WE ARE ONE: Volume Two

by Jewel, Bella

  “I have no plans on doin’ that.”

  “Good to know.” He claps me on the back and starts for the kitchen. “Coffee?”

  “Please,” I call back, taking one last look at Ace’s school picture before I turn and follow. “Oh, and if you have builders coming for your greenhouse, you can call them off. You’ve got me and Ace now, and I’ve got a friend on the way. He’s a builder by trade and his work is top notch.”

  He nods, his expression pleased. “Well, I appreciate that, Kelly. Thank you.”

  Ace steps inside from the back door, stomping her old boots against the mat while Racer spoons ground coffee into a plunger. “It’s a great spot for the greenhouse, Grandad,” she says. “You’ll get lots of morning and midday sun.”

  “And you’ll get lots of vegetables,” he replies, adding hot water.

  “Ahh, this is just your secret plan to make me more healthy,” she teases.

  He gives us both a stern look. “It wouldn’t kill you young kids to eat a vegetable or two.”

  We drink our coffee, and Racer shows me the greenhouse site and plans. And after Hammer arrives, we drink more coffee, review the site and plans again, and then we get stuck in. The frame is cut and up by midday. We mostly use nail guns, though Racer uses his old-school hammer. I took a turn at banging nails into wood and found it more labour-intensive but so much more satisfying.

  We pause for a lunch break after Ace orders pizza delivery, and that afternoon I staple in the green mesh covering while Hammer builds raised vegetable beds made of Cyprus sleepers.

  At the end of the day, we’re all tired and sweaty and covered in dirt, but it feels good. The hard, physical labour has chased away the events of yesterday.

  Racer and I sit on the back steps of his house, with Ace cross-legged on the grass and Hammer leaning against the outdoor cladding, beers in hand, as we talk and survey our work.

  Ace’s grandfather clinks his beer to mine. “Welcome to the Jones family, Kelly.”

  I look to Ace, wondering what she makes of his comment.

  She simply grins, and I’m happy that she’s happy. She needs to bank that emotion because she’ll need to draw on it for Sunday family dinner. Racer wasn’t difficult to win over, but he’s older with more patience and acceptance. Mason is a hothead like me, so I need to be on my best behaviour or tomorrow night will be a total shit fest.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Arcadia

  “Oh hell no.” Mason’s face is twisted in anger, having wheeled himself inside our parents’ home to find me and Kelly sitting on the sofa, me with a wine because I was bracing and Kelly with a soda water because he drove. Mum and Racer sit opposite us with Dad perched on the arm of the chair beside Mum. It’s a cool night and the three of them are enjoying aperitifs of hot buttered rum. It’s a Jamie Oliver recipe. Mum is obsessed with the famous chef and watches every cooking show as if it were the American Super Bowl. She waxes on about his use of fresh, healthy ingredients from the garden, and she’s currently making her way through his Everyday Super Food recipe book that I bought her for Christmas. Dad happily tolerates her obsession—much like me, he finds cooking a chore so he eats anything she makes.

  Dad was talking with Kelly about cars when Mason entered, and Racer was chatting with Mum, sharing photos on his phone of our greenhouse build yesterday. I was sitting there quietly rubbing sweaty hands down my dark denim jeans. My parents have been very accepting, particularly considering Kelly is the first man I’ve ever brought to Sunday dinner.

  I phoned my mother earlier this morning to inform her I was bringing someone.

  “Ellington, darling?” she asked. “Because I wanted to ask her about that new pink hair colour. I saw a picture on Instagram and it looks gorgeous. I was wondering if perhaps I’m too old to go pink.”

  “Rubbish, Mum.” My mother could absolutely pull it off. Her dark brows and large grey eyes would complement some lovely pastel highlights. “You’re never too old.”

  “I don’t think your father shares your view,” she whispered into the phone so he must have been nearby. “I showed him the photo. He said she looks like a damn cupcake and well, I don’t think it was a compliment because you know how sugary those things are. They give him a toothache. Don’t tell Ellington though, honey, because his opinion doesn’t matter. He’s a man. They don’t get it, and I wouldn’t want her feelings hurt.”

