The Devil Inside, page 12
‘Here. Let me take her.’
Dae took her from him smoothly, crooning to her as he cradled her little body against his chest like a pro. Phil had to smile—his mates had got surprisingly good at handling his baby-girl in the hospital. Dae patted her bottom in a fast rhythm, jiggling her and began to sing the song Phil had written for her and Mel. Arwen’s cries immediately lessened. She did love singing.
Dae shot him a ‘I’ve got this’ look, then pushing the pram with one hand while cradling Arwen in his other arm, he walked away, strolling slowly down the path that led to the walled garden. Hell. Phil didn’t want to go there. He and Mel had gone there every day before her accident. They’d strolled the paths after their rides then sit on one of the benches to spend a quiet moment, kissing or just snuggled together, watching the clouds scud across the tops of the mountains. The memory of those happier times made his soul ache, so he’d avoided the garden like the plague.
Dae disappeared through the doorway in the garden wall. Phil moved to go after him.
Craig’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. ‘Let him settle her.’
‘But I—’
Craig squeezed his shoulder. ‘He’ll take care of her like she’s his own.’
‘I know. But she’s my responsibility.’
‘You’re doing a great job of looking after her, but you can’t do it alone.’
Phil looked at him, a lump building in his throat. ‘I’m not doing it alone.’
‘Yeah, you are. You get up night after night, never asking for help.’
‘Bev and Jerry help.’
‘Yeah, but you don’t go and do things for yourself while they look after Arwen. You only let them take Arwen when you’ve got a session with Prof and Melissa.’
‘That’s not true.’ Or was it? He shook his head. ‘And I let you and Dae and Lexi help with her too.’
‘But not by ourselves. Not to give yourself a break, to get some sleep or go do something you want to do. It’s not right, mate. You look exhausted.’
‘I’m fine.’
Craig gave him a ‘don’t shit me’ look. ‘Last night was a hard night. You should have let me help. I want to help.’
Phil’s mouth twisted. ‘I don’t want you and Dae to have to give up anything more than you have for me.’
Craig gripped both his shoulders. ‘Shit, man. Is that what you think? That we’re upset because we’ve had to stop the album for now?’
‘I …’ He looked away ashamed at the tears stinging his eyes. He pressed his lips together hard, pushed the unwanted emotion down. ‘I just don’t want you to …’ He sucked in a shaky breath. ‘You shouldn’t have to sacrifice more for me, that’s all.’
‘This isn’t sacrifice, you shit-head. This is friendship.’ Craig lifted Phil’s arm, putting his beside it so that their tattoos lay side by side. ‘Brotherhood. Remember?’
Phil stared down at the tattoos and nodded rapidly. ‘Thanks, mate,’ he choked out.
Craig pulled him into a back-slapping hug. ‘No thanks necessary,’ he said, his voice betrayingly thick. ‘We don’t like to see you struggling. We want to help. You need to let us. Okay?’
He pulled back, stared at Phil.
Phil nodded. ‘Okay.’
Craig let out a loud breath, his face splitting into a wide smile. ‘Good. Glad you’re finally seeing some sense. Now, while Dae and I look after Arwen for a while, why don’t you go have a sleep?’
Phil rubbed his hand over his eyes. ‘Maybe I will. But she’s due for her next feed—’
‘In an hour. I know.’ Craig’s smile turned into a chuckle as Phil stared at him, gobsmacked his friend knew Arwen’s routine. ‘I’m living in the same house as you, mate. Of course I know Arwen’s routine. We’ll give her a feed and change her and put her back to bed.’ He stopped walking and plugged in the code to the door into the Barn House that was right before them—somehow Craig had managed to steer him back home without him realising it. He really must be tired.
Craig walked inside with Phil and gestured to the bedrooms. ‘You get some rest for now. Dae and I will have her back to you for the next round, okay?’
Phil bit his lip to stop it from trembling and nodded. ‘Thanks,’ he managed to say.
‘Maybe after you’ve had a good sleep, you can leave Arwen with Bev up at the house and come have a jam with me and Dae. It’s been a while.’
