‘We’re here,’ Goodie’s eyes fluttered open and for a moment she was completely disorientated. She looked across at Bertie on the leather seats opposite her, who was giving her a big smile and a thumbs up, and then to Sam, who was looking at Bertie and shaking his head. She felt the leather underneath her good hand, and then looked up at the temperature controls and light switches above her head.
‘Hey.’ She focused on Nick’s face as she felt his large hand cover hers; he was crouching in front of her now, a frown creasing his forehead. ‘Are you okay, baby?’
Goodie swallowed; her throat was less painful, but she had yet to regain full use of her voice. ‘Private jet,’ she croaked out.
‘Yes,’ Nick smiled, ‘My private jet.’
‘Flashy bastard,’ she mumbled, and he laughed as he undid her seatbelt and gently drew it to the side.
‘Not … child,’ she told him, trying to push his hands away from her lap, which was a tricky business when her right arm still in a sling.
Nick held up his hands in surrender but grinned despite her annoyance. ‘We’re at Heathrow. We have to go through customs, then we can head off back home.’ Goodie frowned and looked out of the small window onto the runway whilst Nick went about gathering all their stuff together.
She allowed herself to be carried down the steps of the plane in Nick’s arms. She’d long since given up fighting with him over this: he’d been doing it with alarming regularity since she left ICU a week ago. A wheelchair awaited her at the bottom of the steps and she scowled at it.
‘Crutches,’ she croaked out as loud as she could.
‘Goodie,’ Nick said in a warning tone, ‘it’s too far; you can’t make it on crutches. Please, sweetheart, for me.’
He readjusted her in his arms at that point, and she felt a jolt of pain through her leg, arm and chest. The chest drain had been removed last week but her ribs were still very painful. Goodie didn’t wince, she was not a stranger to pain, but she did nod reluctantly and then heard Nick’s sigh of relief. He lowered her into the chair and started wheeling her to the terminal building followed by Sam and Bertie. Goodie looked round and gave Sam a significant look and he nodded abruptly – obviously still unhappy with the decision she’d made, but prepared to see it through if it was what she wanted.
They made it through customs and into the arrivals area. To her surprise, Goodie saw Nick’s parents’ faces in the crowd, and once they made it through she was very gently hugged and kissed by both of them. Goodie allowed this. She even managed a small smile for their benefit whilst Nick’s dad clapped him on the back and his mum gave him a more powerful hug than she had bestowed on the still-delicate Goodie.
‘Myshka.’
Goodie’s head snapped up as she heard Natasha’s voice, and relief flooded her. The tall brunette strode through the throngs of people until she was squatting in front of Goodie.
‘I told you not to call me “little mouse”,’ Goodie said to her in Russian. Natasha reached up and touched the bruising on Goodie’s face softly, her eyes taking in the split in her lip, the sling on her arm and the cast on her leg.
‘Oh, little mouse,’ Natasha said in Russian still, her eyes filling with tears, one of which spilled down her perfectly made-up cheek. ‘What did you do?’
‘I’m fine. I will heal.’
Natasha’s eyes slowly widened and a look of horror filled her face. ‘Did Dmitry …?’
Goodie let out a short humourless laugh. ‘I’m not stupid. He would never have been able to touch me. I had already sorted out that problem before this happened. The deal I made meant that even if I had died he would be kept in line.’
Natasha’s face had paled at the mention of Goodie dying. ‘I’m not dead,’ Goodie reassured her. ‘Not even close.’
‘No thanks to that arsehole,’ Natasha muttered, nodding towards a bemused Nick and giving him her best fake smile. Fortunately only Sam could understand them, and even he was probably struggling given the dialect they were using and speed at which they were talking.
‘It was my choice, Tasha,’ Goodie said firmly. ‘He was not mine to claim. He did nothing wrong.’ Natasha narrowed her eyes at Goodie; it would be a while before she forgot the look on her sister’s face when she had seen Nick dancing with Lila. ‘I just need time to rest. That’s why I asked you to come for me.’
‘Of course you do,’ Natasha said, standing to her full height to look Nick in the eye. ‘Hello, Mr Chambers,’ she addressed him, extending her hand for him to shake and switching to her perfect English. ‘I’ll be taking Goodie home with me now.’
