Private Partners (Doctors in Training 2)

“I will, later. Right now I just need to crash for a while—and you have to be in class in an hour. After I’ve had some rest, I’ll have to deal with Dad’s estate, not that there’s much to settle.”

“Rest well, then. Call when you have time.”

“I will. I love you, Annie.”

“I love you, too.”

“By the way—look under your bed when you have a minute. I’ll talk to you later.”

He hung up before she could ask why he wanted her to look under the bed.

Wiping tears from her cheek, and swallowing a sob she hadn’t wanted him to hear, she went into her bedroom and knelt to peer under the bed. She found a large white box there.

Liam hadn’t forgotten Valentine’s Day after all, she realized, opening the box to find a large, pink envelope sitting on top of something wrapped in sheets of white tissue. Her name was written on the envelope. The card depicted a bouquet of roses. A sappy but sweet poem was printed inside. Beneath that, Liam had written his own Valentine’s Day greeting, signing it with love.

A lump in her throat, she unfolded the tissue to reveal an exquisitely beautiful nightgown and robe set in the palest pink satin. Delicate lace decorated the bodice. She ran a fingertip along the intricate pattern, admiring the handiwork. It was a beautiful set, so very pretty that she knew she would never wear it unless he was there to admire her in it.

She clutched the delicate garments to her breast and huddled over them, sobbing in earnest now. She cried for Liam, for his loss of the father he’d only just begun to know. And she cried because she was tired and confused, facing a future that seemed to hold only more stress and conflict and uncertainty.

After several moments, she forced herself to stop crying and went into the bathroom to wash her face, leaving the gift on the bed. Despite her emotions, she had to go to class. Had to somehow hide her feelings from her friends and concentrate on her studies. That seemed to be the only productive action she could take just then.

Chapter Seven

Liam stood in a fine mist, making no effort to stay dry as he lingered in the little church cemetery, staring grimly down at the mound of dirt at his feet. A few flowers, already wilting around the edges, were arranged on the grave. The handful of mourners who had attended his father’s funeral had departed. Some would gather for a late lunch at the home of his father’s only sibling, Maura Magee. Liam had been invited to join them, but he’d asked for a little time alone first.

He didn’t know his father’s family very well. He’d hardly known his dad. His feelings for the man were still so complicated he could barely understand them himself. Had he loved his father? Maybe, in a vague, obligatory manner. Had he liked him? Yes. More with passing time, as he’d come to better understand the demons that had driven Duncan from his home, from his family. From his son.

Duncan had been reluctant to talk much about his past, but he’d confessed to Liam a few years ago that he’d grown up with an angry, abusive, alcoholic father, that he’d been tormented by childhood classmates, that he’d escaped his problems by running away. First to another country, and then into the bottom of a bottle—many bottles. When his drinking had destroyed his marriage to the only woman he’d ever loved—Liam’s mother—he’d run away again, traveling aimlessly from place to place until he’d ended up back where he’d begun. Only then had he begun to face his past, with the help of his sister and a few old friends who had still cared about him.

It had been too late to make amends with his wife, but he’d still had a chance with his son, he’d told Liam tearfully. Perhaps they could learn to be friends, if not the sort of father-son relationship he would have liked. Liam supposed they had been friends at the end.

He wished he’d had time to bid his father goodbye. To tell him that, though the old pain of abandonment was still raw, Liam had tried to understand and to forgive.

He’d missed that opportunity by one hour, he thought bleakly. One measly hour, damn it.

“Sorry, Da,” he murmured, kneeling to lay the white flower in his hand on the freshly turned dirt. “I tried to be here. I hope you knew that.”

He felt very much alone when he straightened. Alone in the cemetery. Alone in the world, somehow. Which was ridiculous, of course, considering he’d never had a close relationship with his father. He had more friends and business associates than he could even count. He had a wife.

Yet none of them were with him now. None of them would be there when he walked into his rarely occupied apartment back in New York.

He’d told himself he was the luckiest guy on Earth. That he had the best of both worlds. He was a footloose bachelor with a great wife. He’d had family, but loosely enough that he didn’t have to worry about pleasing them or compromising for them. He had a home, but he’d been free to travel the world on a whim. He had a job most people only dreamed of, yet enough free time to pursue other dreams, like his writing. He even had a deal pending for his first book, once he got past whatever block was keeping him from tackling those revisions. What more could he want?

Pushing his hands into his pockets, he turned away from the grave, reminding himself that nothing in his life had really changed all that much. He was still a lucky guy. He could go to New York, call up some friends, spend an evening out on the town. Or he could head back to Little Rock and spend several quiet, private evenings with Anne. The best of both worlds.

He should probably go back to New York. His presence had obviously been a distraction to Anne, though she was too generous to complain. He knew she’d been worried her family would find out about him, which wasn’t something he wanted just now, either. And it wasn’t as if he’d gotten anything done at her place, anyway. He and Anne could get together later, after she’d finished her classes for the semester, after she’d taken the dreaded Step 1 exam in June. That was o

nly four months away; they would both be fine on their own until they had a chance to snatch a few precious days together.

So, he would go back to New York. To his nice, small, very empty apartment there.

Yet he had the depressing feeling that making that choice would be acknowledging defeat in his marriage.

Pushing a hand through his short, damp hair, he left the cemetery with a heavy void in his chest he didn’t want to contemplate too closely. He had to make a decision before he left Ireland, and he didn’t have a clue what the best choice would be.

Anne parked in her apartment lot at almost eleven Thursday night after a long and exhausting study session. The group had all agreed that this cycle’s material was particularly evil—so much to learn, so little time to do so. They’d barely gotten started on the information that would be on next week’s test, and already she wondered how she would ever remember it all.

She glanced up at her apartment. Only one light burned in the window, the lamp she left on a timer so she didn’t have to enter a dark room when she came home late. The bedroom window was dark, as she expected. Most of the apartments around hers were also dark, considering the late hour.