Phil jerked to a stop, his throat drying, chest clenching. ‘I-I’ll see.’
‘Great.’ Craig patted his back. ‘Get some rest and we’ll see you later.’
Phil scurried off to his room before Craig could mention anything more about jamming, shut his bedroom door and leaned against it until the shaking had stopped, his heartbeat returning to a normal rhythm. Then slowly, limbs feeling like they weighed a thousand pounds, he walked over to his bed and fell face down on it.
He woke up groggily, face mashed into a pillow, Mel’s name on his lips. How long had he been asleep?
He sat up, rubbed a hand over his sleep-crusted eyes and grabbed his phone. It was twelve-thirty. Arwen would be due to wake up again soon, wanting a feed. He staggered off the bed, noting the crib was empty—Dae and Craig must have put her to sleep in the pram. Was she here in the Barn House or up at the main house? He couldn’t hear any sound. He went to the bathroom and splashed some water on his face. His mouth felt like old carpet, so he cleaned his teeth again, pulled on a clean t-shirt that didn’t have spit up on the shoulder and wandered out into the lounge and kitchen area.
Mel was in her painting nook. She’d made the area fully hers in the last week, spending hours standing in front of the easel or reclining on the chez lounge sketching. The amount of work she’d done was astonishing. She’d always painted with focus, but never such intensity. The space was now filled to the brim with all the paintings she’d done—so many, he’d had to fly in a stack of new canvases in a multitude of sizes and buy her a box of new sketch pads and more paints, brushes and charcoal.
She was staring intently at the painting before her now, completely still, paint brush raised, one arm tucked around her middle, her lip caught in between her teeth as she stared at the image before her. He knew he should probably focus on what she was painting—the answers to regaining her memories could be there as Prof Alan kept reminding them—but he couldn’t focus on the painting.
Just her.
The sun glinted on her short, strawberry blonde hair, highlighting the plummy-red colours in its depths. God she was beautiful. She took his breath away standing there in her bare feet with a paint-splattered apron on, her hair curling around her ears and neck. He wanted to go over to her and run his lips along where those curls met her skin, feel them tickle his nose, breathe in her scent while he caressed the warmth of her skin with his lips. He wanted so badly to hear that sound she made when he kissed her in that spot under her ear. She would turn in his arms and look up at him, her eyes full of love, trust, wanting. It would take his breath again, but somehow he’d say, ‘I love you.’ Her eyes would warm in that way they did just for him and words would form on her lips, but he’d kiss them from her before she could say them, making her laugh. He’d cup her face as she laughed, brushing his thumbs across her cheeks, across her lower lip in the way that never failed to make her breath catch and her nipples harden.
They’d stare at each other for long, breathless seconds before she’d lift up on her toes and he’d bend down a little, their lips meeting. He’d pull her in close and she’d stroke his back, her hand coming around to touch his stomach, knuckles brushing along the hard length of him, making him jerk, and then she’d tug on his zipper and her hand would snake into his jeans and he’d …
‘Phil? Is everything okay?’
He blinked, the scene in his mind racing away as he took in Mel, still standing in front of the easel, looking at him with a worried frown. ‘What?’
‘You’ve been standing there for a while, just watching me. Did you want something?’
You.
Shit. Had he said that out loud? No. The expression on her face hadn’t changed.
He became suddenly aware of the painful thickness pressing against his jeans. Shit. Had she seen it? He glanced down quickly and let out a sigh. Thank Christ his t-shirt was on the long side. He shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to ease the denim out a little. It brought very little relief. As carefully as possible, he made his way over to the kitchen bench to hide behind, clearing his throat before speaking again. ‘I didn’t want to disturb you. I was just wondering if you wanted a drink or lunch.’
‘Oh, yeah. Bev came down earlier with some sandwiches. I put them in the fridge.’
‘Did you eat?’
She frowned. ‘No.’
