When George left, Zac tried to sleep. Until the panic came in the form of dreams and fractured scenes in the middle of that sleep and he tried to stay awake. But the vat of emotional bleakness stayed with him, cold and unforgiving and ominous.

Maybe he’d be more settled when he met the woman who had driven the car tomorrow.

Except he forgot she was coming.

He was dozing the next morning when a quiet knock at his door made him turn his head. A blue-eyed, blonde woman stood in the doorway. She had a plaster across the centre of her forehead and a huge purple bruise on her cheek. He winced in sympathy. That must hurt.

Despite the professional face she wore, he noticed that her hands jittered with a slight tremor, even though she held them tight by her sides. For some absurd reason he wanted to comfort her.

‘Can I help you?’ His voice croaked with dryness and he reached for the glass of water.

When she didn’t answer he wondered if he should ring for the nurse, but he was just too tired. He leaned back against the pillows. ‘Have you come to the wrong room?’

‘No. This is the right room.’ She drew in a distressed, shaky breath.

A suspicion formed in his mind that perhaps the last person who had been in this bed had died and she hadn’t known.

‘I’m sorry, but do I know you?’ Although he felt inadequate, she wasn’t his problem. He had enough problems. He looked away.

The woman lifted her chin as if annoyed with herself, then drew herself to her full height. ‘I’m sorry, Zac.’

His eyes flew back to her. She knew him.

‘I’m Ava. I should have started with an introduction. I was in the accident too. We’ve known each other for a week.’ Her voice had evened to become low, melodic and caring.

Ah, the nurse George had mentioned. He should have remembered. She had a good voice for a nurse.

She closed her eyes for a second and he wondered if she had a headache as well. Of course she would, with that bruising. She opened them again, then added, ‘Are you okay?’

‘Ava. Yes. Thank you. You stopped the bleeding, apparently?’ To his surprise, tears began to trickle down her cheeks until she dashed them away impatiently.

He sat up, held out his hand and pretended he didn’t feel as weak as a kitten. Her body looked lithe and well balanced and it allowed her to move almost silently. Like a dancer. She crossed the room and let her small hand rest in his palm. The physical touch of her warmed him in a place that had been cold for too long. This was becoming stranger by the minute.