Page 22 of The Healer (The Blood of Legends #2)

Chapter Twenty-Two

THE MEANING OF HOME

T he drive to Inner City was a blur. As an ex-doctor, the number of fatalities Ilona had dealt with due to crying while driving was high. It hindered the driver’s eyesight and endangered the other road users, but once the city skyline shimmered on the horizon, she couldn’t halt the tears. A growing ache urged her to return to Coedwig, but the furious part of her willed her never to set foot on snow again.

The thing was, she liked being in Rhys’s arms, liked the way he looked at her, made her feel sensual, alive, worth knowing. Her past paramours had done nothing but demean her. She got it. The medical industry was cutthroat. Limited jobs meant a dog-eat-dog world. From stealing her notes to…drugging her, nothing was off-limits.

Waiting in the terminal, she tried not to make eye contact with fellow passengers. On her luggage pinned between her knees, she tapped the plane ticket, hypnotized by the sound and the puff of air it made.

Despite instigating a glorious revenge, she still couldn’t remember what happened that night. One moment she was drinking a latte Connor had bought for their study date, the next she was naked from the waist down in a pool of vomit. A cold dread had slithered down her spine and settled her riotous thoughts. She had yanked on her discarded jeans, then headed to the emergency room.

With the test results, proof of her rape, and the ketamine dregs in her latte cup, she had gone to the dean. She hadn’t told her parents about the one time she had used their names. Of course, the dean had to verify her claims. Not for the rape, but that she was the famous daughter of the Stricklands.

As a justice of sorts, Connor lost his scholarship. She hadn’t stopped him from doing this to others, but dragging her name through the courts and putting her parents through hell wasn’t an option. At least now, Connor couldn’t molest his patients.

She shuddered as nausea churned in her gut, hinting at that same sense of dread.

The fiery part of her nature had wanted to drug him and tattoo ‘rapist’ on his forehead.

Rhys didn’t disgust her. His touch was gentle. His charm his own. He had honor and would never drug a woman. Then again, he didn’t need to. The crushing pain squeezing her rib cage was disappointment. She would have liked to have known him better.

Maybe if she dyed her hair?

Shaking her head, she stopped the tapping and palmed the ticket. Changing herself for anyone was a superficial attempt to heal what was broken deep inside. The call to board echoed through the gate, bringing her to the knife’s edge of her indecision. She pushed herself to her feet, unclipped the handle of her luggage, then wheeled it toward the flight attendant.

Her heart was in pieces. She needed it whole before she considered any kind of relationship. Her medical studies hadn’t covered how to heal a broken heart, well, except for psychiatry.

With a tentative smile, she offered her ticket to the smartly dressed man in a blue uniform. She glided past him, through the glass doors, and onto the boarding bridge. Now was when the lead male would force his way through security to confess his undying love, to plead with her to stay. She cast a glance over her shoulder and giggled at her silliness. If Rhys had done that, she’d have boarded the plane anyway. Or, at least, she hoped she would have.

Finding her window seat, she tucked the luggage into the overhead compartment and buckled in. She would head to her apartment first, clean up, then pop in by her parents. Carl would have died by now. Then again, he was a cactus. Settling back, she closed her eyes, leaned her temple against the cold bulkhead, and dozed through the pre-flight instructions.

The plane’s wheels touching down jerked her awake. She stretched in the confined space and flashed a smile at the elderly lady squeezed into the middle seat.

Ilona’s knees throbbed from the cramped legroom. Usually, she splurged on business class for this reason, but had taken the first flight out. Beggars couldn’t be choosy. Now that she was in Fenneg, she didn’t need to rush. Rhys and Inner City were behind her, and the elderly lady needed assistance to disembark.

With her chin in her palm, Ilona stared out the window. The airport staff darted everywhere like busy bees, wheeling away luggage, refueling the plane, and restocking the food stores.

“Sorry about this.” A twitching smile cracked the old woman’s parchment cheeks. Her gnarled fingers trembled where she gripped Ilona’s forearm. Late onset of Parkinson’s?

“No rush.” Ilona patted her cold fingers. “Are you visiting?”

“Yes, my granddaughter gave birth to a beautiful boy.” The joy washing off her pricked tears behind Ilona’s eyes.

