Chapter Five

Izzy

On the way to the car, I bump into Rosie. It strikes me that she’s been waiting for me to leave the break room.

“Did you talk to him?” she asks eagerly.

I’m so mixed up with emotion that I can’t think straight. “What?”

“Izzy! Did you tell him I want to get back with him?”

I stare at her, shocked and disgusted. “He said you had an affair. Is that true?”

“No.” She has the grace to lower her eyes. “It was a one-night stand.” Her eyes come back to mine, begging, pleading. “I had to do something. He was giving me the cold shoulder. We hadn’t slept together in months. I was trying to make him jealous.”

I almost laugh. She doesn’t know Hal at all. “Why would you do that?” I demand. “Hal’s one of the good guys. He’s smart, funny, loyal. Why on earth would you go and fuck another man?”

“What else could I have done? He wouldn’t talk to me. I didn’t know what I’d done or why he was pulling away.”

I’ve been thinking about someone else. For a long time now. I can’t get her out of my head.

Oh God, it was because of me.

“You’re such an idiot,” I whisper furiously.

“What do I do?” she asks, her voice pathetic.

“You accept that you’ve lost him,” I say. “You get over it.” I walk past her, ignoring her cries of, “But I can’t!” In the past I would have taken her in my arms and tried to comfort her, but now the thought makes me nauseous.

As quickly as I can, I get in my car, drive out of the gates, and head across the bridge toward Paihia.

I don’t think as I drive. I get home, then I quickly text Stefan to tell him I won’t be in this afternoon. Summer will be in by now and Clio can step up and take a few clients herself, so there will be enough vets there to cope with afternoon surgery. I rarely have time off, so I know the others won’t mind if I take a few hours. Then I turn off my phone.

Leaving the car, I set off at a fast pace, walking along the seafront.

It’s hot, and the town is busy with holidaymakers, straining at the seams. I walk through the families with their ice creams and sun hats, past the pier with the queues waiting to go out on the boats dolphin watching, past the helicopter rides and the seafood restaurants, and keep walking, as fast as I can. I walk until my muscles burn, and still I don’t stop.

I don’t want to think. Sleep will be the only way I’ll be able to blot out what happened today. I try to force my brain to think about other things; I go over the bones in the human body, then give a wry humorless laugh as I think of the mnemonic for the bones of the human hand—Some Lovers Try Positions That They Can’t Handle. I concentrate on naming them: Scaphoid, Lunate, Triquetrum, Pisiform, Trapezium… But Hal’s words keep coming back like flies around something dead.

I think about it all the time. What it would feel like to have you in my arms. Your mouth on mine. To be inside you.

Tears prick my eyes, but I blink them away. I will not cry over this man. I’ve watched too many women crying over him through the years, and I’m better than that.

Anyway, I’m not upset. I’m filled with fury.

I cannot believe he’s prepared to ruin the wonderful friendship we have just to get his leg over. I know him inside out, and I know perfectly well what’s going on in his head. He likes to think he has morals, and I know he’d never cheat on a girl. But he’s bored with Rosie—his first long-term relationship, and he can’t think of a way out. He’s told himself he’s got a thing about me, and that therefore justifies his breakup.

What fucking bullshit. As if the mighty Hal King would ever have those kinds of feelings for me!

I don’t believe his tale about Fitz, either. First, I know Fitz would have told me, because he finds things like that funny. And second, I’d have been shocked if Hal hadn’t thought about getting me in the sack when we were teenagers. He’d have fucked the Queen of England if she’d come to visit. He was horny twenty-four-seven at that point. Actually, what am I saying? He’s probably still the same now. The guy can’t keep it in his pants.

I love him dearly, but Hal’s a womanizer, a ladies’ man, a man whore. There’s no nice way to put it. He always has been.

I lift my face to the sun, the sea breeze blowing across my skin, and feel a touch of shame. That’s not quite fair. It implies he uses women, and that’s not true. Okay, so there have been times girls have asked to see him again and he’s turned them down. But, as far as I know, he’s never lured women into his bed. He’s always insisted girls like sex as much as guys, and that nine times out of ten they come on to him. I don’t quite believe that. I would imagine the Dog Whisperer is highly adept at seduction. But I do believe he’s open about what he wants, and it’s the woman’s fault if she falls for him after one night in the sack.

I’m newly fallen snow, and he wants to write his name in it. I’m outer space, and he’s Star Trek’s Jean-Luc Picard, excited to explore previously undiscovered territory. He’s fixated on me because I’m the one girl he hasn’t fucked, and that makes me mad.

Then, again, my thoughts circle around, and I feel a whisper of shame. That’s not fair either. He’s not slept with Nix, or any of the other women at the sanctuary apart from Rosie, as far as I know. And even when we were at uni, it wasn’t as if he methodically tracked down every woman, lured them into bed, then dumped them the next day. He just slept with every girl who wanted him. Which happened to be almost every girl on campus.

Briefly, I wonder why he’s never made a move on me before now. I’ve always assumed it was just because he didn’t fancy me. I’m not like most other women my age. I don’t wear revealing clothes. I don’t bare my skin. I’m not interested in beautiful jewelry or makeup or fashion. I don’t want people looking at me. I don’t like dancing in clubs. I have no interest in taking drugs or getting drunk in public. I don’t mind having a glass of wine on my own or with friends; I like the relaxation that alcohol brings. But I don’t like losing control.

