Two days later Eden sat in the walled garden of Dan’s sister’s property, a rambling seventeenth-century farm in the Peak District. Amelia had invited her and Dan for lunch—a small intimate gathering of friends and family. Dan had seemed his usual laid-back self on the short drive here, but as soon as they arrived, he changed. He was attentive enough, never leaving Eden’s side, his hand frequently finding the small of her back, her elbow, her hand. But his smiles came a little more reluctantly than she’d grown accustomed to and he’d asked her six times in the last half an hour if she wanted a drink refill. Something was off with him. She didn’t want to ruin the party vibe by probing. But a sudden flurry of insecurity assaulted her. Perhaps this was the first time Dan had brought a date to meet his family since Megan. Perhaps he regretted it. Perhaps he saw her emotions in her eyes and feared she’d voice them and ruin what they had.
She bit back the impulse to pry. They could talk later. Or tomorrow, on the drive to London. Scale were holding a press conference in two days time for the Ruby Challenge, and the whole team would be reunited for promotional photos, an interview and the end of challenge social event. Eden dreaded the publicity part, but she looked forward to catching up with the guys and Emily.
Dan’s nephew approached, bouncing a football on his knee. ‘Uncle Dan. Wanna kick about?’
Eden sensed Dan’s hesitation, but she nudged him in the ribs with her elbow, encouraging him to accept. ‘I’ll see if Amelia needs help finishing lunch.’ He pressed a kiss to her forehead and she shooed him away, crossing the lawn and the terrace to enter the cool of the farmhouse through the open French windows. The interior was as charmingly elegant as the gardens—Dan had informed her on the drive here that Amelia and her husband, Richard, had taken two years to renovate and extend the derelict farm buildings into this warm and rambling family home.
Amelia’s head was buried in the double-door fridge.
‘Need any help?’ Please don’t refuse.
‘Oh, great.’ Amelia’s flushed, rather frazzled face appeared from behind the fridge door, her eyes lighting up. ‘Could you finish that salad?’ She pulled two large platters from inside and bumped the fridge door closed with her hip.
Eden set about washing her hands at the butler’s sink before moving to the chopping board to carefully slice tomatoes to add to the salad. The move involved exposing her injured hand. She steadied the tomatoes with the tips of her scarred fingers, her neck hot and her gaze focused on the task. She didn’t want to chop off a digit and she couldn’t bear to see pity in Amelia’s face. But it was slow progress.
‘He’s changed since he’s met you.’ Amelia’s comment was so blunt, so out of the blue, Eden almost lost a pinky.
Her brows scrunched together. ‘Has he?’ Warm goo settled in her stomach.
She nodded, her long brown ponytail bobbing with the movement. ‘I know what he’s like.’ One eyebrow lifted in challenge. ‘He’s a workaholic.’
Eden couldn’t argue. Dan’s sister had ceased her own slicing of crusty bread and was staring at her, sincerity shining from eyes so much like Dan’s. ‘Don’t give up on him.’
Flutters replaced the goo in the pit of Eden’s stomach, and she gave a tiny nod. Amelia smiled and returned to her chopping board, the brisk swipes of the breadknife giving her emotions away. She clearly cared deeply for her brother. Eden sighed, relieved that Dan had had such a supportive and caring family when he’d needed it most. But give up on him? She should walk away, before she sank any deeper in love with a man who could never love her back.
She hadn’t seen Dan since the day after her surgery—he’d worked double shifts both days to make up for the day he’d taken off to care for her. Eden shivered. His style of caring had left her deliciously sated from multiple orgasms.
Her cheeks flamed as she focused on her tomatoes. Amelia was right though. Dan worked too hard. She understood. A year ago, people would have said the same thing about her. And it was an admirable quality, right?
But where was the balance? She recalled Tom’s revelation—how he wanted to spend more time with his growing family. You only had to take one look around Amelia’s warm but cluttered kitchen to know family centred at the very heart of this home. Was Dan still running from a ghost? Eden winced.
‘He tells me he’s finishing Megan’s calendar? Says you encouraged him?’
Eden shrugged. ‘He asked me to pose.’
‘I bet he did.’ They shared a smile, which erupted into laughter.
