thing to go right? This one little thing?

Setting her jaw, she got a grip on the jammed panel and tried to force it into moving. For some reason it seemed incredibly important that she solve this problem right now.

“Stupid blooming thing.”

She and the door remained locked in mortal combat for a full twenty seconds as she grunted and pushed and pulled. She was about to give up when the door suddenly gave with a clattering rush. She staggered, off balance, and her feet slipped on the wet tiles.

Instinctively she flailed to try and regain her balance. Her hand smashed into the glass of the shower door and it splintered with an almighty crack. She felt a lancing pain as jagged glass slashed into her arm. She barely had time to register the sting before blood spurted from the wound.

It was so red and there seemed to be so much of it so quickly that for a moment she simply stood there, transfixed. There was blood dripping down her arm, blood on the glass, blood circling the shower drain, blood on the bathroom floor.

In the back of her mind, a calm voice told her that she needed to stop the flow—quickly. The towel was on the floor and she squatted to pick it up. The world went black around the edges at the movement and she dropped to her knees.

She blinked, fighting the dizziness. The last thing she wanted to do right now was faint. Not while her arm was bleeding freely.

Warmth dripped from her fingers in an unending stream and she folded the towel with her left hand and wrapped it around her right forearm. She glanced down at the wound as she did so and immediately wished she hadn’t. A long, gaping slit bisected her forearm and she could see the deep red of muscle.

The dizziness hit again and she pressed the towel tightly over the gash. She remembered that she’d read somewhere that she should raise it, too, to keep the wound above her heart. Or was that for a snake bite? She shook her head. It was hard to think straight.

Belatedly it occurred to her that she needed an ambulance.

Talk about being slow off the mark—an ambulance should have been the first thing she’d thought of. Her right arm pressed to her side and her left hand clamped over the towel, she leaned her shoulder against the bathroom wall and tried to stand so she could reach the phone in the kitchen. Her thighs quivered with the effort and her vision got dark around the edges again. She sank back onto the floor.

Fine. She’d crawl to the phone. Not a problem.

But even that was beyond her trembling limbs. She looked down and saw that the towel was soaked through and it occurred to her that she was in big trouble. Really big.

She closed her eyes, and all she could think of was Nate. If she didn’t get to a phone, she’d never see him again. The past few weeks would be it. Short and sweet. She would never see him recover. She would never get a chance to tell him that she loved him. He would come home and find her and the blood…God, no, she couldn’t do that to him. She had to move. Had to.

Somehow she rolled onto her knees. Her shoulder against the wall, she made it to the hallway. She stared at the distant rectangle of the kitchen doorway. It seemed a very long way away. But she had to keep moving.

Move or die, Lizzy.

The voice in her head spoke with Nate’s voice, in the exact tone he used when he was ordering her about on the
Ducky.
She tucked her head into her chest and shuffled forward another foot.

Come on, Lizzy. Pick it up. Snoozers are losers.

She grit her teeth and fought against the horrible weakness stealing over her. It was only fifteen feet away. She could crawl fifteen feet. Of course she could.

And yet doubt still gnawed at him. He and Jarvie had spent countless hours sweating in his rental apartment while they perfected the code for Smartsell 1.0. They’d recruited a handful of retailers and offered the prototype software for free, then they’d risked everything they owned to get a business loan to finance their start-up. Nathan had been so determined to make it work. His mother had been sick by then and he’d known it would soon be just him and Olivia. He’d been terrified of letting her down, not providing for her, not giving her everything she would have had if their parents were alive. He’d worked around the clock, tirelessly. He’d given the business his blood, sweat and tears and he’d loved every minute of it. Been fiercely proud and more than a little bit cocky. For a while he’d even gone a little overboard—the expensive car, the big house, lots of splashy dinners. Then he and Jarvie had settled into their success and starting really digging in and building the business.

And then he’d had the accident, and the world had shifted on its axis and all the rules had changed.

Olivia was gone. All that effort, and she was gone and none of it meant a thing. The money, the house, the success—he’d swap it all in a heartbeat to have her back. But that was never going to happen.

The tide was starting to come in. He watched the waves chase each other up the sand for a few more minutes, then pushed himself to his feet. Shoes in hand, he trudged up the beach.

The kitchen light was on as he walked up the driveway. He tossed his shoes beside the back steps and entered the house.

He’d expected to find Elizabeth making dinner, but the kitchen was empty. He was about to go check the studio to see if she was out there when something caught the corner of his eye. He glanced toward the hallway and saw a figure huddled on the carpet. Dread thumped low in his belly and he lunged forward.

She was unconscious, her face gray, and there was blood everywhere—on her chest, down her jeans, smeared along the carpet. A towel was wrapped around her forearm, the fabric stained crimson. “Lizzy. Jesus.”

He threw himself to his knees and pressed his trembling fingers to her neck. A pulse throbbed faintly against his fingers. He let his breath out on a relieved hiss.

She was alive. Thank God.

He and Jarvie had insisted all their staff have first-aid training, and snatches of information flashed across his mind. He needed to stop the bleeding by binding it and elevating her arm. Then he needed to get her to help because she’d lost a lot of blood.

Memories from another night threatened to take over but he pushed them away and scrambled to his feet again. He flung open the hall cupboard, snatching up a handful of clean towels. Then he was at her side again, pulling the soaked towel off her arm. His stomach lurched when he saw the extent of her injury. Quickly he wrapped the towel around her arm, pulling it brutally tight. He held it in place while he dragged his belt off one-handed and used the leather strap to cinch the towel in place. Then he lifted Elizabeth’s hand and held it upright while he dragged his cell phone from his back pocket.

He was starting to shake and his hands were so slick with her blood he fumbled the number for emergency services. He tried again, his gaze constantly flicking to Elizabeth’s face. She was so pale. So goddamned pale. And her hand in his was so cold….