‘Then eat with me.’ He put the kettle on before going to the fridge. He smiled as he pulled out the platter of sandwiches. Ham and egg—his favourite—and chicken salad—Mel’s favourite. When he turned back, she was still frowning at the painting. ‘Of course, if you’re too busy …’
‘What? No.’ She glanced at him then back at the painting. ‘Lunch would be good. It’s just that I can’t get this image out of my head. I don’t know why.’ She rubbed her brow, leaving a smudge of black paint there. ‘I don’t remember ever seeing these people before.’
‘It must be important though if your mind keeps going back to them.’
‘Hmm.’ She tipped her head on the side as she stared back at the painting. ‘Are you sure they don’t look familiar to you? We didn’t meet them … you know … when we were together? At an event or something?’
He moved cautiously from behind the kitchen bench, still keeping his distance, but close enough to truly see the painting. ‘No. I’ve never seen them before other than in your sketches.’
Her frown deepened. ‘Damn it. I was hoping maybe it was a memory from the last eight years.’
He shook his head slowly, trying to hide his sadness that she hadn’t drawn anything from their time together. ‘Maybe it was something you saw when you weren’t with me. We didn’t spend every hour together.’ He pulled out two plates and took them and the platter of sandwiches to the kitchen table.
‘We didn’t?’
‘Of course not. We both had our own things to do.’ He moved back to the bench and put mugs on a tray with a little jug of cream—she liked her coffee with cream. ‘Why would you think otherwise?’
Frowning, she turned from the painting and wandered to the kitchen table. ‘I don’t know. Just things people have said. I kind of got the impression we didn’t spend time apart. That we were like … you know … one of those sickening couples that are attached at the hip.’
He forced a smile to his lips. ‘You can relax. We weren’t like that. We regularly spent weeks apart.’ Weeks they got through with many phone calls, texts, FaceTime and hot phone sex. And their reunion at the end of each separation had been spectacular. The thought of that reunion had got him through many a lonely night without her.
He wished he had that now. But Mel might never come back to him this time.
‘Phil?’ Mel’s gaze was firmly on his face. ‘Did I say something wrong?’
His smile felt like it had been rendered in cement. ‘No.’ The kettle began to whistle and he turned to get it, breaking the pull of her gaze. ‘So, what’s on for the rest of the day?’ he asked as he poured the water into the mugs.
‘Painting,’ she said, taking a seat. ‘And Alan is coming at four.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Which reminds me. Have you seen the sketch book with the blue swirl on the front? I can’t find it.’
‘The one you had in the hospital?’
She picked up a sandwich triangle. ‘Yeah. Alan wanted to look at it this afternoon alongside these latest paintings and drawings. He thinks they might be linked.’
‘Wasn’t it with your other sketch books?’
‘I thought so, but it isn’t there now.’ She took a nibbling bite.
‘Do you want me to help you look for it?’
She waved her hand. ‘No. I’ll look later. I’ve probably just put it down somewhere and forgotten where. My brain feels a bit like a sieve at the moment.’
‘It’s understandable.’
‘It’s frustrating. I don’t like being so disorganised.’
‘You never did. Maybe you need some fresh air. I was going to take Arwen for another walk after her feed, maybe to see the horses. She likes the horses. You could come with us.’
‘I really need to find the sketch book.’
He managed to hide his disappointment at the fact she was still avoiding spending time with him and Arwen. He thought maybe with the lure of the horses … but she did need to find that sketch book for Alan, so maybe it wasn’t an excuse. ‘Okay. Maybe later.’
‘Yeah.’ She glanced around. ‘Where is the baby?’
‘With Dae and Craig.’
‘Dae and Craig.’ Her face was awash with surprise and confusion. ‘They’re looking after the baby? Is Bev or Jerry with them?’
‘No. They wanted to do the uncle thing. Said I needed sleep. It was a bit of a rough night last night.’
A shadow crossed over her face. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘About what?’
‘I should be helping.’
He shrugged one shoulder. ‘It’s okay.’