‘I let him take my portrait once—never again. He refused to airbrush my crow’s feet.’ Amelia tossed the last slices of bread onto a platter. ‘I’ll just take this outside and check on Richard. See if he has the BBQ going.’
‘Let me.’ Eden wiped her hands on a tea towel. ‘I’m ruining these tomatoes anyway—thanks for not commenting by the way.’ She took the bread from Amelia with a smile for the older woman.
Eden stepped back into the darkened hallway, her sandalled footfalls scuffing the exposed original flagstoned floor as she approached the drawing room. She’d left the door ajar, a slice of sunlight spilling through the opening, guiding her. But some instinct stopped her on the threshold.
‘Why didn’t you call?’ A woman’s voice. High, accusing.
‘Judy—’ Dan’s answering plea was hushed but distinctive enough.
Judy. The woman Amelia had introduced her to as an old friend. The woman who’d looked at Eden like she was something unpleasant on the sole of her shoe. Of course, she was used to that. Had experienced the small-minded judgement of people who saw her burns as a character flaw. Was Judy Dan’s friend too? She shouldn’t eavesdrop. Her hand reached for the door handle.
‘It’s not too late to pick up where we left off. I’d still be interested, and you can’t tell me that tomboy you brought here today meets your needs, even if she is clearly besotted.’
Eden’s hands gripped the plate as acid filled her throat. She’d been called worse. But the words stung nonetheless. So she wasn’t polished—didn’t have acrylic nails and perfectly threaded eyebrows. The colonel had taught her other lessons, important lessons. Lessons like words had the power to hurt as much as bullets. And she was more than besotted, but she’d assumed she was hiding it well enough.
Eden glanced down at her functional outfit, the long-sleeved top perfect for concealing her scarred arm and hand, the only skirt she possessed. Her shoulders tensed, an ache settling under her ribs. So Dan had dated Amelia’s friend Judy. It shouldn’t matter. But if that were the case, why had her stomach taken up residence on the cold stone floor of the gloomy hallway?
She couldn’t be less like Judy Miller. Feminine, confident and not a platinum hair out of place nor an unwelcome wrinkle in her bias-cut strappy sundress. The kind of woman who had everything she wanted. The kind of woman who demanded perfection in all areas of her life. The kind of woman well suited to Dan—a perfect wife for a doctor.
But Dan hadn’t dated since Megan’s death. He’d told her that. He’d blamed that on his stilted performance the night they’d spent together in Wales. If he’d dated Judy Miller, he wasn’t as rusty as he’d claimed. He’d blamed the two sex-free years after Megan’s death for his reluctance that night. But if that wasn’t what had halted proceedings, what had? Her thoughts spun, skittering down a darkened path towards self-loathing. No.
‘I’m not interested, Judy.’ The conversation sounded like it was wrapping up. Eden spun away from her hiding place behind the door, ducking the other way down the hall to take the long way around to the garden, through the front door. Her chest pounded and her legs wobbled but she made it, undetected.
Eden reached the outdoor table and deposited the platter of bread with a clatter. Her hand shook as she helped herself to a glass of iced water from a large, condensation-covered jug, the shock of the frigid water sliding down her throat bringing her to her senses. So he’d lied about dating? So she wasn’t the first woman since his wife he’d introduced to his family. So what? She had nothing to prove, and if Dan preferred the Judy Millers of the world, there were plenty to choose from. He was a handsome, successful man. Could have his pick of dates.
But he’d told Judy he wasn’t interested. End of story.
The chill from the drink seeped through her as if she were no more substantial than a colander. Hollowness spread, filling her until she was certain she’d disappeared.
She glanced across the garden, her eyes barely seeing the small groups of people enjoying the first day of summer with a glass of Pimm’s, finding Dan, once more chatting with his nephew and brother-in-law near the BBQ.
She wasn’t less than Judy Miller. So she’d suffered an injury, one that left her body scarred. But that didn’t effect who she was on the inside—a captain in the British Army, a member of the United Nations Peacekeeping force, a sister, a daughter, an auntie. Not a perfect person, but a good one. A person who finally realised her worth wasn’t bound by her appearance, or her abilities. No one’s was.
