Authors: Sarah Mayberry
He had his own theories about the way she lived, but he wasn’t stupid enough to share them with her. She was incredibly reticent about her childhood, and he knew he was very privileged to know what little he did about it: that both her parents had died in a car accident when she was six, that no relatives had come forward to claim her, and that she’d grown up a ward of the state, bouncing from group home to foster home and back again.
He hesitated when he came to her closed bedroom door. He and Blue had done many things together — shared a one-person tent while camping, spent hours at the beach in next to nothing, given each other shoulder and neck rubs after long sessions at the studio — but he had never been in her bedroom before. He’d caught glimpses when he’d visited, but he’d never actually set foot in her most private, most personal domain.
He reminded himself of why he was here, and opened the door.
Her bed was made — surprise, surprise — and a stack of books formed a tidy column on her bedside table, mostly the paranormal romance and urban fantasy books that she favored. The quilt cover was a sensible, plain navy, and there wasn’t a single picture or piece of personalizing art on the walls, despite the fact that she’d bought him a framed set of black and white art prints for Christmas last year and was always admiring the pieces Rafel picked up for his and Maggie’s place.
Frowning, Eddie went to the utilitarian chest of drawers and began opening drawers. Top left contained underwear, a riot of color and animal prints in silk and lace. He grabbed a fistful and felt something hard beneath all the flimsy fabric. He went fishing and came up with a vibrator, a black silicone monster that made him seriously pity Blue’s past lovers. Jesus. How on earth was any mortal man supposed to measure up? He slipped it into the drawer, burying it once more beneath her underwear.
It took him two drawers to find her pajamas, and he grabbed a couple of pairs. He opened one final drawer, wondering if there was something he’d overlooked — a robe, perhaps, or maybe a hoodie in case she got cold — and stared. A child’s grubby, much-abused plush rabbit was squashed between neat stacks of gym gear, one eye missing, its ears darkened from years of handling. A tattered blue ribbon was tied around its neck.
He picked it up, registering the slightly-sticky feeling to the fur, evidence of just how loved this toy had been. He studied the rabbit’s one-eyed face for a beat, then carefully placed it where he’d found it.
He went to the bathroom next and opened the cupboards. Her toothbrush sat neatly in a clean glass, the toothpaste beside it — lid on, of course. He grabbed both, along with the roll-on deodorant. In the shower he found shampoo specially formulated for color-treated hair and added it to his haul.
By the time he’d finished he had a pile of clothing and toiletries, and he opened the closet in search of a gym or overnight bag. Stacks of jeans and other pants filled one side, while the other was dedicated to hanging space. A faint scent reached him, and he leaned forward, inhaling traces of Blue’s perfume, something rich and deep.
The leather overnight bag he’d given her several years ago sat on the single shelf above the hanging space, and he pulled it out then returned to the bed to fill it with the items he’d gathered. It was only as he was leaving her bedroom that he caught sight of the peacock-blue silk robe hanging from the back of the door, another gift from him.
He added the robe to the bag and let himself out, checking to make sure the door was locked behind him. He felt an odd sense of guilt as he took the stairs to the foyer. He’d known Blue for ten years, and if anyone had asked him, he would have said he knew her better than almost anyone on the planet after his twin. And yet he’d never have guessed that she kept a memento from her childhood hidden in her home. He also knew without asking that she’d hate that he had found it.
He tossed the bag into the rear of his Ferrari, shrugging off his disquiet. The nurses had told him Blue would be in hospital for at least a week so someone had had to fetch her things to make her more comfortable. If Blue was mad with him for going through her stuff, she could yell at him. He could take it.
What he couldn’t take was the thought of that battered rabbit, shoved unceremoniously into the bottom-most drawer.
The one soft, sentimental thing Blue owned, hidden away like a dirty secret.
More tired than he could ever remember being, he headed for home.
The next time Blue woke, Maggie was sitting beside the bed.
“There you are,” Maggie said, setting down the book she’d been reading and smiling at Blue.
“How many days did I lose this time?” Blue asked.
“It’s Monday night.”
Only a few hours, then.
“How are you feeling?” Maggie asked.
“Like I’ve been hit by a bus instead of a motorbike.”
Maggie’s smile was strained.
“Too soon?” Blue asked.
“Give me a decade or so and I’ll be able to laugh about it,” Maggie said, reaching for Blue’s hand. Her eyes filled with tears and Blue squeezed her hand.
“Those better be happy tears,” Blue said.
“Relieved tears. You have no idea what it was like, seeing you in the street like that…”
“Here’s a deal — from now on I cross at the lights.”
“I will take that deal, and I will hold you to it, Blue Sullivan.” Maggie sniffed back her tears. “Are you hungry? They said you were allowed to have some soup if you wanted it.”
Blue thought about it for a few seconds. “I could eat,” she admitted.
Maggie grinned. “Now I know you’re going to be all right.”
Blue rolled her eyes. Everyone was always giving her crap for how much she ate. She had a high metabolism, it wasn’t her fault.
“And
you rolled your eyes at me. Welcome back, babe,” Maggie said.
Blue started to laugh, only remembering her sore ribs and belly at the last minute. “Ow. Don’t make me laugh. It hurts.”
“Noted.”
Blue glanced at her friend’s book. “What are we reading?”
“
Faro’s Daughter
.”
Blue squeezed Maggie’s hand again. Georgette Heyer was Maggie’s go-to author, and
Faro’s Daughter
was her all-time favorite comfort read. Testament to how worried Maggie must have been.
“Sorry for ruining your birthday,” Blue said quietly.
“You being okay is the best present ever, don’t worry.” Maggie slipped her hand free and stood. “I’ll go find a nurse and organize you some food.”
