A Purple Winter Page 19

  Nick looked at me, still holding my hand in his, close to his cheek. I’d never seen him like this. His face, that face I’d known for over twenty-five years, was so pale and his eyes so dark with emotion, that in that moment I understood how close I’d come to dying.

  Wanting to comfort and reassure him, I tried to press his fingers.

  He half rose out of his chair. “Are you in pain?”

  “No…I don’t know.” I moved my toes first. Then my ankles. Slowly, inch by inch, I connected with my physical self, checking that everything was responding. The pain crept into me as I slipped back into my limbs, muscles, bones. “Yes…everything hurts.”

  “Baby,” Nick said, softly caressing my hair, “you had an accident. On the 132. You went flying off your bike.” He shut his eyes. Took a deep breath. Opened them again. “You went right instead of left, into the next lane. You rolled into the ditch. The muddy grass saved you. I—I don’t—” He paused, shutting his eyes again.

  “Nick…”

  “You were in a coma.” He pressed his palm against my heart. “It’s been five days. I thought—I thought you weren’t coming back to me.” Then suddenly, he stood back, nearly knocking the chair to the ground. “I need to—the nurse. Hold on. Wait. Hold on.”

  I wasn’t going anywhere.

  Tears were still spilling over his cheeks. “My God, I love you.” He pushed the door open, but kept his gaze riveted to me. “Somebody,” he called out. “Nurse!”

  I could move my arms and legs, even my neck, though it was stiff. I tried to sit up a bit, and the room spun around my head. Had to take it easy.

  “What are you doing?” Nick came rushing back to me. “Don’t move.”

  “Nothing’s broken?”

  Nick shook his head, checking the open door. “No…you got lucky. So fucking lucky.”

  Lucky.

  David.

  I looked around the room. Maybe he was—no, he wasn’t here. He’d died in 1999. More than a decade ago. “Nick, I—” but I stopped. How could I tell him? How could I explain what I’d seen and heard in the last hours?

  “What is it?” Nick picked up my hand. “Tell me.”

  “Nothing…” I skimmed my finger across his hand. “Are you okay?”

  Nick bent to my head and kissed my hair. “Bless you,” he whispered.

  The nurse came rushing in. She was a tall woman with brown skin and a colorful silk scarf wrapped around her head. “My Lord,” she said. “Look at you.” She laughed and squeezed Nick’s shoulder. “How’s that for a Sunday morning miracle?” For minutes, she fussed over me, taking my temperature, my blood pressure, asking me questions. I couldn’t remember the accident. Couldn’t recall the hours or days before it.

  But I knew, remembered, that Nick wanted to go back to Montreal. Wanted to be a chef again. And looking at him now, I realized how much I wanted that, too. That I’d been holding out on agreeing because I was still hurt over something he’d long ago paid for.

  The anger was gone. The hurt as well. I felt cleansed.

  The nurse put her hands on her wide haunches and grinned. “I was sure your eyes would be blue. But green they are. As green as the rolling hills of Ireland.” She laughed again, then turned serious, touching Nick’s shoulder. “This man here,” she said, looking at me, “stayed by your side the whole time. Talking to you. Holding your hand. Boy, I thought I’d have to stick a catheter in him.”

  Nick chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. He was forty years old, and yet, looking at him now, I could have sworn he was seventeen again. He blushed a little. “Yeah…right.”

  The nurse, Nadine, stepped away from my bed with a solemn expression. She nodded and paused in the doorway. “I’ll be back with Doctor Fitzpatrick.”

  “Can I have some water?”

  “Just a dab on your lips and tongue. No more for now. Until we get you completely checked out.”

  When she’d left us, Nick fell back into the chair at my bedside. “I gotta make some calls, O’Reilly. Everybody’s on pins and needles.” He picked up the phone on the night table. “Oh, wait. Water. Didn’t get it for you.” He rose and went to the washroom. Seconds later, he was standing over me with a small paper cup. “See, I told Boone and Lene and your mom to leave for the night.” He pressed the cup to my parched lips. “Careful, just a little.” He took the cup away.

  “I want more.” With a shaky and heavy hand, I reached for the cup. “Give.”

