Page 75 of Coming Home to Wishington Bay
‘Yes, Holly. I do.’ His tone had a sense almost of resignation and I was about to ask him about it – but then I realised I had no idea where to start with that. ‘Right. I’ll get out of your hair.’
He stood, gave a small smile and headed off onto the beach, I assumed to fetch Bryan who was down at the water’s edge now, playing with the waves, a small, dark dot in the distance as the shallow bay enjoyed a low tide. I watched him walk away, turning things over in my mind. Was he regretting the whole pretend girlfriend thing? If so, why didn’t he just tell me? An imaginary break-up would be a hell of a lot easier to orchestrate and maintain than an imaginary relationship, that’s for sure.
Then, as I watched him stride away on long, tanned legs, muscled from swimming and running, another thought popped into my head.
* * *
‘Arrrrggghhhh!’ I launched myself with a roar of determination and locked my arms around Gabe’s shins. He’d been running at the time, heading out across the flat sand towards the water and, although admittedly, I’d been dragged along for a few yards, I’d also proved my point. Gabe McKinley was now face first down on the sand, my arms locked around his ankles.
‘What the fuck?’
I let go and pushed myself back on to my heels, freeing him to turn and also sit up.
‘You laughed at the mere possibility of me being able to rugby-tackle you. I wanted to prove a point and now I – ohmigod!’
Blood was streaming from Gabe’s nose as he pushed himself up.
‘Why didn’t you put your hands out?’
‘Because the last thing I was expecting was some madwoman to tackle me in the middle of a private beach and it all happened kind of fast!’ He pinched his nose just below the bridge, resting his weight on one arm.
‘Oh, now you put your hands out,’ I mumbled.
He brought his head up in order to look at me. I waited. This wasn’t exactly the outcome I’d expected. To be honest, I hadn’t really got past wanting to prove that my dad was right and displace the arrogance Gabe had shown about the difference in our sizes. It was kind of hard to tell under all the blood, but he looked mad. And then he laughed. Really laughed.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, doing my best not to laugh too. I’d just possibly broken the guy’s nose. Laughing seemed a little inappropriate, even though my sides were aching from trying to hold it in. Gabe had the best laugh, all deep and rumbly and infectious and I was desperate to share in that joy. ‘Oh God, it’s still pouring out. Look, here, take this,’ I said, whipping off the shirt I’d put over my vest top earlier.’ I held it up to his face before he could object, which from what I could see, he was about to. ‘Now, do that thing where you pinch your nose again. There. Good. OK, now I’m stuffed. You’ll have to help me out. That’s the absolute total of my knowledge. I literally have no idea what I’m doing.’
‘Let me know when it stops bleeding.’
‘OK.’ I took the shirt away for a moment. ‘Nope! Is this normal? Do I need to take you to hospital?’
Gabe laughed again, one hand moving out blindly until it caught mine. ‘It’s fine,’ he said, sounding very muffled and snuffly and not at all fine if I was honest. ‘The head and face have a very good blood supply so any injury, even minor, can bleed a lot.’
‘Is it broken?’
He lifted his other hand and, removing my shirt for a moment from his face, pressed along the length of his nose. The blood was still coming so, once he seemed done, I covered the hand holding the shirt with my own and gently put it back in place.
‘I think it’s slowing,’ I said, ‘but you’re probably best off sitting there for a bit longer. So what’s the verdict?’
‘Not broken. Just given it a good whack with the sand.’
‘That’s good. I mean about it not being broken.’
He gave a shrug. ‘It’s not a big deal.’
‘It’s a huge deal!’
Gabe sat up and pulled the shirt away. ‘Stopped, I think. And no, it’s not. It’s not like it would have been the first time I’d broken my nose.’
‘No, but it would have been the first time I’d broken it!’
He grinned, and then stopped as pain obviously radiated through his facial muscles.
‘Ow.’
I groaned. ‘Oh, Gabe. I’m so sorry,’ I said, standing and helping him up, calling to Bryan as I did so. The dog bounded over, having missed all the drama entirely.
‘Don’t worry about it. It’s my own fault for laughing at you. Just desserts.’