Life for other people went on when her parents’ lives had ended. At that moment, she couldn’t imagine herself boarding a plane in her frail age to visit a new great-grandchild. Years of aching loneliness and a pointless existence stretched before her.

“That’s wonderful. Is anyone meeting you at the airport?” This woman unaccompanied in Fenneg didn’t sit well with Ilona. She sliced glances at the smiling flight attendant bidding their customers a good day. Soon, one of them would assist this great grandmother off the plane.

“My grandson is fetching me.” Her eyes sparkled with excitement.

Ilona would trail her to ensure she found her family. Alone, in a strange airport, made the woman easy pickings for pickpockets, muggers, and murderers. Grimacing at her dark thoughts, she forced her gaze out the window again.

“Oh, where are my manners. Are you visiting too?”

Air whooshed out of Ilona’s lungs. To think her return to Fenneg was temporary bolted a bright warmth through her. She would have to leave at some point, move closer to Gran, but she hadn’t given it more thought, hadn’t poked her emotions to gauge her reaction.

“Fenneg was my home.” She loved this city, its cultural and art festivals, the sandboarding mania, Sunday morning kayaking with Dad, coffee dates in the National Rose Garden with Mom, watching movies while eating salted caramel popcorn with Evie, and sending a child home with cancer in recession. Those were Ilona’s Fenneg memories.

And despite the happiness she had known, one car accident overwrote them all. Mom’s lifeless eyes and smeared red lipstick, Dad lying in the bed with the machines ticking his life away, and the scar along Ilona’s face, flashing nightmarish images every time she caught her reflection.

“Was?”

Ilona forced a smile. How to explain her doctor-not-doctor status? “I just finished my residency. I need to choose which hospital in which city to move to.”

The older woman beamed. “You’re a doctor?”

Ilona shrugged. Discussing whether that was true anymore wasn’t for passing conversation. The flight attendant’s appearance was a Godsend. Ilona sighed and rose to help but had to duck her head. The cleaning crew boarded to sweep through the cabin, and once the elderly woman was assisted off the plane, Ilona unstowed her luggage and followed.

The grandson hurried over as soon as they waddled through the boarding bridge. Ilona veered toward the long-term parking lot. The sight of her bright red Jeep her father had given her on her sixteenth birthday shot darts of agony through her. The gift had delighted her; Dad’s broad smile with the keys dangling from his fingers, and Mom struggling to fix the massive bow on the hood. Now it served as a reminder of happier, more carefree times. With snow tires fitted, Ilona could use it in Coedwig.

She shook her head. No more snow and no more Dane, Gran, or Rhys by association. So, not Fenneg, and not Inner City. Maybe Tillden or Suddale to the south? But to start the application process again meant accepting failure, her limits, her inability to save everyone. It said much that she hadn’t lost a single life during her residency. If she had, maybe her inability to save her parents wouldn’t have hit her so hard.

She slumped. It still would. Helplessness had no cure she knew of.

After sliding her luggage into the trunk, she settled into the driving seat and reached for the seatbelt. She swerved onto the freeway, barreling along to her small apartment close to Amity Hospital. The bustle of life highlighted the bleakness of her own. Schools held sports events, shoppers chatted in mall parking lots, and a colorful hot air balloon drifted across the cerulean sky. Tall palms swayed, and folks in shorts and flip flops meandered along the sidewalks.

The warm breeze dewed sweat on her upper lip. She closed the window and switched on the air conditioning. Almost snorting at her low tolerance for the balmy weather, she turned into her dedicated parking bay.

The moment she opened her apartment door on the fifth floor, her shoulders drooped. Carl was fine, glowing lime green with health. He dominated the island in her quaint kitchen. The walls, counter, and tiles were white with the only splash of color her brown corduroy second-hand lounge suite.

Everything was as she had left it in her mad dash to pack for Coedwig. Clothes littered her bed. She gathered her nightgown, a now-dry towel, a discarded sock, and let the tears fall. Cleaning gave her purpose. While she wept, she dusted, mopped, scrubbed until her fingers throbbed, and her lower back ached. Then she collapsed into her overlarge lazy boy and stared at the flickering night lights.

The apartment block across from her played a silent tune, switching window lights off and on in a strange synchronicity. The air flowing through her apartment cooled the sweat on her skin without removing the crisp fragrance of the pine freshener. Savoring it all, she thought of Rhys and how addictive his cologne was.