  Mum was sweet but Echo’s feelings were plated with armour. Bullets couldn’t penetrate that hard exterior. “I won’t tell her, I promise, but it’s not Echo I’m bringing.”

  “Oh?” she prompted.

  “I’m seeing someone.”

  “Ohhh,” she drawled with sudden understanding. There was a pause while she waited for me to expand on my announcement. My parents weren’t Mason. I knew they’d be okay once I gave them the full story, but I hated having to do so. I’d rather them just get to know Kelly for who he was, except I didn’t have the luxury of time on my side. They needed a little warning. So I explained the situation over the phone, which was difficult because she kept repeating everything to Dad, who was asking questions in the background, which I heard, yet Mum repeated anyway.

  They suggested we turn up a little late, making it more difficult for Mason to leave, except he was even later than we were. We beat him here and now it’s an ambush.

  He glares at me. “I thought that was Kelly’s bike out front but I didn’t want to believe it. You’re such a bitch, Ace.”

  Mum gasps. “Mason!” Her voice is a whip. “I understand this is difficult for you, but insulting your sister in such a fashion is uncalled for.”

  My brother doesn’t have the grace to look suitably ashamed. He’s too angry. His glare shifts to Kelly. “Is this what you’re trying to do? Crippling me wasn’t enough, so now your plan is to drive a wedge between me and my entire family?”

  I fumble blindly for Kelly’s hand, squeezing it while I return my brother’s glare. “That’s an outrageous accusation. Kelly did not cripple you, Mason, and he’s here because I asked him to be.”

  His lips pinch so tight a screwdriver couldn’t pry them loose. “Fine. Then I’ll leave.”

  “You’re not leaving.” Setting down my wine glass on the coffee table with a clang, I let go of Kelly’s hand and stand, fury making me hot. “You won’t talk to me at home, Mason, so you can talk to me here. I understand your bias. I do,” I stress while he sits in his chair by the front door, his hands white-knuckling the arm rests. “But Kelly’s done nothing wrong. He shouldn’t have to defend himself to you, or anyone else.”

  “Babe,” Kelly mutters.

  I pause to look down at him. His expression is both serious and gentle. He’s hurting for me when he’s the one being attacked. Emotion clogs my throat, making my voice thick. “What?”

  “Don’t need you defendin’ me. You can put your claws away.”

  “Maybe you don’t,” I declare hotly, “but I’m going to anyway. This falling out is not on you, Kelly, it’s on me, and it’s on my brother.” I look at Mason though I’m speaking to the room. “I’ve never been so scared the night you were shot. Julianna might be alive, but she died inside the day she was raped. We were all hurting and wanted justice. I know stealing that car was reckless. When I realised we couldn’t outrun Grinder, I thought we were going to die. But you protected me. You pushed me in front of you, blocking me, and you got shot instead.” Tears burn my eyes. “And rather than healing and moving on, we let the wounds fester, and I can’t live like that any longer, Mace,” I tell him. “Meeting Kelly made me realise that holding on to all that hurt and anger is exhausting.” My voice lowers to a pained whisper, my heart thumping with emotion. “I can’t do it anymore and neither can you.”

  Dad stands from his seat on the couch, drink in hand. He gives me a pat on the back, a high level of affection from my father. “You’re a good girl, Arcadia,” he mutters near my ear before shifting away.

  Then he collects the aperitif
from the table that Mum had set aside for Mason and walks to my brother. “Let’s go outside for a bit, Son.”

  Mason stares at me for a long hard moment before he follows Dad out the front door. Mum clears her throat when it shuts behind them. “Jonah,” she says, because she doesn’t believe in nicknames. Real names are given for a reason, she insists, and aren’t meant to be butchered or shortened because people are too lazy to speak an extra syllable or two. Dad respects her wishes but calls us Mace and Ace behind her back. “Help me make some more drinks.”

  Racer swirls his nearly full glass. “I don’t need a refresh, Lydia.”

  She stands. “Well I do, and I want to hear more about your greenhouse, so you can come with me.”

  “I’ve already shown you the pictures,” he booms, getting agitated because he hates repeating himself. “No need to see them again.”

