Eternally North (11 page)

His breathing was
harsh, like he was fighting to keep himself together. Had I upset
him? Angered him? I didn’t know, but I honestly thought I would
collapse again. Cause of death: Tudor overdose. He might be moody,
but gosh, he made moody sexy. The close proximity to this guy was
affecting my nerves, and other areas of my sex-starved anatomy.

When I was up straight,
he put an arm around my waist and began walking with me towards the
car at a snail’s pace, which my aching head and I very much
appreciated. His torso was too broad for me to put my arms around, so
I settled for gripping tightly to his jumper. I noticed that Tink was
exceptionally quiet, and I briefly glanced around to see where he
was. Not for the first time, he was frowning, squinting his eyes and
looking to Tudor, then looking ahead and back to Tudor all over
again. I was in too much pain to even guess why.

Tudor kept me close,
and I chuckled internally at the situation. An A-list movie star was
walking
me
, a normal girl from Newcastle, to my car, after I
had collided with him whilst roller skating on approximately one inch
of ice. You couldn’t make that shit up!

Arriving at the
Bumblebee Camaro, Tudor lowered me into the front seat and looked as
if he was about to say something and then just… didn’t. I finally
noticed what he was wearing, all dark clothing: gloves, a hoodie that
was pulled up over his head and another woolly beanie hat, this time
in black. I was desperate to pull it back and see how he wore his
hair. I was hoping for shaved – he looked better that way. It was a
good disguise; he looked like a generic, albeit
ma-hoos-ive
,
jogger.

Tudor turned to Tate
and whispered something to him. Tate nodded, turned and smiled shyly
in my direction, and lowered himself into the back seat, putting a
reassuring hand on my right shoulder. He was obviously not a talker,
that one, just all quiet and sweetness.

Resting back against
the seat, I felt something lumpy under my back. I reached behind
slowly and pulled out a black scarf. What? Where? –
ah
, the
pillow I had felt earlier.

I brought it to my nose
and breathed in the scent that was all him, all Tudor. I smiled. Had
he slipped this in the car for me to rest on? That was... unexpected.
I clutched it tightly in my hands and turned my head to take in the
view of the park whilst Tink was settling into the driver’s side
bucket seat.

Tudor stood on the
embankment next to the car and watched us slowly pull away. He looked
so sad and alone. As we crawled past him, I looked his way, using the
scarf to support my cheek on the door frame. He was staring at me
intensely, never shifting his concerned gaze, hands tucked in his
sweat-pant pockets. I took the opportunity to mouth a ‘thank you’,
and smiled at him.

His head jerked back in
surprise, like he was genuinely taken back by my gratitude. Without
breaking eye contact, he gave me a little nod of his head and slowly
pulled his face into that heart-melting lopsided smirk.

This man is killing
me!

Tink put his hand on my
knee, sighed and remarked, “At least the skates didn’t end up
swimming in shit this time!”

It was a mild
concussion. After being checked over thoroughly and forced to wait
several hours at Calgary General Hospital, I was given permission to
go home with the promise that someone would look after me for the
next forty-eight hours.

I was given a
truck-load of pain medication to take away the majority of my
discomfort, and so far it seemed to be working. My hair was matted
with blood from where I had sliced my scalp in the fall, but luckily
it was minor and required no stitches. I was beyond happy to go home;
I was tired, felt horrendous and was thoroughly humiliated.

My ego had taken a bit
of a battering after my second encounter with a certain movie star. I
knew I was not a Playboy model by any stretch of the imagination, but
I wasn’t ugly, and Tudor’s reluctance towards me was bruising. I
felt a pain in my heart, a physical and sharp pain, every time I
thought about his reaction when I had asked him to come to the
hospital with me. Realistically, I knew that Tudor was just helping a
girl out in her time of need, and I berated myself that I was so
bothered by the fact that his behaviour didn’t mean anything more.

I had assumed that from
last night’s disastrous meeting that he was a grade-A twat, one who
I would probably never meet again. But today, his physical actions
seemed to show him in a different light. He was gentle and caring.