‘Well …’ Nick said, frowning across at her, ‘that’s a surprise. When we last spoke I believe you denied even knowing my girlfriend as a passing acquaintance.’
‘I am not your girl –’
‘Hello again, Miss Alkaev,’ Bertie cut in, and made a grab for Natasha’s hand. Pumping it up and down with vigour. ‘May I say, that’s a terribly nice blouse you’re wearing this afternoon.’ The force of the handshake was jolting Natasha’s body; she glanced down at the form-fitting jumper she had on and her lips tipped up in amusement.
‘That’s very kind, Mr Chambers.’
‘Oh, do please call me Bertie, everyone does,’ he said, his hand shaking slowing but still not showing any signs of releasing her any time soon.
‘Okay, Bertie, I think you can let her go now,’ Claire said gently from his side, and Bertie’s face flushed red as he dropped Tasha’s hand and stepped back.
‘I’m so sorry for any confusion,’ Nick put in smoothly, moving behind Goodie’s chair and gripping the handles tightly. ‘But Goodie is coming with me. We’ve got everything set up for her at the house. I’ve built a therapy room, there’s an indoor swimming pool, a private physio is coming daily, a nurse will be there to help her get settled, and until she’s stronger a private GP is coming to sort out her pain meds. It’s all sorted.’
Goodie watched as Natasha frowned across at Nick in confusion, then down at Goodie in the chair.
‘I’m not going with him,’ Goodie said firmly. Nick’s jaw tensed for moment before he moved around Goodie’s chair to Natasha and pulled her away from the group.
*****
‘Please,’ Nick said once they were out of hearing distance, ‘I don’t know what connection you have with Goodie, but I do know that you don’t trust me. That’s my fault, I made a poor judgment in an attempt to make Goodie jealous and get her back. It was stupid of me but I never stopped loving her. I promise you I can look after her better than anyone.’ When Natasha crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion, he ran both his hands through his hair before saying. ‘I was getting through to her. She was changing. I could make her happy. I know I could. Give me that chance. Please.’
‘Not much can hurt her,’ Natasha said, her voice still cold but her expression slightly softer. ‘But you … you managed it.’ Nick winced and she uncrossed her arms to lay her hand on his shoulder. ‘Don’t do it again.’
Nick’s expression cleared and he smiled at her, ruthlessly deploying the dimple. ‘Excellent,’ he said, his smug tone now back in place, and Natasha sighed.
‘Even with my backing it’s not going to be that easy to persuade her to –’
‘Don’t worry about the persuading bit,’ Nick said, winking as he skirted around her to go back to Goodie. On his way over he signalled to someone across the crowd, before dropping back down to a crouch in front of Goodie’s wheelchair.
‘What’s going on?’ Goodie said through gritted teeth. He tried to take her hand in his but she snatched it away, the sudden movement causing her to flinch in pain and Nick to bite back a curse.
‘It’s all decided,’ he told her, ‘you’re coming home with us. Natasha’s not really set up for you anyway. You need to be sensible about this.’ Goodie looked round him at Natasha and scowled.
‘Listen, myshka,’ Natasha said carefully, ‘maybe he’s right. I mean, it would be tricky at my place and –’
‘Fine,’ Goodie bit out, bracing both hands on the sides of her wheelchair to try and stand. ‘I’ve recovered from worse on my own. I’ll do it again. I don’t need either of –’
‘Goodie?’ Nick watched as Goodie froze in her misguided attempt to stand and slowly sank back into the chair, her eyes moving to see Arabella in front of her, next to an over-excited Salem. As two sets of eyes locked with hers, both dog and nine-year-old girl moved together. Arabella threw her arms around Goodie’s neck and Salem pushed Goodie’s good hand up so that she was stroking his head. ‘Why would you be on your own?’ Arabella asked, her voice displaying just the right amount of hurt and betrayal. ‘You’ve got us to look after you? Why don’t you want to come home with us to get better?’ Goodie rubbed Salem’s neck and then closed her good arm around the little girl.