  He checked his watch. “Your mother said she’d bring Spencer around eight. They’re probably on their way now. Man, should I get her on her cell or is that gonna give her a heart attack?”

  “No, don’t call her. Too dangerous. Gimme the water. I’m thirsty, Nick.” I cocked a brow at him. “Please.”

  “Didn’t you hear what the nurse said?”

  Wearily, I opened my hand. “Gimme the cup, Nick.”

  He stared at me, then after a few long seconds, pushed the cup in my hand. “You always get your way with me, you know that?”

  I nearly choked. “Me? I get my way with you?” I drank the whole pathetic ounce of water down. “You’re full of shit, Lund.”

  “Yeah?”

  I held his stare with mine, the heat of his eyes penetrating my whole being. Oh, how I loved this man. Even now. After all these years. He was still my blond tidal wave, eternally tossing me under in the bluest of his highest sea. “Yeah,” I said in a weak voice, touching the side of his hand.

  Nick’s whole demeanor changed and his expression darkened. “Yeah…you may be right about that.” He sat in the chair again and leaned in, taking my hands in his. For a moment, he gazed at me, seriously, tenderly. Silence thickened between us, and I watched his face, following the curve of nose, down to his mouth, waiting for him to speak again. When he did, his voice was low and gentle. “Derek…please forgive me.”

  “I do. I have.” I was fighting sleep again, my body already giving out.

  He shut his eyes and inhaled sharply. “Maybe I don’t deserve you to.”

  “It’s not about deserving.” I felt strained, my voice faltering. “It’s about something bigger than that.”

  Nick tipped his head, watching me with those feral eyes that could still give me a thrill. “And what is that?”

  “A promise I made myself a long time ago.”

  Nick nodded, staring at me. “Okay…can you tell me what that promise was?”

  I remembered a cold winter night. Elvis playing in my shabby Verdun apartment. We’d danced that night. Nick had spun me around and I’d watched our reflection in the frosted living room window, he, so tall and statuesque, and I, a mere child discovering his true nature. That night, Nick had told me about his dreams of running away and opening his own restaurant. And I’d watched his face as he’d told me about his blue dreams.

  I’d sworn to myself that I’d love him forever. No matter what.

  No matter what.

  But had that night happened or had it all been a hallucination, a conjuring, some kind of coma-induced escape? Then I remembered a detail. Something important. Crucial. Nick had a tattoo, I remembered now. When he was seventeen and I was twelve. He’d gotten a tattoo in December of 1987. It was a rune. A symbol from his homeland mythology. The letter R in blue ink. It was meant to protect and guide him. It was the symbol for adventure and travel. But it hadn’t been on his chest in my dream. Was this happening or was I still in a coma? Had I even opened my eyes at all? Suddenly, I didn’t know if I could trust any of this to be real. “Open your shirt,” I whispered, my throat feeling dry and hot again.

  “What?” Nick leaned back a little, frowning.

  My heart was pounding hard, my head ready to split in the middle. Maybe I was going to be caught in this alternative world forever, and soon Aunt Fran or David would appear again, letting me know that it was time to go home, only I’d never get there.

  Nick pressed the back of his hand to my forehead. “Let me get the doctor. I don’t know wh
y he’s taking so fucking long, anyway.” He half rose.

  But I insisted. “Open your shirt.” My mouth was pasty. If that tattoo wasn’t there, I’d know I’d died and had been secretly sentenced to roam aimlessly in this purgatory. A limbo where nothing was ever allowed to fully conclude. To run its full circle.

  Nick sighed and unfastened the first buttons of his black shirt. He stretched it open. “Doc’s gonna come walking in any second now, so don’t get any ideas, O’Reilly.”

  “I can’t see the tattoo.” I forced myself to sit up a little, nausea rolling over me. “You don’t have—”

  “The tattoo?” He moved his shirt to expose his left pec. “What—babe, it’s right here.” He looked at it.

  “Oh, thank fucking God.” I fell back into the pillow and closed my eyes, spent. This was real. I was awake. “I thought—no, never mind.” I cracked an eye open.

  He was still staring at the letter. “Hey…R.”

  I smiled a little. “Yeah. R.”

