Hard Choices (22 page)

Euthanasia. They want to put her out of her misery. But what about me? What about my misery?

I close my eyes, draw a long, shuddering breath. I dig deep for whatever shreds of resilience might be buried. I sure as hell need them now.

This really is not about me, or about how I feel. I’m going to feel like shite, that’s a given. But my responsibility at this moment is to my beautiful, dying horse. I turn to the vet as I tap in my last note.

When?

I know the answer to that. I only have to look at Queenie, gasping on the floor of her stall, her eyes rolling in her head, to know. But I ask anyway.

James is quite clear about what’s required. “We need to act quickly, for her sake. Do I have your permission to go ahead?”

I gaze at him for a moment, searching his face for some sliver of optimism, some faint glimmer of hope, however small. I find none. This is it. I nod, and drop to my knees beside her, cradling her huge head.

“We’ll give you a moment…” That’s Pat’s voice, and I hear the slight shuffling as they both leave the stall, leaving me alone to say my goodbyes to a horse I hardly know really, but absolutely adore. My tears are trickling off my chin and onto her face as I stroke her long, lean neck, still beautiful and sleek even when she’s come to this. Silently I wish her well, wish her anything that would make these next moments more bearable. I lose track of time as I crouch beside her, my heart still refusing to accept this catastrophe, whilst my head knows the truth and has taken over. I’m on some sort of autopilot when, maybe ten minutes later, Pat’s hands are on my shoulders, lifting me away.

“Come with me, now.”

Unresisting I let him herd me towards the door, where we pass James. He’s standing just inside the stall. He smiles sadly at me as I pass, and nods briefly.

Then I’m back outside, in the fresh morning sunlight. I look up, watching the leaves on the trees around the edge of the yard rustling in the slight breeze. How can everything seem so normal, so commonplace when—this—is going on just a few yards from us? Suddenly I turn, try to get back in there. I might still be able to stop this, I need to stop this. Pat tightens his hold, stops me from rushing back into the stall. I’m struggling, but half-heartedly now.

“Don’t, Freya, don’t…” he’s murmuring in my ear.

He holds me and I bury my face in the front of his padded jacket. Suddenly, I’m conscious of total silence. The faint sounds of Queenie’s breathing, almost indiscernible moments before, are now deafeningly silent. She’s gone.

Even then, I might have rushed back in, but Pat stops me, firmly but gently. “No, Freya, not now. Leave it now.”

Moments later James re-emerges. He pulls the stall door closed behind him, and locks it before turning to us.

“It’s over. Let’s go inside.”

Chapter Sixteen

I have absolutely no recollection of returning to Nathan’s apartment. I’m not sure I even meant to. Certainly when I left earlier this morning it was with the definite intention of driving home to Kendal after I’d visited Queenie. But after I left the clinic, the formalities completed, arrangements made for Queenie’s body to be cremated, I stumbled blindly to my car and just turned left instead of right at the gates. And forty minutes later, I’m in the lift headed back up to Nathan’s penthouse. Just in time I remember I dropped the key card in at Nathan’s office, so I stop the lift at the eighth floor and make my way to the reception desk to ask for it back.

The pleasant young man on the desk who was all smiles when I popped in earlier stands when he sees me. He looks shocked, concerned. He comes around his desk and across the carpeted reception area to meet me. I suppose I must look only marginally better than Queenie did at that moment. From the relative comfort of a plush red sofa I manage to type out my requirements on my phone, and he quickly retrieves the key card from a drawer in his desk. He also shoves a plastic cup full of chilled water into my hand, which I only now notice is trembling.

“Here, miss. Drink this. Do you need anything else? Can I get you a doctor?”

I shake my head, and point to the ceiling, indicating I just want to go back upstairs.

“Are you sure?” He looks distinctly worried about me. I suspect that Nathan Darke will know about my unexpected return within moments of my leaving the office. I can probably expect Summer turning up some time soon then, or possibly Eva. I get to my feet, do my best to smile my thanks at the solicitous young man then head for the door. Sure enough, when I glance back as the lift door opens I see him already on the phone.