If Dan had baulked from being intimate with her that first time because of revulsion, that was his problem. And he cared for her, right? He hadn’t said the words, but she’d witnessed them in his actions, his stares, his tenderness.
Eden surveyed the family gathering. Amelia, the glue, held everyone else together, including Dan. So Eden’s own childhood had been unconventional. So she’d never known a maternal figure—her small, male-dominated family was no less sticky. Why, then, did her scalp prickle as if something was missing? Why did the news Dan had other female admirers cut so deeply? He’d sleep in her bed tonight, was hers for the taking, wasn’t he? A niggle germinated in Eden’s mind, growing, unfurling, seeking the light of day. Dan would always love Megan. She’d thought she was okay with that. Perhaps she was. Perhaps she was fooling no one except herself.
Jet lag. Recent surgery. Too much Pimm’s. Her strange mood was likely due to any number of other things. Dan’s too.
Shoulders back, Eden survived the remainder of the afternoon, her unease a constant reminder crawling beneath her skin. By the time she and Dan pulled away from the farmhouse, her neck muscles were tight from the tension she wore like a shield.
As the miles passed, the air inside the car thickened until breathing shifted from second nature to haltingly unnatural. Part of her wanted to lash out, to accuse and blame. But a bigger part, a part that recognised the depth of her feelings for the man sitting beside her, could barely struggle out from beneath the oppressive sadness that cloaked her like the cloying smoke of her nightmares.
As if he could no longer stand the distance between them emotionally, Dan reached for her hand, connecting them physically. ‘So I booked some studio time.’
At her silence and blank stare, he continued. ‘For the photo shoot? Megan’s calendar?’ His eyes glowed brighter. ‘I spoke to Steve from Scale. I thought we could ask the Ruby Challenge participants to pose. Donate the proceeds to Scale. Megan would have approved of that.’ He squeezed her numb fingers, his warm and strong.
Eden stared out of the window at the setting sun, the tumble of her thoughts jostling, vying to be the first spoken aloud.
Perhaps misinterpreting her silence for approval, Dan continued. ‘It will be good for everyone involved. To see themselves, their injuries in a positive light—inspiring others, doing some good for Scale. Who knows, one of you might end up as the Scale charity poster child. I just hope my portrait skills are sufficient to do you all justice. Not up to Megan’s standards, of course, but—’
‘What’s happening here?’
His brows dipped over his eyes as he glanced sideways at her. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Us. What’s going on between us?’ It wasn’t fair to do this now, as they drove towards home. But her thoughts had finally formed an orderly queue and would no longer sit and wait. ‘I’m not a project, Dan. The Ruby team neither. We’re people, not a collection of clinical signs and symptoms to be ticked off a checklist. Slotted into an orderly collection until we meet a set of arbitrary diagnostic criteria.’
Colour stained his cheeks, high up over the curve of his cheekbones, and a small part of Eden died. ‘Of course not. I just meant—’
As if freed at last from a castle dungeon, her words poured out, running free, rudely interrupting in their haste. ‘We can’t be miraculously cured by facing our worst fears, publically confronting our demons, exposing our traumas for … entertainment. You can’t just slap us on the front of a calendar and declare us cured. Job done. Go home and feel good about yourself.’ Her tongue felt too big for mouth—stung by the venom of her vile words?
‘Eden, I—’
Her throat tightened. Somewhere deep inside she acknowledged how judgemental and accusatory her words were but they continued their relentless outpouring regardless. ‘Just because you run around trying to fix us all, while paying tribute to your beloved wife. We’re more than a tribute. I’m more than a tribute.’
Dan’s jaw muscles bunched and his nostrils flared. Holding back some angry retort?
She deflated. Her vitriol spent. Her hand found his taut thigh, the muscles bunched under her palm. Voice softer, she said, ‘I get it. I do. It must be hard for you, a doctor, to watch the woman you love die. But you’re not superman and you shouldn’t feel guilty—’
It was his turn to interrupt, his knuckles white on the steering wheel and his leg rigid under her touch. ‘I don’t feel guilty.’
‘You do. Why else would you wait so long before you started dating again, although I understand you didn’t wait as long as you led me to believe.’ Warmth flooded her face. Perhaps that last comment was beneath even her?
‘What the fuck does that mean?’
