by Belle Brooks
“Good. I’ll tell nobody about this lapse in ethics. Towel, please.”
She hands one to me swiftly.
“Have a good day.” I pass back the towel. She’s lucky she spoke to me because if it had of been one of the other ladies, she’d have no job come morning.
Staring at the door, I grasp the handle and take a moment to breathe. I need to bring myself calm. I need to slow my thumping heart. I need to pull myself together.
There’s something about Finlay Crossley that has my heart hammering in my chest. My stomach filling with butterflies and my legs weakening. This is exactly the way I felt when he held me in his arms before he turned and ran towards the burning wreckage on the day of his accident. It’s also the same way I felt when I saw him in his hospital bed and I gave him back his log book and winning ticket. And again, when he stood near the fence at my house. I thought he’d found a way to locate me and would offer a thank you and then he’d be on his way. I managed to remain calm, level-headed … that was until he informed me he was my new neighbour.
Finlay Crossley makes me feel things I’ve never felt before and he does it by being in my presence. I have no control. I don’t understand it. And I don’t like it.
He’s looking right at me as I make my way towards the table. His rather large brown eyes connect with mine, and he smiles broadly before he lowers them, and I can sense them travelling down my body. Finlay has no manners. My breath catches in my throat, and I still when his eyes rebound back to mine.
“Hi,” he mouths.
“Pig,” I mouth back.
His head throws back, and his laughter fills the entirety of the room.
Shifting my attention to the back of my fiancé’s head, who is seated next to my father-in-law-to-be and across from where Finlay is seated, has me trying hard to calm the butterflies fluttering away in my stomach. It’s not working.
I turn my eyelashes downwards, stare at the red carpet, and take three slow and long breaths as I tilt my chin upwards.
“There’s my beautiful fiancée.” Slade stands, holding the back of the chair he already has presented in wait for me. His lips taste like beer when I lightly graze them, and then take my allocated seat beside him.
“Are you hungry?”
“Very.” I lay my hands against the table linen and without even thinking to do so, I begin playing with the four-carat princess-cut diamond taking up much of the space on my left ring finger.
The men talk between themselves, mainly business dealings, and although I pay attention to begin with, the conversation eventually becomes muffled as I drift off to the day I met Finlay trapped inside an old rickety utility as thick smoke barrelled from it. I was so frightened when I couldn’t open the door. I wish I’d never come to be on that street on the day it happened. I’d give anything to go back in time and not be there. Because ever since that day I’ve thought of Finlay. He consumes my thoughts. His face shows up in my dreams.
“Hey, I’m okay,” he croaked, running his hands through my hair. Before they cupped either side of my face. “I’m okay. You saved me,” he whispered.
His hands were warm, gentle and safe. He held me like I’d never been held before. His breath skimmed my lips and I could taste peppermint. He smelt of peppermint.
“I saved you,” I whispered back. I couldn’t look away from his widened, dark chocolate eyes.
They were kind, forgiving eyes.
“I’ve called the emergency services.” It was the voice of another, yet I didn’t see anyone else there but Finlay.
“You’re going to be okay,” I continued. I was sobbing, and I was trying to breathe air deeply into my lungs.
Why did I nestle my cheek firmly into his palm? I wanted to be close to him. I was so scared he was going to burn to death. I was scared I was going to lose him. How can you fear losing someone you don’t even know?
“Thank you for …” He didn’t finish the sentence he started. Instead, he called out, “Holy shit.” It was more a roar than a call—primal. He pulled away from me with urgency. “Shiiiiiit!” he growled. Bright orange flames spewed out from the hood of the car he was now looking at.
Don’t run back to the car. It’s like I knew he was going to. Don’t leave me.
“Roselette, are you okay?”
“Sorry.” My surroundings change from a smoke-filled sky to a room where cutlery bangs against china, and voices grow louder. The thick smoke clears, and the room becomes crisp.
“Darling, is something troubling you?”
“No. Not at all.” I fake a yawn and stretch my arms upwards. “Tired, I think.”
“Roselette, manners. Contain your tiredness. Nobody is interested in seeing such a display.” Slade scolds me in a way one would an out of control toddler running through the restaurant knocking down chairs.
“My apologies.” Why am I apologising?
“Accepted. Now smile and look pretty.”
“Of course, darling.”
I die a little more inside. Slade is just being Slade. A change I should be getting used to. So much is different about him now we’re engaged. He didn’t always speak to me in such a manner. Slade loves me. I know he does, but the way in which he speaks to me often leaves me feeling worthless. I must persevere. My family needs me to marry this man. He is after all the wealthiest there is.
Finlay stands abruptly. “I have other business to attend to. Thank you for the invitation. Slade. Mr Banter. Rose.” He turns on his heel and marches away like a man on a mission.
I wait for him to turn around or even to glance back, but he doesn’t.
A gold rimmed plate is placed down in front of me. Fish. I can barely tolerate it, but Slade is insistent I consume as much as possible to retain a youthful figure. After all, I turn twenty-three in a few months, and I’m undoubtedly aging. I’m made more aware of this because Slade reminds me frequently. The portion is large, and I stare down at the strips of pink flesh.
