he’d changed so damned much he was barely recognisable inside or out. ‘If I change my mind, Ross, you’ll be the first to know.’
‘Aye, well, I was like you once—thought I was better off being a lad—but there comes a time in every man’s life when he has to settle down. Get serious.’
‘I’ve a long way before I go to those extremes.’ Finn laughed. ‘I’m pretty serious about myself these days and that’s about all I can manage for now.’ He’d had to relearn how to do pretty much everything and was still learning. He changed the subject, jumping into work as always. Because work made him focus on the possible, not the impossible, like having a woman who even liked the look of him, let alone could fall for him and see a future. ‘I’m going to be running very late, so I need to get on. Who’ve we got today?’
‘Some regular follow-ups from your predecessor and a couple of new referrals. Nothing too taxing. You’re doing just fine. Don’t rush. They’ll understand.’ Ross looked meaningfully again at Finn’s left leg.
‘I prefer it if the leg doesn’t come up in conversation.’ Finn whipped round to peer at the computer for details of his first client, twisting his leg in the prosthetic. A searing pain ran up his knee. He inhaled sharply, clenched his teeth and waited for the pain to subside. ‘Okay. Okay. Let’s go.’
‘You all right? You need a seat?’ Reaching out to steady Finn, Ross peered at him, all concern and questions.
Damn. The last thing he needed was a father figure...scratch that, a brother figure. He already had one of those and even twelve thousand miles away he still managed to be overbearing and overly concerned about Finn’s welfare. All. The. Time.
The whole point of taking this job and being this new person in a new city, putting the past well and truly behind him, was to live a normal life. He didn’t want people to keep asking if he was all right. And yes, he knew they cared and were just being nice. But he didn’t want to be treated any differently to everyone else.
He counted to ten under his breath as the pain faded. ‘Yep. I’m fine. But even after more than two years I keep forgetting.’ And it wasn’t just the physical pain that assailed him, sometimes out of nowhere. ‘Still, I’m good to go. And now I’m really late.’
* * *
Four hours later and his leg was no better, neither was his mood, although the kids always made him smile. A missed appointment meant he could catch up. All he had to do now was finish these notes and then he could lock his door, slip off his prosthesis and the silicone liner and relax for a few minutes.
As he sat in his office—the closest to Reception so he wouldn’t have to walk far, apparently—he heard a kerfuffle in the waiting area.
A woman’s voice, soft and apologetic. Breathless. ‘I’m so, so late. I’m sorry. Really sorry. Lachie had a meltdown at home which delayed things a bit...you know what it’s like...he’s hit the terrible twos six months early. Then I couldn’t get a parking space and then there was something wrong with the pushchair—I think it might be one of the front wheels; it’s wanting to go in the opposite direction to all the others.’
The talking stopped. Finn assumed it was for the woman to draw breath. He heard the receptionist sigh. Then that soft voice again. ‘I know you’re all busy. I’m so sorry. Please, if anyone could see us I’m happy to wait as long as it takes.’
Their receptionist was renowned for running a tight ship. ‘I’m sorry but we have a full list today and there’s no wriggle room to fit you in. I can make another appointment for Lachie?’
‘He really needs to be seen today. I know it’s not relevant, or shouldn’t be, but I’ve taken the day off work as holiday just so we could get here. I’m fast running out of holiday days...’ Desperation laced her words. ‘It’s his boots, you see—they’re rubbing and he hates wearing them. That was the trouble this morning—when I took them off after he’d worn them all night he threw them across the room.’ A pause. ‘Please.’
Finn stretched his left knee. Yeah, he knew all about rubbing. About the tension before you put the damned thing on because you just knew it was going to be sore. He knew how hard that was for a grown man to get his head round, never mind a...what did she say?...eighteen-month-old. He sent an urgent message to the receptionist’s screen.
I’ll see them. Just give me a few minutes to finish these notes.
A message flicked back:
Thanks. The good karma fairy is looking down on you.
‘Okay. One of the physiotherapists will miss his lunch for you. Please take a seat.’
The softly spoken woman’s voice wavered. ‘Oh. That’s very kind. Thank you. Thank you. Lachie? The nice man will see you soon.’
Finn walked through to the waiting room and was just about to call out the boy’s name when he was struck completely dumb. His heart thudded against his ribcage as he watched the woman reading a story to her child. Her voice quiet and sing-song, dark hair tumbling over one shoulder, ivory skin. A gentle manner. Soft.
His brain rewound, flickering like an old film reel: dark curls on the pillow. Warm caramel eyes. A mouth that tasted so sweet. Laughter in the face of grief. One night.
That night...
A lifetime ago.
He snapped back to reality. He wasn’t that man any more; he’d do well to remember that. He cleared his throat and glanced down at the notes file in his hand to remind himself of the name. ‘Lachlan Harding?’
‘Yes. Yes—oh?’ She froze, completely taken aback. For a second he saw fear flicker across her eyes then she stood up. Fear? Why? Because he’d never called as he’d promised? ‘Finn? Is it you? It’s Finn, yes?’
There was little warmth there; her mouth was taut in a straight line. No laughter. Not at all. She was still startlingly pretty. Not a trace of make-up, but she didn’t need anything to make her any more beautiful. His gut clenched as he remembered more of that night and how good she’d made him feel.
Too bad, matey.
The fear gone, she smiled hesitantly and tugged the boy closer to her leg, her voice a little wobbly and a little less soft. ‘Wow. Finn, this is a surprise—’
‘Sophie. Hello. Yes, I’m Finn. Long time, no see.’ Glib, he knew, when there was so much he should say to explain what had happened, why he hadn’t called, but telling her his excuses during a professional consultation wasn’t the right time. Besides, she had a child now; she’d moved on from their one night together, clearly. He glanced at her left hand, the one that held her boy so close—no wedding ring. But that didn’t mean a thing these days; she could be happily unmarried and in a relationship.
And why her marital status pinged into his head he just didn’t know. He had no right to wonder after the silence he’d held for well over two years.
They were just two people who’d shared one night a long time ago. There was no professional line to cross here. He was doing her a favour by seeing her son. If things felt awkward he could always assign her to a different physiotherapist for the next appointment.
‘Yes. Wow. It’s a small world.’ He infused his manner with professionalism,
