Keep Hold Read online

  Table of Contents

  Synopsis

  By the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Books Available From Bold Strokes Books

  Synopsis

  Claire O’Malley isn’t looking for love. In fact, the woman she thought she would spend the rest of her life with just moved to Berlin. Claire’s focus is on mending her broken heart. Not easy when you find yourself sharing a house with your ex’s older sister, Kathryn Mercer.

  The Kathryn that Claire used to know—frumpy and boring—has disappeared. These days she walks a little taller, looks a little slimmer, oozes charm and confidence, and turns heads.

  Some things should be left alone. Some rules should never be broken. But some opportunities are just too good to miss.

  Keep Hold

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  eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  http://www.boldstrokesbooks.com

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.

  Keep Hold

  © 2015 By Michelle Grubb. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-503-9

  This Electronic Book is published by

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, New York 12185

  First Edition: October 2015

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editor: Cindy Cresap

  Production Design: Stacia Seaman

  Cover Design By Sheri([email protected])

  By the Author

  Getting Lost

  Keep Hold

  Acknowledgments

  Many thanks to Monique Gorham for her amusing medical stories and friendship—I’ve never looked at an eggplant quite the same.

  Thank you, Alanna Cannon and Jean Cooper for the missing commas, corrections, thoughts, and feedback.

  Bold Strokes Books—Radclyffe, Sandy, Cindy, and team, once again thank you for the opportunity to write for such a renowned publisher.

  Finally, to Kerry Grubb-Moore, thank you for your endless support and encouragement and for putting up with me. You have the patience of a saint.

  For Kerry.

  My everything.

  Prologue

  Claire wasn’t night shift’s biggest fan. For the past few months, she’d switched to autopilot and been running on empty, with no idea what she was doing with her newly apparent shambles of a life.

  There was something about being an emergency department nurse—responsible for the welfare of patients ranging from the acutely ill to the downright stupid—that caused your closest friends to glare wide-eyed at even the slightest suggestion you may not be firing on all cylinders. Everyone wanted to believe nurses were the epitome of good. If doctors were God, then a nurse was his right-hand man, right?

  Wrong.

  Claire trudged from the labour ward at three in the morning after fetching a pair of industrial strength forceps. She felt so far removed from God she might as well have been in another realm of reality.

  She clocked her reflection in a one-way mirrored window and shook her head. She was convinced she began her shift looking professional and capable. Now she resembled a drunkard pretending to be a nurse at a fancy dress party.

  Stalling beyond the ED threshold, she cursed and inhaled deeply. The acutely ill, she was happy to treat. The downright stupid though? Really? Of course they received the same level of professional care, but her snide attitude came free.

  Claire swung the curtain open, far wider than necessary, to reveal a massive, hairy rear end. She knew it was going to be there, yet was still shocked at the sight.

  Unable to resist, she gave the closest cheek a little tap. “All right, Mr. Sullivan?”

  No, tonight God wasn’t enough. Tonight she needed Jesus, Mary, and all the bloody saints for this delightful patient.

  Mr. Sullivan, a large man in his fifties, groaned. The only comfortable position he could sustain was on all fours.

  The look Claire exchanged with Dr. Murray, whilst handing her the forceps, suggested they’d be groaning, too, if they had a massive eggplant stuck up their rear end.

  Upon arrival in the ED, the cranky Mr. Sullivan had requested a male nurse; bad luck, Mr. Sullivan. He’d also requested a male doctor. Lucked out there, too. And when he demanded the entire hospital staff lie to his wife about his self-inflicted condition, Claire simply smiled. His wife was already on her way, and even the great Houdini himself couldn’t conceal a sizeable vegetable firmly lodged up his behind. On all counts, Mr. Sullivan was buggered.

  Claire had long since stopped trying to figure out why humans harboured an unnatural desire to force large objects into relatively small holes. She’d seen kids with coins up their noses, buttons in their ears, Lego men heads in belly buttons, and now a grown man with an eggplant up his bum.

  “I have to admit, Dr. Murray, this is the first eggplant extraction I’ve assisted in.”

  Dr. Yvonne Murray, affectionately known as Murray, was Claire’s favourite ED doctor and a good friend. The petite doctor from outback New South Wales said it like it was, earning respect for her fairness and never ending repertoire of crude jokes.

  They stood at the foot of the bed, bewildered. Dr. Murray set her hands firmly on her hips, sporting a deep frown, staring in awe at the severely stretched anus before them. “No moussaka for a while then.”

  Claire sighed. Damn. I love moussaka.

  “Right, now, Mr. Sullivan, this might tickle a little.” With great care and precision, Murray aligned the well lubricated forceps and gently inserted them into his rear end.

  “Shouldn’t you give me something for the pain?”

