He was always so calm in the face of her occasional hysteria, so unflappable through every hurdle of Simon’s treatment. Although it was unsettling to see the change in him, that intense passion, albeit for his work, sent tingles winding through her body until her toes curled, knowing she was the one who’d brought it to the fore. She found herself wondering how deep his passions lay and how else they might manifest...
He cleared his throat and reminded her she was supposed to speak, to argue back. She questioned what he was doing, he pulled her up on it and claimed rank when it came to Simon’s health care—that was the way this went. It kept her from going completely round the bend imagining the worst that could happen when she’d be the one left dealing with the consequences on her own. She was supposed to be the overprotective mother voicing her concerns that everything being done was in her son’s best interests, just as he was the one to insist he knew what he was doing. Fantasising about Matt in any other capacity, or his emotions getting the better of him, definitely wasn’t in their well-rehearsed script.
‘Yeah...well...I’d appreciate it if you didn’t give Simon false hope that everything will go back to normal. We’ve both had enough of people letting us down.’ Not that she knew what normal was, but although he deserved a break, they had to be realistic too.
‘I’m not in the habit of lying to my patients...’
‘No? What about this miracle spray-on skin which was supposed to fast-track his recovery? It’s been two months and his burns are still very much visible. I should’ve known it was too good to be true when you would only use it to treat his facial burns and not the ones on his arm. I mean, if it was such a wonder cure it would make sense to use it everywhere and not make him go through these skin grafts anyway.’ She was aware her voice had gone up a few decibels and yet she couldn’t seem to stop herself when something good she’d believed was going to happen hadn’t. This time it wasn’t only her hopes that were being dashed.
Matt simply sighed when Quinn would’ve understood if he’d thrown his hands up and walked away. Deep down she knew he’d done his best, and yet, they were still here going through the same painful process.
‘I can only reiterate what I told you at the start. It will take time. Perhaps the progress we have made isn’t as noticeable to you because you see him every day, but the scars are beginning to fade. It’s as much as we can hope for at this stage. As I explained, this is a new treatment, not readily available everywhere in the UK, and funding is hard to come by. The burns on Simon’s arm are full thickness, not suitable for the trial, otherwise I’d have fought tooth and nail to make it happen. But he’s young—his skin will heal quicker than yours or mine. Besides, I’m good at what I do.’ There wasn’t any obvious arrogance in his words or stance. It was simply a statement of fact. Which did nothing to pull her mind out of the gutter.
‘So you keep telling me,’ she muttered under her breath. However, despite his conscientious efforts, Simon no longer resembled the child she’d been charged with minding, either physically or mentally.
‘I meant what I said. I’m not in the habit of lying to sick kids, or their beautiful mothers.’ His forehead smoothed out as he stopped being cross with her.
The renewed smile combined with the reassuring touch of his hands on her shoulders sent those shivers back Irish dancing over her skin. She was too busy squealing inside at the compliment to correct him again about being Simon’s foster mother.
Unfortunately, in her experience she couldn’t always take people’s word as truth. It wasn’t that long ago Darryl had sworn he was in this thing with her.
‘I hope not,’ she said, the cold chill moving to flatten the first fizz of ardour she’d felt since her ex abandoned her and the future they’d planned together.
Simon’s fate was entirely in this man’s hands. Matt’s skills on the operating table would determine his long-term appearance and probably his self-esteem along with it. It was too much to expect her to put her faith entirely in the word of a virtual stranger. Especially when the men closest to her had littered her life with broken promises and dreams.
* * *
Quinn Grady was a grade-A pain in the backside. In the most understandable way. Matt had seen his fair share of anxious parents over the years. His line of work brought people to him in their most fragile, vulnerable state and it was only natural that emotions ran high, but she’d spent most of the last couple of months questioning his every decision, seemingly doubting his ability to get Simon through the other side of his injuries. It was exhausting for all of those concerned. Normally he outlined his treatment plan and got on with it but somehow this case had drifted off course.
The spray-on skin was a relatively new treatment. Instead of these painful skin grafts, a small sample of healthy skin was removed from the patient and placed in a processing unit where it reproduced in a special suspension solution which was then sprayed over the damaged area where it continued to grow and multiply. There was no risk of the patient’s body rejecting it because it was from the patient’s own cells. The regenerative nature of this process meant the wounds healed rapidly in comparison to traditional techniques, such as the one he was performing now. If it wasn’t for the extensive burns on Simon’s arm, where he’d defended himself from the flames, he wouldn’t have to go through the skin grafts or worry about scarring because the spray-on skin would stretch with him as he grew.
He’d expected Quinn to be wary; he’d had to convince her as well as the board that this was worth trialling, but the constant clashing had tested him. Naturally, she wanted instant results, for the burns to fade and heal overnight, but that wasn’t how it worked. Almost every day she demanded to know ‘Why?’ and he couldn’t always give her the answer she wanted. He knew the results were favourable compared to some he’d seen, and indeed, Simon’s facial burns were exceptionally better healed than those on his arm but he was still disfigured. For now. Until the boy resembled his pre-fire self, Matt was going to take the flak, and so far he’d been happy to do so.
He knew he’d probably become too involved with Simon’s case, more so than the other children he’d seen at Paddington’s as a result of the fire at Westbourne Grove Primary School. Perhaps it was because his burns had been so extensive, or perhaps the reason was closer to home. The single foster mum reminded him a lot of himself and the hand he’d been dealt once upon a time.
Although he assumed she’d voluntarily agreed to take on the responsibility for other people’s children. His role as a stand-in father had been thrust upon him when his dad had died and left him in charge of his younger siblings.
Matt recognised the fear in Quinn’s brilliant blue eyes, even when she was giving him grief. He’d spent over a decade fretting about getting his sisters through their childhood in one piece with much the same haunted expression staring back at him in the mirror.
It was only now that Bridget, the youngest of the brood, had gone off to university he was able to relax a little. Of course, that didn’t mean he wasn’t still handling relationship woes or doling out crisis loans, but at least he could do most of his parenting over the phone these days, unless they came to visit him in London.
It meant he had his life back, that he’d been able to leave Dublin and take this temporary contract. When his time was up here he would have no reason to feel guilty about moving on to somewhere shiny and new and far from Ireland.
Quinn wouldn’t have that luxury for a long time with Simon being so young. As his foster mother, she was probably under even more pressure to get him through his injuries, and naturally, that had extended to his surgeon. If fostering authorities were anything like social services to deal with, she’d have to jump through hoops to prove