“I ordered you the salmon. I know how good it is for your diet.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
“Someone has to look after you.”
I grace him with the smile he expects in return. I also flutter my eyelashes as he leans forwards and briefly places his lips to mine.
“Eat,” he instructs, taking his knife and fork into his hands.
Four-hundred-gram eye fillet, medium rare, oozes pink liquid as Slade cuts into it. How I would love to devour a steak right now. Moving flakes of the fish around the plate, I again drift back to the day Finlay burst into my world with his blazing accident.
“What are you doing?”
He coughed, but I continued pummelling him in his back.
“Hey. Quit it.” Hunched over, he tried to get away from me as he coughed constantly.
“I have you. Just keep walking.” My hand quivered when I wrapped my arm around his. I was petrified.
Why did I chase him? Why was I standing beside a burning car? Why did I care so much for him?
“Run.” His voice was hoarse when he tried to choke this out.
“I can’t leave you.” The back of my throat burned.
“Run.” His tone was fiercer the second time. It was protective.
“Okay,” I spluttered as my arm slipped from his, and I reefed off my heels so as I could run my fastest. I ran like my life depended on it. I had to get away.
Boom! The explosion was loud. I fell to the grass with tears streaming down my overheated face. “Noooo,” I screamed so loud I could taste blood on my tongue.
There’s no way he’d survive that. My heart ached. It was a pain I’d never known.
“What is wrong with you today, Roselette? Father, I’m awfully sorry about Roselette’s behaviour.” Slade sounds as if he is far off in the distance.
Rotating my head, I’m faced with one angry glare. “Roselette, what is wrong with you? You’ve barely touched your dinner. You’re absent-minded. You’re not yourself at all.”
“You look l
ost, dear.” Mr Banter stares at me.
“I’m so sorry. I’m extremely tired today.”
“Go. You’re ruining my lunch. I’m sick of looking at you.”
Now I’ve gone and upset Slade. Great. The last thing I need is him with a bee in his bonnet.
“I mean it. Go now. I can’t stand to look at you.”
What have I done? I need to keep myself at a distance from Finlay Crossley, because if I don’t I might just ruin the only chance my father has at reclaiming his losses and keeping his standing in this community. My entire family’s future is counting on me marrying Slade.
Chapter Twelve
Finlay
I drive everywhere and anywhere I can think to go. Slade is a dick. Mr Banter is a prick. Mr Horton is lowlife arsehole and Rose? Well, Rose is always on my mind. She also appears to be a chameleon—she changes her persona in differing company.
These are the people who surround the house I currently live in, and as I pull up in front of my old apartment block, I picture myself walking the stairs after a long day at the steel mill. The itch returns to my skin at the thought, and I start to scratch my arm like particles of steel are clogging my pores once more. Things weren’t easier here. In fact, they were much harder, but it’s all I’ve ever known.
Tugging at the tie digging into my Adam’s apple, I ask myself one question: “Why did I buy that house?”
Gunshots ring loudly, and it takes only minutes until the sound of sirens blares. “Shit,” I breathe. This world has gone to shit.
Pulling out from the gutter, I get myself away from my old apartment and continue to drive around aimlessly until I find myself at the land and building I purchased today, a piece of property on the cusp of both the upper and lower class of Hoffman. Can there really be such a thing as middle ground? Can I really create a middle class in a place where there is only black and white, with no room for grey?
A loud honking claims my attention as a long black limo pulls up beside me, and the window lowers immediately. I lower my own in return.
“So, did you get it?” Rance hangs out of the window with an unlit cigar held between his fingers.
“Yep.”
His smile is wide. “You fucking legend. You are Frank the fucking Tank.”
“Settle down, mate.”
“We’re going to have the best motorcycle store Hoffman has ever seen. I’ll rally the troops, and when I get Alan from school we’ll be over.”
“Sounds good.”
“See you then.”
“Laters.”
I hear the loud “woohoo” he celebrates further with. He pulls up the car. Gets out and walks over to my open window.
“It’s great news.” Rance pats my shoulder.
“It is. Are you staying here?” I say.
“Yeah, I’m going to do a walk around, come up with some ideas to present to you.” The corners of his lips turn upwards. “What about you?”
“Heading home. Going to check on Tessa.”
“Righto. See ya soon.”
At least today had one good outcome.
Leaving Rance to assess the outside of the abandoned shop, I drive. The winding roads stretch for kilometres, and when I go around a sharp corner, flashes of orange take my vision. “My accident. This is where I had my accident,” I say under my breath. I haven’t been back here since it happened, well, until now.
Parking on the grass where I found myself once lying with barely any air in my lungs, I turn off the engine and hop out.
I stare in the direction of where my old heap of crap failed me, and my imagination returns me to the flaming vision without effort. I can see Rose as clearly as I did the day of the accident, followed by the SUV that ploughed into me, followed by smoke and then flames.
Bang!
What was that?
Shaking my head, I search farther up the road, just past the bend leading into the straight. I spot a lady pacing back and forth in a red dress with auburn hair. Rose. No, it couldn’t be, could it?
