Twice in a Lifetime (Carina) (13 page)

“Ahmed. I will just be a few minutes. Please wait here,” Liam told the driver.

Sarah blinked. “What? Aren’t we going to this charity thing?”

Liam glanced at his watch and frowned. “I will see you in, but I need to take care of something—shouldn’t be more than an hour or so. I will be back long before it’s over. But if I am not Ahmed will take you home.”

“What? Ahmed will take me back to Scotland?” she said sarcastically.

“Sarah, I don’t have time for this.”

“Seriously? You drag me here and then don’t even have the decency to stay?” Sarah tapped her foot against the kerb.

“It’s a seven-star hotel. I am hardly leaving you high and dry. I know abandonment is part of your crazy, but suck it up.” Liam glanced down at his watch again. He exhaled loudly.

She gasped. “Did you just tell me to suck it up? Do you want me to hit you? Because I will break my no-physical-violence policy for you. You jackass.” Her hands fisted at her sides. He needed a good smack upside the head.

Liam grabbed her hand and pulled her through the sliding glass doors. “Don’t hit me. You will hurt your hand and I will feel bad about hurting you again. Just be a good girl and go in and eat your dinner. I will be back before the dancing starts.”

Be a good girl?
Yep, Liam needed a good slap. Sarah was usually unfazed by the prospect of doing things alone. She actually preferred it, but she also preferred not being ordered about. “And where are you going that can’t wait?” she demanded.

Liam didn’t respond. He continued pushing/dragging her through the lobby, past a swimming-pool-size fountain. The pace they were walking meant she could not do her blister-preventing toe walk, so she had to endure the bite of leather into her heels with every step. She was going to need to hit him for that too. How difficult would it have been for him to check her shoe size?

At the end of the corridor two massive doors opened onto the circular ballroom. The two-storey room was big enough to hold football matches. A sea of tables lined the second level, each with an unobstructed view of the stage and dance floor below and the gold-painted dome ceiling above. She looked up to examine the crystal chandelier above her. The Emiratis really loved their chandeliers. Every time she thought she had seen the biggest one, Liam would take her some place grander.

Liam guided her past a group of servers and motioned to a seat at the table on the stage. There were at least a hundred tables, all of which were on the second floor, but their table was the one on the stage that everyone could see. Of course it was. She turned to Liam, her eyes wide. “Are you having a laugh?” It was like the bad dream where you turn up to school naked and everyone is staring and pointing. She wasn’t going to sit at the head table, especially not if Liam was weaselling his way out of it.

“Dinner and dancing. You’ll have a good time.”

“Will I?” she said incredulously. Her eyes darted from one unfamiliar face to the next. There were so many people, and every single one of them could see her. “Because from where I am standing, it looks a lot like my personal version of hell.”

“Since when are you self-conscious? You give training seminars. Tonight you just need to sit and have a meal, listen to a few speeches and dance a little.”

“At work I am prepared. I know what I am doing. You drop kicked me into this situation. It is totally different.”

He kissed the top of her head and then pulled out a chair for her. “It is OK to not always be in control. Sometimes it is fun.” He grinned. He had a way of making everything sound dirty.

“You know what else would be fun? Punching you in the face. You have a face I would never tire of hitting,” she seethed. Liam pushed her chair in, just as he would have done for a child. And if she wasn’t mistaken, he had pushed her in deliberately close so she could not escape.

“I thought you liked my face,” he said. He gave her another quick kiss on the forehead. “Lucky I have other parts of my body that you like,” he whispered against her ear, his lips brushing against her skin with every syllable. His breath was hot on her skin.

People were watching them now. Women and men all with their stares trained on the stage. Some women were dressed in ball gowns, while others wore long black abayas, some with their faces covered, but most wearing only hijab to cover their hair. The men’s dress was equally varied. Half of the men wore tuxedos, and the other half were dressed in more traditional garb, the pristine white dishdash and keffiyeh covering their heads. The one thing they had in common was they were all looking at her.

“I hate you, Liam McPherson,” she hissed through a broad smile, aware that people were watching every movement. “Why are we on the stage?”

“It’s my charity. I’m certain I mentioned that,” he called over his shoulder, taking the stairs two at a time.