‘No. It’s not. I’m letting you down. I’m letting the baby down.’ She picked at the crust of her sandwich. ‘I’m such a failure as a mother. It’s just that I can’t … I don’t know how …’
She looked so bereft; he couldn’t stand it. He went to her, took her hands in his, tugging her around gently to face him. ‘It’s okay. It will come with time.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
He sat down on the chair next to her, his long legs bracketing hers, but careful not to touch. Just her hands. ‘If I can manage, then you will be able to.’
‘What are you talking about? You’re such a natural.’
Was he? It didn’t feel like that. He looked down at their hands. ‘And you will be too once you’ve got over the shock of everything that’s happened. And got your memories back.’
‘But what if I can’t?’
‘Then we’ll deal with that when it happens.’
‘How can you be so calm?’
‘I’m not.’ He chuckled softly, self-deprecating. ‘If you knew me, you’d know that I’m not built to be calm. The Flash—that’s what you called me when we first met. And you didn’t mean it in a “wow you’re a superhero” kind of way.’
She snorted. ‘That sure sounds like me.’
He chuckled again. ‘It does. But even though calm isn’t my usual gear, and there have been times I’ve struggled, my friends reminded me this morning that everything is better after a few hours of good sleep. You need to get some proper rest. You’ll feel better after it. I know I do now.’
‘But—’ she looked back at her paintings, ‘I … don’t want to stop. I have to remember. Don’t you want me to remember?’
He glanced back at the paintings. ‘I want you to remember more than I think I’ve wanted anything in my life.’ He sighed, thumbs brushing over the backs of her hands as he looked down. ‘But surely driving yourself with all this—it can wait a few hours. And who knows, maybe some proper rest will help you remember. Or at least, will help you to deal with everything better.’
‘But what if I can’t deal with it? What if the not knowing consumes me?’
His lips tugged up on one side. ‘Aside from telling me to take a break and get some sleep, my mates reminded me of something else.’
‘What?’
‘That I’m not alone in this. And neither are you.’
‘I’m not?’
‘No. I’m here for you. Always.’ He brushed his fingers across her forehead, brushing the fringe of short hair to the side. Her breath caught. Their eyes met. Her breath brushed over his face, making him want to groan.
‘Phil?’
‘Yes?’
‘Kiss me.’
‘What?’
‘I just … can you kiss me? It might … help. Please.’
How could he say no? He leaned in, slowly, giving her the chance to change her mind, but she didn’t. She leaned into him, eyes open, watching him. He cupped her face, brushing his thumbs over her lower lip, her cheek, then trailed his lips along her cheek, to the corner of her mouth. She made a little sound, moved her head until her mouth was against his.
He couldn’t hold back, sweeping his tongue over her lower lip, tasting her. She groaned and opened to him, leaning in closer, her tongue brushing against his, inviting him in. He couldn’t stop himself from taking up the invitation, pulling her closer, one hand in her hair, the other on her back, deepening the kiss. He wished she’d touch him, run her hands over his arms, up his neck, into his hair. But her fists were against his chest, the knobbles of her knuckles pushing in. As if she wasn’t as lost in the kiss as he’d thought.
He pulled back. She made a muttering sound, her fingers moving finally, grasping his t-shirt as if to pull him back.
But he hadn’t imagined what he’d felt—her fists tight, knuckles pushing against him as if she was holding back, or frightened. Had she remembered something? That was why they kissed after all—he’d just been stupid enough to forget it. ‘Well?’ he asked, his voice rough, unsteady.
She blinked, her lips a little parted. ‘Nothing.’
He stood, ran his hand through his hair. It had been a mistake. He shouldn’t have kissed her. Not now. Not until she remembered who they were to each other. He hoped he hadn’t ruined everything. ‘I … need to go check on Arwen.’ Then he turned and left her to her lunch and her painting, unwilling to look her in the eye and see that her ‘nothing’ hadn’t been about her memories, but about what she’d felt when he kissed her.
Chapter 12
Melissa stared at the canvases around her, trying to concentrate on them; trying not to think about that earth-shattering kiss.