At first, I move slowly, but before long I quicken my pace as I approach this woman still pacing back and forth. The moment I draw close enough, I’m able to identify her hourglass figure clearly. I believe I’d know it anywhere. Long red locks hang freely down her back, and her tight arse … well, nothing could remove such a perfect mound of flesh from my memory, that’s for sure.
Rose’s back is turned to me, but she’s muttering away to herself, and I’ve little understanding as to what she’s saying. It’s clear she’s distressed, but why?
“Rose.” I try to keep my tone quiet so as not to startle her.
She twists on her heel and glares at me.
“What are you doing here?”
She continues her hard glare.
“Aren’t you supposed to be at the restaurant with your fiancé?”
She lunges at me and presses her hands hard into my chest.
Without thought, I take her wrists in my hold and grip tightly enough that she can’t begin pummelling me, but loose enough I won’t cause her any discomfort.
“Why?” Her eyes fill with hatred.
“What?”
“You’re so selfish. You could have died. You could have been killed. All for a lottery ticket.”
I pull back my head in shock. “That’s rich, coming from you. What was that in there today? Who are you? A pretty piece of arm candy to a rich man, who is a complete arsehole, by the way.”
“You know nothing of my life.” She’s blood-boiling mad. Her lips are pressed together with such force, they wrinkle.
“You know nothing of my life, either.”
“You don’t belong in our neighbourhood. Why did you move right next door to me?” Rose tries to claim back the use of her arms by jerking them in my grip.
“Didn’t know you were the neighbourhood police. I also didn’t know you owned everything, everywhere.”
“Let go of me.” She stomps her foot. She’s flushed red.
“Fine,” I scoff.
“You. You.” She rubs her wrist before using an outstretched finger to point at my chest.
“What, Rose? What the hell did I do to you?”
“You risked my life. You won’t leave me alone. Why are you always in my thoughts?”
I swallow hard. What? I’m in her thoughts? “Rose.”
“You risked my life.” She screams this at me.
“You risked your own life, sweetheart. I told you to stay back. You obviously don’t listen, like all the other women on this planet.”
She launches at me again and again, forcing me to take both her bone-thin wrists into my grip once more.
“Tell me something, Finlay. Is the money worth it? Are you happy now you will turn out just…” She stops talking mid-sentence.
“What?”
“You heard me. Are you happy with all this money?”
“Yes. Okay, yes, I am. You’ve no idea where I’ve come from, you silver-spoon-fed bitch.”
She cries out. I don’t see it coming. In fact, it startles me.
Without thought, I guide her against my body by her wrists, only letting go so I can wrap my arms around her small frame securely. I say nothing, and neither does she. We stand like this for what feels like a millennium—well, until my need to hold her so tightly relaxes, as does my hold. Keeping her loosely wrapped in my embrace with one hand, I use my dominant hand to comb my fingers through her hair, feeling her soft locks. She sobs hard. Her body jolts with the force, so I lay my head to the top of hers and inhale one breath through my nose, taking in a dose of her sweet scent. I could smell Rose all day, every day.
“Let me go!” she finally demands and I comply, taking a step backwards to allow her some personal space. “I need to leave.”
“Okay. Rose, if you need to talk, you know where to find me. I hate that you’re so upset.”
“Finlay, stay away from me.”
“Fine. But, Rose, I’m not sure if I had a chance to thank you for help
ing me the day of my accident, so thank you for helping me to get free. If you ever want me to return the favour, I’d be more than happy to. You seem like you might be in some distress of your own, and I’m here if you need saving.”
She scowls. “I’m not distressed. I’m happy.”
“Sure. Keep telling yourself this. You seem miserable to me. At the restaurant, you …” I can’t find the words.
“What?”
“You seemed blank. You’re a blank canvas with no individuality. All those people at the country club are fake and phoney, but I don’t want to believe someone like you is really just like them.”
“You don’t know me.”
“I know enough to confidently say you are treated like a mannequin whose sole purpose is to be displayed in fashionable accessories and admired, but not respected.”
Rose throws back her head and laughs boldly. When she finds some composure, she looks me straight in the eyes and says, “You know nothing about anything. Move out of the house neighbouring mine and disappear, Mr Crossley. If you think you know anything about me and my life then you are delusional. You’ve seen me twice in a week, and you come up with this ridiculous notion.” A long huffing sound follows this outburst.
“I’ve seen more than you know.”
She puffs forced air out her nose. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Whatever, Rose.”
“You know nothing. You’re so selfish.”
“Me? How am I selfish?”
She huffs.
“You’re selfish, Rose. You’re the selfish one. What’s the one thing that is truly ugly about you?”
She tips her head in unison with the gasp I suspected would be coming. “I beg your pardon.”
If I could capture this look in a photograph, I would. I’d even frame it in gold.
“I’m not sure why you’re getting you knickers in such a knot, sweetheart. You know the answer.” The roll of my eyes is purely for effect.
“Who asks such a thing?” Her fingers whiten from the pressure she uses to dig them into each hip bone.
My lips part into a wide smirk when the vein in her neck exposes itself for my viewing pleasure. “Rose, answer the question.”
“I will do no such thing.”
