The Wife He Couldn't Forget

He laughed, like she wanted him to, at the line he’d heard her say so many times. He saw the strain around her eyes lift a little.

“Fine, you better go then, but come straight back, okay?”

“Of course. I’ll be as quick as I can,” she said, bending down to kiss him on the forehead.

Xander leaned back against his pillows and watched her departing back. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something wasn’t right. They’d talked about him going home for days. Now that the time was finally here, was she afraid? He mulled the idea over in his head. It was possible. He’d been through a lot, and maybe she was worried about how he would cope on his reentry into the real world. She was such a worrier, always had been. He guessed that came with the territory of being the eldest out of four kids growing up on a farm without their mother. His Livvy was used to micromanaging everything around her so that nothing would go wrong.

When he’d married her, he’d silently promised himself that he would never be a burden to her—that he would never make himself one more responsibility she had to shoulder. Even now, he was determined to make certain that his recovery didn’t weigh her down. He’d do whatever it took to ensure that the rest of his recuperation went smoothly so that the worry would disappear from her eyes once and for all.

“Nothing will go wrong,” he said aloud, earning a look from the guy in the bed opposite his.

* * *

Olivia hastened to the car parking building and got into her car. Her hand shook slightly as she pressed the ignition, and she took a moment before putting on her seat belt and putting the car in gear.

He was coming home. It was what she wanted, so why on earth had she run like a startled rabbit the minute he’d told her? She knew why. It meant she would have to stop putting her head in the sand about the life he’d created when he’d left her. It meant taking the set of keys that she’d been given, among the personal effects the hospital had held since his accident—ruined bloodstained clothing included—and going to his apartment to get his things.

She knew she should have done it before now. Should have gathered together what he would expect to find at their home. His wardrobe, his toiletries. Those were pretty much all he’d taken with him when he’d left. There was nothing for it but to steel herself to invade the new home he’d created. At least she knew where he lived. That was about the only thing the legal separation documents had been any good for, she thought grimly as she drove the short distance from Auckland City Hospital to the apartment block in Parnell where Xander had taken a lease.

She parked in one of the two spaces allocated to his apartment and rode the elevator to the top floor. Letting herself in through the door at the end of the corridor, she steeled herself for what she would find on the other side. As she stepped through the entrance hall she found herself strangely disappointed.

It was as if she’d stepped into a decorator’s catalogue shoot. Everything perfectly matched and aligned—and totally lacking any character. It certainly didn’t look as though anyone actually lived here. There was none of his personality or his love of old things, no warmth or welcome. She walked through the living room and toward a hallway she hoped would lead to his bedroom. It did, and she was surprised to discover the bedroom was in the same pristine, sterile condition. Not so much as a stray sock poking out from the simple valance that skirted the king-size bed. It wasn’t like the Xander she’d known at all—a man who was meticulous in all things except what she teasingly referred to as his floor-drobe. Maybe he had a cleaning service come through. Or maybe, the thought chilled her, he really had changed this much.

Anyway, she was wasting time. She needed to get his things and take them back to her house on the other side of the harbor bridge and then get back to the hospital again before he began to think she wasn’t coming to take him home after all.

In the spare room closet Olivia found a large suitcase, and she quickly grabbed underwear, socks and clothing from the walk-in wardrobe in Xander’s bedroom. From the bathroom she grabbed shower gel, cologne and his shaving kit. She wondered briefly if he remembered how to use it. It had been a while since he’d shaved properly. Only last week she’d teased him about the furry growth that ringed his jaw. Privately, she found she quite liked it. It made him seem a bit softer, more approachable than the cold stranger who’d stalked so emphatically out of her life.

She shook her head as if she could rid herself of the memory just as easily and wheeled the case to the front door. Should she check the refrigerator? She cringed a little at the idea of finding nine-week-old leavings rotting inside, but she figured she would have to do it sometime. She poked around in the drawers until she found a plastic garbage bag and then, holding her breath, opened the shiny stainless-steel door of the fridge.

Empty. How odd, she thought as she let the door close again. Not even a half bottle of wine stood in the door. If she hadn’t taken Xander’s things from his bedroom and en suite herself, she would hardly have believed he even lived here. She pulled open a pantry door and was relieved to see neatly labeled containers and a box of his favorite cereal stacked on the shelves. Okay, so maybe whoever had made the apartment look so spick-and-span had cleaned out the fridge, as well. She made a mental note to try and find out from somewhere, perhaps among his personal papers, if he had a cleaning service. If so, she’d need to put their visits on hold indefinitely.

She looked around the open-plan living room and dining area to see where he might keep his personal files and records. There was nothing to suggest a desk or office space in here. Maybe there was another bedroom? Olivia went back down the hall that led to Xander’s bedroom, and spied another door. She opened it, stepped inside and immediately came to a halt.

Her heart thumped erratically in her chest as her eyes fixed on the photo on the desk in what was obviously Xander’s home office. She recognized the frame as one she’d bought for him for his first Father’s Day and in it was the last photo they’d taken of Parker before he died.

Three (#ulink_7ac1c74c-b2c3-5595-a59c-385874117032)

Her hand went to her throat as if she could somehow hold back the sob that rose from the deepest recesses of her grief. She hadn’t even realized Xander had taken the picture with him when he’d left. He must have hidden it away when, after the funeral, she’d packed up Parker’s room and shoved all the boxes in the attic, along with his albums and the framed photos they’d had scattered around the house.