“You didn’t!” Sarah shouted after him, not caring who heard. He most certainly had not mentioned it, and he bloody well knew it.

Liam nodded to Sayid as he entered the police station. “What happened?”

Sayid nodded his dark head in return. “They phoned me because the pilot said he was not fit to fly.”

Liam shook his head and sighed. They were almost home free. Miraculously, the UAE had dropped the charges, or more to the point Liam had paid handsomely to make them go away. Sam had been granted a visa to go to the US for a year’s stint in rehab. Sarah was finally going to get a break from Sam. But the bloody pilot wouldn’t fly Sam because he was having some withdrawal symptoms. “Did you remind the pilot that I pay his salary?” Liam had seen people detox before; it wasn’t pretty but it wasn’t fucking fatal. Sam could sweat and shit himself just as easily on a flight as he could in a cell.

Sayid nodded. “Yes, sir, but Mr Ashton is bleeding and appears to be in a fair bit of pain.”

“Then give him a plaster and a paracetamol and put him on the plane.” Liam would pay for a doctor to hand deliver him to the treatment facility in Arizona if that was what it took to get Sam out of their lives.

Sayid leaned in and whispered, “The pilot thinks Mr Ashton won’t survive the trip.”

Liam’s head snapped up. A sudden cold descended into his core. He shook his head. “Christ, how bad is he? Let me see him.” He clenched his fists until the colour drained from his knuckles. “I need to see Sam,” he said between clenched teeth. Heroin withdrawal was painful but not fatal. Sam must have been abusing more than just opiates. He had not thought of the possibility Sam could be detoxing from other drugs as well. He should have listened to Sarah; detoxing people was what she did for a living.

A guard led Liam to Sam’s cell. Sam cowered in the corner. His breath was ragged and from the corner of his mouth a stream of blood poured, covering the concrete floor around his head with a scarlet pool. “Jesus, what happened?”

Sayid answered. “They think he had a seizure. He must have hit his head against the floor. When they found him he was unconscious.”

“Call an ambulance. Open this up and get me some gloves.”

The guard did not move.

“Gloves now!” Liam shouted. He was not going to go into the cell without precaution—Sam had been an IV drug user for over a decade—but he wasn’t going to stand and watch him bleed out on a holding-cell floor.

After a minute the guard produced a pair of thick blue gloves. “I will phone a doctor.”

Liam shook his head at the guard. “No, you will phone an ambulance. He doesn’t have time to wait for a doctor.” He snapped the second glove into place. Why had they not taken him to a doctor sooner? This wasn’t straightforward heroin withdrawal. Liam knew what that looked like, and this wasn’t it.

“It’s OK, mate,” Liam said softly. He leaned down beside Sam to assess the damage. No bloody wonder the pilot would not let him on board. His face was ashen; the only colour to him was the blood caked to his skin. Sam looked at Liam and then his eyes rolled to the back of his head. “It’s going to be OK, pal,” Liam said again, stroking Sam’s matted hair. He turned to the guard and shouted, “Phone them now!”

Liam held Sam’s head in his lap until the paramedics arrived. If Liam had not already figured out the situation was serious, he would have when he saw the look shared between the two medics. One man administered oxygen, while the other started an IV. Within minutes they had loaded Sam into the back of the ambulance.

The guard stepped onto the back of the truck but Liam stopped him.

“No, I’ll ride with him,” Liam said. Neither of the guards or the paramedics objected; something in his tone must have told them it was not an argument they were likely to win. “Meet us there,” Liam told Sayid. His lawyer was certainly earning his retainer tonight.

Liam let out a puff of air. This wasn’t how he’d seen the night going. He looked down at Sam. Sam’s eyes flickered open, tried to focus and then closed again. He doubted this was how Sam had seen his life going. He remembered what Sarah had said about Sam. Sam was his first friend, other than Sarah. Sam had been the one who made sure Liam was accepted when he moved to the estate, ready to beat the shit out of any kid who bothered him, and only half of that was because Sam was always up for a good fight. The real reason was because right from the start Sam and Liam were like brothers. It was Sam who he’d called when his mum died. Sam had been there for him, taken two buses to the Royal Infirmary so he could sit with Liam. He hadn’t said a word, knowing Liam could not talk about it. Shit, he still couldn’t talk about it. And Sam understood that.

