Page 32 of Prognosis Temporary

He spoke for an hour, presenting his paper - The Shadows of Vietnam: Four Decades On - and Callie doubted whether a single person moved a muscle throughout. His voice and the subject matter were mesmerising and Callie was totally drawn into the complex issue.

Stats, clinical research and observations of the continuing effects on family units of psychologically damaged soldiers who’d fought a lengthy, controversial war were outlined. Sebastian talked about another generation of children growing up in the shadow of the Asian conflict as grandchildren of veterans suffered the long-term consequences of having a parent grow up in a dysfunctional family unit dominated by PTSD and other attributable psychological conditions.

The speech was made all the more poignant because Callie knew he spoke from the heart. Even if he hadn’t already told her his father had been to Vietnam she’d have known. As a child born into a family unit completely broken by mental illness, she could tell that this wasn’t just distant clinical observation and conjecture.

There was a depth of honesty in his words that couldn’t be garnered from research and clinical practice alone. Listening to him, it was evident that he truly understood the subject matter. That he was intimate with it in a way that clinicians who hadn’t lived it weren’t.

For Sebastian, this was personal.

Callie could barely breathe, thinking about the type of things Sebastian must have witnessed, must have had to deal with growing up. Things a child shouldn’t ever have to confront. Things that robbed children of their precious carefree years. That could irrevocably damage them.

The mere thought of a bewildered red-headed boy —vulnerable, worried and old beyond his years — clawed at her gut. Tears burned the backs of her eyes and she shut them hard to deny the moisture an outlet.

It was always the children that suffered.

––––––––

Later that afternoonCallie stood in her hotel room, her hand on the doorknob mid-twist. She hesitated. Dropped her hand. Then changed her mind and reached for it again. Then dropped it once more as her heart galloped in her chest.

She should just leave it alone. Keep things the way they were. On an even keel. Crossing the hallway and knocking on Sebastian’s door would be a stupid move. She was too emotional at the moment. His presentation had really struck a chord and affected her and, try as she may, she just couldn’t get the image of that little red-haired boy out of her head.

Except the Sebastian in the room opposite was far from a little boy

She turned away. Took a step or two back towards her bed and then stopped again. Completely indecisive. Her gut was telling her to seek him out. Her head was telling her to stay put.

And then fate interfered.

A loud knock rattled the door and her heart leapt in her rib cage. She turned and walked slowly, almost in a trance. She knew who it was even before confirming Sebastian’s presence through the peephole.

Callie placed her forehead and the flat of her palm on the door for a moment, gathering her nerve. Then she pulled it open, a smile plastered on her face. ‘Sebastian.’

He was lounging against the doorjamb, his jacket and tie removed and the top two buttons of his shirt undone. His sleeves were rolled up and he had bare feet. He looked tired. Exhausted. And she had an overwhelming urge to step into his arms and lay her cheek against a broad pectoral.

He held up two long-necked beers with wedges of lime jammed into their openings. ‘I felt like a beer.’

Callie hesitated, tempted beyond belief. She shouldn’t. She really, really shouldn’t. Being alone in her room with him would really blur the professional boundaries they’d both worked so hard at keeping in place.

Her gaze dropped from his earnest expression, centring on a tempting stretch of throat where the knot of his tie should have been.

‘I think you have a better view than I do,’ he murmured.

Callie swallowed. She certainly did now!

Knowing she didn’t have it in her power to deny him, not when he looked so worn-out, she reached for her beer then stood back. ‘Come through.’

****

Sebastian exhaled andpushed his lime wedge into the bottle neck with his thumb. He took a swig and pushed off the shoulder shoved against the doorframe. His arm brushed hers and a heat wave rippled outwards from the point of contact, down his arm and up to his shoulder and chest.

He made a beeline for the balcony. The king-size bed taunted him as he went past it. A brief image of tumbling Callie onto it mingled with the fragrance she wore and he sucked in a perfume-laden breath. For a second he even felt a little dizzy.

This was crazy. He didn’t know why he was there. But she’d made it perfectly clear last night from her Cinderella act that she wanted to keep the status quo so he needed to push any images of her and him and the king-size bed firmly out of his mind.

He felt restless after the unexpected emotion of his presentation, that was all. He hadn’t expected to feel so drained. And after a couple of hours of being with people who all wanted a piece of him, wanted him to be the Sebastian Walker, it was bliss to be with someone who had gone to great pains to not be with him.

Even if it was just sharing a beer and talking.

And when she’d opened the door and his gaze had taken in her silky, electric-blue blouse, the one she’d worn while presenting her paper earlier that day, he’d been lost.

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