Trust (Twisted Hearts Duet Book 3)

by Max Henry

  “She’s due a feed.”

  “You could have done that while you waited.” His brow knits.

  “It’s easier at home,” I hedge.

  “Easier than dealing with that showdown?” he queries, hand gesturing to the building behind me.

  Yeah. Sprung.

  A heavy breath rushes from his nose. Dark eyes meet mine. “Get Sera home, Belle. I’ll see you there.”

  ***

  The drive back to our house affords me eight minutes of peace while Sera sleeps, exhausted from her desperate pleas for milk. Eight minutes is hardly enough to deal with her raspy lungs when she wakes upon me shutting off the engine.

  Ridiculously enough, I’m actually thankful Dad decided to bring the bags back. This way, I have free hands for her rigid body to save her falling out of my arms, and no need to leave her alone while I retrieve the shopping.

  By the time Dad walks in the door with the first six bags strung over his wrists, I’ve entered my daily phase of weeping until my tears run dry and I get a headache from the pressure.

  He dumps the shopping on the counter—more than I remember picking from the shelves—and lets his shoulders drop as he regards me.

  “I have another lot to bring in, and then you’re telling me what the hell is going on around here.” He points to the counter as he heads for the front door. “Make yourself useful and put the kettle on.”

  Another five bags arrive on the counter while I measure the sugar into our mugs.

  I peek across at the thin white plastic, noting shapes and colours I definitely did not pick out. The switch dings to let me know the water has boiled, but I’m elbows deep in a bag pulling out what I assumed correctly was a tin of formula.

  He didn’t stop at one, though. I line up three different brands in front of the shopping and stare at the labels to pick the differences.

  “I thought I’d get you a selection in case she doesn’t like one.” Dad hesitates beside me, watching as I read the benefits of each.

  “How did you know?” I whisper.

  He smiles softly; the greys in his stubbly beard catch the midday light spilling through our living room windows. “I have a daughter, you know. A little experience with kids, too.”

  Fucking tears. I swore there were no more left.

  His arm bands around my shoulders and, as though I’m ten all over again, I nestle into his work shirt, relishing the musty smell of steel and dust. The thick fabric scratches against where my spine protrudes at the base of my neck.

  “Why did you let it get this bad, honey?” His gentle words pepper the top of my head with their heat.

  “We thought we could fix it,” I explain. “It was supposed to be a temporary setback.”

  “What was?” Dad pulls back, holding me at arm’s length.

  “Zeus.” I tug free to finish our coffees before Sera starts screaming again. “His hours were reduced. Less than what they promised when he switched jobs.”

  “Fuck’s sake.”

  I set Dad’s drink beside him and then lift one of the tins. “Coupled with me working minimal hours because of Sera, we haven’t had a lot coming in.”

  “You haven’t been eating right,” Dad says, stating the glaringly obvious. “Does Zeus know you’re starving yourself?”

  “Yes. And he’s not happy about it either.” I know Dad wasn’t accusing Zeus of anything, but I feel the need to defend him just the same. “He’s been nagging me to look after myself as well.”

  “You need to.” Dad looks at the tin in my hand. “Not just for your sake.”

  “I know.” And I’m sick of hearing it. Being told what I need to do doesn’t make it possible. Words don’t fill my bank account. “I think I’ll try this one first. One of the mums at the ante-natal group said she would be using it.”

  “Make a bottle up, and I’ll go get Sera.”

  He abandons his drink in favour of his granddaughter, and I set to work starting a new routine that I can’t see me backing down from. If lack of food kept me dry, then I’m sure the stress contributed just the same. I’m not sure that a few good meals will be enough to kickstart milk production again. She’s five months old now. I did my best and, lucky for me, it was more than some mothers are allowed before their bodies rebel against them.

  The only person making me feel bad about this decision is me.

  And when I take the time to think about it, feeling shame because of my own opinion is just plain stupid.