With a shove, she was off the couch to dig her dead phone out of her bag and plug it in to charge. She switched it on and cringed at the litany of pings. Tons of texts from Evie, colleagues, and the one or two ‘friends’ she had retained during med school as well as a missed call from Dr. Olson.

Ilona typed quick texts to Gran to tell her she had arrived, and to Evie letting her know she hadn’t died from a weird pathogen. Tomorrow, after a ‘good’ night’s rest, Ilona would call Olson and discuss her options.

When the starless night sky offered her no comfort, she played out what she had said to the doctor who had interviewed her. Her na?veté and firm belief that the world was a good, decent place had reflected in her serene composure and bright, eager smile. Perched on the edge of the visitor’s chair, she had answered the questions with confidence. What a fool she had been.

With a steaming cup of green tea in hand, she sat on her couch, tucked a leg under her, and stared at the boxes towering in the corner. Since moving in years ago, she had yet to unpack. It made no sense when her choice of hospitals hadn’t been confirmed. Either way, staying for long near Amity was never on the cards. Now, she didn’t have much to pack. And whatever was in those boxes meant nothing to her if she hadn’t touched them. Hell, she couldn’t even remember what she had put in them.

Sighing, she unfurled her limbs, and rose. Placing the untouched tea on the scarred coffee table, she popped the top box open. The smell of home hit her, dust with stale popcorn and cotton candy. A scream raced a sob up her throat, and she unfolded her maroon-gold high school scarf, clutched it to her chest, then slid to the floor on a whimper.

Her wail turned silent, as her shoulders shuddered under grief’s overpowering heaviness. The pain cinched her chest, faltered her breathing, and with a slow mewling, she crumple to the unforgiving tiles.

Part of her wished she could burn everything, stop the onslaught of memories, and remove anything that could trigger it. But the quiet, calm voice of reason whispered she would regret it.

Cool air washed across her damp cheeks, and while suppressing a shiver, she got to her feet, tossed the scarf into the box, and flipped the lid shut. No, she wasn’t ready to deal with any of this. Staying in Coedwig would have been safer but also the coward’s route. A long soak and the familiar scent of her bed called to her.

Running the bath, the testing of the water’s temperature, the sprinkle of wild orchid bath salts, and the laying out of her nightgown was on autopilot. She rested her phone on the edge of the tub, and sank into the water, sighing as it melted the tension from her muscles. Any remnants of her illness faded, and she sank deeper until her chin submerged.

Her phone rang at eight. The unknown prefix on the number said Coedwig. Tempted to shut it off, she raised a finger, hovered for a few seconds on the red button, then touched the green. Gran could be in trouble.

“Lona?”

Hearing Rhys’s baritone comforted her, as if he cared. She tried to shove that down, but it bubbled to the surface. Memories of his blue eyes, broad shoulders, and dimpled smile fluttered her heartbeat.

“I didn’t think you would answer.” The pain in his voice shouldn’t affect her like it did, shouldn’t lash guilt across her.

Touching her cheek disturbed the water, but she ignored the surging waves and traced the scar with a gentle finger. She was as much a fool as he was. To think he could shift his affections for Callie to Ilona, or for her to hope he wouldn’t see her scar, that he might like her, the ex-doctor, and the wounded woman she now was?

Foolish. “Hello, Rhys.”

His breath caught. “Fuck, I love your voice.”

His rumbled with a sexual tension her body recognized. Heat infused her cheeks, and she clenched her thighs to ease the new ache burning between them.

He cleared his throat. “You got home all right?”

She nodded, then sighed, realizing he couldn’t see her. “Yes, I texted Gran.” Trailing an invisible pattern on the porcelain tub, she left the implication unsaid. He meant nothing to her, and therefore, didn’t deserve a text.

“She said so. Where are you now?”

So, Gran had chosen sides? Ilona gritted her teeth, ready to phone the woman and lambaste her.

“At my apartment. I’ve yet to visit my parents’ house to deal with the mountain of packing awaiting me. I’ll start in the morning, maybe with the kitchen.” She shivered. Holding the least amount of memorabilia, it seemed the safest.

“Wise.” An awkward silence fell, peppered only by his breathing. Still, she could listen to him all night. “You could get an auction house to pack up what you don’t want.”

