remove a small part of his skull to ease the pressure. It’s called a craniotomy.’
‘He’s got a hole in his head?’
The rising disbelief and trauma in Louise’s voice wound through her like poison. ‘The bone flap’s being stored in a freezer at the hospital until the swelling in Ryan’s brain has subsided. When that happens, we can reinsert it.’
‘Are you saying that his brain’s open to the air? That can’t possibly be a good thing.’
‘He’ll wear a special protective helmet while the bone flap’s removed.’
There was a long silence followed by a sharp intake of breath. ‘He’s not going to have brain damage, is he?’
This was the question Claire always dreaded. ‘We won’t know the exact situation until the swelling in his brain has diminished.’
‘How long will that take?’
‘I’m sorry, Louise, but right now I can’t say. It’s too hard to predict.’
She heard the sound of a duvet being moved and feet hitting the floor. ‘Why didn’t you see this coming? Why didn’t you stop it?’
The words whipped and lashed Claire, playing on her days of misgivings that they were missing something. ‘I know this is very hard for you—’
‘Hard!’ Louise barked down the phone, her voice so loud and outraged that Claire jumped. ‘Do you have children, Claire?’
Don’t play this game. You’ll be the one left bleeding. Even if Louise had been a friend instead of a patient’s relative, Claire wouldn’t have confessed her one regret. Somehow, by pursuing the toughest medical speciality to prove to herself, Gundiwindi and the world that she was capable and intelligent, she was suddenly thirty-four, alone and with the chance of motherhood rapidly diminishing.
Alistair walked into the lounge and threw her a questioning glance as he cast tea bags into mugs.
Claire turned away from his penetrating gaze, which despite her determined efforts to stay on task had the uncanny ability to derail her concentration every single time. It both bothered and confused her. She’d always been known for her intense focus and her ability to block out all unnecessary distractions. Over the last few years, her consultants had told her that her natural attention to detail was a perfect trait for a neurosurgeon.
No one outside of her family knew that skill wasn’t natural at all but borne from necessity and honed by sheer determination and bloody-mindedness. It rarely let her down. Even during what she’d considered the ‘heady days’ with Michael, when she’d thought he loved her, her focus hadn’t faltered. However, under the assault of Alistair North’s clear, iron-ore-grey eyes, it wobbled precariously.
‘Louise,’ she said, centring her thoughts. ‘Ryan’s being transferred back to ICU now. When you and your husband arrive at the hospital, Mr North and I will be here to answer all your questions. Just ask the staff to page us.’
She finished the call and slowly lowered the receiver onto the cradle. She knew she should stand up but she wasn’t certain her shaking legs would hold her.
‘Tough call,’ Alistair commented as he opened the fridge.
‘I’ve had better.’
‘Do you take milk and sugar in your tea?’
Despite her surprise at his offer, her head fell back to rest on the couch as exhaustion caught up with her. ‘Just milk.’
‘You look like you could do with some sugar.’
She suddenly craved something sweet. ‘Do you have chocolate?’
‘Surely in the six weeks you’ve been here you’ve learned that any chocolate that enters this room vanishes in five minutes.’ He rummaged through the cupboards and then gave an unexpected woot, holding up a red-and-black box. ‘Will chilli and chocolate shortbread suffice?’
She had a ridiculous and overwhelming urge to cry at his unanticipated thoughtfulness. ‘Awesome.’
He walked over to her carrying two mugs of tea and balancing the box of biscuits on the top of one of the mugs. ‘Here you go.’
There was no sign of the teasing playboy or the supercilious consultant. In her overwrought state, she couldn’t make sense of the change and that troubled her. She stuck to what she knew best: work. ‘We should have done that MRI.’
Her words tumbled out loaded with blame. ‘We should have done more. We caused this.’
‘Hey,’ he said, his grey eyes suddenly stern. ‘We did not cause this. We both operated on him and we both saw exactly the same thing. This bleed was hidden by the original haematoma. That’s why it wasn’t showing up on the scans. On the plus side, if he’d bled anywhere else instead of in ICU, he’d probably be dead.’
Culpability pummelled her so hard it hurt and she was unable to control her belligerent tone. ‘How is that supposed to make me feel better? He wouldn’t have been in hospital if it weren’t for the fire. We’re supposed to pre-empt disasters like this. Now he’s sicker than when he arrived.’
‘Not necessarily,’ Alistair said with frustrating logic and calm. ‘The craniotomy gives him the possibility of recovery. We’ve done everything we can to give him a chance at the best possible outcome.’ His face softened into friendly lines. ‘I know this sucks, but it’s just one of those god-awful things that happen sometimes.’
‘I don’t accept that,’ she said so emphatically her hand jerked. Hot tea spilled over the rim and onto her skin. ‘Ouch!’
He immediately removed the mug from her hand. ‘I’ll get you some ice. Meanwhile, open wide.’ He shoved a shortbread into her mouth.
For reasons she couldn’t fathom, she’d done as he’d asked and obediently opened her mouth. Now, more out of surprise than anything else, she bit into the soft, buttery, chocolate goodness and embraced the kick of chilli. It shocked her senses in a much-needed way and she wiped her tea-covered hand on her scrub. A large red welt with a white centre rose fast on the base of her thumb accompanied by a furious sting. Wearing surgical gloves was going to hurt for the next few days.
Alistair returned with an icepack wrapped in a red-and-white-checked tea towel. His large hand folded the pack around hers and the burn of the ice tangoed with the burn of his hand. He lifted her left hand and placed it over the pack. ‘Hold that there for ten minutes.’
‘Thanks.’ Irrational tears threatened again along with an equally irrational sense of loss as he removed his hand. What the hell was wrong with her?
‘Shortbread sugar starting to hit?’ Alistair asked, his brow furrowed with mild concern.
Not really. Her head was spinning and she felt strangely adrift and utterly drained. It was as if a decade of fatigue had just sideswiped her. She’d been working so hard and for so long doing everything on her own, proving she was as good as or better than her peers, and fighting harder than anyone to stay on top that she wasn’t used to anyone looking out for her. Right now, nothing was making sense, especially this version of Alistair who was being remarkably kind.
Her entire body sagged heavily and it took almost more effort than she had to keep herself upright. She had a ludicrous urge to drop her head onto his shoulder and take shelter there, sleeping for a week.
Have you completely lost your mind? You’re at work. He’s your boss and just no. Got that?
Aghast that her jumbled thoughts had somehow managed to get to this point, she tried squaring her shoulders in an attempt to summon up her professional decorum. Not once in her career had she ever lost control at work and tonight wasn’t the time to start—especially not in front of Alistair North. No, the moment the ten minutes was up, she’d stow the ice pack in the freezer, bid Alistair a crisp goodnight and head home to bed for a much-needed sleep. Everything would make