  Claire suspected panic and a strong sense of vulnerability had finally overridden Mr. Sullivan’s previously smart tongue.

  “No time for that,” Murray lied, applying pressure and slowly edging the forceps deeper. “And anyway, you managed to get it in there without painkillers; I’m sure you’ll be a big brave boy for me now.” Taking pity, Murray turned to Claire. “More lubrication, thank you, Nurse.”

  Claire liberally applied lubrication, the vision before her momentarily causing her stomach to lurch—the sight was so horribly unnatural—and Murray continued to slowly insert the forceps unt
il they sufficiently encased the entrapped vegetable.

  It was when Murray began to explain how Mr. Sullivan should assist in the extraction by pushing gently, that Mrs. Sullivan made her grand entrance into the emergency department shouting loudly. “Young lady, I am the unfortunate wife of the idiot you have in there. Do not block my way!”

  The short, sharp clacking of heeled shoes echoed on the polished floor, even over the hum and bustle of the emergency room. A brief look from Murray told Claire to intercept and prepare the unfortunate woman.

  Claire slipped through the curtain and promptly collided front-first into an attractive older lady, mid-fifties, perfectly made up, wearing a black velvet tracksuit and bright red stilettos.

  “Mrs. Sullivan, I presume?” Claire attempted a light and friendly inflection.

  “Don’t Mrs. Sullivan me. I don’t care what state that prick of a husband of mine is in. I want to see him immediately.”

  Claire shrugged. She didn’t care either. She ushered the poor woman in.

  “Not again, Garry, I’m fucking sick of this!” Mrs. Sullivan screamed at her husband’s exposed and violated backside. Then, moving to berate him eye to eye, she continued, “You promised me, you selfish shit. You’re damn lucky I don’t rip those tongs out of your ass and ram that fucking thing right up to your eyeballs. This is the last time, Garry. Do you understand me?”

  The previously arrogant Mr. Sullivan nodded in agreement and began to sob.

  Claire rolled her eyes. You’re kidding me? She couldn’t wait for this to be over so she could read his file, see what else poor old Garry had been up to.

  Sighing to indicate she’d had enough, Dr. Murray appeared keen to end the freak show. “Okay, let’s get this veggie out of you. Mrs. Sullivan, do you want to hang around for this or can I get a nurse to call you when I’m done?”

  “I’ll stay, thank you.” She curtly eyed her husband.

  “Righto, now just try and relax, Mr. Sullivan.”

  Relax? Murray must be kidding if she thought Mr. Sullivan was even capable of relaxation, especially now his wife had arrived. Claire watched as Murray braced herself to remove the foreign object. It wasn’t going to be easy.

  It took over a minute to reach the halfway mark. Murray struggled over the wide girth of the eggplant and beads of sweat emerged on her brow, although it was nothing compared to the state of poor groaning Mr. Sullivan.

  “Claire, you’ll have to get behind me and help pull.”

  She shot Murray a look. What?

  Murray shrugged.

  It was stuck.

  Although only slight in stature herself, Claire’s arms could easily encompass the doctor. She stood behind Murray and grasped her wrists.

  “Don’t enjoy this too much, Nurse.”

  “I was just about to say the same to you.” Claire deliberately pressed her whole body against Murray’s.

  “That’s not helping, Nurse.”

  “Well, it’s certainly helping me, Doctor.”

  Murray ignored her and turned her attention to the task at hand. She encouraged Claire with cries of “pull,” and Mr. Sullivan with cries of “push.”

  Claire wasn’t sure she could eat eggplant again.

  With Murray’s encouragement and an enormous cry from Mr. Sullivan, the slippery eggplant shot out with a slurping suction noise best described as revolting.

  Holding the eggplant aloft, Murray exclaimed, “It’s a boy!”

  Chapter One

  Moping wasn’t Claire’s style, which is to say she was disappointed to find herself lacking motivation—no extra shifts at the hospital, no running, no t’ai chi, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that the last four years had been a complete lie and a waste of time.

  The thumping rap at the door offered a welcome distraction.

  “Hi, Claire.” The deep velvet voice of Jess Mercer was still, to this day, one of the sexiest sounds to Claire’s ears. She affectionately cupped Claire’s cheek with one hand, kissing her softly, carefully balancing coffee in the other.

  “Hey, yourself. Thanks for bringing coffee. The thought of instant is dreadful on any day, let alone a Saturday.”

  Familiar with her surroundings, Jess walked the length of the hall, through the compact kitchen, and into the tiny but immaculately manicured back garden. “What’s wrong with your machine?” She set three coffees on the outdoor table beside a neatly stacked fruit platter. “And where’s Victoria?”

  Claire mumbled incoherently about the coffee machine that used to occupy extraordinary space on the bench. Agitated, she set down a jug of water and two glasses. “Berlin.”