Sam groaned as the paramedic tightened the strap around his hips. Before Liam could think about it he reached for Sam’s hand. “Don’t worry, mate. You are going to be fine.”

This wasn’t Liam’s first ride in an ambulance with an addict, but he hoped for Sarah’s sake it ended differently this time.

And for Sam’s sake.

He gave Sam’s hand the gentlest squeeze. Liam couldn’t understand the strange pressure in his chest or why his throat ached. It wasn’t as if he gave a shit about Sam any more. But… This couldn’t be the way Sam wanted his life to turn out. He once had had aspirations. He’d wanted to join the military and get as far from Niddrie as the Royal Marines would take him. But then he’d started drinking and before long harder things had followed. And then he was gone. The Sam he knew had died.

Sarah would say Sam was still the same guy he always was, but she would think that. Someone had to be in the ground before she stopped pulling for them.

He sighed. Liam gave up too easily and Sarah held on too long—one of the many reasons they didn’t work together.

The ambulance pulled into the loading bay at Rashid Hospital Trauma Centre. Liam stood back and watched as an army of doctors descended on Sam.

Liam took off the rubber gloves he had on and tossed them in a bin of medical waste. He found a seat and sat down and closed his eyes. His head hurt. He rubbed slowly at his temples and said a silent prayer to a God he didn’t believe in. Sam needed to be OK.

Liam had wished Sam dead on more than one occasion but seeing Sam broken and battered, he hadn’t felt the satisfaction he thought he should feel. He just felt…empty, sad maybe. Christ, he even felt regret—no idea where that was coming from because Liam regretted nothing.

He pulled out his phone. He dialled Sarah’s number but he stopped. He couldn’t tell her—well, he could, and then stand back and watch her swoop in and do her Sarah thing, totally forget herself and make Sam her sole focus. She had three days left in Dubai, and there wasn’t anything she could do to help Sam anyway. Liam slid the phone back into his pocket.

Liam nodded to Sayid when he entered the waiting room. Sayid handed him a cup of coffee. “Cheers,” Liam said. He took the polystyrene cup he was offered. It was bitter, but it was hot and gave him the jolt he needed.

“Any news?” Sayid asked.

Liam shook his head. Sayid took the seat across from him. He looked as weary as Liam felt.

Two hours passed before a junior doctor came to find them. They shook hands before the doctor explained the situation. Sam had bashed his head during a grand mal seizure. He had a concussion, but more concerning was the abnormal ECG and the acute pancreatitis caused by alcohol-withdrawal syndrome.

Liam ran a hand through his hair. Of course Sam had been drinking. Why had he not considered that? Alcohol had been his first vice. Christ, it had been Liam’s as well. Like every other chavy kid in Scotland they had discovered Buckfast by the time they were twelve. And while Liam could take it or leave it, Sam had been hooked from the first swig. Almost as if he couldn’t control it.

“So he is going to be OK?” Liam asked.

The doctor nodded. “He should make a full recovery.”

“How long until he can fly?” Liam asked.

The doctor shook his head. “I wouldn’t suggest flying any time soon.”

“For what—a day? A week? A month? How long are we talking?” Liam pressed.

“I can’t say. We need to get him stabilised before we can even consider moving him.”

Liam ran a hand through his hair. Sam had to start his programme. He was a mess but he couldn’t stay in hospital in Dubai any longer. What the hell was Liam going to do with him? Christ, he was starting to sound like Sarah. Since when was Sam his problem? But fuck if he didn’t feel responsible for him now.

As if Sayid was reading his mind, he said, “I could still get him a place at Al Amal Treatment Centre.”

They had already discussed that option and Liam had told Sayid under no circumstances would Sam be staying in Dubai. Liam had worked too hard to leave Scotland to let his problems follow him here.

But there was no other choice. Turned out you could only run so far before your problems found you.

Liam let out a long stream of air. “OK.”

