Page 51 of Toy Boy

He looks at me, and he smiles slightly, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. The details aren’t important, it just – it almost finished me, Megan.”

I don’t understand. Did he do something wrong? Was his professionalism called into question? I’m not sure that was the case, because he’s still a surgeon. Still practicing medicine. Still doing the job he always said he was born to do.

“I needed to come home, after that.”

“Were you…? Were you fired?”

“No, it was nothing like that. I didn’t do anything wrong, what happened – it was me putting pressure on myself, because I believed I could’ve saved that patient.” He stares back out of the window, and I’m lost now. I’m confused, but I’m also very much aware of what this man is capable of. “The hospital, they wanted me to stay. They assured me I’d done nothing wrong, it was just one of those things…” He lowers his head and scoffs quietly, scrunching the paper napkin up in his hand. “Just one of those things…”

“Scott, I…”

“I thought about you every day, Megan. Every fucking day, you were there, right at the forefront of my mind.”

“That’s not true.”

It isn’t. I don’t believe that, not for one moment. I never will.

“It’s true,” he whispers, letting go of the napkin and pushing it to one side, his eyes burning into mine with an intensity I’m not comfortable with. This whole conversation has shifted into territory that doesn’t sit well with me, I really need to go now. I need to leave.

“I have to get back to the café.”

I stand up, but as I try to leave he puts his hand over mine, and I look at him. Right into his eyes.

“We’re unfinished business, Megan, you and me. We aren’t done yet.”

I pull my hand out from underneath his and walk away, without looking back.

He’s wrong.

We’re done.

We have to be.

Because I can’t go back there…

11

Xander

Stepping out onto the small front porch, I slide my hands into my pockets and stare down across the beach, but I can’t see her yet. She’s definitely coming, at least, I hope she is. She told me she was definitely coming in a text this morning, but she’s already late. For an informal dinner of chicken fajitas and chilli fries? No. She’s not late. She’s just not here yet.

I check my watch one more time and head back inside, fetch a cold beer from the fridge and go back out onto the porch, sitting down on the steps as I watch a couple walking along the shoreline, their small dog leaping in and out of the water, looking for the ball they keep throwing. And then I see her, making her way across the sand in white jeans and a lime green T-shirt, a six-pack of beer tucked under her arm. Her eyes are slightly down, but the second she raises her gaze she catches sight of me, and she smiles, causing a sweeping wave of relief to flood through me. I don’t know why I’d felt nervous that she might not show tonight, but I did. It’s okay now, though. She’s here.

I stand up as she approaches, resting a hand gently on her upper arm as she climbs the three steps up onto the porch, and I lean in for a kiss that she reciprocates in a heartbeat. As her lips touch mine her free hand falls against my hip and I swear I just shivered. Are those goosebumps breaking out? Man, this was never supposed to happen, but whatever the fallout from this might turn out to be, I’ll deal with it. Somehow.

“Hey,” she whispers, smiling up at me, and I just want to scoop her up and carry her inside, lay her down on the bed, and… what? I want to sleep with her, so fucking badly, but there’s something stopping me from taking it that far.

Because I know the damage it might cause?

“Hey back.”

My hand slips into hers and I lead her inside, through the living room into my tiny kitchen, there’s just enough room for a fridge, a cooker, a microwave, and limited bench and cupboard space, but what more do I need? Most of the time I eat at The Shack, or the café. I rarely cook, but I’m making an effort tonight.

“I’ll put those in the fridge.” I take the beers from her, put them into the fridge, and take out an already cold one for her.

“Thanks,” she says, taking the bottle from me. “You’ve got this place looking nice.”

I raise an eyebrow, the corner of my mouth twitching up into a small smirk. “What were you expecting? An unsightly tip?”

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