Thirteen (Love by Numbers Book 4) (7 page)

I stand and absently rub the top of my thigh; my leg has been giving me more grief over the last few days, and I’m glad I finally called my specialist for an appointment.

“It is what it is, Nic. I’m sure he’ll fix me up in no time. No need to fret.”

I say the words, even though I know that she will.

She walks out of the bedroom, grabs her handbag and car keys and turns to me once more. “I’ll just pull the car around front. Come down in five minutes, okay?”

She doesn’t wait for my assent; she turns and walks out of the living room, disappearing out of view. A few moments later, I hear the front door open and close behind her, and I give out a resigned sigh.

I grab my coat, medical notes and bag and head out behind her.

Why I take my medical notes to an appointment with a man who probably knows more about my body than I do, I don’t know.

I think they act as armour. If I disagree with something that’s said, I can pull out evidence to back my views. Although anytime I’ve done this, he only pulls out more evidence backing his views, so it’s not a foolproof plan.

Still, it gives me something to hold onto. Something factual, tangible.

T
rue to her word, Nicola is waiting right outside the front doors of our complex. We moved in six months ago, but you’d never guess.

From our mix and match, random pieces of furniture, to the boxes that we still haven’t emptied, it looks like we only moved in yesterday.

If there’s one thing I share with my twin, it’s a lack of motivation when it comes to making our house a home.

For me, it comes down to waiting for it all to get ripped away. My divorce isn’t final, and when you have an arsehole of an ex-husband like mine, you always expect the unexpected.

For Nic, it has more to do with her hardly being home. As a trainee paediatric doctor, she spends most of her life at work.

I’m so proud of my baby sister; baby because I’m seven minutes older than her. She always said since we were little girls, that she wanted to help sick kids. Just like she spent years of her life watching my doctor’s help me.

I guess my illness had rippling effects on all our lives; I doubt I would have been so passionate about becoming a Physiotherapist had I been a healthy child. Maybe it was more to do with Helen, my physiotherapist when I was younger, than my illness. Although having her in my life was a by-product of it, she was so much more than just a therapist. She pushed and pushed and pushed me until I achieved all the things that others said I never would.

I owe Helen for almost all the big achievements in my life, including my career.

I
jump in Nic’s nippy little
Mini Cooper;
when I say jump, I mean manoeuvre delicately, because my knee joint has almost seized up. Once my belt is safely buckled, she peels away from the curb with a screech of rubber, and I grip the handle above the door with white knuckles.

I’m a speed freak, Nic, on the other hand, is a speed addict. The trouble is, she should never have passed her test. Her driving is bonkers with a capital B.

“Steady on, Nic. I’d like to get there in one piece. I’m not looking for any other parts of me to need fixing.”

She practically hand-break turns around the next junction and my heart tries to break out of my chest.

“Pah! You’re such a bloody wuss for someone who drives a big mean machine.” She pats my leg condescendingly, “You know you’re in safe hands with me.” Just as the last word leaves her lips, she clips the curb and jars me across the seat, causing me to yelp out in pain.

She eases off the throttle and gives me an apologetic look. “Okay, okay. I’ll take it easy with my precious cargo. Maybe I was going a teensy bit fast. I think it’s the adrenaline from my twelve-hour late shift. It’s hard to come down after a night like last night.”

The car’s speed drops to a more respectable level, and her manoeuvres become smoother, yet are still scary enough for me not let go of my death grip on the handle.

“Exciting because you saved lots of little cherubs or because of a particular, dark haired man who goes by the name of Doctor Hottie?”

A guilty smile breaks out over her face, and she gives me a little grin, before looking back at the road, thank God.

“Would it be bad if I said both?” She nibbles her lip nervously, one of Nic’s very few tells.

“Would it be bad if I asked for details?” I throw back at her, eager for more info on the good Doctor.

She sighs like a love struck teen, something I never thought I’d hear from Nic as she’s always so focussed on her career, even from a young age.

Whereas I was wild and boisterous, getting into mischief at every turn, Nic was studious and well-behaved. Don’t get me wrong, she’s a feisty little mare when she wants to be, but I think having to grow up fast, because of me and spending most of her childhood in various hospitals,
because of me
, has made my twin far older than her twenty-five years.

“Well, come on. Don’t leave me hanging. You know I haven’t had any action of the flesh and blood variety since I got rid of the wankstain.”

Wankstain is what we call Wayne, my ex. It’s not the only name we have for him but it’s easier to say than cockwomble, plus we like the alliteration.

She smirks at me before replying, “Yeah, about that… do me a favour and don’t go stealing the batteries from my alarm clock again to feed your
Pulsatron.
Me getting up in the morning is
slightly
more important that you getting your rocks off, dontcha think?”

I can’t help myself, it’s an automatic response, and I flick my hand out to slap her on the arm, “Oi, I took them for the smoke alarm and you know it.”

The car swerves both from my hit and her laughter, and I almost have to grab the wheel to stop her ploughing into the central reservation barrier.

“Watch the bloody road, speedy. I want my leg fixed not broken beyond repair. Plus, I’d like to see twenty-six as twenty-five has been a royally shitty year.”

Her laughter dies down along with her speed.

“You have had a shit year, haven’t you?”

I don’t want to talk through it all again. Thinking about Wayne and what he did makes me feel like a fool. Like all the ‘I told you so’ comments from my parents were more than justified. He is the biggest regret and mistake of my life, and that thought makes me feel even more foolish because he once was the greatest and only love of my life. It takes a hell of a lot for love to turn to hate, so I despise myself for letting it get that far. I should have ended it sooner; before he ever laid a hand on me.