Sarah smiled at her dance partner, mostly because it was polite, but also because she hoped the act of smiling would release endorphins and dull the stabbing pain in her feet. Damn her weakness for shiny things. She should have worn the flip-flops she bought at the mall; they were classy enough to pass off as black-tie attire, if she squinted really hard. No, she should have told Liam where to stick it and stayed at home with her Arabic-speaking soap opera. She really needed to find out the name of it so she could watch it on the Internet when she got home. It was one thing she would miss about Dubai, that and room service on the terrace. And naked swimming. So there were a few things she would miss, but Liam was not one of them. The constant up and down of emotion was exhausting. She had to accept that she would probably always be physically attracted to him, even if her feelings for him were gone. Maybe that made her shallow, but she wasn’t going to beat herself up about it too much. He was physically perfect. But emotionally he was more flawed than she could handle.

“What first drew you to a career working with fallen women?” François asked.

Sarah bit back a laugh. Apparently prostitutes were still referred to as fallen women in France, or François had been transported from Victorian England. She had made the mistake of answering honestly when he asked her what she did for a living. She had paid the price by answering dozens of questions about sex work and drug abuse. She might have been flattered that someone had such a keen interest in addiction and poverty issues, had that someone not been drunk, and clearly titillated by every gory detail.

“I sort of fell into it.” She skirted the question, having no desire to get into her life story. Besides, Liam wouldn’t appreciate it, and he would actually have to see this guy again. “But what I really want to know is where you source your materials for your cardboard. I find the whole production process fascinating.” Sarah’s new life goal instantly became to never utter a more boring sentence. She was impressed she managed to say it with a straight face.

François’ mouth started moving, but everything that came out was just noise. Her feet were beyond sore and her seat on the stage was looking more and more appealing. Everyone in the country was welcome to stare at her, if she could have a wee seat. “Sorry,” Sarah said, when she couldn’t take it any longer. “Would you mind terribly if I sat this one out? My dogs are barking.”

François’ eyebrow arched up in question.

She lifted the hem of her skirt to point to her shoes. “My feet are sore,” she explained.

“Yes, of course.” He smiled.

Sarah excused herself and searched for the ladies’ room. She found one after a server pointed her in the right direction. And as luck would have it, it had a velvet fainting couch. Never in her life had she felt the need for a fainting couch more. She plopped herself down and yanked off the straps to her pumps so she could examine her feet. Her left ankle was bleeding and the right had a blister the size of a pound coin. She really was Cinderella’s ugly stepsister. Except there was no prince waiting to rescue her, and Sarah would laugh at any man that tried to actually rescue her, but other than that the analogy summed up her night perfectly.

She wondered what time it was. If Liam didn’t get back soon she was going to find Ahmed and ask him to take her home.

“Sarah?” a soft feminine voice called from the doorway.

Sarah glanced up. She quickly took her feet off the sofa and sat up straight. “Oh… Hi, Gemma, isn’t it?” Sarah asked. Of course she knew her name, and her face, but it seemed awkward to admit it after the way they had first met. It wasn’t Sarah’s finest hour, though sadly it was far from her worst. “How’s it going?” Sarah asked lamely.

“Yeah, good. Nice to see you. How are things going?” Gemma asked. Her conspiratorial tone suggested that she and Sarah shared a secret, but Sarah couldn’t guess what unless Liam had told her about Sam, which seemed unlikely. She racked her mind to think what it could be.

“Yes, fine. Everything is fine.” Sarah smiled.

“How is he doing?” Gemma asked.

Sarah’s eyes widened. Liam had told her? “Sam? Yes, he is fine, I guess,” was all she could think to say.

A confused look marred Gemma’s delicate features. “Sam?”

Sarah coughed to cover her mistake. She should have known Liam would never confide in anyone about his past. He liked to pretend it didn’t exist. “Sorry, I meant Liam. You were asking about Liam?”

Gemma nodded.

How should Sarah know how Liam was doing? And why did Gemma care so much? “Liam is…fine.”

Gemma’s lips pressed together as if she wanted to say something but she was holding herself back. “I am worried. He hasn’t been himself,” she said eventually.

Sarah blinked. “In what way?” Who knew what normal Liam behaviour was any more?