‘Of course I’ll come home with you, lapochka,’* she muttered into Arabella’s hair, glaring at both Nick and Natasha in turn from behind Bella’s head.
*****
Goodie watched Arabella play with Salem from the window of the library, then scowled down at her leg and her crutches before throwing the book she was holding onto the coffee table in front of her. It was two days since she’d arrived at the house. Nick, it seemed, could conduct business from the middle of Sussex now. He’d had a conference room set up in the West Wing, and a huge office with a disturbing number of computer screens contained within it. Also in the West Wing was the gym he’d had installed, and an endless pool was in a newly constructed building just to the side of the house. Goodie was not sure what to make of all that. She knew that if Nick wanted something he was extremely single-minded in his pursuit of it. And she knew that, for the moment, he wanted her. But to move his entire operation down to Sussex and build a veritable rehabilitation centre for her was a bit much, even for him.
Their first stand-off had been when they arrived back from the airport. It was late; Nick deemed it too late for Goodie to be up and about and told her he would take her to her room. She had point-blank refused to be picked up by him again. When he’d reached for her she flinched away so violently that she’d actually let out a small moan of pain at the movement. Nick had backed away after that, a muscle ticking in his jaw and his fists clenched at his side. Goodie had eyed the stairs and reached for her crutches. She wasn’t going to let the fact that propping the crutches under her arms caused almost unbearable tearing pain to ricochet through her ribs and her bad shoulder stop her. She’d been through worse after all. But by the second step sweat was starting to bead on her forehead, and she had to bite her lip to stop herself screaming in agony. It was then she felt a light touch on her arm and turned to look at Nick’s mum. Goodie wobbled for a moment and thought she would go down, but then felt the heat at her back as Nick’s large body steadied her own.
‘Sometimes,’ Claire said softly as she moved her hand down to grasp Goodie’s where it was gripping the crutch, ‘there is strength in accepting help.’
Goodie closed her eyes slowly and loosened her grip on her crutches to lean back into Nick’s body. After passing her crutches over to his mum, he lifted Goodie very carefully into his arms like she was made of crystal. The movement was painful, but nothing compared to standing on her bad leg with the crutches. She looked up to the tanned column of his throat, and a wave of exhaustion overcame her so powerfully that she found herself tucking her face into his neck and taking in a deep breath of his clean scent.
Her eyes had closed by the time they made it to the bedroom, so she didn’t notice Nick bypassing the spare one she had been in before (when she wasn’t sleeping in the boot room that is) and carrying her to his bed. All she knew as she snuggled under the covers was that she was surrounded by everything Nick, and she fell into the deepest sleep she’d had since lying in his arms weeks ago. When she woke up in his bed, however, she was less at peace with the situation. Once she realized which room she was in she’d sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, suppressing a wince of pain and looking around for her crutches. Just as she was considering making a lunge for them where they were propped up against the side table out of her reach, the bedroom door opened and Nick’s infuriatingly beautiful face, complete with smile and dimple, emerged from behind it. Once he saw she was fully awake he walked in and approached the bed.
‘Why am I in your bed?’ Goodie asked through gritted teeth, trying to resist the urge to punch him in his smug face – something she knew that for the moment would hurt her far more than him.
Nick rubbed the back of his neck (still smiling, the bastard), and then spread his hands. ‘Look, it’s bigger than the others; it has a bath in the en suite and a plasma screen on the wall. It makes sense that you stay here.’
‘I can’t stay in the same room as you,’ she told him, her goddamn weak-as-shit voice breaking again as she tried to make her words sound as firm as possible. Her throat was sore and her head was starting to pound. She stared down at her hands and thought about that lunge for the crutches again.
‘I’m sorry,’ she heard Nick say as she felt the bed depress next to her. Those two words succeeded in getting her attention: Nick rarely apologized for anything. ‘Look, I won’t stay in here with you. I just want you to be here … in my room. I can’t really explain why, but after you left and all that searching … then not knowing if we could get you out, hearing you …’ He broke off and his shoulders slumped as he shook his head slowly. ‘Here,’ he said, handing the mug he was carrying to Goodie without raising his head to look at her.