  I’m doing the best I can for Sera, and that’s already more than my mother did for me.

  TWELVE

  Zeus

  “Fuck.”

  I stop the bike at the end of the driveway and check the letterbox as a reason to stall.

  John’s ute sits positioned outside our front door, a dry patch underneath it proving he’s been there since I sent him to get Belle.

  I should have figured he wouldn’t just bail her out and be satisfied with an unexplained thanks.

  After tucking the bike away in the garage, I step indoors to find Belle in the kitchen with two pots on the stove—a sight I haven’t seen in weeks—and John bouncing a giggling Sera on his knee, hands clasped on her waist.

  “Who’s this?” John teases my daughter, turning her so that she faces me. “Dad’s here.”

  “Hey, baby-girl.” I cross the room and place a kiss to my daughter’s head before taking her from John’s hold. “Thanks, mate.”

  He rises to his feet, glancing over at Belle. “I’ll leave you two alone and head off.”

  She wipes her hands on a tea-towel and rounds the island counter. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay for dinner?”

  John mimics my action mere seconds ago, placing a kiss to his girl’s temple. “Next time, don’t leave it so long.” He turns to look at me, jerking his chin toward the door. “A word?”

  Belle avoids my eye, burying her chin in her chest as she returns to the meal bubbling on the stove. Feeling as though I use Sera as a shield, I hoist her into the crook of my arm, bracing her with my other hand, and follow John out to the driveway.

  He opens the driver’s side of his ute and then hesitates, one foot on the runner and arms braced between the roof and door. “Belle gave me the short version of what’s going on, Zeus.”

  In other words, he thinks she held back. Interesting.

  “Look. I get that you didn’t want to say anything after how this all started between you two.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, elbow still on the roof of the ute. “Not so long ago, I would have flipped my lid and demanded she move home, but your situation is different now.” His gaze settles on Sera.

  I tighten my hold.

  “The guts of it is, I don’t want you to be ashamed to ask when you need help just because we were friends first.”

  “You have to admit it feels fucking weird,” I point out.

  He shrugs one shoulder, mouth curled down. “Yeah, it does. I can’t get my head around being your father-in-law, so-to-speak,” he says with a hint of humour. “I mean, we’re the same fucking age.”

  “Right.” Sera coos when my hold relaxes a little.

  “But.” His tone turns deadly serious. “If there’s one thing I wish I had when Cerise and I went through shit at the start, that was parents to lean on.”

  My chest tightens at the mention of his upbringing. John was an orphan. One who would talk non-stop as a kid about the day he’d find out about his parents and where he came from.

  He still doesn’t know.

  “What I’m trying to say,” he explains, grimacing. “Is that I want to be the parent for Belle that I never had, and if that means helping you in the process, bro, then that’s what it means.” He shrugs. “We’ll both have to deal with it and swallow whatever pride or reservations we have—for Belle’s sake, and Sera’s.”

  Chin high, I school my features. “That’s what we did today, wasn’t it?”

  He levels me with a hard stare. “I paid for a few groceries. That
doesn’t mean she’ll have money in the bank to do it next week, or the week after that, does it?”

  My silence answers him.

  He removes his foot from the running board and steps away from the door. Fuck it. I’d hoped this would be a short conversation.

  “She said you’re not getting enough hours at Anderson and McConnell.”

  “Nope. Not right now.”

  “If you were?” His eyes narrow. “What would you be doing with the spare cash first?”

  He knows my goal—to start my own independent contracting business. What I hate is that we’re standing here talking like a boy and his girlfriend’s father instead of the fucking equals we are.

  Everyone thought that by being with me, Belle was forced to mature too fast. Fuck. I think all it did was revert me to a second coming of my twenties.

  “I need to get the right class licence to be able to drive a truck and dog.” Taking two steps back toward the house, I set Sera down on the front porch and let her explore the greenery that overhangs the garden either side. “Last I looked, I needed a couple of grand to get me through the day courses and make up for lost wages while I do it.”

