Their Pregnancy Gift

So if Alex had inherited the faulty gene and he followed Stephen’s pattern, that meant he had twenty-two years of life left—the last five years of which really wouldn’t be worth living.

He swallowed hard. It was an ‘if’, admittedly, but there was still a fifty per cent chance that he had the gene. Scary odds. The simple toss of a coin.

He picked up the phone to call his parents, but then put it down again. What could he say? How could you really be sorry for the death of someone you barely knew, had met twice and who had never really acknowledged you as his child? It’d be just a platitude. Meaningless. And his relationship with his parents had been seriously strained since his mother had dropped the bombshell eight months ago that his father wasn’t actually his father, and his biological father had advanced Huntington’s disease. Right now Alex wasn’t in the mood for polite awkwardness, and he didn’t want to make the situation worse by accidentally saying something wrong.

And there was nobody—absolutely nobody—he could talk to about this. He was an only child; and he’d distanced himself from everyone in his life since learning the news. He’d broken his engagement to Lara, and avoided all his friends, even his best friend Tom, until they’d got the message and stopped calling him. So being alone now was completely his own fault: but, on the other hand, how could he have been unfair enough to dump his worries on any of them?

My dad isn’t actually my dad, and my ‘real’ dad—who I’ve never met—might have passed on a genetic disease that’ll leave me a drooling, shambling wreck when I’m only in my fifties.

How could he possibly have married Lara, knowing that she would end up having to be his carer rather than his partner? How could he have denied her the chance to have children, too—because, if he had the faulty gene, there was a fifty per cent chance of passing that same gene on to his children and condemning them to an illness that still had no cure?

Lara had clearly thought the same, because Alex had seen a very different side of her when he’d told her the news. Of course she’d been sympathetic when the bombshell had first dropped—but he’d noticed her backing away a little more each day, once they’d looked up the symptoms of Huntington’s and seen what the end stage was like.

She hadn’t wanted to come to America with him, either, saying she was too busy at work—but he’d seen the real reason in her eyes. She was afraid of facing what might be ahead for them. Alex hadn’t wanted her to stay with him out of duty, especially once he’d seen the burden that Stephen’s partner Catriona carried. But he knew that if Lara broke their engagement, people would judge her harshly and see her as the woman who hadn’t been prepared to stand by her man. That wasn’t fair, because Huntington’s was a horrible disease and it would be a massive burden. So he’d done the right thing by both of them and ended it. And it had underlined for him that he’d be spending the rest of his life on his own. It wasn’t fair to ask someone to share a future that could be so, so difficult.

He’d heard through the grapevine that Lara had met someone else. He hoped her new partner would give her the shiny, hopeful future he hadn’t been able to promise her. Though right now his own hopes of a shiny, hopeful future had just taken another battering.

The only thing he could do was head for the gym and push himself in the weights room until he was too physically exhausted to think. And please let tomorrow be a better day.

* * *

Danielle was half tempted to throw her glass of water over Alex Morgan. For pity’s sake. He’d agreed to meet her to sort out the ward’s Christmas meal. It shouldn’t take too long. Surely he could manage his dislike of her for that short a time and actually pay attention to what she needed to discuss with him?

But just for a moment there was something in his expression. As if he’d been sucked into a black hole and there was no way out.

Maybe this wasn’t about him not wanting to deal with her.

Her fixer instincts kicked in. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.

Sheer panic flashed over his face and was swiftly hidden before he drawled, ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Because,’ she said, ‘I’ve asked you the same question three times now and you still haven’t replied.’

‘It’s been a busy day,’ he said.

‘About the same as mine.’ Maybe it really was that simple, after all, and she was just making excuses for him. The guy didn’t like her and wasn’t even bothering to hide it. And she’d had enough. It was time to face this head on and sort it out. ‘Look, do you have a problem working with me? Have I done something to upset you?’

He looked surprised. ‘No, nothing like that.’

Seriously? Did he not know he behaved as if she was the horrible child who’d had a screaming tantrum and popped all the balloons at his birthday party before stamping on his presents and tipping his cake onto the floor?