Had I misjudged him?
Judged a book by its cover? Did he have a warm, gooey centre under
that rock-hard and stunningly tattooed outer shell? And more to the
point, why was I so hurt by his rejection? He was unattainable, both
physically and emotionally, and I was just making my headache worse
by considering something that was so undeniably impossible.
Absolutely bloody impossible.

Ahh well, enough of
that now.

Tink and Tate had
waited the day away with me in the ER, and it was lovely to see my
normally bolshie and commitment-phobic best friend humbled by a
geek-chic lovely with the sweetest disposition I had ever
encountered.

Tate was very quiet in
nature and only spoke when necessary, the polar opposite of me and
Tink, the Odditt and Dodditt of Gobshite Central. Easy conversation
had flowed and they chatted non-stop – well, mostly Tink chatted –
but they each gave fleeting flirty glances and gentle touches at any
given opportunity.

When we were leaving, all discharge
papers signed and aftercare instructions dictated, we waved goodbye
to Tate, who jumped into a nearby taxi, much to Tink’s
disappointment but Tate made sure that before he left, he and Tink
exchanged phone numbers and home addresses for the impending first
date that had been promised during ‘skater-gate’. My loved-up
fairy chatted excitedly about potential venues all the way home.

Walking through the
door to our condo gave me that
‘there’s no place like home’
feeling
à la
Dorothy from the
Wizard of Oz
. Tink
placed me on the sofa and turned on the fire, making me all warm and
cosy, the room only lit from the amber glow of the coals. He brushed
a kiss on my head and walked towards the bathroom, where I heard the
calming sound of running water. Tink may be as daft as a brush and as
ditzy as all hell, but he is as loyal as they come and fiercely
protective of the people he loves. I closed my eyes and let the world
drift away.

“Oh no, missy! No
closing those bush baby-sized shutters. Doctor’s orders,”
chastised Tink from the end of the sofa, with his arms crossed and a
disapproving look on his face.

I opened my eyes slowly
and sighed heavily. “Okay, babe. Sorry.”

He smiled lovingly.
“Come on, sausage, I’ve run you a bath. Have a lush thirty-minute
soak and you’ll feel loads better afterwards.”

Tink led me to my
bathroom, where he had lit all my strawberry-scented Yankee Candles,
illuminating my cream-and-gold en-suite into a sumptuous haven. My
bath tub was huge and filled to the brim with bubbling vanilla foam,
enticing me to envelope my aching and battered body in its depths.

Tink moved to the iDock
situated on the shelf above the vanity cabinet, and within seconds
Bruno Mars was serenading me about girls being perfect just the way
they are. My fairy saviour helped me undress, and guided me as I sank
down into the hot and soothing water. He then pulled down the gold
gilded padded toilet lid and made himself comfortable.

My bestie and I for
many years have had our best discussions whilst one of us soaks in
the bath and the other sits astride the loo seat. We can chat for
hours. Actually, for me it’s weird to have a bath without the
ramblings of Tink filling the room.

As I lathered up my
nourishing coconut milk shampoo to try and remove the dried blood
from my hair, I glanced at the toilet fairy. He was contemplating
something. I knew because he had captured his tongue between his
teeth, a dead giveaway to the fact that something was bugging him. He
would tell me when he was ready, and in the meantime I enjoyed the
peace.

The intro to ‘Grenade’
had just kicked in when Tink spoke. “Wil?”

“Mmm?” I murmured.

“What do you think of
Tudor?"

I stared at him. “What
do you mean?”

He leaned forward,
resting his chin on his fist. “Like, do you like him? Do you think
he’s nice?”

“He’s gorgeous, if
that’s what you’re getting at.”

He shook his head. “No,
I mean do you like
him
? His personality.”

He was completely
serious – very out of character.

I thought about my
answer. “I don’t know. He seems too abrupt and moody at times,
but then today when he let that slide he was… I don’t know…
kind of… sweet.” I shrugged. “I don’t know him, Tink, and
probably never will. He has a wall build up around him so high that
I’ve decided not to think about it as it makes my head hurt,” I
said, trying to sound convincing.