I let myself into the apartment, dump my jacket over the back of a sofa, and head for the guest bedroom. I strip off quickly and step into the shower, thinking that it may be possible, somehow, to rinse at least some of the wretchedness of this day away. I lean on the tiles, warm water streaming down my back, my head full of that last sight I had of Queenie, lying in the straw, in pain, needing our help. And we gave it, the only help that we could. I know it was the right decision, the courageous, selfless decision. But it was hard, and it hurts so much. I hardly knew her but I already miss her so much.

And I miss Nick too. I wish, desperately wish he was here. Or that I could at least text or e-mail him. I would if he wasn’t still so angry with me, so angry that he doesn’t want to talk to me, or hear from me. Surely, though, if he knew about this? He was kind when I first got the news of Queenie’s accident, despite his fury at my deception. He helped me, and he would again. I know he would. I hope he would. The truth is, I’m really not sure of anything anymore.

I stagger out of the shower and make my way, bundled up in a huge fluffy bath sheet, to my bed. I dig around among my discarded clothes for my phone, and find Nick on my speed dial. I press the little envelope icon to send a text, but I’ve no idea what to say. I settle for
Please
, and press ‘Send’.

* * * *

I’m awoken by the sound of the outer door closing. Someone’s here, someone has just let themselves into the apartment.
How? Why am I here, and in bed?

A moment of confusion, then the whole ugly reality of this awful day comes crashing back. Queenie, the clinic, the horrendous sound of her last breaths as I huddled out in the yard with Pat. Then the drive back here of which I recall precisely nothing. I do remember being in the lift in this building and knowing that I needed to retrieve the key card from Nathan’s office. The young receptionist must have told Nathan that I came back, and that I wasn’t well, or so he thought. It stands to reason that Nathan would send Summer over to check up on me.

I can hear footsteps now in the lounge area, crossing towards my room. It must be Summer or Eva, though the footsteps do sound a little heavier than either of those. I glance at the clock by my bed—only eleven thirty. I arrived back here at around half past ten, I think, and went straight into the shower. I suppose I’ve only been asleep then for about half an hour, though it feels longer. I realise I feel cold, and reach to pull the duvet up around me, only to find I’m lying on it with just a damp towel covering me. I must have simply dropped onto the bed as I was and fallen asleep. Not like me at all.

The door opens, and I try to push myself up onto one elbow in some semblance of a greeting, only to slump back, face down onto the duvet again. I feel the bed shift and sink on one side, then a hand in my hair. A large hand, warm, slightly roughened. It feels like…

I roll onto my back.
Nick!

But how…?
My face asks the question, even as I break into the first smile in what seems like forever now. He’s here. I wanted him, longed for him to come, and he’s actually here. He smiles at me gently, then reaching for my shoulders hauls me up against his chest and just holds me there. I stretch my arms around him, sinking my fingers into the thickness of his butter-soft leather jacket and I just hang on. At last, something solid, reliable, an anchor.

He rubs my back, and I realise I’m as near naked as doesn’t matter but there’s nothing of the sensual in this caress. This is just comfort, safety, a connection. Unable to help myself I start to cry again, just let the grief and loss out as I sob into his sweatshirt. As usual, in my more emotional moments, he makes no attempt to stem the tide, just murmurs encouragement and holds me tighter as he shifts on the bed to lean against the headboard with me snuggled in his lap. I feel the towel slither to the floor, and Nick shifts us both again to pull the duvet from under us and wrap it around me. It’s comforting, I feel protected, cocooned.

At last my tears are spent, and I glance up at him. He reaches for a handful of tissues from the box beside the bed and gently dabs at my eyes, wiping the wetness away. He leans down and kisses my forehead.

I remain still, enjoying his care for a few moments, then I wriggle my hands free from the duvet.

“Thank you for coming. I love you…”

He kisses me again. “I love you too, girl, even if you do drive me crazy sometimes. Of course I came.”

“You got my text then?” I’m frowning, I didn’t text him until after I’d showered. How did he possibly get all the way here in less than an hour?

“No, love. I was on the bike so I couldn’t look at any texts. Was it important?”

“I just said, please.”

“Please what?”

I shrug, not entirely sure myself what I’d been asking of him. Just to come back, I suppose, to forgive me, to accept me again. I don’t try to sign that, though. I settle for something simpler.

