Elizabeth Finn: Unforgiven

“I’d heard. . .” He trailed off as he shook his head again.

Bailey was struggling to even breathe as she stared at his chest. The emotion boiling up inside her guts threatened to make her puke. She could feel the bile trying to get into her mouth, and the tears threatening her were owed as much to the panic she felt as the long-buried memories this man incited. This could not be happening. Luck was a bitch named Darren Cory with his dark, neatly trimmed hair and his equally dark eyes that said he hated her guts even though his words had been few.

“I didn’t realize you worked in the ER.” She could barely hear her own voice.

“Why would you? You’ve been gone for how long now?”

“Almost six years, but I’ve been back—”

“That was rhetorical. You can’t possibly think I care.”

She said nothing as he watched her. Of course she didn’t think he cared, but he had once.

He held his dark, harsh glare on her for an uncomfortable length of time. She was nearly ready to flee until the door was suddenly pushed open, and sweet Nurse Marie peaked in, “Doctor Cory, Doctor Sheehan says he’s caught up now. If you need him to take over here so you can leave for the evening, he can.” She waited patiently as Darren said nothing.

He looked back to Bailey for a moment, but she couldn’t seem to lift her gaze up from his chest. She didn’t need to see his eyes to know he was still glaring. When he turned back to Marie, his voice was far lighter than it had been when he’d spoken to Bailey, but then, he likely didn’t find Marie reprehensible. “Oh, that’s not necessary. I think I’ll enjoy torturing Ms. Trent.”

Marie’s sudden easy laughter said Darren was selling his comment as nothing more than a good-natured joke, and he was selling it well, but while Bailey couldn’t see his face, she was certainly not buying his brand of humor. This man would absolutely enjoy her pain. But did she blame him? Of course she didn’t.

Marie’s attention moved to Bailey, and she offered her a sweet, encouraging smile once again. “Bailey, you’re in good hands. Doctor Cory, I’ll get a suture tray set up for you.” And then she was gone, and Bailey’s gaze chased after her as though she wasn’t ready to be alone with him again. But she was gone, and Bailey was alone with him.

He turned around toward her again in an agonizingly slow rotation. Whatever calm and relaxed expression he may have given to Marie, it was lost by the time he was facing Bailey again, and in her nervousness, her gaze found his chest. He moved to the sink, washing his hands as she took in the sight of him. It was the only way she could possibly be comfortable studying him so closely, and she took advantage of it.

He was as perfectly put together as he’d always been, and she wasn’t sure she could say he’d aged a day since she’d last seen him. That was not to say he’d not changed. He was almost unrecognizable from the man she’d known so many years ago in his approach to her, but then, there was little question whose fault that was. She couldn’t imagine the man standing in the room now ever smiling at her, but she didn’t need to see that smile to know it was straight, white, and could make the coldest of her sex melt like an ice cube under a blowtorch. She’d been on the receiving end of that smile plenty, but that was a different lifetime.

He snapped his gloves on as he turned toward her, and he sauntered across the room casually before taking his place on the stool facing her. His expression remained coldly impassive, and she started trembling as he reached for her hand. He was entirely too close for comfort.

This was her hell. Being trapped in a room with a reminder of who she used to be, a reminder of everything she lost, a reminder of everything she’d destroyed. She’d been back in Savoy for nearly two months, and this was hands down the biggest challenge she’d thus far encountered. It couldn’t get much worse than this. She’d dreaded such a meeting, and as her past swam closer to the forefront of her mind than she’d allowed it to get for a long time, the trembles intensified, her breath became panicked, and she had to fight hard against the tears that were stabbing the backs of her eyes. She could not cry in front of this man. Not because he didn’t deserve her tears, but because this version of the Darren she’d known for more years than she could recall wouldn’t let her off so easy with that emotion.

She bit her tongue as he took her hand, still wrapped tightly in bandages. She flinched and pulled away from his touch as though she expected him to hurt her. Hadn’t he already said he wanted to? His eyes followed her withdrawn hand calmly, and then they shifted up to hold her gaze easily, though his head remained motionless. She couldn’t fathom how he could act so easy around her. She could barely breathe around him.

He waited, he watched, and he remained still as a statue until she eventually stretched her hand back out to him. He slowly unwrapped the bandages. He was silent, and she kept her tongue clamped between her teeth to still her nerves. It wasn’t really effective, and as she watched his hands work to unpeel the layers of bandaging, she could easily see the tremble in her own hand. She had no doubt he could see the shaking, and even if he couldn’t see it, he could certainly feel it as his left hand held hers while his right hand worked.

When her hand was again exposed, she saw that the bleeding had nearly stopped, but her skin was tinged pink. He palpated her thumb joint as she winced. The movement opened the laceration, and the cool air hitting the fresh open flesh left her hissing in pain. He stilled, but when he glanced at her eyes, he started flexing and extending her thumb joint again, disregarding her pain completely. He pressed on the tissue around the laceration, and then he asked her to go through a number of range-of-motion tests. Every last move she made hurt like hell, and not a single reaction he gave her suggested he cared at all, but regardless of the lack of reaction he was giving her, he was apparently satisfied that her hand wasn’t going to fall off.

When Marie reentered with a tray of horrifying instruments and a curved needle, Bailey’s trembling turned violent. “She’s going to need a tetanus booster, Doctor. I can take care of it when you’re finished.”

“It’s okay. I’ll administer it.” Marie stalled for a moment as her eyes flashed to him, but he met her gaze calmly, and she let go of her initial surprise quickly before excusing herself.

Darren went back to ignoring her while he worked. He washed the gash, patted it dry, and picked up a syringe on the tray. There were two on the tray, and she didn’t like the look of either. “Lidocaine.” He said the word and nothing else, and then he stabbed her hand shallowly and plunged the syringe partially. Bailey yelped and cried out as the pain of the injection burned through her skin. “It’s going to burn like hell too. Suppose I should have mentioned.” There was a cruel smirk on his lips, and Bailey could only whimper in response as he withdrew the syringe and stuck her on the other side of the laceration. She so desperately did not want to give him the reaction he was waiting for. There was no doubt in her mind he wanted her in tears in front of him.

The next time he withdrew the syringe and pricked her skin again, she grunted with her lips closed to stifle the reaction. He was right; Lidocaine burned like hell going in. She’d had stitches before, and she knew full well the pain was inevitable. It was his approach to her that was entirely intentional. He was enjoying the fact he was hurting her, inevitable or not, and she was going to tolerate it. However much he might deserve this small measure of retribution, she wasn’t going to fall apart. Her guilt didn’t mean she wanted to show him any weakness.