“Emergency services. Please state the nature of the emergency.”

“I need an ambulance. She’s cut herself, I don’t know how. There’s a lot of blood. She’s unconscious.”

“Sir, you’re calling from a cell and I can’t pinpoint your location. Do you have an address for me?”

“It’s 14 Radcliffe Street, Cowes.”

“Cowes on Phillip Island?”

“That’s right. How soon can you get an ambulance here? She’s lost a lot of blood.”

“Is it a private residence, sir?”

“Yes. Tell me how long it’s going to take?” He was yelling, but he didn’t give a shit. Elizabeth needed help now.

“Sir, I’m checking the system and there has been a car accident near the bridge and all three ambulances on the island are in attendance. The wait time is thirty minutes.”

“What? No!”

“Sir. I need you to remain calm. Are you able to get the victim to hospital yourself? The nearest emergency facility is Wonthaggi Hospital. I can give you directions.”

Nate closed his eyes for a brief second.

“I know where it is.”

Wonthaggi Hospital was where they’d taken him after the accident.

“Tell them I’m coming in,” he said.

He ended the call and shoved the phone into his pocket. Then he slid his arms beneath Elizabeth and lifted her. He surged to his feet and headed for the door, not thinking about what he’d committed to doing.

She’d left the car keys on the kitchen counter and he leaned to one side to snatch them up. Then he was racing down the back steps and down the driveway to the car. Somehow he got the car door open, then he slid her into the front passenger seat, cranking it back as far as it would go before clicking her seat belt on. He slammed the door shut and ran around to the driver’s side.

His subconscious was way ahead of him as he slid into the driver’s seat. His whole body was already trembling, his breathing was shallow, his chest tight. Nausea burned the back of his throat as he pulled the driver’s door shut and shoved the key into the ignition.

Don’t think about it, just do it. Just do it.

His teeth started chattering as he slammed the car into reverse and planted his foot. The car swerved out into the street.

The feel of the wheel beneath his hand, the closeness of the roof, the dark pressing in from outside…

He pushed the car into Drive and took off, panting and shaking.

Don’t think about it, don’t think about it.

Olivia’s screams filled his ears, begging him to help her. He was clammy with sweat and his breathing was so loud he could hear himself gasping.

There was no traffic and he sped toward the intersection with Main Street. He signaled, checked the road and turned. Headlights flashed across the interior of the car and he swerved instinctively toward the curb. The other car drove past and he realized it was on the opposite side of the road and there had never been any danger of the two cars crossing paths.

I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t do this.

The knowledge gripped him with dread certainty. He couldn’t make himself put his foot down. He was paralyzed, utterly powerless against the adrenaline and remembered trauma storming his mind. He closed his eyes and leaned forward, pressing his forehead into the hard plastic of the steering wheel.

She’s going to die, you bastard. Lizzy is going to die if you don’t get your freaking act together and
drive.

He bared his teeth in an anguished grimace and banged his head once, twice, three times against the steering wheel. The small, sharp pain served to focus him, dragging him back from the edge.

Breathe. Breathe, you bastard. Put your foot down and save her.

He sucked in big belly breaths. Then he sat back in the driver’s seat and checked the road and pulled away from the curb.

The car surged into the night. He kept breathing into his solar plexus. Fighting the fear with every muscle in his body. His hands gripped the wheel so tightly his knuckles ached.

Slowly the initial panic receded, leaving him shaky and so freaking grateful he’d survived that tears pricked his eyes.

“It’s going to be okay, Lizzy. We’re going to get through this,” he said.

She didn’t respond and he glanced at her. She was very still.

He released his death grip on the wheel to press his fingers into her neck again. Her pulse fluttered against his fingers, faint but detectable.

She was alive. She had a chance. Renewed determination flooded through him. He flattened his foot to the floor and watched as the speedometer rose past a hundred.

Time seemed to ebb and flow in strange, unpredictable surges as he sped through the night. Trees flashed by outside, but it took forever to reach the San Remo bridge, and then suddenly the signs for Dalyston were flashing by and he knew he only had about eight kilometers to go until he hit the outskirts of Wonthaggi.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and called to the hospital, letting them know he was minutes away.

A low moan tore his attention from the road as he passed the first outlying houses of Wonthaggi township, and he glanced over to see Elizabeth’s eyes flickering open.

“Lizzy. It’s all right. We’re almost at the hospital. Stay still, sweetheart. We’re nearly there.”

He touched her shoulder reassuringly. Jesus, she was so cold and clammy.

“Nate.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“I’m here, sweetheart. We’re all good.”

She frowned as her wavering gaze focused on him. “You’re driving.”

“Hang in there, Lizzy.”

She lifted her good hand and made a feeble attempt to touch him.

“So proud of you,” she said weakly.

Her eyes fluttered closed again.

Nate took the final turn at full speed. The hospital’s blue-and-white sign was a beacon at the end of the street. He slewed into the emergency drive and slammed his fist onto the horn as he braked sharply. Then he was out of the car and running around to the passenger door as the medical staff barreled outside with a stretcher.

“We’ll take her, sir,” a nurse said, pulling him out of the way.

“Do you know what blood type she is?” someone else demanded.

“No. But she’s lost a lot. I tried to keep her arm elevated…”

The team transferred Elizabeth to the stretcher with practiced efficiency. Then she was being rushed through the double doors, the attending doctor yelling instructions.

Nate was left behind, hands hanging slack by his sides.

He’d made it.

He’d been convinced that he would never drive again, but he’d conquered his fear and he’d made it. He’d gotten Lizzy the help she needed.

When push had come to shove, he’d battled his demons and won.

He didn’t feel a rush of triumph, however.

He didn’t feel anything.