  “Jonah,” she hisses beneath her breath, though I can hear, and I know Kelly can too because he’s biting back a smile. “Don’t be obtuse. The lovebirds need a moment alone.”

  “What for? You think they want to suck face under your roof?” He sounds incredulous.

  “Grandad!” I shout, my cheeks hot. “Go and help Mum.”

  “Okay, okay!” He rises with a groan, making it appear as if he’s ancient and the simple task of standing is more than his frail body can take. “Kick an old man out of his chair then. Young upstarts,” he mutters as he follows my mother into the kitchen.

  Kelly and I are alone. I have no idea what he’s thinking. About running, maybe. I wouldn’t blame him. My family is definitely not for everyone. I turn sideways on the couch, leaning into the smattering of cushions. “You okay?”

  “No,” he quips, setting down his soda water and turning to face me. “But I will be if we can suck face.”

  I snort at his jest. “Stop it.”

  “I’m not kidding, babe.” He grasps me by the chin and kisses me.

  “Kelly,” I gasp, pulling away.

  “Shut up and kiss me, Ace.”

  “Well, when you put it like that…” I lean close, my mouth near his “…how can I resist?”

  “You can’t,” he replies with a smirk, and his words flash through my mind as I press my lips to his with tenderness.

  You can’t fix what’s broken.

  You just watch me, Kelly. I might not fix you, but I’ll help you put your pieces back together the same way you’re helping me to do mine.

  “You’re a fool for me, Ace,” he adds.

  I smack my mouth to his grinning lips. His big warm hands grasp hold of my hips, tugging me closer. My pulse quickens as he takes charge, deepening the kiss into something so much more. His tongue plays with mine and a deep groan vibrates through his chest. I inch closer and his fingers dig in, welcoming the press of my breasts and the heat of my body. “Fuck,” he draws back, “You’re gettin’ me hard.”

  Kelly’s words are fuel to my flame. He makes me forget who I am when he’s kissing me. He tangles his fingers in my hair, holding my face close to his as he looks at me. “It’s funny how life works out sometimes.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know.” He kisses me before loosening his fingers, letting me go but still keeping me close. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but every single one of them led me to that moment outside of Fix where I met you, and …”

  “And what?” I prompt as he stares blindly over my shoulder.

  He looks back to me. “And you make every one of them worth it. You make me a better person without changin’ me into someone else.”

  Tears blur my vision. My hands tremble as I palm his bearded cheeks, my heart thumping furiously with both panic and wonder. I think I’m falling in love with you.

  “Told you they were going to suck face, Lydia!”

  Racer’s loud comment is a bucket of cold water to my face. “Grandad!” I shout, my cheeks flaming as I let Kelly go.

  Both his and Kelly’s laughter ring out through the living area.

  “Sorry, lass,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. He sets a plate of nibbles on the table before sinking back into the sofa that Mum bullied him out of earlier. “Did I interrupt a tender moment?”

  “You’re a poophead,” I tell him, getting to my feet. “I’m going to help Mum in the kitchen.”

  Mum is at the counter when I walk in, sprinkling feta over a colourful salad. I snatch a cherry tomato and pop it in my mouth. The fruit bursts open when I bite down, filling my mouth with a rich earthy flavour. “Mmm, yum. What are you making?”

  “Roasted honey-glazed duck with a grilled corn and quinoa salad,” she announces proudly, finishing her sprinkle with a final flourish. Her Jamie Oliver cookbook is open to the recipe and resting against the timber stand that Mason made her in grade-eight woodwork class. There are love hearts punched through the timber at the top and burnt edges to give it an aged feel.

  On the surface, we’re pretty much your average family, except our hobbies involve cars—working on them, racing them, admiring them, writing about them, and yeah, an exceptional talent (passed down through the generations) of stealing them. It’s not something done for sport. It’s a special request made through trusted third parties and something done rarely. Except now our entire family is retired. Apart from me, because you know, Tony.

  “Can I help?” I ask, snatching up a sliver of grilled corn. It’s hot in my mouth. I garble and pant as if in labour. “Arrgghh!”

  Mum ignores me as she sets out plates. “You can get the bread rolls from the oven for me.”