She sat up, splashing water over the sides and smiled at the suggestion. “Good idea. What will I do with two toasters?”

The company could pack up her apartment too. A storage locker somewhere was an option. The expense would be negligible. The thick down blanket, a layer of pink insulation, and several meters of fog surrounded her heart. The thought of navigating that, tearing it open to sift through her parents’ stuff and her pre-scar life, drained the energy from every cell in her body.

“Have you eaten?”

It was sweet of him to ask, but whether she had or not, there was nothing he could do about it.

“No, not hungry. I did have a green tea.” The untouched, now-cooled tea sat on the coffee table where she had left it.

“You’d be happy to know, the scientists are recovering well.”

Shit, she hadn’t given them a thought. Though, to be fair, they had a mild case of hypothermia and broken limbs. She hadn’t expected any fatalities, other than a possible stroke or heart attack she couldn’t have foreseen without full knowledge of their medical history.

“Good. How are the boys doing?”

“Boys?” Rhys shifted, a smothered moan implying he settled into a more comfortable position. “I haven’t heard anything, so I assume they’re doing well.”

Silence stretched with only their breathing traveling the miles between them. The water cooled. Not that she was cold. “Why did you call, Rhys?”

He gasped and shifted again, squeaking whatever he sat on. “I plan to call every night at eight, Lona. You left in a rush, and I know, it’s my fault.” His words garbled as if he ran his hand over his face.

So, guilt had driven him to call.

“Night and goodbye, Rhys.” She swiped her thumb to the left, ready to disconnect.

“Lona!”

Pausing, she waited on bated breath for him to continue.

“Please, don’t hang up. You’re killing me here, Ilona. Please.” The pleading in his voice caught tendrils of longing in her heart and tugged on them. “Keep talking to me until I know you’ve settled. Until I know you’re doing well.”

“What will that accomplish, Rhys? A clean break is better. Your affection lies elsewhere, and no amount of conversation will change that. Besides, what did we share other than a few hours of our lives?”

He growled, and the sound shot shards of heat through her. Pebbling nipples aside, the man was mesmerizing. “Tell me spending time with me didn’t mean something to you.”

Her heart leaped to choke her, and she sat up, splashing more water over the side. No, she couldn’t tell him that, and therein lay the problem. She had loved his charisma, his sweet care, as if she mattered. The day and night in his company meant the world to her, too much. Yet, by his own words, she was the substitute.

Her mind scrambled for a plausible lie. His silence pressed on her, forcing her to speak the truth.

“I…can’t.” While shaking her head and flinging droplets in the process, she croaked the words. “Encouraging you isn’t—” She clamped her lips shut.

“So, being truthful about Callie is the only stumbling block?” His voice had roughened. “She’s my friend, Ilona, and yes, I was attracted to her. I thought she was my mate lost to a vampire. But my reaction to you far outstrips anything I ever felt for Callie.”

Her heart ached, throbbed, shooting flickers of pain to her collarbone. She wished she could believe him.

“I tell you what… Let’s take it a day at a time.” He sighed. “At least, give me a chance to prove my sincerity.”

She smiled, flattered by his persistence. He was there, she was here, would it be that bad to let him in, just a little? Long-distance relationships didn’t work, and she didn’t have the energy to argue with him.

Either he would win, and she would come to love him, or it would peter out. “All right, Rhys.”

He roared a violent yes, the kind of victorious cheer that had to go with a fist pump. “If I was there, I’d kiss your socks off.”

She giggled. “Not wearing any.”

“Yeah, figured as much with you in the bath.” He groaned. “Do me a favor, Lona? Eat something, even if it’s just a cracker.”

He was right to be concerned. She hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday. Studying her pruny fingers, she nodded. “For you.”

“Good. Thanks for taking my call.”

After he hung up, she balanced her phone on the side of the bath again and stepped out. Without his breathing and his sexy baritone in her ear, the apartment was too silent. She donned a baggy shirt and padded barefoot to the kitchen. It took minutes to make a bowl of ramen, and despite knowing how devoid of nutrition it was, she slurped the noodles into her mouth while staring out the window.

The city’s raucous cries, overhead aircraft, and distant sirens did nothing to ease the loneliness and perpetual sadness in her heart. Cursing, she rose, tossed the remnants of her meal, and headed to bed.