She hesitated for a moment, but after another dry swallow past her aching throat she accepted it. Looking down, she saw that the white liquid was gently steaming. The familiar scent filled her nostrils and she felt her chest tighten. She took a long sip and let her eyes close as the Gogal Mogal soothed her throat. Once finished, she placed the cup on the side table and shuffled back into the bed, settling onto the pillows. Nick’s head came up and his shoulders straightened as he looked over at her. She reached over to lay her hand on his on the bed.
‘Thank you,’ she told him. ‘I’ll stay here … if it’s what you want.’
He smiled. The dimple came out. Gogal Mogal, dimple, rabid concern, humour, a face almost too beautiful to be real: she was screwed. But Goodie was tired. She needed to heal. She decided she would allow herself this, allow herself for once in her life to be looked after. When she was well again, when she could at least walk properly, she would find the strength to leave him.
The fear she had felt when she saw his blood still haunted her dreams. The pain of seeing him in another woman’s arms was still fresh. She couldn’t risk coming apart again; and anyway, now that he no longer needed protection, he was safer without her. He might think she was what he wanted for now but eventually he would realize how damaged she actually was. Bright, beautiful, larger than life, well-adjusted men did not stay with women who were not only scarred physically, but who had so many marks on their souls they would never be redeemed. She reached for the Gogal Mogal again and let the warmth of it seep right down to her bones.
Yes, she would allow herself to give in, for now.
After that day it was established that Nick would carry her up and down stairs. As a consequence she and Salem had barely left his room in the last forty-eight hours, choosing to eat all her meals in there rather than brave the rest of the house and Nick’s family. Nick had sat with her when he wasn’t working – the three of them lying on his huge bed watching films together (Nick was horrified that as a ‘lady of a military persuasion’ she had never watched Commando or Predator before, and succeeded in actually making her laugh with his Arnie impressions throughout both).
Arabella had sneaked in once when Nick wasn’t there and forced Goodie to watch something called Frozen. This involved a large amount of out-of-tune singing from the nine-year-old so that Goodie and Salem would get the ‘full experience’. After the first three rewinds of ‘Let It Go’, Salem had actually buried his head under one of Goodie’s pillows with a low whine. For Goodie’s part no amount of aggressive, tuneless sing-shouting could take away from having Arabella snuggled into her good side, her animated little face full of enthusiasm. She asked what Goodie’s favourite Disney film was when it was finished, and Goodie had smiled, tilted her head to the side and told her: Frozen. Arabella frowned. ‘What? Even more than the ones you watched as a kid?’
Goodie ran her hand through the girl’s soft, dark hair. She never lied to children. ‘I have nothing to compare it to, lapochka,’ she told her softly. ‘I have never seen a film like this before.’ Arabella’s mouth had hung open in shock, her eyes widening as she tried to comprehend a childhood with no Disney.
‘Well, at least you’ve got plenty of time to catch up now,’ she declared rather ominously, and Goodie smiled a slightly strained smile at the prospect of Arabella force-feeding her thousands more animated musicals.
She heard the door click open and a relatively soft ‘What ho!’ before she turned to see Nick’s dad pushing into the room. She jerked her chin in his direction in greeting, then went back to watching the girl and dog rolling about on the lawn. ‘Tricky business, this being-injured lark,’ Monty continued, as usual unfazed by Goodie’s lack of verbal response to him. ‘Frustrating and all that.’ Goodie sighed as he sat down on the chair opposite; it looked like he was settling in for while. She flicked another glance over at him, noticing that he was pulling the chessboard out from under the table. ‘All it takes is time and patience,’ he said as he started to set up the pieces. ‘That’s all anything ever takes to heal though, isn’t it? A jolly good bit of time and patience.’
‘Some wounds don’t heal,’ Goodie muttered, unconsciously lifting her hand up to the small scar next to her eye.
‘They might leave scars. You might never forget, but with time pain fades. With time you can learn to remember, but not to let the scars control who you are.’ Goodie had turned away from the wrestling pair outside and was now staring at Monty. She held his gaze for a long moment before looking down at the chessboard.
‘You want to play or what?’ she asked, and was so busy helping to set up the pieces that she didn’t catch Monty’s smile.
* lapochka – sweetie-pie
