Winner

by Belle Brooks

  “Yep.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t have fought with Slade like you did.”

  “If you’d heard the way he spoke to—”

  “You’re not Rose’s protector, Fin, and you’re not in the slums anymore … You need to get a handle on that temper of yours.”

  I don’t reply. I’m handling my temper just fine.

  “Let me give it to you straight. You’re not going to change how Rose behaves. You have as much of a chance of changing her as you did with Penny.”

  “Hey.” I’m instantly cross.

  “You can’t help Rose, Tank. You couldn’t help Penny either. I told you then what I’m telling you now—it’s probably better you walk away from this infatuation you have with this woman sooner rather than later. Someone always ends up hurt, and that someone will be you.”

  I glare at Tessa. She has no right to bring Penny into this.

  “Rose is not someone who has lived like you have or someone who will ever be able to walk away from her family’s status. Could Penny? Well, did Penny escape her family in the end? No. She ended up dead.”

  “Shut your mouth.” My nose flares as my hands curl into fists.

  “You have money, Finlay, sure, but you have no name in this community.”

  Leaving the half-eaten apple on the bench, I walk away without a response. Tessa is wrong about Penny. She can’t prove it was Penny’s family responsible for her death. Nobody has ever found her killer. Could she be right about Rose, though? I can’t shake this sense that I need to save Rose, just as she saved me from the burning wreckage the day we met. There’s something about that day I can’t rid myself of. I’m finally ready to find someone to settle down with, even though the last time I felt ready I ended up screwed over.

  A quick shower and change of clothes has me flicking my eyes to the screen of my phone every couple of seconds. Two fifty-nine p.m. and still no word if Rose is even coming.

  Making my way to the lower level, I open the door to the games room where the bet went down.

  A pair of daisy dukes and a bright pink Suzuki shirt now lie in the centre of the pool table. Rose won’t show up in appropriate attire for where we’re going, if she turns up at all.

  Rolling the eight ball past the clothing back and forth, I continue the wait, and I also continue checking the time on the phone. Ten past three p.m. She’s not coming.

  With this realisation I become mad, mad that I’d even thought for a second someone like Roselette Horton would find a loser like me worthy of her time. Penny might have, but Rose is another kettle of fish. She’s older, for a start.

  “Come in, Rose,” Tessa says.

  What? I shift from foot to foot. Shit. I’m nervous.

  “Thank you,” she replies.

  “I believe Tank is in the games room.” Tessa must have been watching me.

  “Okay.”

  Two large inhales, a straightening of my T-shirt, and a check of the fly of my jeans is all I have time for before I hear her clip-clopping approach. Leaning against the table, I wait. It takes no time at all until Rose stands in the doorway.

  “Hello.” She’s not smiling, and she’s not cross—her expression is neutral.

  “You’re late. I wouldn’t pick you for someone who is generally late.”

  “I’m not. I was taking a phone call.” She crosses her left leg in front of her right and then runs her palms down the tight-fitting grey business-type dress she’s wearing.

  “Cool.”

  “I’m ready to go when you are. I’m sure you’ve something planned.”

  “I do.” I know I’m smirking.

  “Well ...” The way in which Rose holds herself tells me she’s completely closed off to this entire afternoon. I don’t like it.

  “You’ll need to get changed.”

  “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Her fingers roll a single pearl at the front of the necklace strapped around her neck.

  “It’s going to be hard for you to walk in those heels and manoeuvre in your dress.” My smirk grows. Running my eyes along the length of her body, I rebound my vision and stop when we make eye contact. It’s a brief contact, because she closes her long thick lashes.

  “I’ll go change. What will I need?” When she flicks her lashes open, I see a different sadness to her gaze.

  “Here.” Running my hands behind my back, I take the shirt and denim pants and hold them out in front of my body. “This will do.”

  Her mouth drops open.

  “You can change in here. I’ll leave you to it.”

  Her jaws snap closed and she stares. “I’m not wearing that.”

  “I think you are. My win, your loss.”

  “I don’t even have to go with you.” She places one hand to her hip.

  I chuckle from her stubbornness. “It’s a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. I’m sure you’ve worn clothes like these many times.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I’ll go home and—”

  “No. You’ll wear this and remove the stick from your arse so we can go and enjoy our afternoon. My win, your loss. Suck it up.” I’m losing my temper.

  “Okay.” Rose becomes flushed. Why is she flushed? “Fine,” she huffs. “I’ll need shoes.”

  “I know.”

  “Soooo …?”

  “I’ll get you some. Are you a size seven, eight or nine?”

  “Seven,” she says softly.

  It takes me three steps to the cupboard I’d previously put three pairs of lady’s sneakers in. I bought them from the store yesterday. Retrieving the size sevens and a pair of ankle socks I’d also taken from stock, I make my way to Rose and hand them and the clothing to her.

  “Running shoes? Really?”

  “They’ll be much more comfortable. I’m wearing a pair—see?” I shift my foot to display the fact.

