Bec, sprawled on the ground in pain, thundered through him.
Of all the scenarios he’d run through his head, that had not been one of them. The aura of fragility he’d occasionally glimpsed swirled around her, then vanished with a stiffening of her shoulders.
It was as if she was rising through her pain. Her courage awed him.
She lightened her grim expression with a wry smile. ‘Bet you weren’t expecting that explanation.’
He should have anticipated this ironic reaction from her—facing the facts head on, deflecting any sympathy. He had a sudden urge to hold her close, wanting to hug her, but every ounce of her petite frame screamed, Do not touch.
So he stuck with the facts. ‘You’re right, I was thinking more along the lines of a car accident or being thrown off a horse. How old were you?’
She took in a deep breath. ‘Sixteen and sassy. Sixteen, naïve and stupid.’
He hated the way she implied that part of what had happened had been her fault. ‘All of us are naïve at sixteen, Bec.’
She shook her head. ‘I should have known better. Anger had been part of my life for as long as I could remember. My father’s rages were legendary. My mother protected me, taking the brunt of his fists to keep me safe, but eventually he wore her down and wore her out. She committed suicide when I was thirteen.’ Her flat voice delivered the words, devoid of any emotion. Only her white knuckles betrayed her pain.
The image of his father’s weather-beaten face, creased with a laconic grin, flooded Tom’s mind. He’d only ever known love from his adoptive father. The only father he could remember.
White rage burned inside him, hot yet impotent, uselessly directed at a faceless man who had caused so much pain. ‘So you lost your mother and your buffer?’
She nodded. ‘But I quickly worked out that if I studied hard at school, agreed with most of what he said and retreated into the background of his life, I could get away with being screamed at rather than hit.’
Deep inside him an aching pain twisted. ‘Until you grew into a woman.’
Her violet eyes darkened to indigo as her brow creased in surprise. ‘Is that what changed?’
He sighed. ‘I met men like your father during my psychiatric rotation. They have a pathological hatred of women. Once their daughter grows up they see that normal development as a betrayal of their love.’ He hated how trite the theory sounded against Bec’s reality.
She shrugged. ‘Whatever. All I know is that things got pretty bad and I had to leave home for my own safety. Only I mistimed my departure and he arrived home to find me with my bags packed.’ A flinching shudder vibrated through her body.
The same shudder he’d seen when his hand had accidentally brushed hers at the clinic. The same flinch as earlier that day at the market, moments after she’d playfully elbowed him. Hell, all this time she’d been on alert, ready to dodge and duck, thinking he might hurt her.
Nausea rolled in his stomach. He wanted to flatten the lowlife who’d created this fear within her. He wanted to make things better but rationally he knew he couldn’t. Yet he had to try. ‘You don’t have to relive this if you don’t want to.’
Her mouth firmed and her chin jutted. ‘A half-told story is as bad as a suppressed one. Surely you learned that in your psych rotation?’ Her eyes flashed with pain and resentment.
His heart took a direct hit with her jibe. ‘I apologise. I ignored your signals that you didn’t want to talk, I asked you a question and I’ve pushed for an answer. You’re right, now I need to listen.’
She blinked. Twice. A look of incredulity raced across her face as if she didn’t believe what she’d just heard. She cleared her throat. ‘To cut a long story short, after I refused to return to my room he threw my bags down the stairs. Then he threw me. In a way it got me out of his life for good. Child Protection stepped in and court orders prevented him from making any contact.’
His gut ached for her but he knew she didn’t want sympathy. ‘At sixteen, though, you were still a kid. Where did you live?’
For the first time in a long time she smiled at a memory. ‘With my aunt—my mother’s sister. He’d not allowed contact with any family so at least that gave me the chance to get to know my real family.’
My real family. He chased away the thoughts her words generated in him. His real family, the one he hadn’t been able to find. Yet.
‘Hey, don’t look so pensive on my account. I got out. Some kids don’t.’ Her pretty face took on a hard edge.
He recognised that expression. He’d seen it cross her face once before. The time she’d talked about the money she had for the clinic. I won’t have anything to do with that money.
‘That two hundred and fifty thousand dollars you want to use for children—it’s your father’s money, isn’t it?’
She bit her lip and nodded slightly. ‘He left it to me in his will. It was the only paternal thing he ever did. You don’t miss much, do you?’ She stared at him, the look long and intense.
A look that saw through him, carving deeply, all the way down to the essence of his soul. His gut, which had ached in pain for her, suddenly lurched. Unexpected longing poured through him. What would it be like to have those eyes gaze at him without their shadows?
The thought shocked him. He fought to clear his mind, stay fixed on her story. ‘I guess putting the pieces of a puzzle together are part of my job. After all, that’s what diagnosis is.’
‘I guess it is.’ She trailed some fine gravel through her hand.
He spoke to her bowed head. ‘I understand now why you don’t want to use any of that money for yourself.’
Her eyes glittered hard and sharp for a moment. ‘He will not buy me from the grave.’ A softer expression wafted across her face. ‘But I will use his money to work for the greater good.’
Everything fell into place. ‘And that’s why you want to use the money to improve children’s lives?’ He stood up and stretched his hands out, pulling her to her feet.
She rose up toward him, nodding so vehemently that her hair slipped out of its band. ‘Every child deserves a childhood. Without a childhood how can they grow to adulthood and take on a productive place in society?
‘They need a guarantee of their basic human rights, to live without fear, to have access to food and clean water, health care and education.’ She looked up at him, her sparkling eyes a stunning shade of iris blue. Her lithe body pulsed with the passionate conviction of her beliefs.
His blood heated, surging through his body and pooling in his groin. Her passion and fervour set off a chain reaction, bringing alive every nerve ending in his body, sensation stacking on sensation, driving down to the tips of his toes.
He knew he should let go of her hands but he wanted to soak up her enthusiasm, her innate goodness. His thumbs stroked the backs of her hands, the gentle circular motion absorbing her heat, sucking in her energy, trying to claim a part of her for himself.
Her