Blue tried to wriggle higher in the bed while her friend was gone, an effort that left her dizzy with pain. Maybe lying still was a much, much better plan. Sitting was over-rated, anyway.
“What did you do?” Maggie asked when she returned, a frown wrinkling her forehead.
“How do you know I did anything?”
“You’re whiter than the sheets, you idiot.”
“I may have tried to sit up a little.”
“Don’t do it again,” Maggie said sternly.
“Okay, Nurse Ratched.”
Maggie grabbed a spare pillow from somewhere beneath the bed and slipped her arm around Blue’s shoulders, easing her forward and tucking the pillow behind her.
“You’re good at that,” Blue noted.
“Lots of practice,” Maggie said dryly, and Blue remembered that her friend’s mother had been treated for breast cancer for years before finally being declared a survivor.
Maggie pulled out her phone. “I promised Eddie I’d text him when you woke up. Give me a sec.”
Blue watched as her friend’s fingers sped over the touch screen, thinking about the way Eddie had climbed onto the bed beside her and the flash of memory that had come to her.
“Do you have any regrets, Maggs?” she asked impulsively.
Maggie glanced up from her phone. “Are we talking big or small? Second piece of chocolate cake or
Sliding Doors
?”
“
Sliding Doors
.”
Maggie’s gaze grew unfocused as she thought about it for a moment. Then she shook her head. “No. Not really. Except maybe I wish I’d decided to get a tattoo earlier.”
She grinned, and Blue knew she was thinking about meeting Rafel.
“Why? Do you have a
Sliding Doors
regret?” Maggie asked.
“No,” Blue lied, wishing she hadn’t asked the question in the first place.
Maggie quirked an eyebrow, clearly curious. “Why did you ask, then?”
“Just wondering if I should have felt something, had some kind of near-death experience. Maybe there’s something wrong with me,” Blue said lightly.
Maggie’s gaze was searching and Blue had the distinct sense that her friend knew she was covering.
The arrival of a nurse with a tray bearing a bowl of soup killed the conversation, much to Blue’s relief, and she managed to eat the whole bowl and two crackers before the doctor came to check on her, followed by yet another nurse to “freshen her up” with a sponge bath.
After they’d all gone — the doctor, the nurse, Maggie — Blue stared at the ceiling and wondered at herself. What on earth had the “do you have any regrets?” gambit been about? Surely she hadn’t been on the verge of confessing her feelings for Eddie to Maggie?
Everything in her wanted to reject the idea. She’d made her decision where Eddie was concerned a long, long time ago. She wasn’t only reconciled to it, she was happy with it. Content. Satisfied.
Except she’d stared death in the eye, and the one thing she’d taken away from the experience was regret. Regret that she’d never been with Eddie. Regret that she would never know. That she’d never tried.
She screwed her eyes tightly shut, wanting to avoid the truth bearing down on her but unable to do so. Had she been fooling herself all these years? Had she told herself she was happy being Eddie’s friend, when secretly she’d yearned to be his lover?
Yes.
No.
Maybe.
She couldn’t get a clear bead on the answer, and a headache was hovering. She could feel it like an approaching thunderstorm.
You have a head injury. You’re probably allowed to be a little goofy in the upstairs department right now.
She eased herself down the bed a little, moving around until she found a cool spot on the pillow. Whatever was going on in her head could wait. She didn’t need to unravel it now. And it was possible — probable — that all the churned-up stuff that was surfacing was just a side effect of having been smashed into by a fast moving piece of machinery.
She didn’t want things to change between her and Eddie. She never had. He was her rock. Her true north. Her home. She would never trade the certainty and sureness of that reality for anything.
Blue must have fallen asleep, because when she woke again Eddie was beside her bed.
“Hey. Sorry, did I wake you?” He spoke quietly, his gaze soft with concern.
“I’ve only had twenty hours or so of sleep today,” she said. “I think I’ll survive.”
“How are you feeling?” Again, he sounded as though he was addressing a frail, elderly relative. Someone uncertain and weak. “Do you need anything? Food, water?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Can you please stop looking at me and talking to me like that?”
“Like what?”
“As though I’m about to die in a Nicholas Sparks’ movie.”
He shook his head. “Only you could be pissed off because someone was being nice to you.”
“Pardon me for not wanting to be treated like a helpless victim.”
“People give a shit about you, Sullivan. Live with it.”
She blinked.
“Don’t look so surprised. You know we love you,” he said gruffly.
“Jesus. Am I dying? Did the doctors tell you something they didn’t tell me?”
“Yeah, they told me you’re a pain in the ass. I brought you some stuff. Where do you want it?”
She saw her overnight bag, the one he’d given her a couple of years ago.
“You went to my place?”
He didn’t quite meet her eye as he opened the zipper on the bag and rummaged through it. “I got you some pajamas, your robe, your shampoo and toothbrush.”
She studied his face, trying to work out how she felt about him being in her space without her there. Then she realized that someone had had to do it, and, given a choice, she’d prefer Eddie over almost anyone.
“Did you go through my underwear drawer?”
“Yep.”
“I bet you did, you dirty dog,” she said.
It occurred to her that he’d probably found her vibrator if he’d been in her underwear drawer. She couldn’t stop herself from grinning as she imagined how uncomfortable that would have made him.
“See anything you want to talk about?” she asked.
“No.”
She started to laugh, then caught herself in the nick of time. Having a sense of humor was a health hazard when you had broken ribs.
“What we do need to talk about is what happens when you’re ready to go home.” He dumped the bag on the floor and sank into the visitor’s chair.
“Do we?”
“You can’t be on your own.”