Chapter 2

T hat stupid bastard. That stupid, stupid, stupid, unbelievably stupid bastard!

Maisie took a moment to calm herself, closing her eyes and trying to draw in a deep breath.

You're on a tropical island. Or at least you soon will be. There's nothing here but the sound of the waves on the sand, the wind in the palm fronds. It's just you, your book, and the sunshine on your skin, the wind in your hair. Everything is calm. Everything is relaxing. There's no stupid piece of shit arsehole bastard here to ruin your day or tell you he's not coming on this holiday with you at the last minute – ARGH!!

Snapping her eyes open again, Maisie realized that if she didn't calm down right now, she'd be in danger of tearing her new pair of swimmers in two, before she'd even had the chance to wear them outside of the change rooms of the swimwear shop.

Unclenching her fists, she smoothed the stretchy material down before quickly folding it and putting it away inside her suitcase.

Still, it seemed pretty unfair that she couldn't keep her mind off Brent Coleman, aka the stupid, stupid, unbelievably stupid bastard, even in her relaxation fantasies – he was very, very much her ex-boyfriend now, and that was that. She needed to put him out of her mind if she was going to have a hope of enjoying herself on her first holiday in nearly four years.

It was the holiday, however, that had caused the breakup, so fat chance of that, Maisie thought glumly as she despondently dropped a flowy, pastel-colored sarong down on top of her swimmers.

It wasn't the kind of thing she'd normally wear – being an ER nurse meant she tended toward practical clothes, and being in scrubs and sneakers for most of her waking hours had seemed to have given her an allergy to clothes that were either too restrictive or too flowy, high heels, jewelry, nice hairstyles, and anything but the most minimal of makeup (her morning beauty routine consisted mainly of ‘brush teeth in shower, pull hair back, dab concealer on bags under eyes, not that it does much – or any – good').

But dammit, she'd booked this holiday to get away from the stress of work – and so, flowy sarongs, cute swimmers, and impractical footwear it was.

And no boyfriend. Thank God.

Still, as she folded up a few pairs of shorts, Maisie could feel her lower lip wobbling just a little bit. She'd been looking forward to this holiday with Brent – she'd thought it would be a chance to get over their recent rough patch and reconnect. Remember why they'd liked each other in the first place.

There definitely was a reason I liked him, I'm sure of it…

A reason, surely, that wasn't just that he was the first man who'd approached her in years , on the one night she'd been talked into going out to a bar for a friend's hen's night. She hadn't been that pathetic, right? Just to stick with a guy because she hadn't been asked out in a while and she was beginning to worry she never would be again?

Oh, who am I kidding. That's absolutely the reason, Maisie thought, as she tossed a t-shirt down into her suitcase, shaking her head in disgust at herself. But look, in my defense, hot guys are hardly throwing themselves through my bedroom window, are they?

As, sighing, Maisie wandered out to the hall to look for the shoes she wanted to take with her, she thought back over the past few months, and wondered if she'd been quite sane.

From the way she was carrying on now, anyone would think Brent had been the one to dump her , and not the other way around. It had been Maisie's decision to finally tell him to get lost – made impulsively, but with very good reasons.

hey babe, he'd texted her yesterday. don't think i can make this trip after all. got some work thing that came up. sry! make it up 2 u latr babe.

Maisie had stared at the text for at least ten minutes, not sure whether her disbelief or her fury was stronger. Surely it had to be some kind of joke , right? They'd been planning this beach holiday in Queensland together for weeks, and Brent had asked her to put everything on her credit cards on the promise he'd pay her back.

Of course, Maisie really doubted that would ever happen, if Brent had ever been planning on paying her back in the first place. But he definitely wouldn't be now, after the blistering message she'd sent him calling him every name she could think of, telling him he could shove whatever it was he planned to do to ‘make it up to her' straight up his arse, before blocking his number.

It really hadn't mattered if it had just been a joke – it wasn't funny, and somehow, Maisie thought Brent had actually been serious about his sudden cancelation.

At least, if the rest of their relationship was anything to go by, that wasn't hard to believe.

Maisie had been stood up for dates more times than she cared to remember; her messages had been left on read for days; she'd made plans only for Brent to suddenly announce they were no good after seeming to be enthused about them at first.

And then, of course, was the fact she'd never met any of his friends, even though they'd been together for about three months. She didn't even know what his job was , despite the fact he was always using it as an excuse for his sudden cancelations and mysterious disappearances.

I'm not even that clingy, am I? Maisie thought as, crouching, she reached around in the back of her hall cupboard for her only pair of heels. It's not like I didn't try to give him space if that's what he wanted. And it's not like my job is a walk in the park either!

That was true – being a nurse was long hours, night shifts, and exhaustion. But she'd still tried to set time aside for Brent. Not that he seemed to be that interested in it.

Well, who the hell cares. He's gone. Gone! Out of my life. And good riddance to that, Maisie thought as, probably a little more viciously than she needed to, she finally found and dragged her high heels out of the back of the cupboard.

He probably had some other girlfriend he liked better. That was why he was always disappearing. I was just his bit on the side.

Maisie glumly made her way back toward her bedroom, not bothering not to stomp her feet, even though she was fully aware she was being childish. Her housemate, Kara, a co-worker at the hospital, was out at the moment, and they lived on the ground floor, so she wouldn't be disturbing anyone with her little tantrum. And to be honest, she felt she deserved one.

At least I still have this holiday, even if it was a stupid waste of money to get two plane tickets and a double room at the hotel, Maisie told herself as she flung the heels into her suitcase. And even if it's the off season, and I'll be staying in the cheapest hotel room I was able to find. I'll be somewhere that isn't this cold, dank apartment with its moldy walls, and I can put my feet up and let someone else do all the running around for once. I just need to not be here . Just let me be somewhere else where I can be distracted from my life. Please.