It had hurt too much to see the constant reminders of his all-too-short life.

If only...

Those two words had driven her almost insane. If only Xander hadn’t left the gate open, or hadn’t thrown the ball quite so vigorously for Bozo, their dog. If only Bozo hadn’t run out into the street in pursuit of the ball and—even now, she gasped against the pain from the memory—if only Parker hadn’t run out into the street after him. If only she hadn’t told Parker to run outside and play with Daddy in the first place, instead of staying safely in the studio with her that day.

Racked with her own guilt and her anger at the world in general and Xander in particular, she’d done the only thing she could to alleviate the searing pain. She’d packed up Parker’s short life and hidden it, telling herself she’d look at his things again when she was able. Every piece of clothing, every toy, every photo—hidden away.

All except this one. She reached out a finger and traced the cheeks of her little boy, locked behind the glass. A child forever—never to grow up and go to school, play a sport or meet girls. Never to stretch his wings, push his boundaries or be grounded for some misdemeanor or another.

Her hand dropped back to her side. She stood like that for several minutes before shaking herself loose from the memories and trying to remember why she’d come in here in the first place. Yes, the cleaning service, that was it. Olivia rifled through Xander’s filing system—as linear and exact as she remembered—and found the number she was looking for. A quick phone call to suspend services until further notice was all that was required, and then she was on her way.

Before she left the room, though, she lifted the photo from Xander’s desk and shoved it in a drawer. It hurt to shut her baby away like that, but if she had to come back here again, she couldn’t bear to see the stark reminder of all they’d lost.

Thankfully traffic through the city to the harbor bridge approach was lighter than usual and she made the trip home in good time. She dragged the suitcase up the flight of stairs and into the guest bedroom, and quickly unpacked and hung up Xander’s shirts and trousers and a few suits, still in their drycleaner bags, in the closet and shoved his underwear, socks and T-shirts into the small chest of drawers. She put his toiletries in the bathroom across the hall. It wouldn’t be a lie to tell him she’d moved his things in there so he could recuperate in his own space. She just wouldn’t mention that she’d moved them from across town rather than from down the hall.

Before leaving the house again, she folded a set of clothes and a belt into a small overnight bag for him and then flew out the door. She was jittery with emotional exhaustion and lack of food by the time she got back to the hospital. Xander was standing at the window when, slightly out of breath, she finally arrived.

“I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind about taking me home,” he said lightly when she approached him.

Even though his words were teasing, she could hear the underlying censure beneath them. And she understood it; really she did. Under normal circumstances she would have been back here much earlier. But their circumstances were far from normal, even though he didn’t know that yet.

“Traffic was a bitch,” she said as breezily as she could. “So, are we good to go? I have some clothes for you here, although I’m thinking you’ll find everything on the big side for you now. We might need to get you a whole new wardrobe.”

Her attempt at deflection seemed to work. “And I know how much you love shopping,” he said with a laugh.

She felt her heart skip a beat. He’d always teased her about her shopping style. While she liked getting new things, she hated crowded stores. She had the tendency to decide what she wanted before she left the house and, with no dillydallying, get in, get the product and get right back out again as quickly as possible. No window-shopping or store browsing for her. Unless it was an art supply store, that was.

Olivia told herself it was ridiculous to be surprised that he’d remember that. After all, he hadn’t lost all his memory, just the past six years. She forced a laugh and handed him the bag of his things.

“Here you go. Will you need a hand to get dressed?”

He’d had issues with balance and coordination since awakening from his coma. Physical therapy was helping him regain his equilibrium and motor skills, but he still had some way to go.

“I think I can manage,” he said with the quiet dignity she had always loved so much about him.

“Just call me if you need me.”

Xander looked her straight in the eye and gave her a half smile. “Sure.”

She smiled back, feeling a pang deep inside. She knew he wouldn’t call her. He was nothing if not independent—and stubborn. Yes, there’d been a time, early in their marriage, when they’d each been the center of the other’s world. But that had all changed.

He was so lucky he didn’t remember, she thought fiercely. Lucky that he was still locked in the best of their marriage and couldn’t remember the worst of them both.

* * *

Xander took the bag through to the shared bathroom and closed the door behind him. A tremor ran through his body as he allowed the relief he’d felt when he’d seen Olivia return run through him. Ever since she’d left earlier today he’d been tense and uncomfortable, so much so the nurse preparing his discharge papers had remarked on the spike in his blood pressure.

He couldn’t understand it. Olivia was his wife. So why had he suddenly developed this deeply unsettled sensation that things weren’t what they should be between them? He shoved off his pajamas and stepped into the shower stall, hissing a little as the water warmed up to a decent temperature. He couldn’t wait to be out of here. Even with Olivia’s daily visits to break the monotony of sleep, eat, therapy, eat, sleep, over and over again, he wanted to be home.

Xander roughly toweled himself off, swearing under his breath as he lost his balance and had to put a hand on the wall to steady himself. His body’s slow response to recovery was another thing driving him crazy. It was as if the messages just weren’t getting through from his brain to his muscles.

He looked down at his body. Muscles? Well, he remembered having muscles. Now his build was definitely leaner, another thing he needed to work on. He pulled on his clothing and cinched his belt in tight. Olivia had been right. His clothes looked as if they belonged to another man entirely. He couldn’t remember buying them, so they had to be something from his lost years, as he now called them.

A light tap at the door caught his attention.

“Xander? Are you okay in there?” Olivia asked from outside.

“Sure, I’ll be right out.”