  Grabbing the oven mitts, I turn around and bend, cracking open the wide oven door as I chew. I’m blasted with heat and the fresh yeasty scent of baked bread. My stomach growls. Dinner at my parents’ house is always a treat. Usually one of us brings dessert, but after I informed Mum about Kelly coming, she insisted on making something herself. She’s in her I want to make an extra impression mode because she cares about me.

  “You’re the absolute best,” I tell her, setting the tray of hot rolls on the stove top.

  “I know. Don’t ever forget it.”

  “As if.”

  “How are your studies going?” she asks as I use tongs to transfer the rolls to the little side plates Mum set out.

  I grimace as we work together side by side. “Not great.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Well, I’m being blackmailed by Tony. You know of him, though you don’t approve of him because he lacks appreciation for real cars. Not to mention his reputation is downright dirty. So now I’m stuck stealing a whole bunch of expensive machinery. On top of that, there’s a man in your living room that I’m tumbling head-first into mad crazy love with. He’s not perfect, but then neither am I, though I know you’d refute that because I’m your daughter and you’re biased toward me. So I spend most nights in his bed and my days planning boosts. Somewhere in there I squeeze in study time, but my heart isn’t it.

  “It’s hard, Mum.”

  “Well, nothing worth having is ever easy, is it,” she tells me, trying to be helpful.

  “I want to do well. I want to succeed in this, except …” I trail off, pushing the plates across the counter because if I don’t I’ll grab a roll and start chewing on it, and that will give Mum a fit because she likes the table set just so. One less roll will ruin the effect.

  “Except what?” She transfers pieces of the sticky duck to the dinner plates but she’s doing it at a slow pace, so I know she’s listening carefully.

  “Except it’s boring!” I burst out, because while there’s safety in numbers, there’s also tedium and monotony. “I can do the work if I put my mind to it, but I think I’ll slowly lose the will to live if I have to do this for the rest of my life.”

  “So don’t.” Both our heads turn. Kelly is standing at the entrance, leaning against the kitchen doorway. His size overwhelms the space, making me a little breathless.

  “I have to.”

  “You don’t
have to, Ace.”

  “I do.”

  Mum huffs beside me. “Stop being stubborn and listen to Kelly, Arcadia.”

  I huff too, because my mother only just met the man and she’s already siding with him.

  “Ace, you just gotta listen to your heart, because if you don’t, you’ll spend the rest of your life wishin’ you had.”

  “What he said,” Mum quips, spooning sauce over the duck with care.

  “Sure!” I exclaim, sarcasm thick and voice rising. “I’ll just listen to my heart and keep stealing cars for the rest of my short life!” Fuck it. I stretch my arm for a roll, ripping off a piece and shoving it in my mouth, chewing furiously. “Because I’ll eventually end up in prison…” rip, chew, swallow “…and I can’t go to prison because I’ll die! I’ll have a claustrophobic attack and pass out and die!”

  The bread gets stuck halfway down my throat. It fucking hurts. I thump a fist in my chest as Mum exclaims, “Don’t be dramatic, Arcadia. You’re retired.” I rip away another piece and put it my mouth so I can push the stuck piece down. “You’re not going to prison.”

  I pause my mad chew, my left cheek bulging with bread as my eyes lift to Kelly’s. He knows what I’m thinking. He’s shaking his head, his expression stern.

  “You’re not going to prison,” he mouths silently. “I promise.” He traces the pattern of a cross over his heart.

  “You don’t know that,” I mouth back as my mother continues plating on the other side of me, oblivious to our silent communication.

  “So if finance isn’t your thing, just choose something else,” she says as though it’s as easy as putting the wrong item back on the shelf at the supermarket and picking another.

  “Cars are my thing,” I point out. “And that’s your fault, Mum.” Mum has a talent for makeup and works part-time slapping faces on models for runways. She’s in high demand because she has a reputation for being unflappable in the face of divas, and her following on Instagram is ridiculously high. But the majority of her time is spent working with Lloyds Auctions in their classic car division because classics are her passion. “And Dad’s.” Dad is the crew chief for V8 Supercar racer, Jordan Haze. “And Racer’s.” Because Grandad taught me everything he knows. “You all made it my thing, and now I’m stuck not liking any other things.”