  “No, I mean…R. You know. R for Red. That was your nickname back then, remember? Boone still calls you that, doesn’t he? And it’s in blue ink.” Nick scoffed. “Shit, I never thought of that before. I think maybe I picked that letter on purpose, like, subconsciously.”

  “Yeah…Red and Blue.” I smiled wider, feeling relieved and hopeful.

  We were here together in this moment. This precious instant, that in itself, held all of what mattered in my life. It was a second, but it was multitudes.

  Nick’s exhaustion was slowly surfacing, creeping into his eyes and features. What had the last days been like for him?

  “Do you remember anything about the last hours?” he asked, leaning in closer.

  “I was…dreaming.”

  “Yeah.” He cracked a tired smile. “I figured as much.”

  “We were young again. It was that winter…when you left.” A shadow crossed his blue stare and I didn’t want to upset him anymore. “I barely remember,” I quickly added.

  “No, you remember.” He pressed my hand in his. “You remember everything, O’Reilly. Because you’ve always paid attention. Always been so aware. So invested in the people you love. And I’m gonna need you to help me with that.”

  “With what?” I was drowsy. Where was the doctor, anyway?

  “To remember.” Nick exhaled a long breath. “To remember who we were. Before the restaurant. The money. The success. The big house. The Jag. The trips.” He paused and touched my hair. “You know—back when we were Red and Blue. How that felt. We were enough back then. We had the whole world between us, do you remember?”

  “Yes, Nick. I remember.” I smiled, nearly dozing off. “It was the best of times.”

  Behind him, the doctor entered the room. “Mr. O’Reilly, welcome back.”

  Closing my eyes, I squeezed Nick’s hand before the doctor reached my bed. “So let’s start again,” I whispered. “Let’s do it all over.”

  At the sound of my words, Nick’s eyes lit up. He was alive once more, already brimming with ambition and ideas, and I knew then that my soul was latching on this, ready for another wild ride.

  Again, yes. I’m with you, Nicolai Lund.

  Let’s do it all one more time.

  Chapter 25

  Opening night.

  As I crossed Split’s bustling dining room, walking under the shallow draft hull of the Drakkar boat which served as a massive decoration and a ceiling structure, I was accosted by Boone. “Hey, Red,” he shouted over the noise of voices, plates clanking, and Celtic music. He got out of his log chair. “Get your snazzy ass over here, my man.”

  But I couldn’t stop for long. Had to check up on the activity in the kitchen. I slowed down a little and waved at the Lunds. They were all seated together around the largest cedar wood table in the dining room, but when I tried to get away, Boone grabbed my arm with his huge hand, stopping me. “How are you holding up?” he asked, his kind blue eyes twinkling with humor and mischievousness. “Do you have a second for your family?”

  “Not right this minute, I don’t. But soon. Very soon.” I squeezed Boone’s wide shoulders. He looked fantastic in his button down navy-blue shirt. Maybe it was because I rarely got to see him all decked out on a Saturday night. Usually, when he was out of his cop uniform, he’d be an awful track suit or jogging pants. Looking at him, I realized he was now older than Johan had been when I’d first met the Lunds back in the eighties. He was his father’s spitting image.

  Where had the last twenty-five years gone?

  “I have to be in the kitchen,” I said, taking a few steps back, but giving him a bright smile. “Have to make sure everything’s running all right at the pass.”

  “Same old. Same old. Still the maître d’ I see.” Boone laughed.

  I glimpsed the empty bottles of red wine on the Lund table. Everyone was definitely enjoying the night. “No, not this time,” I corrected him. “I’m equal partners with your brother, remember? And that means I get a say in everything.” I loosened my black tie a bit. “It also means I have to work as hard as he does.”

  “Are you having any dizzy spells?” Boone had a concerned expression. “Headaches?”

  Ever since my accident sixteen months ago, I’d been suffering with migraines and having nausea. My doctor said it was normal and to remain patient. I’d spent the first six months of my recovery sitting in bed, putting together a business case for the restaurant and organizing its opening from my bedroom. Nick called it the O’Reilly Headquarters of Head Injuries.

  And now here we were. Opening night. So far, things were going smoothly. Tonight was reserved for our friends and family, and a few key people in the industry. We hoped for great reviews tomorrow.

