She hoped.
‘Ready to talk?’
Nodding, she took a quick gulp of coffee which scalded her tongue. Good, it might take the edge off her urge to bawl on his broad shoulders.
‘Whatever it is, it must be pretty bad for you to approach me after all this time.’
Cradling the hot mug in her hand, she peered at him over the rim, liking the changes the years had wrought. The smattering of grey in his black hair, the fine lines radiating from the corners of his striking eyes adding a seriousness to the boyish face which had once charmed her into loving him.
Though she’d dated through uni and been serious with one guy for about eight months, the minute she’d set foot on Dunk Island, walked into the restaurant for her first real job since graduating top of her French-pastry class and spied Jed she’d fallen. Hard.
They’d created magic together before her dreams deflated like a saggy soufflé.
Banishing her useless memories, she said, ‘I need your help.’
She had to keep it simple, short, straightforward. Lay the facts out before him, state her case, appeal to his better side, the side she knew he had despite how he’d pushed her away all those years ago.
‘With what?’ He paused, fixing her with the soul-searching stare only he did so well, his confident grin grating on her thinly stretched nerves. ‘You know I’m a supportive kind of guy.’
‘Yeah, right. Like the way you supported me right out of our relationship?’
Where had that come from? Why did she sound so accusatory, so annoyed, as though she still cared?
Shutters descended over his eyes in an instant, blocking out the warmth, shutting her out as he always had when he didn’t want to give her answers.
‘You wanted something I couldn’t give you back then.’
‘Couldn’t or wouldn’t?’
‘It’s not important.’ His lips set in a thin, stubborn line just the way they had used to and the familiar action ignited an old grudge that had been simmering for a few years.
‘Not important? I guess you would see it like that.’
He shook his head, anger tightening his features into hard angles. ‘Is this why you dragged me to Melbourne? To beat me up over something that happened five years ago? That finished five years ago?’
‘No, there’s something else.’
Suddenly she deflated, annoyed that she’d let him get to her like that. What had happened between them was over and had been for a long time. She’d dealt with it; she’d moved on. Why dredge up the past when it would only be detrimental to her cause? She needed to get him onside, not offensive.
‘Tell me.’
Swallowing the painful lump lodged in her throat, she raised her eyes to his, seeing a wary curiosity there as if he half expected another verbal spray.
‘My son’s ill,’ she blurted, blinking back tears at the injustice.
If anyone had to get sick, why couldn’t it be her? She was strong; she could handle it. She’d handled losing Jed, losing her parents. She was tough; she could take it. But Toby…he had his whole life in front of him. Her precious little boy had just turned five, would start school soon, had enrolled in a little athletics programme and had a zest for life that left her breathless and laughing most days.
Though the minute he’d turned lethargic, pale, with unexplained ugly bruises on his spindly arms and legs, she’d known. Something was dreadfully wrong and a visit to the doctor and a few blood tests had confirmed it.
Acute lymphoblastic leukaemia. The kind of disease that killed, the kind of disease her cheeky, gorgeous boy had no right contracting.
‘You have a son?’ A dark eyebrow shot up, lending him a weirdly comical look when there was nothing remotely funny about their situation.
Your son, she needed to say but instead she took another gulp of coffee, postponing the inevitable for another few seconds while furiously marshalling her thoughts.
How should she tell him? Straight out or work up to it? She’d mentally rehearsed this speech a hundred times in her head since he’d responded to her urgent plea, yet now her mouth couldn’t form the words.
‘He’s a lovely little boy.’ Tall like you, and those soft brown eyes exactly like yours. ‘He’s just been diagnosed with leukaemia.’ She waved her hand around in a vague gesture, wondering if he’d get it.
By the compassionate expression on his handsome face, he did.
‘I’m sorry. How awful for you.’
He reached towards her as if to place his hand over hers and she scuttled back like a scared mouse, her earlier misgivings about being locked up with him resurfacing. If seeing him again had packed a power-punch, having him touch her to offer comfort had the potential to undo her completely.
He didn’t say a word though she saw surprise flicker in the depths of his eyes and regret stabbed her at how far apart they’d grown. They’d been the invincible couple, the couple that everyone made gagging sounds about over their mushiness, the couple that couldn’t keep their hands off each other. They were the forever couple.
But, as she’d found out the hard way, nothing lasted forever.
Taking a deep breath, she launched down the path of no return. ‘Toby needs a bone-marrow transplant and I’m not compatible.’
‘Hell.’ He ran a hand through his hair, sending dark spikes shooting in every direction. ‘You need my help? Is it money? Do you need to start a donor search? Fund-raising? I can get the TV station to help. I can—’
‘I need you to be tested.’
There, she’d said it, though her voice came out on a soft squeak that had Jed sitting forward to hear it.
‘Me? But I’m not family…’ He trailed off, a flicker of comprehension flashing across his face in a microsecond before he continued in a cold, dull monotone. ‘How old is Toby?’
‘Five.’
She tilted her head up, meeting his dazed stare directly, not ashamed of the choices she’d made.
If Jed hadn’t wanted marriage back then, how would he have handled fatherhood? Dads were reliable, stable, rock-like types you could depend on, the type of amazing, supportive man she’d been lucky enough to have for a dad, not guys who couldn’t come clean to their girlfriends let alone enter a life-long commitment.
Whichever way she looked at it, she’d made the right choice in not telling Jed when she’d discovered her pregnancy. He’d moved on and so had she. He’d become Australia’s sexiest TV chef; she had a successful career, a booming business and a son she wouldn’t trade for all the tortes in Vienna. Toby was happy. She was happy. And then God had had to go and pull the rug out from under them.
‘Five.’ He repeated the number in a flat
