stalling for time. ‘His sister really had no idea he was epileptic?’
‘He might not be.’ Elle cocked her head, apparently happy to be delayed. ‘It isn’t uncommon to have a single seizure and then for it never to happen again for the rest of his life. Especially because he’s seventeen and alcohol can be a trigger. The EEG should help to determine whether or not there is unusual electrical activity in Adam’s brain and he’ll go from there.’
‘And what do you think?’ Fitz asked, admiring the way her eyes lit up when she talked about medicine. Clearly being a doctor was more than just a job to her, it was something she loved.
‘I don’t know without the results, but from everything he said afterwards, I’m thinking he’s had a few absence seizures in the past, which he never really thought much about. Then the combination of alcohol, exams in school, finding it hard to sleep at night was a trigger for more. But that’s just a guess.’ She hunched her shoulders. ‘Anyway, from your reactions I’m guessing that isn’t the first time you’ve seen a seizure either?’
‘My little sister suffered from epilepsy. From the first year of her life.’
The words were out before Fitz had time to think and he halted abruptly. He never talked about his sister. Never.
The last time he’d even talked about his family—other than to trot out the one, practised sentence that his mother and sister had died a long time ago—had been to Janine. And even then he hadn’t told her the full story, just enough to satisfy her questions after her colonel father had already told her about the car crash.
He’d certainly never told her about those three years when it had just been his mother, his sister and himself in that tiny, cramped flat. The happiest three years of their lives together until his old man had walked back in that night.
‘Suffered? Past tense?’ Elle asked. ‘Did she grow out of it? I think it’s somewhere around ninety percent of children with childhood absence epilepsy can grow out of it by about the age of twelve, although I understand they can sometimes have other types of seizure.’
‘No. She died.’
Elle held his gaze steadily, her expression changing.
‘I’m so sorry. What happened?’
Old, familiar guilt had resurrected itself, and was pressing on his chest like a flatbed truck was crushing him. Images assailed Fitz. Him getting home, the car gone, the phone lying smashed on the floor, the shattered furniture, leaving the house turned upside down. And everywhere the stench of booze. The stench of him. The man who was Fitz’s father in name only.
‘Car crash. She was six, nearly seven. My mother died too.’
He braced himself for the look, pity coupled with discomfort as they quickly changed the topic. Instead, he simply saw quiet empathy, a calmness and genuine interest. It seemed to slice through all the layers of protective armour he’d spent years pulling into place.
‘Fitz, how awful for you. So it was just you and your father?’
‘He was driving.’ Fitz tried to swallow the words. Elle was a stranger and this was no one’s business except his. ‘Drunk. I was the only one left.’
Instead, they kept pouring out, as if they’d been waiting for this moment—for this woman—for half his lifetime.
‘Is that why you wanted to protect me from the drunken bloke who was hassling me at the bar, and his mate?’ she asked softly. ‘So, how old were you?’
‘Sorry?’ he stalled.
This was the longest he’d allowed himself to think about it in a long, long time. And he didn’t want to. Not here. Not now. Not ever.
‘How old were you when your family died?’ she repeated steadily.
‘You ask a lot of questions for a damsel in distress.’
‘I wasn’t in distress. I had my thumb-lock, remember?’ Another smile that twisted in his gut. ‘But that’s not to say I didn’t appreciate the solid back-up.’
‘Well, then, that makes me feel better.’ He managed a wry smile.
He should have known better than to distract her. Her gaze never wavered and he was compelled to address her unanswered question.
‘Seventeen. But it was the night of my eighteenth.’
He should have had happy memories of the time but all he had was one of his mother and his sister lying in that hospital mortuary. To this day he didn’t know which of the mass of bruises over his mother’s face had been caused by the crash itself and which had been the result of his drunkard father’s cruel fists. Fitz struggled to breathe, let alone regulate his voice, which sounded a million miles away when he spoke.
‘Listen, this isn’t something I like to talk about.’
A beat passed before Elle answered, but not before reaching out to run a hand over his cheek as if she actually cared. And the oddest thing was, he felt like she did.
‘Maybe you should talk.’
‘I don’t need to talk,’ he bit out.
She gave an apologetic shrug, but it didn’t stop her from continuing.
‘I’m sorry. I know it’s probably none of my business but I’m a doctor. I can see the signs when someone has repressed things for a long time. Especially soldiers who think they’re too tough to need to talk and repress all kinds of bad incidents.’
‘What makes you think I’m a soldier?’ he asked sharply.
‘Those spare gym trousers you gave to the boy in there after his seizure had made him lose bladder control? I couldn’t help noticing they were military issue. And there’s just something about the way you handle yourself. I’m guessing Infantry?’
The way she smiled, polite but with none of the openness or interest of earlier, made him sure that discovering he was military had put her off. Ironically, his experience with women was that it was usually the other way around.
‘Not Infantry but, yes, I’m army. A colonel,’ he confirmed, technically not a full colonel, a lieutenant colonel, but he doubted that would make a difference to her.
Neither would the fact that until a couple of months ago he’d been a major in a different Royal Engineers regiment. Now he was at the start of his two-year posting as commanding officer of his very own regiment.
Yet right now all he could think was that something about the army meant that Elle was about to walk away from him, and a part of him desperately wanted her to stay. He wondered if she had a brother, a father who had served and been hurt. Or worse.
‘You don’t like it that I’m in the army, do you?’
‘No, no. It isn’t that. It’s...complicated.’
‘Too complicated to finish that drink with me?’
She sucked in a deep breath, as though trying to make her mind up about something. It was unsettling how much he wanted to spend
