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JENNA

“This is it.” Dad peers into the first room near the nurse’s station in Ward 3. “I can see him just over there.”

In a room to our right, Geordie lies propped up on a pillow mountain, his sweat-dampened curls a lank, unruly mess against the stark white linen. His face is pale, a grey sheen dulling the usual golden glow of his skin. With eyes firmly closed, and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, he could be sleeping, except for the way he winces at the clatter of a passing trolley. His mouth remains fixed in a tight grimace.

Pain. Not my fault this time.

My first impulse is to go to him, but my feet don’t move, pinned in place as doubt comes flooding in. Will he want to see me? Has he even seen my text? Or will the sight of me only trigger memories of the hurt my poor judgment caused him?

It was barely a day ago, but the world has shifted in that time. Yesterday I was certain, rehearsing what I would say, planning to once again wind my fingers in his hair, press my mouth to his, a promise of our future sealed with a kiss. I no longer know what I’m supposed to do. As I stand debating whether we should have even come here, a pleasant voice sounds behind us.

“Can I help you?”

I turn to see a nurse in a cornflower blue uniform. Her brows raise in a question. Something in her eyes sparks panic, gripping my chest as my heart pounds. What if she’s about to forbid me from seeing Geordie, even though he’s just right there? It could be family visitors only. I’m not that. What am I to Geordie? Maybe nothing at all—because that’s all I’ve let myself be.

I can tell Dad senses my agitation when he speaks.

“Yes, you can certainly help—Allie,” he says, glancing at her name tag. “Robbie Sharpe.”

He extends a hand. The nurse takes it with an amused smirk, and I see the flicker of recognition in her eyes. Dad may have left the Highlanders, but it will be a long time before the fans forget him, if ever.

“We’ve come to see Geordie MacDonald,” Dad continues, his eyes crinkling in that disarming expression I’ve seen him use to charm his way out of many a tight situation. “The lad in there.” He tilts his chin towards where Geordie lies, ripples of discomfort now travelling his face.

“Of course,” she nods, and a relieved exhale spills from me. “I’ll just let you know, though, visiting hours end at seven. So you’ve got, let’s see.” The nurse glances down at her fob watch. “About ten minutes.”

It’s not long, but any time with Geordie is precious, given how, for a moment this morning, I thought we’d have no more time together, ever .

“Do you think we might stay on a wee smidgen longer? We’ve driven all the way from Cluanie,” Dad says, with a hopeful tone. “And the lassie here—this is my daughter, Jenna—well, she’s his girlfriend. And after all the lad’s been through…”

The only word I hear: Girlfriend. Is this what I am to Geordie? Two days ago, he’d have wanted nothing more than me to wear the label. Today, I’m ready to be that person, but I’m no longer confident that’s what he’ll want.

“I’m sorry, Mr Sharpe,” the nurse says, with a placating smile. I can see she’s not going to budge an inch, even in the face of Dad’s pleading. “But we have to be very strict with the visiting hours, I’m afraid. To be fair to all our patients.”

“OK, thank you, Allie,” he says, turning away from her in surrender. “Best you get in there, love.” He gives me a gentle shove towards the door.

“You’re not coming?”

“Naw.” He shakes his head vigorously. “Only one person the lad wants to see right now, and I think he already has.”

I turn to see Geordie facing our way, eyes open now. From all those times I’ve stared into them, him with forehead pressed to mine, I know that close up their beautiful grey-blue harbours tiny flecks of gold, like the sea when the sun peeps through on a cloudy day. When he sees me, they light up, yet they’re still the eyes of a man in pain.

“Jenna.”

My name on Geordie’s lips cuts through the air, a signal to move as sharp as a referee’s whistle. All my apprehensions evaporate and I run across the corridor, flinging myself onto the bed, curling alongside him. When his strong arms envelop me, the ugly reality of the day slips away. Crushed against his chest, the worry, and pain and heartache retreat into the shadows, leaving me with only a singular truth. I love this man. He’s everything I’ve ever wanted; and Rachel is right. He wants me too. Or did.

“Jen.”

He repeats my name, over and over, stroking my hair as I cry into the ugly green hospital gown. I soak in his familiar scent, drowning out the antiseptic tang in the air. He nuzzles his face into my neck, dotting small kisses across my skin, and I feel hot tears slipping down his cheek. I draw back, brushing a thumb over the lilac bruises under each eye. There’s a gaunt desolation in his gaze.

“I couldn’t save him, Jen. I tried, but I couldn’t.”

“Geordie, you did your best.”

“No. I didn’t. I should’ve made him take the headlamp. I was too busy talking to Kyle, you know, about what happened and…we just let him go.”

His voice stutters and dies, and he collapses against me. Geordie’s body shudders, wracked by huge silent sobs. I hold him, desperate to take his pain, absorb the guilt, let it flow through me, a conduit channelling it back into the past. To where time might numb the devastation he feels.

He eventually stills and unwinds himself from me. He lifts one hand, a finger tracing the contours of my face as if seeing me for the first time. The turbulence in his eyes has subsided. He stretches out his other hand, taking mine in it. The roughness of his calloused fingers, the palm swallowing mine in its warmth, a tiny pulse in his thumb, the strength in his grip, all reminders that he’s here, alive. It’s a lifeline, pulling us both away from that dreadful past and back into the present .

“I thought I’d lost you.” My voice comes out a whisper. “And I can’t. I need you, Geordie, not only within the stupid boundaries I put on us. I need you, all the time, everywhere.”

He brings my hand to his lips, brushing a kiss on my knuckles, a flutter of breath across them.

“And I thought I’d lost you.” His gaze is calm and steady. “But then I realised I’ve had you all along. You just weren’t ready to tell me yet.”

“I am now,” I say, but before I can tell Geordie the hundred ways I’m going to show him that I am his, without question or doubt, we’re interrupted by a chiming noise. We both turn towards the source of the sound, a discreet speaker above the door. Nurse Allie ducks her head around the corner, a rueful smile on her face.

“Visiting time’s up, I’m afraid. Sorry, but you’ll need to come back tomorrow,” she says, looking not the least bit sorry, her voice as cheerful as if she was announcing we’ve won the meat raffle at the rugby club. Just our bad luck to have such a stickler for the rules on this shift.

“You’re coming back to Cluanie tomorrow, yeah?”

“Would have sent me home today if it was just the ankle. Not broken, by the way.” He lifts the bed covers to reveal his heavily bandaged ankle, propped up between foam wedges. “They want to monitor me overnight.”

My brows furrow in concern. “For what?”

“Banged my head on the way down. Need to rule out a concussion.” He reaches a soothing forefinger to the crease in my forehead. “It’s nothing to worry about. Honestly, Jen, I’ve had much worse at the bottom of a ruck.”

“OK.” I reluctantly accept his reassurance.

“I’m sorry,” the nurse repeats from the doorway. “But I really need to close the ward now.”

I have a fierce urge to tell her to piss off, but I don’t.

“Come here,” he says, ignoring her and pulling me into him.

“It’s going to be OK, sweetheart.”

When he presses his mouth to mine, so warm and pliable, the familiar taste of him on my lips, I want to believe him.