“I was so unhappy, so sad. I wanted you…” I hesitate for a moment, then, “I love you. I’m truly sorry. Please, can you…? Can we…? Are you still angry?”

He smiles again. “I love you too, you know that. And no, I’m not angry anymore. So yes, I can. We can. But not today. Today you need a friend, someone to care for you. We still have issues to resolve, but all that can wait until you’re in a frame of mind to deal with it. Okay?”

I gaze at him, puzzled. He seems to know what’s happened, even though I haven’t told him. And if he didn’t even read my text…? I shove all that to one side for now, though, and settle for simply appreciating his generosity in suspending hostilities while I’m so low. But no, it’s not okay. Nothing can be even remotely okay until he’s back, properly back, as my Master again. I shuffle off his lap, kneeling now in the middle of the bed as he lounges against the bedhead. The duvet has slipped to my waist, and I notice he no longer seems oblivious to my nudity. His eyes darken, and the familiar bulge in his jeans tells me he’s aroused. Maybe he’s missed me, too. I hope.

“Would you make love to me? Please?” I sign the request, not sure of the status of such intimacies in our current limbo.

His lip quirks and he trails his eyes down my body then leans over to me to follow the same path with the backs of his knuckles.

“I could be persuaded, I imagine. Would this be a comfort fuck, then?”

I shrug. “Well, it would comfort me, I think.”

“Come here, girl.” He opens his arms to me. I need no further encouragement, I hurl myself into them. Moments later I’m on my back, my legs spread wide as he slips three fingers deep into my pussy. I’m wet, dripping, and so hot. I start to shake, the intensity of my response heightened by everything that’s happened in the last couple of weeks. I clench around his hand, my hips pumping upwards to meet his thrusts. He angles his entry to stroke my G-spot as the heel of his hand rubs my clit. My orgasm is boiling up within seconds, and I look into his eyes for permission to come. He smiles at me, and mouths one word, “
Enjoy
.”

I do. Moments later I’m spinning, my body pulsing as wave after wave of sensual pleasure wash through me. He doesn’t let up, continuing to finger-fuck me, bringing me to climax several more times before he slowly withdraws his hand. He stands, but only to shrug off his jacket and pull the sweatshirt over his head. He quickly removes his jeans, too, followed by his boxers, and stretches himself alongside me on the bed. I’m feeling much, much better now, but still eager for more. I roll on top of him, scrambling up to straddle him as I reach below me to cup his balls in my palm. He groans as I squeeze them lightly, then more firmly, at the same time reaching for his cock with my other hand. I wrap my fist around his shaft and slowly draw my hand up along his full length, smoothing the pad of my thumb through the wetness forming at the head. I spread the slick juices across the smooth surface, and start to lean forward intending to take him in my mouth. His hand on my shoulder stops me.

“Inside you. Now.” The command is direct, clear, and he means me to obey him.

We may well have serious issues yet to resolve, but my Dom is back. I smile, and straighten. I shuffle a little farther up then carefully place the head of his cock at my opening, positioning it just inside my sensitive lips. I wait for a moment, holding his gaze. His pupils are dilated, there’s hardly a sliver of the stormy grey to be seen, as he repeats his command, “Now, girl.”

I sink onto him, my eyes closing as I tip my head back, savouring the delightful stretch as he fills me totally. I sit still for a moment, impaled, my body adjusting, then I start to move. I lift my hips slowly then sink back, fast. He groans, and I think I hear “Holy fuck…” before I do it all again. And again. Then I slow things down more, lifting up until he’s almost out of me before lowering myself oh so slowly onto his full length again.

He’s thick, and despite his extensive preparation the friction is still exquisite as I tighten around him. I squeeze deliberately, and that does it. With a sudden movement he grasps my hips firmly, lifts me then forces me back down fast and hard. I start to fall forward, ready now to let him seize the initiative, but he shifts again and I’m underneath. He loops his arms under my knees, lifting and opening my legs as he thrusts hard.

“You can have a comfort fuck later, if you must. But it’s been a while, girl, and for now this is what I have for you. Hold on tight and try to keep up.”