Detained

He couldn’t believe Darcy came back for round two. If it wasn’t for those fucking wheelchairs, he’d have been able to walk through the pain of separating from her. But she’d said his name and it had taken everything he had left not to forget he’d been reborn without worth or control. He wanted to rip his own tongue out for what he’d said to her, and the way he’d said it: deliberately intimidating, insulting, and threatening. But he needed her to go, to forget him, to hate him—the quicker, the harder, the better.

But he’d touched her, and smelled her perfume, and baited her for that kiss he knew she’d give him. That hadn’t been part of the plan. That was too real. He sat on the end of his bed and put his head in his crippled hands. The feeling of holding Darcy overwhelming his emotions. He didn’t understand the sadness that shadowed the anger in his head. She’d walked away, it was what he’d wanted. He should’ve felt grateful for that. He felt like he’d taken a knife to his own chest and killed the best thing he’d ever known.

The only good thing he could say about it was he’d never hurt her again.

When the ever faithful Bo arrived, the first thing Will did was snarl at him for taking too long. Bo wasn’t like Pete. He didn’t wear his emotions on his face, he was hard to read. It made Will want to push Bo even harder to get him to crack. And all that proved was not having a behavioural filter made it disgustingly easy to act like a psychopath. He was checking out of rehab, but he wasn’t thinking of rejoining the world. He was hot and cold, up and down, inside out, and not fit for human consumption.

He had Bo drop him to the house in Luwan and fuck off. He’d fend for himself from here. He hadn’t been to the house in a while and fending for himself meant he’d have to sort out food, which would be interesting. If he walked to the supermarket he’d be stuck with trying to work out what the labels said. If he went to the fresh food market with no language it would be an equally crappy experience. He could pick up a phone and send Bo shopping, call in the housekeeper, or he could start getting used to managing on his own. Starting with shopping for food.

He opened the fridge and leaned in. It was already stocked. That’s what Bo had been doing before he arrived. Shit. He went into the living room, headed for the bar. Empty. It was never, ever empty. Fuck. That was Bo too, making sure he didn’t do anything dumb.

He wasn’t hungry anyway. He couldn’t drink himself into a stupor without going shopping. With both hands bandaged he’d be likely to drop every bottle he tried to pick up. He couldn’t read, and TV made his head spin. But he had a pocket full of happy pills he’d swiped off the counter in casualty. They’d be enough to knock him out without dreams for a day, lon

ger if he was lucky.

It was two in the afternoon. He’d never hated himself as much as he did now. He downed the pills and went to bed, even though he knew oblivion was too good for him.

When he woke it might’ve been the same day, the next day or a week later. He could smell food cooking. He had a stunning headache, and his mouth felt like he’d been licking a beach. He sat on the edge of the bed and held his head. On the bedside table where a pile of pills had been there was nothing but an empty glass of water. That meant he’d been waking and dosing again. It could be next year for all he knew.

He made it through a hot shower without falling over, or getting his plaster wet but couldn’t manage to get the bandage off the stitched hand with his teeth. Whoever was out there cooking would come in handy. He stood in the kitchen doorway. He expected Bo, or maybe the housekeeper. He saw Jiao with a large carving knife in her hand.

“Oh God. I’ve died and gone to Shenzhen.”

She dropped the knife and rounded the kitchen bench. She was furious with him. She put her hand on his chest and shoved hard. “You talk now.” She shoved him again.

“You made me crawl all over town looking for you.” She shoved a third time, so he gave a little, took a step back.

“Not where you’re supposed to be in the hospital. Not in the apartment. Not at the office. Not at Pete’s. Not at the villa. I thought you might be dead, and no one remembered to tell me.”

“Why didn’t you ask Bo?”

“You think that lapdog would tell me where you were unless you wanted it? I had to break a window to get in here.”

“You broke in?”

She shrugged. “You don’t answer your phone.”

“I’m sure Pete knew where I was.”

“Peter is in Sydney. He didn’t know you’d checked yourself out. I had to tell him you were here.”

“Sydney?”

“You are the worst ex-boyfriend ever. I’ve had ex’s who pledged undying love, leave their wives, buy me jewels and threaten suicide to get me back, but you—you have to get your face all over the news—what were you doing to that poor man? Get kidnapped, jailed and beaten near to death. Then, as if that’s not enough, you lose your memory and don’t talk for eight months.”

“I did it all just to annoy you.”

Her next shove was more like a slap. “You make me so mad with worry, I want to kill you myself. They wouldn’t let me come, but I couldn’t take it anymore. And so I get here and you’re missing again.”

“I didn’t ask you to come.”

“You stupid, stupid man, you really are brain damaged. You think I wouldn’t throw everything away to know you are all right? I phoned the hospital every day. I leave it for one weekend to call and you disappear.”

With any other woman you might expect tears; Jiao was just warming up. Will knew he wasn’t awake enough to handle her.

“I’ve been here for three days and all you do is sleep like you’re back in a coma. I go in your room and hold my hand over your face to see if you’re still breathing. Anyone could have robbed this place and you’d have slept through it.” She frowned, took a breath. “I think someone did, you have no alcohol.”

He started to laugh.