Page 82 of Blindsided By You

“And I thought I’d lost you.” His gaze is calm and steady. “But then I realised I’ve had you all along. You just weren’t ready to tell me yet.”

“I am now,” I say, but before I can tell Geordie the hundred ways I’m going to show him that I am his, without question or doubt, we’re interrupted by a chiming noise. We both turn towards the source of the sound, a discreet speaker above the door. Nurse Allie ducks her head around the corner, a rueful smile on her face.

“Visiting time’s up, I’m afraid. Sorry, but you’ll need to come back tomorrow,” she says, looking not the least bit sorry, her voice as cheerful as if she was announcing we’ve won the meat raffle at the rugby club. Just our bad luck to have such a stickler for the rules on this shift.

“You’re coming back to Cluanie tomorrow, yeah?”

“Would have sent me home today if it was just the ankle. Not broken, by the way.” He lifts the bed covers to reveal his heavily bandaged ankle, propped up between foam wedges. “They want to monitor me overnight.”

My brows furrow in concern. “For what?”

“Banged my head on the way down. Need to rule out a concussion.” He reaches a soothing forefinger to the crease in my forehead. “It’s nothing to worry about. Honestly, Jen, I’ve had much worse at the bottom of a ruck.”

“OK.” I reluctantly accepthis reassurance.

“I’m sorry,” the nurse repeats from the doorway. “But I really need to close the ward now.”

I have a fierce urge to tell her to piss off, but I don’t.

“Come here,” he says, ignoring her and pulling me into him.

“It’s going to be OK, sweetheart.”

When he presses his mouth to mine, so warm and pliable, the familiar taste of him on my lips, I want to believe him.

Chapter 45

JENNA

Iwake,wishingfora time machine. A week ago, at nine a.m., I sat in my office, Andy snoring at my feet. Dad had poked his head through the door as he headed off for his run, passing Skylar, who arrived with my morning coffee.

My throat tightens as I slump back into my pillows. Today I must see her, and for one of the few times in my life, I feel totally unprepared.

After dragging my heavy limbs from beneath the covers, I stumble through a shower. I give my hair a quick blast from the dryer, not bothering with styling. I mechanically apply makeup, covering my too damn pale face but unable to disguise the stark half-moons beneath my eyes.

In my walk-in closet, I listlessly pull at outfits hanging on the rail. What is the dress code for visiting a grieving teenager? The temptation to delay the decision and go downstairs in my dressing gown grows stronger.

My hand brushes the familiar clear dress cover and pauses. The pristine white satin wedding dress inside casts its usual warning stare.Today I meet it with a resolute glare of my own. This is not who I am anymore. I am no longer the sad, rejected bride, waiting for history to repeat, but someone making her own future.

I scoop the dress off the rail and toss it onto my bed. Then, I grab a black pants suit, a sleeveless ivory silk blouse, and slip into my favourite Ferragamo pumps, their soft leather hugging my feet. It’s a work outfit because, before I visit Skylar, I have a job to do.

Downstairs, I find Dad has already left for Grant and Laura Darby’s house. The rugby club is preparing to go all out to support Brandon’s family, and the other guys, too. They made it off the mountain alive, but not one of them is unscathed. My heart aches for all of them, but it’s Connor who is foremost in my mind today. He needs more than kind words and good wishes, which is why this afternoon I’ll summon all my skills andunleash my best defensive tactics to shut down those in the media attacking his leadership of the hiking party. I’ll take great pleasure in putting a halt to their callouswords.

However, that’s not my first job of the day. Getting rid of the last reminder of the past that’s held me back is. I’m glad Dad isn’t here to see it. He doesn’t know about the dress. Although he’d understand—even be proud of me taking this final step in putting Adam behind me—I’d rather keep it secret. Only Rachel can ever know the power I’ve allowed Adam to have over me for all those years.

The bulky wedding dress crowds my car, but I make it fit, squashing it down in the storage area behind the two seats. I glance at the dashboard clock. Nine fifty. Perfect. The Hospice Charity Shop opens at ten. I hope the scheduled volunteers arrive promptly today. I want to get this over with and move on with my life.

The debacle with Geordie proves what I’ve been denying for six years: moving on takes more than time. Number one for now is to rid myself of this daily reminder. I may not have been enough for Adam, or too much for him, but he was only one man, and he was never the one for me. The man who I’m fairly certain is the one for me is coming home today, unless he’s reconsidering decisions made in the emotionally charged aftermath of tragedy.

I park outside the charity shop, just as Fran MacMillan sets the ‘Open’ sign on the footpath. There goes any chance of discretion. News will spread like wildfire round Cluanie the moment I leave. I’m sure there’s a specific phone tree for juicy gossip.

“Morning Jenna.” Fran’s welcoming smile carries a hint of surprise. Not unexpected, since I haven’t set foot in this shop since my teens. It’s not that I’m too posh these days. I’m just lucky enough that I’ve not had to mind the pennies when it comes to my wardrobe and don’t have the time to rummage around for hidden gems amongst the secondhand bits and bobs. Of course Fran will raise her brows at finding me banging down the door at opening time.

Then, maybe she’s surprised that anyone is in the mood for shopping after the events that rocked Cluanie yesterday. In a small town, the seven who went up the mountain aren’t just names, they were sons, friends, brothers. And for one devastated young woman, a boyfriend. I swallow down uncomfortable thoughts of my looming visit to Skylar.

“Hi Fran. I’ve got something to donate,” I call over my shoulder, leaning into the car.

The damn dress fights back as I attempt to wrestle it from behind the seat. The bitch is reluctant to release me from her grip, but I’mdetermined to win this time. When I finally emerge, drowning in white satin, Fran’s eyebrows climb towards her hairline.

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