  “How much do you have now?”

  “Maybe three hundred.” I run a hand through my hair, pushing the lengths out of my face. “I had close to a grand, but I’ve been dipping in when I felt the need to top up around here.”

  “Yeah, I get that,” John cedes. He folds his arms; one leg kicked over the other as he leans against the vehicle. “Once you get the licence, you’ll need to prove to the bank you can service a loan for the equipment, right?”

  I nod, feeling my dream slip through my fingers and down to the ground below.

  “What I’m going to say next is bound to piss you off,” he warns. “But I need to ask.”

  I nudge Sera back onto the pavers with my socked foot and then give him my attention.

  “Logistically, it makes more sense to get Belle back to work, right?” He continues when I stay mute. “Her costs are less, and once she has childcare covered, then there aren’t any more hoops to jump through like there are for you. She can earn at the shop, and once she sets aside enough to get the home studio going, then she can cut back on childcare costs. You’d both be better off nurturing her career so that once it’s earning, she can carry you while you prove your worth to the big five.”

  He’s right. One hundred per cent. That’s what makes me livid the most.

  I hate that it’s always me who has to sacrifice something. And I hate even more that I’m petty and jealous enough to hold that against Belle if we did get her dream going first.

  “What does she need to get Sera into daycare for a couple of weeks?” John asks softly. “Do you know?”

  “Not really my area of expertise,” I grumble. “I can’t remember how much it is. Something like a few hundred, I think.”

  “I can ask her.”

  “No.” I stoop and relocate my inquisitive crawler closer to the door and away from the wet driveway. “It’s our discussion, J. Not yours.”

  His eyes narrow. “It is kind of mine when it’s my money your using.”

  “That’s if we decide to take you up on your offer. I might be able to cover it with what I still have in savings.” Sera drops a grunt of annoyance when I scoop her into my arms. “Thanks for stepping in today, J, but I’ve got it now.”

  He says nothing, his top lip curling up on one side while he eyes me with nothing short of irritation.

  I don’t give the jerk time to get in his ute before I march back inside, Belle’s head snapping up from where she stands in the kitchen.

  “Everything okay?”

  I set Sera down in the middle of the floor for her to seek and destroy until her heart’s content. “Fine.”

  She’s not convinced, but, unlike her old man, she knows when to keep her opinions to herself. No doubt I’ll get grilled on it later, but when I’m charged and ready to rain my frustrations on whatever looks satisfying enough, she’s smart enough to pick her moment.

  It’s not as though we can afford to replace anything if I shove it or kick it harder than intended.

  “Go for a run,” is all she says, back turned while she stirs whatever smells so fucking heavenly on the stove. “This has another ten minutes to go, so you should be able to fit in a sprint around the block.”

  “It’s starting to rain again,” I moan.

  “Like I give a fuck.” Spoon in hand, she glowers over her shoulder. “For the first time in weeks, we’re sitting down to a proper meal. I’m not having you ruin it with your complaints about my dad.”

  “I don’t have an objection against him.”

  “Bullshit.” She glances down, taking a step back to let Sera crawl past. “And for fuck’s sake, don’t let her crawl around the house while I’m in here with hot things.”

  Two strides and I reach my daughter, snatching her up from the floor and making her squeak. “Don’t spill anything and it’ll be fine.”

  “I’ll let you explain that attitude to her when she asks you at sixteen why she has an ugly burn scar on her face.”

  “Everything has to be so dramatic in your family, doesn’t it?”

  The silence behind me slows my movements. I set Sera down in her playpen gently and cautiously turn to check what kind of shitstorm I face. Yeah. I said the wrong thing. Too far, Zeus.

  “My family?” Belle asks scarily level with one eyebrow raised. “Are we picking sides now?”

  “Like I’d ask you to do that,” I retort. But not for the reason she thinks.

