Page 189

‘What happened?’ she asked. ‘You fly all the time.’

‘I don’t know.’

‘We’ll investigate it properly,’ Everett said, picking up his radio and calling in to the small local hospital, to let them know he was on his way in.

‘Drop Sarah at the house first,’ Tate said, through gritted teeth.

‘To hell with that, I’m going with you.’

‘No, you’re not. I don’t need a babysitter.’

She stared at him, appalled. It stung. The rejection, the implication. The fact he was spelling it out that he didn’t need—or want—her in that moment. But one look at his body, bruised and beaten, and she shuddered, knowing there was no way on earth she was leaving his side. There was nowhere else she needed to be right now. ‘You seriously think I’m not going to come with you?’

‘You don’t need to worry.’

‘I’ll worry more if I’m here.’

He ground his teeth together. ‘Fine. Suit yourself.’

‘Good choice,’ Everett muttered, meeting Sarah’s eyes in the rear-vision mirror and winking. She didn’t wink back, though. Tension was tightening inside her, alongside something else. Something unpleasant, which was building with every second that passed, making her feel like a fool.

For feeling as she did, and for saying it. But she couldn’t think about that now. There’d be a time for regrets, she was sure. But first? She needed to know Tate was going to be okay, just as he’d said.

* * *

Four broken ribs, a distal radius fracture and a dislocated shoulder were confirmed by the friendly on-call doctor at the Shirlhorn Medical Centre. Tate was surprised it wasn’t worse. There were some superficial burns, but nothing compared to how bad it could have been, if he hadn’t got free of the shrapnel in time.

He’d never had a broken bone before, despite the reckless way he’d lived as a kid, throwing himself about the property, climbing trees that were too big, rocks that were too sharp. It wasn’t the pain—they’d given him meds for that—so much as the uselessness he felt looming. He’d been in every muster on this place since he was eighteen years old and decided to make the station his life.

It was hard to think what he could offer now.

And what does that matter? His eyes flickered to the door of his room as he wondered, for the hundredth time, about Sarah. Sarah, who’d insisted on coming with him, had talked to doctors, listened to the explanations about the breaks, what he’d need in terms of recovery, and made notes on her phone, as though it was the most important thing to her. Sarah, who’d looked at him as though he were about to fall apart in front of her.

Sarah, who’d said she loved him.

His gut contracted sharply.

Pain, completely unrelated to the crash, speared his belly.

Panic flickered inside him, a kind of panic he hadn’t known even as the chopper had been careening down to land.

He didn’t want her to love him. He didn’t want to want anything from Sarah, to need her. That wasn’t what they were. This was about raising a baby together. The whole marriage was predicated on their relationship being stable and safe. Not like anything he’d ever known before.

That was the promise he’d made their child—that emotions wouldn’t get involved in this and ruin it. He’d been so clear. Hadn’t he?

And yet, even as he angrily ruminated on this, his heart was thumping against his broken ribcage, glorying in those softly spoken words—the evidence that someone did, in fact, love him. It wasn’t until that moment that he’d realised he’d been waiting for that his whole life. To know he was worthy of life.

But that warmth had lasted only a moment.

Love made him vulnerable. At least, reciprocating love did. He’d loved his mother, and she’d deserted him. She’d taken the fortune Hunt Carrigan had paid and started a new life for herself. He’d wanted to love his father, and then he’d wanted his approval, and Hunt Carrigan had mercilessly withheld both. As for Rex’s mother, it had been the same story. Tate had been only a little boy when he’d come to the station; she’d been someone else he’d turned to, looking for open arms, hoping he could be loved by her, and she’d hated him. She’d tried to hide it, but he’d known. He’d known by the way she’d never spoken more than a few words to him, or hugged him as she had Rex, never smiled in his direction. Even Rex, for many years, had pushed him hard and fast, refusing to let Tate in because he’d seen Tate as the boy who’d ruined his—Rex’s—life.

All his life, he’d known the pain of those rejections, but he’d stopped letting them hurt, somewhere along the way. He’d hardened his heart, taken only the lessons out of the experience, left everything else behind.

His heart wasn’t up for grabs.

No, it wasn’t that. That made it sound like a choice, and it wasn’t. His experiences as a child had fundamentally reshaped him. He wasn’t sure he even had a heart. Being decent—wanting to raise their child together, and make sure she was happy—wasn’t the same thing as caring for someone.

He ground his teeth, then grimaced when his jaw gave a throb of pain. He lifted a hand absent-mindedly, feeling the roughened skin there, trying to piece together the details of the accident, but it was all a blur. They’d investigate what was left of the wreckage later, get some answers. All that mattered for now was that he was grounded.