  No, hope wasn’t the right word. More like, counted on.

  “How’s Nico back there?” Boone sat down again. “Is he coming out to say hello soon or what?”

  “Derek,” Lene shouted, waving me over. “Tell my brother we want more of that Rakfisk!” She made her fingers into a pistol and shot me. “And by the way, you look hot tonight. Sexy as ever.”

  I winked at her. “Thanks.” I smoothed down the jacket. “Your brother picked out the suit.” It was a coal gray Tom Ford three piece. An early Christmas present. I bent to Helga’s ear. “Do you need anything?”

  Helga patted my hand on her shoulder and shook her head. “Everything is superb. Tell my ulf I said so.” She pointed at the ceiling, at the Drakkar. “I feel like I’m a little girl again, lost in one of my mother’s folk tales. What you did with the decoration…it’s quite an homage to my country and its people.” Her piercing blue eyes shone behind her fashionable eyeglasses. “Thank you, Derek. I know you had a lot to do with it.”

  She was quite right. Nick wasn’t big on tradition, but I’d stood my ground with him, and tonight, looking around at the result, I knew I’d done the right thing by convincing him to stick with the conventional expectations of what a Nordic restaurant serving traditional Scandinavian food should look like. People would come for the menu, yes, but they’d come for the decor, too. A chance to get away from the ordinary and experience something new. This place was something right out of Beowulf.

  “It’s not too over-the-top?” I asked Johan, who was sitting next to Helga with Violet-Rose, Lene’s daughter, on his knees. It was Johan’s approval I needed the most.

  He handed me a glass of wine. “Drink, son. It’s all good. Next time I come, I’ll braid my hair and wear my bear fur vest.”

  “Oh, my God, Johan, I’d pay to see that.” I had to refuse the wine glass. “Can’t drink right now.” I ruffled Violet-Rose’s orange hair and walked off, heading for the kitchen. “I’ll see you all later. Enjoy the food!”

  “Hey, Red,” Boone yelled. I turned and we locked eyes. “We’ll have a drink together later, right?” he asked, giving me a sweet and expectant look.

  “Absolutely, Boone.” I walked back up to him and grabbed his scrubby face. I kissed his forehead. “I missed yo
u, you big bear.”

  “You mean Maverick.” Boone laughed. “Yeah…all right, I’ll see you later.” He was blushing a little.

  My heart swelled with love for him. My best friend. No, he was a brother to me. The one I’d never had.

  Making my way across the room, I surveyed the tables, spying on the new waitress and waiters at work. They were doing a fairly decent job, but we’d have to sit down this weekend and go over a few things in order to be fully operational on the official opening day. Before pushing on the kitchen’s swinging doors, I signaled to Lei, the bartender, who stood behind the half-moon bar, his dark orange hair and big red beard, catching the gleam of the bottles. Lei gave me a warm smile and a thumb’s up. He was an Irishman, recently landed in Canada and a fantastic bartender. After much thought and discussion, Nick and I had concluded that my ancestry should be celebrated as well. So, of course, we’d chosen the bar to showcase Ireland. That, and the music. Just as it had been more than a thousand years ago, the Norse and Celtic cultures were clashing under one roof and the effect wasn’t bad at all.

  It was nice to have a touch of red in all this blue.

  At the kitchen doors, I steadied myself, prepared to be confronted with chaos and tension. I hadn’t had the chance to watch Nick work with his new staff, as I’d been way too busy with a million last minute details. From what I remembered from the old days, Nick’s kitchen was often a war zone. I took a breath and gently pushed the door open.

  At the pass, Nick was frowning up at the tickets, his expression one of pure concentration. He didn’t even glance my way. Around him, two cooks who I remembered as Freddy and Henri-Paul, along with Jessica, Nick’s sous-chef, were working silently at the grill and over pans of vegetables. Not a word was being said. The silence was almost eerie. Thomas, the head waiter, was waiting at the pass for the next round of plates.

  There was some activity at the salad section, but again, Sara-Kim, the garde-manger cook was being quiet, arranging her plates with care.

  So then Nick had already blown a fuse and terrorized his new staff into shock and silence.