Tink shifted
uncomfortably. “I’ve been watching him. In fact, I made a point
to watch him all last night
and
today while he played nurse.”

I sat up slightly. “Is
this you telling me
you
like him – like,
like
him,
like him?” I asked, feeling my stomach doing more flips than an
Eastern European gymnast.

Woah! Calm down
stomach. Why did I just react like that?

“I don’t want you
to use Tate to get close to him. Tate’s lovely and I don’t want
you to hurt him. He is clearly into you,” I continued, scolding.

Tink lowered his wrist
from his chin and glared at me, raising his pierced eyebrow. “I
like Tate too, and I am not using him to get to the obviously
straight
Tudor.”

“Okay,” I said
crinkling my forehead in confusion.

He sat up, slapping his
hands on his knees. “I think Tudor likes you,” he blurted out
suddenly.

I simply stared at him
in response.

“Hear me out, Wil.
Last night everyone at the restaurant commented on how he watched
you. You didn’t see it, as you had no clue he was even sitting at
the back table. I thought that was strange enough. But today, well
today it was… I don’t know how to explain it. He was about to
blow a fuse at being ploughed down by us on our fabulous new skates
and his face was fuming with rage, until he looked down.

“When he realised it
was you underneath his bulk, his whole attitude changed. You could
see it physically in his face, like he had just been told he’d won
the lottery – I actually got chills. Then when he saw you were
hurt, the sheer panic in his eyes was haunting. He began freaking
out, and ripped off his gloves just to touch your face, took off his
scarf to put under your head. I couldn’t look away and nor could
Tate. When we pulled away to go to the hospital, I swear he looked
broken, Wil. I-I just… I am…” Tink let out an exaggerated sigh.
“I just don’t know what to make of it all. I can’t figure him
out.” He physically slumped forward, the enormity of his
revelations now off his little fairy chest.

I was as still as a
statue, taking in everything that he had said. I shouldn’t have let
myself be affected, but I couldn’t help it. I remembered some of
what Tink was telling me: the fingers brushing across my face, the
small laughs, the protective embrace and the crestfallen expression
on his rugged face as we pulled away from the curb.

What did it mean?
Did it mean anything at all? No, his reluctance at going to the
hospital confirmed that.

“Tink, it’s
nothing. If he was so worried he would have took me to the hospital
himself,” I argued.

My frazzled bestie
frowned at my words. “He talked to me about that just before I got
into the car. He said that he didn’t want it to be a circus, and
that it would have been with him there. Said that he can’t go
anywhere anymore without causing riot and that your health was the
priority and an impromptu autograph signing would distract the
doctors from focusing all their attention on you.” Tink looked away
and then back to me. “Tate told me something else too. He said that
Tudor hates hospitals.”

I sighed. “Well who
likes them?”

Tink shook his head.
“No, Wil, like he
can’t
go in them without freaking out.
He didn’t say why, but I have a feeling there’s more to it than
just a general dislike. Tate made it seem that he’d react like
trying to get a Geordie lass to step out of the house with
non-fake-tanned naturally pale skin – an absolute no go!”

He moved to kneel at
the bath by my head. “Wil, I don’t know if you should have
anything to do with him. Something feels off to me, he seems too
locked up, too distant, and the way he looks at you scares me –
it’s possessive, bordering on
obsessive
. There’s more to
Mr. North than we could ever know, and I want you to stay away for
your sake. If not yours, then for mine.”

“Tink, I can
guarantee you that Tudor North is
not
interested in me, and I
have only known him for a grand total of, what? Eighteen hours? I am
not putting myself down when I say this, but I am fully aware that I
am not Miss. Universe and that people like Tudor North do not look at
and desire people like me. I think he was just looking out for his
sister by helping her clumsy teacher who he keeps unfortunately
running – or should I say
ploughing
– into. It’s
impossible that he would feel that way for me, just… impossible.
I’m not being a Debbie Downer but
him
liking
me
will
never happen. We are in two different leagues. But on the off-chance
of him liking me, my new-found lifestyle would encourage me to go for
it, would it not?” I joked.