Or maybe he was one of those bright but emotionally clueless men and he didn’t mean anything by his behaviour after all. OK. This was her cue to change the subject and talk about the Christmas meal again. Except she remembered that look of utter devastation in his eyes and it made her decide to take a risk. She chose her words carefully. ‘Alex, I know you don’t really socialise with the team, and it’s absolutely none of my business why you choose not to, but right now you seem really unhappy and as if you could do with a friend.’

* * *

That was an understatement.

Except Alex had chosen to push his friends away. Just as he’d chosen to make sure he kept all interactions with his colleagues strictly professional since he’d started at Muswell Hill Hospital.

‘Just so you know,’ Dani said, ‘I’m not a gossip. Anything you decide to tell me will stay with me.’

It was tempting to confide in her. So very, very tempting. Her warmth and kindness drew him.

In other circumstances, Alex would’ve already asked Dani out. He liked the way she was at work, friendly and kind with everyone, reassuring their patients and giving the junior staff a chance to boost their experience and shine. Not to mention that she was gorgeous. A pocket Venus, with that glorious dark hair she kept tied back at work, dark eyes that seemed to understand everything, and a perfect rosebud mouth that made him want to kiss her.

But he couldn’t get involved with anyone. Not now. Not with that ticking time bomb hanging over him. It wouldn’t be fair.

‘I...’ He searched for an excuse, but the words just wouldn’t come.

‘OK. This is what we’re going to do. We’re going to eat carbs,’ she said softly, ‘in a quiet place where nobody can overhear us.’

He couldn’t quite process what she meant, because his head was all over the place.

As if she’d guessed, she said, ‘We’ll get a pizza delivered to my place. Which isn’t a come-on.’

Pizza. Her place. He blinked. ‘Won’t your partner mind?’

‘I’ve been divorced officially since the summer. Which doesn’t mean that I’m desperate to replace my ex and get married again, if that’s a concern for you.’ She paused. ‘I should ask you the same. Will your partner mind?’

‘No partner.’ He’d broken off his engagement to Lara the day after he’d come back to England from America.

‘That’s settled, then.’ She gathered up the papers she’d spread in front of her and put them back into the cardboard wallet file. ‘Let’s go.’

Enough of his brain cells still worked to make him ask, ‘Is it far? Should you be walking anywhere with that thing on your foot?’

She smiled, as if pleased that he’d remembered about her foot. ‘It’s not that far and yes—that’s why it’s called a walking cast. Trust me, I’m not doing anything that will set back the date when I can get rid of this thing. I’m counting down the days.’

He was aware he’d never actually asked her about it—which was pretty rude of him. Being polite to his colleagues didn’t mean getting close to them. ‘What did you do?’

‘Stress fracture. Second and third metatarsal.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Probably caused by my new running shoes. Which are so being replaced when I can run again. Unfortunately, that’ll be after physio and well after the charity run is held, but my best friend is the most wonderful woman in the world and she talked the event organisers into letting her run in my place. We’re raising money for the new baby-sized MRI scanner for the ward,’ she explained.

‘Put me down for sponsorship.’

She smiled. ‘There’s no need. That wasn’t a hint. And I talk too much. Right. Pizza. What do you like?’

He couldn’t think straight. ‘Anything.’

‘Is there anything you hate? Olives? Anchovies?’

He grimaced. ‘Not anchovies, please.’

‘Let’s keep it simple, then. Margherita pizza and dough balls,’ she said. ‘And I have salad in the fridge. So we’re sorted.’

Before Alex could even offer to pay, she’d already called the order through and was shepherding him out of the door of the café.

As they walked back to her place, he was relieved that she didn’t push him to talk. She didn’t chatter on about nothing, either; she was surprisingly easy to be with. And oh, God, it was good not to feel quite so alone. That phone message last night had felt as if the axe hanging over him had taken a practice swipe a little too close to the top of his head.

She unlocked the door to her flat and ushered him inside. ‘OK. I can offer you three types of tea, very strong coffee, a glass of water or a glass of wine.’