Page 4 of Reckless

“Actually, I think I’d like to try doing it myself,” I said, surprising myself with the answer. I’d never managed to keep a pot plant alive for more than a few months, let alone an entire garden, but wasn’t that what I’d come here for? A change of pace? A new chapter in my life? I liked the idea of fitting gardening somewhere into that.

“Oh,” he said, his expressive face falling. “Wait. What admin job?”

“I’m looking for an office administrator.”

“Well, how hard could that be?” he asked with a grin.

“It’s actually quite complicated. You need to have knowledge of the specialist software, and⁠—”

“Oh, count me out then,” he said, his grin even wider. “But let me know if you change your mind about the hedge.”

And then, as he turned to leave, he tripped off the front step and onto the path, landing on his knees with a sickening crack.

Twenty minutes later, he peered over my shoulder as I entered his details into the computer.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “That looks really tricky.” He poked the dressing on his knee and winced. “Thanks for patching me up. Usually Natty does, or my mum.”

“Do you have a lot of accidents?”

“Tons.” He seemed almost proud of it.

“Well, you should definitely get a Medicare card then.”

“Nah.” He shrugged. “Seems like a lot of hassle.”

“It’s really not.”

“Eh.” He shrugged again. “What do I owe you for this?”

I snorted. “It’s a couple of dressings and some Betadine. Don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks!” He wrinkled his nose. “So why are you adding me to your computer?”

“So that next time you see me, I don’t have to do it.”

“Fair enough.” He scratched his cheek. “How are you going getting milk?”

“Milk?”

“Dominic, the copper, had some trouble when he first arrived,” Button John said. “I could hook you up with Robbie Finch if you wanted.”

Hook me up with Robbie Finch.

I jolted, almost deleting Button John’s patient record.

Given what I knew about Robbie Finch’s habits, the sudden mental image shouldn’t have been so alluring. Robbie had struck me as a quiet kind of guy, awkward when it came to smalltalk—although a lot of that was probably down to the fact I’d had my hands on his penis less than five minutes after we’d exchanged hellos—and strong and capable, in that understated way some guys were. The sort of guy who didn’t say much but just got on with whatever it was they had to do. And when it came to Robbie Finch, I didn’t have to speculate about whether there was a churning current running under those still waters, since he’d all but confirmed he was having anonymous sex with strangers.

A quiet, contained guy with a hidden wild streak? I was intrigued. I’d always been drawn to men who were studies in opposites. Quiet guys with wild sides just waiting to be drawn out, confidently brash guys whose shyness became apparent the moment you got them alone, or authoritative doctors who chewed out combative patients and meddling hospital administrators alike, but then let you take charge in the bedroom.

Those first years with Neal had been great. I had no idea where we’d gone so wrong, because it wasn’t any one thing. It had been hundreds of little things, irritants at first, until both of us had just stopped caring enough to even try to fix them. I’d lost Neal long before the accident, if I was honest. That didn’t make it any easier though. It just added another layer of regret.

“Yeah,” Button John continued blithely. “Robbie’s the guy to see about milk. Eggs too, if you need them.”

“I’ve just been getting them at the shop,” I said, blinking away visions of Neal, fantasies of Robbie, and memories I didn’t want to sink into today.

“Mavis must have decided you’re alright then,” Button John said. “Or you’re at least useful.”

I thought of what I’d told Robbie—that I was here because I wanted to be useful. I still wasn’t sure exactly what I’d meant by that. Of course I’d been useful at the Alfred too, but there I’d been a cog in a machine, just keeping moving until I was no more use, at which point I’d be replaced by a newer, shinier cog. Here, as a general practitioner, I could take my time with patients. Share their journeys, instead of being just another face they barely remembered once they were shunted off to the wards, or sent home to follow up the next day with their own doctor. I supposed I didn’t just want to be useful; I wanted to form connections.