Confession time. ‘I heard you talking to Judy. It’s okay. I know I behaved badly when we first met—I don’t blame you for—’
His lips thinned, disappeared. ‘I didn’t date Judy Miller.’ Words bitten out. Jaw clenched. Even now, when he must be furious with her, his patience held.
‘It doesn’t matter anyway.’ A sigh escaped, long and final. Judy Miller wasn’t the issue here. She was. She’d woken up at the eleventh hour to realise she now wanted the very thing she couldn’t have. But she should shut up, before she said something she couldn’t take back.
‘What the hell are you talking about? Look, Judy Miller and I were nothing. I don’t know what you heard, but—’
‘Let’s forget about it. I think I must still be jet-lagged or something.’ Eden stared out of the window, relieved to see they’d arrived at her street.
Wordlessly, Dan parked. Without waiting to see if he’d follow her, Eden stomped to her front door, pulling her phone from her bag, which she then tossed onto the hall table. He followed, quietly closing her door.
She needed some distance, time to get her thoughts in check, her emotions locked away. Coffee.
Flicking on the kettle, she leaned back against the bench, her attention focused on the screen of her phone. It was rude. But she needed to calm down, to regroup. She opened her emails. Dan’s footsteps echoed overhead. He must have detoured to the bathroom. Perhaps he needed some time too.
As the boil of the kettle climbed towards its crescendo, Eden scrolled through endless junk mail with her thumb. The kettle clicked off and she was about to turn and pull two mugs from the cupboard when an email caught her eye. From her CO. Report from Scale in the subject line. Ice moved through Eden’s veins, thick and sluggish. With her heart thudding, she opened the message.
… We understand from Scale you have recently completed their Ruby Challenge … While you are to be commended on the physical endurance required for such a challenge … The Scale medical team feels you would benefit from a period of specific counselling and recommendations have been made to the following …
‘Everything okay?’ She hadn’t noticed Dan entering the room, hands in pockets, shoulders high, wary.
Her gaze flew to his, fury compounding the inadequacies and doubts that had dogged her all day. ‘You … you failed me?’
His brows dipped, confusion clouding his eyes.
‘The challenge—I failed the medical.’ The words stung her mouth.
His surprise dropped a notch or two. This wasn’t news. ‘Eden, I didn’t—you requested Emily.’
‘I don’t believe this. You knew.’ A red haze settled, and she wanted to crawl from her skin.
Dan stepped forward, closer, his hand reaching for her, but she spun away, shrugging him off.
‘I suspected.’ He gripped the back of his neck with one hand. ‘Emily wouldn’t discuss this with me—it’s unethical, unprofessional as I’m not your doctor. You wanted that, remember.’
Some of the fight drained away. She had wanted that. Because she was a mess. Even more of one now. Her sole goal had been to get back to work and now … that was even further from her grasp. And she was in love with a man who was so emotionally unavailable, he may as well live on the moon.
‘Look, I tried to help—’
‘Of course you did. You thought you could fix me by featuring me on your stupid calendar. You thought you could fix me to appease your own guilt over Megan. Don’t you get it? You can’t fix me, and I deserve more than being part of a memorial to her.’
Dan’s glare turned incredulous, a look of pain crossing his rigidly set features. She’d prefer it if he yelled. But that wasn’t Dan’s style. Her words had done their damage, just like the colonel had taught her they would. But it was too late now. She would never be the sort of woman Megan had been. Would never be the sort of woman he needed. And she wouldn’t be his pity project.
‘You know, Dan. Perhaps I do need more counselling. But perhaps you do too.’ A ball of scalding air trapped in her throat, and she swallowed convulsively, trying to dislodge it. Her voice, when it emerged again, scratched at her raw vocal cords like a scream, despite being little more than a whisper. ‘I think you should leave.’ She forced her chin forward. She didn’t need him. She still had a lot of work to do on herself. And so did he.
A myriad of emotions flitted across his handsome features. But Eden hardened her heart to them. It was time to put herself first. To accept the counselling and focus on returning to work.
Dan didn’t comment.
Tugging his car keys from the pocket of his jeans, he turned and left, the echo of the soft snick of her front door closing the only sign he’d been there at all.