  “Pardon me?” Jess glanced at the third coffee she’d bought.

  “Victoria’s in Berlin. Left in June.”

  “June? Wow!” The smile disappeared from Jess’s face. She swiped long, straggly strands of blond hair from across her sunglasses, and when they refused to stay in place, she rested her glasses on her head, keeping every strand restrained. “You should have told me. I’ll miss you.” Jess smiled before her face contorted. “Shit, Claire, this is huge. How am I going to break it to Alex? I assume things have improved between you. Let me guess; you get the fun job of staying behind until everything’s finalised?” She eyed Claire. “You loved Germany, didn’t you?”

  “I’m not going.”

  “What? How come? Has something happened?”

  “Nothing happened, other than the fact that she didn’t ask me.”

  Jess’s eyes widened, rendering her uncharacteristically speechless.

  “I’m not moving to Berlin with the woman I was convinced was the love of my life, Jess, because she didn’t fucking ask me to go with her.”

  A red splash of anger coloured Jess’s cheeks and her voice lowered to a protective growl. “I beg your pardon?”

  “She doesn’t want me there.” Frustration filtered through Claire’s attempts to remain calm.

  “So, what does that mean for you two? I know it’s been a bit rough this last little while, but moving to Berlin sounds so drastic.”

  “Means we’re over. Done and dusted.” Claire choked back tears.

  “No? Really? Surely there’s something you can do?”

  “I fucked it up.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Well, I must have. Berlin is a long way to go to get away from someone. To get away from me. Ballarat I can understand, but Berlin.”

  “Be honest. You’d have followed her to Ballarat. It’s only three hours away.”

  “You’re not funny and you’re not helping.”

  Jess patted her arm. “I’m sorry, but seriously, after four years, there must be something—”

  “Just leave it, Jess. It’s finished for good. And we both know it wasn’t really four years.”

  “You had some good times.”

  “Yeah, and I ruined it all.”

  “For God’s sakes, you didn’t ruin anything. It takes two. What did she say to you when she left?”

  “It’s not what she said.” Claire couldn’t relive the day again. Not yet. “She’s gone and she’s not coming back. I drove her away and that’s all there is to it. I know what you’re thinking. I know we were considering a break, and I know things had been better, but…”

  Jess shook her head, bewildered. “Ah, Jesus, Claire. I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry, honey.”

  Claire’s voice crackled, but she held it together. “What can you do, eh?”

  “You should have told me, honestly, Claire, she’s been gone months.”

  “You’ve been so busy and you were in Europe for six weeks. You weren’t even here.”

  “I had my phone. I was only a phone call away.”

  “You and I both knew it was a possibility.”

  “Well, I don’t know if I’d have predicted a move quite that far. I can’t believe you didn’t even send a message.”

  “I was fine.” She lied. “Shit happens.”

  “Was fine? Are you
sure you’re okay now?”

  Claire couldn’t face the truth. “Yes, perfectly fine.”

  “So, where’s the coffee machine? Berlin?”

  “Her mother took it.”

  “Oh for Christ’s sake, she couldn’t even leave the fucking machine?”

  Claire shrugged. She loved that machine. “It’s karma. That’s what it is. What goes around comes around, you know?”

  Jess shook her head and lowered her voice. “It’s nothing like us, sweetheart.”

  Claire fetched the shade umbrella from the neatly organised garden shed. “So, Madam Crown. For the benefit of the jury, please explain why, seven years ago when your girlfriend, Claire O’Malley—hot, sexy, and six years your junior—asked you to accompany her to Europe, you declined?”

  “Claire, don’t do this.”

  Claire sighed. “I know my leaving effectively ended our relationship.” Claire shoved the umbrella through the hole in the table. “I believe Ms. O’Malley is well aware that you were busy establishing a career as one of the most respected Crown solicitors in Victoria—a far wiser option than pissing your life up the wall in Europe.”

  “Is Victoria six years younger than you?”

  “Four. Same difference. Don’t worry, you win.”

  Jess frowned disapprovingly.

  “Either way, I asked you to run away with me when I was young and stupid, and you turned me down. I was willing to go with Victoria, and she didn’t want me there. Just bloody perfect.”

  “Do you really want to go to Berlin?” Jess asked.

  “Yes, of course.”

  Jess raised her eyebrows.

  “Well, I at least would have liked to have been asked.”

  “So you could turn her down?”

  “No! Well, maybe.”

  “Is it your ego or your heart that’s broken?”

  Claire wasn’t sure she knew the answer. She felt like her heart had been breaking for months now, long before Victoria left. As much as she tried, nothing was ever good enough for Victoria. She walked on eggshells around her, trying not to upset her and bear the brunt of yet another bout of silent treatment or ranting. Something in Claire felt broken, but she wasn’t convinced it was her heart or her ego. Perhaps she was broken.