He loved paediatric cardiology in a way he couldn’t explain to anyone but himself. So he’d gone with Doctors Without Borders.
Only his travels had simply delayed the inevitable. He still had to face the ghosts of his past.
He didn’t want to hurt Annabelle. And he wasn’t quite sure why he’d never signed the papers the second he’d realised what the packet of documents contained. Maybe he’d used them as a cautionary tale of what could happen when you opened your heart up to someone. Or maybe marriage had been an easy excuse for not getting involved with anyone else—not that he ever planned on it. Some day, though, Annabelle would meet Mr. Right and would want to be free to be with him. Their old life would stand in the way of that.
So, were they going to discuss their past tonight? Or discuss how to work together in the future?
He wasn’t sure. They were both tired. And probably overly emotional.
Maybe he should just let Annabelle take the lead as far as topics went. And if she decided she wanted those divorce papers signed post haste, he might just have to tackle a tough conversation after all.
THE PUB WAS PACKED. And with the clanging of plates and raucous laughter, it was hard to think, much less carry on a civilised conversation. Not the kind of place to go after dealing with a twelve-hour day of work.
But the place was also dark, with just some dim wall sconces lighting the way towards the tables. A few coloured bulbs along the bar were the only concession to the upcoming Christmas season.
O’Malley’s wasn’t a normal hospital hangout, but that was okay. She wanted privacy. Which was one of the reasons Annabelle had suggested it. If they were going to have The Talk, opening up the subject of their past, she didn’t want anyone to overhear the conversation.
And the low lighting would keep Max from seeing her expression. In the past, he’d always been able to read her like a book. It had been no different in that treatment room an hour earlier, when he’d known instantly that he’d hurt her with his words and apologised. She hated that he could still decipher her expressions. And when he’d touched her...
No doubt he’d seen the heat that washed into her face. Well, this time she was going to make it a little harder on him, if she could.
They followed the waitress to a small table for two in the very back of the place. Max waited for her to sit down before pulling his own chair out.
The server plonked a menu down in front of each of them, having to speak loudly to be heard above the din. ‘What would you like to drink?’
Annabelle tried to decide if she wanted to risk imbibing or if she should play it safe. Oh, what the hell? Maybe she should dull her senses just a little. ‘I’ll have white wine.’
Writing her request down in a little book, the woman then turned her attention to Max. And ‘turned her attention’ was evidently synonymous with turning on her charm. Because suddenly the waitress was all smiles, fiddling with her hair. ‘And you, sir?’
‘I’ll have a whisky sour, thank you.’ He sent her a quick smile, but to his credit there was nothing behind it that hinted of any interest in whatever the waitress was offering. And she was offering. As a woman, Annabelle recognised the signs, even though she had never gone the flirting route.
At least not until she met Max.
Evidently realising she was out of luck, the woman shifted her gaze to Max’s left hand, then she snapped her little book shut and flounced off.
Max didn’t wear his ring any more. But then again, neither did she.
‘Thank you for that.’
Max tilted his head. ‘For what?’
‘Not responding to her in front of me.’
Up went one brow. ‘Not my type.’
That made her laugh, and her muscles all loosened. ‘Really? Because she seemed to think you were hers.’
‘I hadn’t noticed.’
‘Oh, come on.’ She sat back in her chair and studied him. Max had always been handsome. But in the three years since she’d seen him, he’d grown even more attractive, although there was a deep groove between his brows that she didn’t remember seeing when they were together.
‘Seriously. She was probably just being friendly.’
‘Seriously, huh? I don’t know. Maybe we should make a little bet on it.’
‘I don’t bet on things like that.’ The furrow above his nose deepened. ‘Not any more.’
He didn’t bet on what? Relationships? Because of her?
That wasn’t what she wanted for Max. His childhood had been rough as it was, devoid of affection...love. He deserved to be happy, and she wanted that for him. Even now.
‘We never really talked about it. What happened all those years ago.’ Suddenly she wished she’d chosen a place a little less loud as she fingered the plastic placemat in front of her.
‘I seem to remember a lot of talking. Most of it angry.’
Yes, there had been the arguments. Especially at the end, when he’d found her journal, the smoking gun that she was still hoping against hope that she would become pregnant.
Even before that, though, Max had become someone she didn’t recognise. Impatient. Short. And somehow sad. That was the worst of all the emotions she’d seen in him. She’d tried so hard to have a child, thinking it would make everything better between them. That it would bind Max to her in a physical way—give him a sense of roots. Instead, it had only made things worse. The pregnancy attempts had ended up becoming a vicious cycle of failure and then increased desperation. Instead of binding them together, her attempts had torn them apart.
The waitress came and set their drinks in front of them. ‘Are you ready to order?’ Her voice wasn’t nearly as friendly this time.
‘Fish and chips for me and a glass of water, please.’ Annabelle was craving good, old-fashioned fare.
‘I’ll have the same. And a dark ale to go with it, please.’
Annabelle didn’t remember Max being a big drinker. Not that two drinks constituted an alcoholic. He just seemed...harder, somehow. Less approachable. Like his parents?
Once the waitress was gone, Annabelle picked up her wine, sipping with care.
Max, however, lifted his own glass and took a deep drink. ‘I haven’t had one of these in a long time. This place was a good choice.’
‘Ella and I like to come here every once in a while. It’s out of the way and loud enough that you don’t have to think.’
He seemed to digest that for a moment. ‘Not as loud as some of the places I’ve been.’
Interesting.
‘Where have you been? If you don’t mind my asking.’ She didn’t feel like talking about the arguments or failures of the past.
‘I don’t. I joined up with Doctors Without Borders. In between contracts in England, I’ve gone wherever they’ve needed me. Kenya, a time or two, but mostly the Sudan. I spent the last six months there.’
Annabelle listened, fascinated, as he shared what he’d done in the years since he’d left their flat. Some of the stories were horrifying. ‘Isn’t it hard to see that?’
‘Yes.’
‘And yet you keep going back. After this contract is up and Sienna is back from maternity leave, will you return there?’
The waitress arrived with their food and drinks, quickly asking if they needed anything else.