Hopefully, she could just get blind drunk on pi?a coladas by the beach and forget all about the existence of Brent Coleman.

And his kind of wicked smile.

And the twinkle he got in his eye when he looked at her.

And his battered leather jacket that had just screamed ‘bad boy', in a way that had made her heart speed up.

And his –

Argh! Stop thinking about him! What did I just say!!

Yeah, Brent had been hot. But his personality had been shitty , and she knew that. And he'd been kind of a pig, too.

Who the hell leaves their socks on the kitchen bench? Completely disgusting!

Kara had texted her a photo to complain about that more than once – but Maisie would be able to tell her about the breakup when she clocked on for her evening shift, so Kara at least – who'd never liked Brent to begin with – would be happy.

Hopefully she can keep the ‘I told you so's to a minimum…

Sighing, Maisie zipped her shoes up in a pocket of her suitcase, before slamming the whole thing shut. That should be everything – so she was all ready to do her evening shift, have a snooze, wake up early tomorrow morning, throw on some clothes and then shoot out the door with her already-packed case. Shift work had made her a master of organizing her life to the max, at least, since she knew full well she'd be too exhausted to pack tomorrow.

This way, she could get maximum sleep and start her holiday off awake, refreshed, and ready to find the bottom of a bunch of cocktail glasses.

Heaving her suitcase to the floor, Maisie wandered out to the kitchen to make herself a protein smoothie before she headed out to work. Quick and efficient defined her meals, too – she might hate the taste, but the smoothies got her what she needed quickly and easily. She didn't really have the time or the money for long, luxurious meals.

Now that her righteous rage was beginning to wear off, Maisie had to admit she was beginning to feel just the slightest bit… deflated.

Did I really waste all that time on such a loser just because I was scared I'd never meet anyone else? she wondered, as she measured out a scoop and a half of protein powder into the blender.

But there was no denying it – she had.

It was depressing to think about. She hadn't always been like this, though, she told herself – once, she'd been bold and daring. She'd gone solo backpacking across Eastern Europe after finishing her nursing degree. She'd had about a million hobbies, from photography to basketball. She'd thought at one time she didn't really care if she never met the love of her life.

Where did that girl go? she thought sadly, as she poured some oats into the blender, followed by some yogurt.

Well, she was swallowed up by the grinding routine of daily life, she answered herself as she switched the blender on. It was all very well to be exciting and spontaneous and go on adventures when you were twenty-one, but now…?

She loved her job – there was no doubt about that. Yes, it was stressful, and she didn't exactly get paid a lot. But her patients relied on her, and she knew she was good at it. She took pride in making sure the people who came into the hospital were always treated courteously and their needs taken care of to the best of her ability – hell, she'd even learned, eventually, to decipher most doctors' handwriting.

But it was draining, and she often came home, showered (even though her feet were killing her), and fell straight into bed after a shift without the energy even to read a book, let alone go out and have any kind of adventure.

Maybe that was why I liked Brent, she thought as she shut the blender off – though liked was probably the wrong word, since, when she thought about it, she realized how little she'd actually known him.

It was actually that she'd liked the idea of him, the bad boy who'd whisk her off her feet and whisper filthy things in her ear in the back of a taxi. Who'd made her feel like, maybe, she wasn't the completely boring, work-obsessed person she'd become.

Well, time to come back to real life, she told herself firmly. There was the idea of the cool, exciting bad boy, and then there was the reality.

And the reality is, he's gross, and emotionally and physically unavailable, and just a plain piece of shi—

CRASH!

Maisie jumped, a small, shocked cry leaving her lips as the sound of smashing glass rang out suddenly through the house.

Instinctively, she covered her head with her hands, ducking, before her brain caught up with her ears and she realized the sound hadn't come from in here – it had come crashing down the hallway, from – from –

My bedroom, she thought, her blood suddenly running ice cold.

It was early afternoon, and she lived on the ground floor in a kind of dodgy area, and the landlord had steadfastly refused to fork out for bars on the windows. If someone was going to break in, Maisie thought grimly, it was the perfect time for it – any robber would probably have assumed anyone who might live here was out at work or school.

I have to call the cops, she thought – but her phone was in the bedroom.

And in any case – by the time the cops got here, it'd be too late. And what if the robber, on seeing her suitcase, grabbed it and took off with it, on the off-chance it had something valuable inside it?

No. No way. No breaking and entering creep is ruining my holiday. Not after all this.

Knowing full well that this was exactly how people ended up the subjects of an especially unpleasant episode of a true crime podcast, Maisie stomped her way out into the lounge, pausing only to grab an ornate iron fire poker from beside the – non-functional – fireplace. It was a historic building she lived in, after all, with all the historic features too, including crumbling plaster, barely any insulation, and, apparently, easily smashable windows.

But she wasn't going to take this lying down. Gripping the fire poker in both hands, Maisie kept on going up the hall. She knew she was being stupid, but she'd had enough right now of feeling like life's chew toy. She'd be damned if she was going to feel like she couldn't even look after herself in her own home!

Breathe in, breathe out. Tell whoever it is to go back out the window the way they came. Wave the fire poker around so he knows you mean business. Unless he's on meth. If he's on meth, just grab your bag and run. Or maybe don't even grab your bag…

Raising the fire poker, Maisie took one last deep breath and wheeled around the corner to her bedroom, yelling What the hell do you think you're doing?! at the top of her lungs.

The first thing she saw was the smashed window, surrounded by the billowing curtains as the breeze from outside rushed in.

The second thing she saw was the tall, muscular, and obviously extremely injured man standing next to her bed.