“He seems distant and worried. I just wanted to make sure he is OK.”

“Why don’t you speak to him?” Sarah asked. It seemed the most straightforward way to assess the situation.

Gemma shook her head emphatically. “No, I couldn’t do that. He doesn’t like talking about his personal life.”

“Tell me about it,” Sarah said under her breath.

“What was that?” Gemma asked. Her blue eyes had to be contacts, because they were far too bright to be natural.

“You’re right. Liam is very private. He is just not a very sociable sort, I guess you could say.” That was the most diplomatic way Sarah could think to say that Liam was an ass; he was Gemma’s employer, after all.

“No, I wouldn’t say that at all,” Gemma insisted. “Look at tonight. This is the must-have ticket of the summer. I am sure you already know this, but Liam is the largest private contributor to breast cancer research.”

Sara blinked. “This ball is for breast cancer research?” Why hadn’t he told her that? She would have been far more willing to stay had he mentioned that particular piece of information.

“Yes. It is one of the causes Liam is most passionate about.” Gemma beamed.

“He has this ball every year for breast cancer research?” Sarah asked again, making sure she had heard her correctly.

“Yes, he doesn’t talk about it much, but he once said his mum died of breast cancer. That is why he puts so much effort into support for finding a cure.”

“I see,” Sarah said weakly. It was hard to breathe. She needed to get some fresh air. Surely it was a coincidence. “Are you sure he said it was his mum?” Sarah asked.

Gemma looked to the side as if she was trying to remember. “Yeah, I think so. Why? Did you know his mum?”

Sarah coughed. She managed to nod, but could not look Gemma in the eye.

“He doesn’t speak of her very often, but he must have been really close to her, to do all this.”

Sarah couldn’t think. It didn’t mean anything. She wasn’t about to get caught in the trap of thinking Liam was the same boy she had loved a lifetime ago because every time she thought she saw a glimmer of him, he reminded her just how much he had changed, and not for the better. “Lots of people give to cancer charities. It is like giving to puppies and babies. I am sure it helps his company’s profile as much as it helps the charity.”

“He doesn’t do it for recognition,” Gemma said emphatically, her tone laced with righteous indignation.

Sarah stared at the beautiful blonde woman in front of her. Her blue eyes sparkled even brighter with the intensity of her emotion. Dear God, Sarah knew that feeling. Gemma was in love with Liam, completely head over heels. She remembered feeling like that, defending him with that same veracity. Gemma was welcome to him, but Sarah really should warn her that all he would bring her was a broken heart and a decade of wondering what went wrong.

Gemma continued, “Liam supports lots of charities, not just breast cancer. He funds an entire drug rehabilitation centre in Scotland. New Beginnings or Fresh Beginnings or something like that. That hardly does anything for his portfolio.”

Sarah’s head snapped up. Her heart jumped into her mouth. “What did you say?” she demanded.

“I said Liam funds a rehab in Scotland. I can’t remember what it is called off the top of my head.”

“Fresh Start? Is it called Fresh Start?” Sarah held her breath as she waited for an answer.

Gemma smiled. “That’s it! Have you heard of it?”

Sarah could only nod. Her head was spinning. If she wasn’t already sitting, she would have fallen. Liam was her anonymous donor. Why? How could it be him? “Are you sure it is called Fresh Start?” Sarah asked.

“Yeah, I am sure. I file all the paperwork. He set up a separate company to fund it for tax purposes—Addiction Specialist Limited. They also give out scholarships to disadvantaged Scottish students studying abroad. I am surprised he didn’t tell you about it. I thought you two knew each other in school.”

Sarah couldn’t speak. She shook her head; the pieces didn’t fit. None of it made sense. Jesus, he had done it again; he managed to completely change the way she felt about him in seconds. Her heart felt painfully full. She took a deep breath. Anger and confusion battled inside her, along with something else. No, she couldn’t be falling for him again. It took her ten years to get over him the last time. She squeezed her eyes shut to hold back the pressure that was building. She couldn’t do it again. She wanted to scream.
Why, Liam?
Every time she thought she knew him, another layer appeared, more complicated and flawed than the one before.

“Are you OK?” Gemma asked. She handed her a linen square.