“Hey.” A hand waves in my face. “Don’t drift off on me. We’re almost here, and I haven’t told you about Doctor Hottie yet.”

I smile over at my beloved; the holder of the other half of me. We’re twins; we are supposed to be close but what we have is beyond twindom. We share the same soul.

My mother said that when I became ill as a toddler, Nicola came down with a phantom illness; she even got admitted to hospital alongside me, but they found nothing wrong. Every operation I’ve ever had, she’s always felt the phantom pains of healing along side my real ones.

We joke that we will share the pain of childbirth so may as well get pregnant at the same time. Although seeing as neither of us has a bloke on the horizon, maybe that’s unlikely to happen. Or maybe Nic does have a bloke on the horizon.

“Spill the beans about the hotness that is Doctor Henshaw.”

Nic grins at my request and squeezes my arm in excitement.

“He bought me coffee.” This declaration is accompanied by another squeeze that feels more like a pinch.

“Ow! Can you tell me more without inflicting bodily harm?”

She rubs at my sore flesh, “Sorry, I get a bit overexcited. Besides, I didn’t squeeze you that hard. I just wanted to make sure I had your attention because you didn’t seem to hear me.” She looks over at me; her eyes bugging out of her head and a manic smile on her face before she squeals, “He bought me a bloody coffee!”

I squeal back, “I bloody heard you the first time. Please elaborate or else it’s a pretty lame thing for us to both be shrieking excitedly about.”

She returns both hands to the wheel, then continues, with a soppy smile on her face. “Well… I’d just gone on my first break of the night; it was around four in the morning, and I’d gone down to the staffroom with another trainee to up our caffeine quota.”

“Less with the background info and more of the details please.”

She rolls her eyes at my comment and continues, “We are both standing at the coffee machine when Blake comes in…“

“Blake? Who is Blake?”

“Doctor Hottie, that’s who Blake is. Now, stop butting in so I can get to the good stuff.”

This time, I roll my eyes, which earns me a punch to the arm.

“Ouch! Will you keep your violent hands off me?”

“Well, hush your mouth for five minutes and I will. Anyway, as I was saying, Blake comes over to us and says, in that knicker combusting voice of his, ‘Let me get these, ladies. You’ve done good tonight. Both of you.’”

“And?”

She stares at me dumbfounded, “And, he bought us both coffees and smiled when he handed me mine.”

“That’s it?”

“No, that’s not
it.”
She huffs her hair from her forehead, “We had a
moment;
a full-blown, heart-stopping, knee-knocking moment.”

The dreamy quality returns to her voice, and I still don’t get it. He bought her coffee, not got down on his knees, professed his love and then devoured her lady parts with his tongue. Now
that
would be a moment.

“Okaaay, you had a
moment.
What then?”

“What do you mean, ‘what then’? Why don’t you get how big this is?”

“Maybe because I’ve encountered bigger
moments
with the guys in RIOT and I’m pretty confident, because it’s a requirement of being a member, that they are all G-A-Y.”

She pouts a little, and I realise I could have used a bit more tact.

“I’m sure you’re right,” I acquiesce, “I didn’t experience the
moment,
so I probably don’t get how significant it was. The question is, what are you gonna do about it? Ask him out?”

“What? No! I can’t go asking him out. That would be career suicide.”

“Not if he says yes.”

“I can’t risk it. He needs to make the first move.” She looks over at me, her eyes asking me for reassurance. “He will make the first move, won’t he, Lils?”

I squelch down the urge to say ‘Doubtful’ and instead answer with as much sincerity as possible, “Yes, definitely. I mean who could resist you? You’re hot. I can say this without an ounce of bias because we are identical twins.”

She looks me straight in the eyes for a brief second, trying to gauge if I’m being truthful, before focussing back on the road. “It’s not much fun being a twenty-five-year-old virgin, you know. The thing is, I know it was my dedication to my studies that contributed to that, but now I don’t see the point in giving it up to just anybody, and he is definitely not just anybody.”

Her face has gone back to it’s dreamy state, and I remember just how much my sister has sacrificed for her goals. Goals that I feel a responsibility for.

All my teen years I rebelled against conformity while she embraced it. Every time someone told me I couldn’t do something, I broke my back to prove them wrong. No one ever told Nic she couldn’t do it, but they never told her she could either. She just did it and excelled.

I’m so in awe of her.

Her choices have always been the right ones, whereas, mine led me on the path to a disastrous marriage to a cheating, emotionally abusive, weasel, and all because he rode a motorbike. Well, that wasn’t the only reason at the time. I thought in my naïve little head that I loved him, and he loved me.

Like a crimeless Bonnie and Clyde or a deathless Romeo and Juliette.

Instead, we were Delilah and Wayne. Yeah, it doesn’t have the same ring to it. That should have given me enough of a warning.

‘W
e’re here. I’ll pull up front then go and find a parking space. I can catch you up.”

I stop staring out of the window long enough to see the private hospital in front of me. The one that almost bankrupted my parents to pay for, until an unknown donor covered my medical expenses until the age of thirty.

Grabbing my bag, I gingerly get out of the car and pop my head back through the door, “Thanks, Sis, I owe you big time.”

To which she replies, the same way she always does, “And I love you long time.”

I slam the door, and she pulls away in a cloud of smoke, tyres squealing as she clips the curb again and peels away through the car park. How she hasn’t killed anyone yet is more by luck than judgement.

I enter the open foyer of The Beeches Private Hospital and Treatment Centre, and spot a familiar face on the reception desk.

Moira has been working here for more years than I’ve been coming and she’s always sweet and friendly.