  More like, she’s still yet to meet my parents. Her side at least lives within driving distance for a day visit. If I asked her to pick sides, I know who’d end up with the army behind them.

  Not me.

  I’m a strong guy, sure, but I ain’t no Rambo.

  “If you’re not going for a run,” she snaps, turning back to dinner. “Then have a damn shower and give me a moment to myself.”

  “You get a moment to yourself all damn day while I’m at work.” I mumble the line under my breath, yet her supersonic woman ears pick up on the comment.

  “Some moment that is when I have a baby to look after!”

  Our bedroom isn’t far enough away; I can still hear Belle mutter to herself through the walls as I shed my work clothes and do as I’m damn told like the whipped bitch I am.

  She may think she won that round, but what my dove fails to realise is that I live for these fucking moments when she fires up. I’d take her slinging shit over the melancholy void that usually greets me any day.

  At least this way she looks alive.

  Even if it is solely to murder me in my sleep.

  THIRTEEN

  Belle

  My family. Huh.

  Arsehole knew what kind of button he’d push by saying that, and not only did he shove the fucking thing down, but he may as well have danced on it.

  I am not my mother. And if he thinks he can get away with likening my behaviour to hers, then he has another thing coming.

  I slap our meals down on the table with a little more zest than required, cursing when one of the curried sausages slides off the side of his plate and sits proudly on the surface. The damn thing burns my fingertips as I hiff it back on the dish, an oily, sauce patch left where it landed.

  “Damn it.”

  Sera slaps her hands on the tray of her highchair. “Ma.”

  “Yeah, I know.” I use the side of my hand to wipe the table clean and promptly lick the sauce off my flesh. “Yours is coming.”

  She tugs at her cotton bib, yanking a corner into her mouth. “Ma. Ma.”

  “Somebody’s hungry.” As usual, Zeus returns to the room as though nothing is amiss.

  What is it with men and their ability to shelve the emotions raised in arguments as though they didn’t matter, to begin with?

  “Smells good, dove.” He takes his seat at the head of our small table, sans shirt and with his still
-wet hair pulled into a messy man-bun.

  I hate his ability to look good; however he’s dressed—or not dressed as the case may be. As for me, I have sauce stains on the right thigh of my sweatpants, and my shirt still bears the slightly darker patch from where I cleaned off Sera’s milk spill a couple of hours ago.

  “There’s a little extra that you can have for lunch tomorrow since I made enough in case Dad wanted to stay.”

  “Yeah, okay.” His face morphs into something stern and unreadable.

  I retrieve Sera’s already cooled and slightly overcooked sausage for her to chew.

  “What did he say to you outside?” I’m in no mood to drag this damn dance on all night. My feet ache, my head pounds, and all I can think about is how comfortable my bed will be tonight. I want to cut to the chase.

  “Not much.” Zeus takes a huge mouthful.

  I seat myself adjacent to him, beside Sera’s chair. “Took you both a while to say not much.”

  He glares out at me from under his brow; fork poised halfway between the plate and his mouth.

  “What?” I stab at a cube of sweet potato. “If he’s giving you grief, don’t you think I should know?”

  “If I thought you needed to know, I’d say.”

  The potato crumbles in three quick strokes of my jaw. I swallow it down and stab at a slice of sausage. My fork makes scratches against the ceramic of the plate, drawing Sera’s curious eye.

  “Do you have something you’d like to share?” Zeus taunts.

  I set the fork down on the side of my plate and fold my arms. “I just think that after being embarrassed at the supermarket today and having to wait almost an hour before Dad showed up to bail me out, I kind of deserve some insight into why you think he’s the villain.”

  “Who said I think he’s the villain?” Zeus carries on his meal, unperturbed.

  Me, on the other hand. My appetite has stalled until I can unwind this knot of frustration from my gut. “Dad had the decency to pay for the food you’re eating tonight without expecting anything in return, and yet you treat him as though he’s done something bad.”

  “He does want something in return,” Zeus snaps between mouthfuls.