Sarah dabbed it at her eyes. “I’m fine,” she lied. “It’s just my feet,” was all she could think to say. She held up her foot for inspection. “I take a seven and a half.”

“I guessed a six,” Gemma said apologetically. “Liam didn’t know your size. He just said you were normal size, whatever that means.”

Sarah laughed. “That sounds like Liam. He doesn’t get bogged down in details.” Sarah set her foot down. “I can’t bear to put them back on so I am just going to hang out here until I turn into a pumpkin, or until Liam comes back, whichever happens first.”

“Where is he? I haven’t seen him all night. He was supposed to give a speech.”

Sarah shrugged. “I’m not sure. He said he had an emergency meeting.”

“Sounds about right. Some stock probably had a profits warning. He will be back at the office shouting down the line at some newbie CEO.”

Sarah doubted it. “Probably. I should call him but I left my phone charging back at his place.”

“Do you want me to phone him?”

Sarah shook her head. She needed time to think. “No, I actually think I will just go outside and see if the driver is back, but thanks. And thank you for picking out this dress and sunglasses. You have great taste.”

“You’re welcome. I loved doing the shopping. It kind of reminded me of the scene from
Pretty Woman
.”

Sarah bit her lip to keep from smiling. “Never seen it,” she said.

“Oh, it is a great movie. You really should rent it. You would love it.”

Sarah had to laugh. “Yep, I probably would.” She swung her satin pumps over her shoulder and started back to the ballroom. Hopefully showing one’s feet wasn’t considered a horrible insult here, because there was no danger of Sarah trying to squeeze her little piggies anywhere in the foreseeable future.

She spotted Liam at the table. He had taken off his tuxedo jacket and loosened his tie. His hair was tussled. He looked tired. She stood for a moment and stared at him. Sadness, anger, and despair mingled together painfully in the pit of her stomach. She wished she knew him the way she’d thought she had.

“I bet your night was better than mine,” Sarah said when she reached him. Part of her wanted to punch him and the other part wanted to wrap her arms around him and not let go.

“I doubt it. Unless your evening involved water boarding.” He tried to smile but it did not reach his eyes.

“Worse, foot torture.” She dropped her shoes in his lap. “Can we go home?”

“Yeah.” He sighed. He ran a hand through his thick hair.

“But I need a drink first.”

“I think we both could use a drink. What would you like?”

“An Irn-Bru, please.”

“Nothing stronger?” He cocked his head up to see her.

“No, just an Irn-Bru. Actually, you know what? I think I will have a cup of tea when we get back to your flat. And a biscuit. And by that I mean a whole pack of biscuits, so if you want your own you are going to need to order your own pack.”

“You eating the world right again?” he asked.

“No, there are not enough biscuits in the country for that. I am just hungry.”

Liam opened the car door for Sarah and then slid in beside her. He yanked his tie all the way off and shoved it in his pocket.

Sarah gazed out at the skyline. There was so much she wanted to say to Liam but she didn’t know where to start. “I’m not ready to go home yet.” She wanted to scream and shout and cry and ask him why he was so bloody stupid.

“I thought you said you were tired.”

“No, I said I was hungry. But the biscuits can wait. I want to go to the beach.” She wanted to feel young and carefree again. When they were younger, they would often sneak off to the beach at Cramond or Portobello. They would talk for hours. And kiss—there was a lot of kissing and lots of the foreplay that Sarah now avoided. It spoke volumes for Liam’s will power that they never actually had sex on the beach because Sarah never red-lighted it.

“It’s almost midnight.”

“I know, but I just need some air. And I haven’t been to the beach yet.”

“The beach it is.” Liam rolled down the screen and directed Ahmed to take them to Jumeirah Beach. “I should probably warn you the people watching will be dire at this time.”

That was OK, because Liam was the only person she wanted to see right now anyway.

A few minutes later Ahmed pulled over. Sarah put her feet in the sand and squished the soft granules between her toes. It felt like caster sugar. “It is better this way. No sun cream needed.”

They walked to the edge of the water before Liam laid out his jacket for Sarah to sit on.

“I…um…I spoke to Gemma,” Sarah started.