All I want to do—all I’ve ever wanted to do—is work. And I’ve worked hard, throwing myself into my studies and my job, because that way my brain is one hundred percent engaged, and I don’t have time to think.

My pace slows; my legs are getting tired. I’m a long way from Paihia, and I should really turn and head back. I continue, though, forcing my legs to walk.

Maybe he’s telling the truth. Maybe he would have made a move on me if Fitz hadn’t warned him off.

I frown. I still don’t believe it. Why would Fitz do that? He’s not like my champion or anything. He couldn’t care less who I date. He’s never been the sort of big brother who demands to know suitors’ prospects before letting them near me. When I was at uni, I didn’t see him much for five years or so, until we met up back at the sanctuary. He took a business degree, and he’s now the Estate Manager at the Ark. I see him a bit more now, but I still can’t picture him going medieval on Hal’s ass for me.

And anyway, I’m skipping over the biggest issue, which is that I cannot imagine for one second that Hal finds me sexually attractive. He likes big boobs and a butt he can hang onto, and I don’t have either of those. I barely go in and out in the right places. He’s a man who enjoys exploring the difference between men and women—he likes curves, long blonde hair, pale skin, red lips, long eyelashes, perfume, giggles… I don’t have any of those things. Well, I have long hair, but that’s about it, and I never wear it down.

I think about it all the time. What it would feel like to have you in my arms. Your mouth on mine. To be inside you.

I remember his eyes when he said that. They were black, filled with passion. He looked as if he meant every word.

I’ve watched him soothe animals for years. And I’ve seen him seduce women. Watched them bat their eyelashes and blush when he whispers in their ears. He knows how to make a woman melt. Exactly what to say to make her believe he’s thinking of nobody else but her.

To be inside you. I stop walking and close my eyes. I’ve never let myself think about what it would be like to be with Hal. I mean be with him, sleep with him. We’ve never even kissed. He touches me all the time—a hand in the small of my back to steer me past someone, a finger tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. He even holds my hand sometimes, especially if he’s walking quickly and he thinks I’m being too slow. But we’ve never kissed. Not even come close to it.

The summer breeze plays across my face, like lips brushing across mine. What would it feel like to kiss him? Not just any man, but to kiss Hal? My bestest friend in all the world? I’ve never let myself go down this road. Never imagined being with him. That way lies madness. Because he’s so gorgeous, so warm, so absolutely amazingly fucking sexy, that if I had him, and then I lost him, I know I would never, ever recover.

I value our friendship so much. I press my lips together to stop them trembling. He’s been like a rock by my side. Through my troublesome teenage years, when my father died, when I was battling issues with my self-image because of my scars, I know Hal was watching me, making sure I ate, that I was taking care of myself. Through uni, even though he was often otherwise occupied, when he came home to the house we shared with several other friends, he always stuck his head in my room to check on me, and he always included me in his social activities, whether I wanted to go or not. He made me get out, made me take part in the world.

I’d be lost without him. How could he jeopardize what we have for something so insignificant as sex?

I don’t get it. He likes beautiful women, and I’m not beautiful. He likes sexy women, and I’m not sexy. I don’t believe he wants me.

To be inside you.

Oh, holy Jesus, how am I going to erase those words? I want to remove my head, slice off the top, scoop out my brains, and scrub the inside of my skull with bleach. I’m angry, so angry I clench my fists and acid burns in my stomach. What does he think will happen once he’s had me, once he’s left his fucking great footprints in that carpet of snow? Does he think we’ll be able to go back to being friends as if nothing has happened? Does he really think I wouldn’t be haunted by that little piece of him he deigned to give me? How could he be so absolutely fucking clueless?

I wish I could turn back the clock and make him not have said those things. Because now, even though I’m sure I’ll go back to work tomorrow and he’ll come up to me with his head hanging saying he’s sorry and that he shouldn’t have come on to his best friend like that, I won’t ever be able to forget he did it.

I’m so ashamed of him. I’ve overlooked his tomcat nature all these years because he’s never been like that with me, and I’ve been convinced he’s not shallow, and beneath his horny exterior is a kind, honorable, loyal, gentle man with a heart of gold. But I’ve been wrong. Beneath the horny exterior is the eternal horny teenager. He’s thinking with his dick like he’s always done, with no thought at all for my feelings. He has more respect for the dog we rescued today than for the friend he’s known almost his whole life.

I want to slap him, to strangle him, to take the shotgun that guy had today and put a hole in Hal’s heart so he can feel the pain I’m feeling. And that, finally, makes me cry, because I don’t want to do that. I want to believe he meant what he said, and I want him to take my face in his hands and look at me the way he looked at me in the break room, as if he really desires me. I want him to kiss me, and I want him to make love to me, to slide inside me, as he promised. I want it more than anything. I always have.

I’ve kept those feelings locked in a safety deposit box in my heart, but he’s found the key, and worked out the combination, and now he’s opened Pandora’s box and let loose all the deep, dark longing I’ve kept hidden for years. How am I going to be able to put it all back in the box?

Damn you, Hal King.

Tears stream down my cheeks, and I carry on walking, the hot sun on my face, until my feet hurt and my legs turn to jelly, and still I don’t stop.