  “Fine.” Rushing past me, Rose throws the items onto the pool table. She’s muttering something I can’t decipher, but I do know from her tone that she’s as mad as hell.

  “I’ll leave you to it.”

  Rose doesn’t answer, and when I close the door to the games room to offer her privacy, I chuckle deeply. This is going to be fun.

  The clicking sound of the latch parting has me waiting for Rose to step out, but she doesn’t. Instead, she peeks her head through a small gap and says, “I’m not wearing this.”

  “Yes. You are. Come on.”

  “Finlay, I’m not. I look like a two-bit hooker.”

  I laugh hard.

  “Don’t laugh at me.” She adopts a toddler tone.

  “You’re something else, I tell you. Let’s get going.” I step towards her.

  “No.”

  “Open the door, Rose.”

  “No.”

  “Fine. I’ll open it for you.” Reaching out my hand, I take the handle in my grasp.

  “You’ll do no such thing.” She’s appalled.

  “Can we just go? This song and dance is getting old, fast.”

  “You’re very bossy.”

  I half-laugh. “And you’re not?”

  “No.”

  “Roselette Horton, stop being a brat and open the door.”

  “No.”

  One light push has Rose backing up as I slowly open it.

  Damn! Daisy dukes should be all Rose ever wears. Her long legs never seem to end. As I scan upwards, I stop at her breasts, so round and full inside the tight material of the T-shirt. The pearl necklace is still in place when I reach her neck, and when I stop at her red-stained lips, they are pinched tight.

  “Rose …”

  “Yes.” Her lips relax, and when I see her bobbing from left to right, I shift my attention downwards until I’m stopped by her fingers trying to lengthen the material of the shorts to cover more skin. I find this amusing.

  “You’ll need to lose the pearls.”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it.”

  Her hands shift to behind her neck, and with a little fidgeting, s
he holds out the string of pearls. “Happy?”

  “You look fine,” I say, returning my vision to her deep green eyes, which widen. There is something about Rose’s eye colour I find fascinating. They change with different lighting, clothing, and settings.

  “Can we just get this over with?”

  “Sure. After you.” I gesture for her to take the lead. Rose huffs, but she finally leaves the room.

  Women.

  Every step she takes has her perfectly rounded arse bouncing in those shorts, and I’m not sure there’s another woman who can fill them out quite as well as Rose can.

  “Stop staring at my arse,” she scolds.

  I laugh uncontrollably.

  I stop the Landcruiser at Frangullies National Park, the exact same spot we came to after Rose fled from Slade, also a place I finally learnt the name of. The drive here was quiet and uncomfortable for Rose—I know this because she constantly shifted in her seat. I tried to break the thick air with general conversation, but all Rose returned was, “Hmmmm.”

  I watch as her head turns from one direction to another. Is she confused or worried? I can’t be sure.

  “Here? Why?”

  “I thought we could go for a walk and get some fresh air.”

  “I’m not so sure I—”

  “You don’t get a choice. Now, hop out. I’m going to grab the swag from the tray.”

  “Fine!” she huffs.

  Side by side we stand, looking into the bushland that skirts many walking trails. I can hear Rose’s deep breathing, and I’m starting to wonder if she’s thinking I’m dangerous. After all, I’m asking her to go off into the wilderness with someone who is practically a stranger to her. “You’re safe,” I say reassuringly.

  “I’m sure that is what all murderers say, Finlay.” I can sense her glaring into my cheek.

  “I’m not a murderer. I promise you’re safe.” Turning my head, I’m met by Rose’s smile.

  “I believe you. Why, I’ve no idea.”

  Chuckling lowly, I place my hand on Rose’s arm. “Let’s go.”

  The trails are well marked and clear of debris, which makes the journey quite easy. We don’t walk quickly or slowly—we just adopt a steady pace, taking our time and observing the surroundings.

  “Have you walked this trail before?” Rose is starting to relax. I can see it in her shoulders, which have now dropped low from her earlobes.

  “No. This is the first time. I did some research, though, and apparently, this trail leads to a waterfall.”

  “It does?” Her eyes find mine.

  “It’s what it said.”

  “I like waterfalls.”

  “Don’t all girls?” I snicker.

  “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  The farther we walk, the more relaxed Rose seems to become, and the chattier. We speak about general things at first like the weather, and places around town we’ve been to, and we broach the topic of the steel mill as Rose reveals she is aware I worked for her father.

  “Please tell me you brought water, because I’m parched.” Rose licks her lips, and when she does, I swear I can taste her mouth just as she did. I wish I could.

  “I did.” Flinging the khaki swag to my front, I retrieve two waters from the cool bag I put into the back earlier. “Here,” I say, passing her one and taking a swig out of the other for myself.

  “So much better.” She gulps another mouthful. “We’ve been walking for a while, so it mustn’t be far now.”

  “I can’t hear water, so there must be a ways to go.”

  “Okay.” She almost seems cheerful.

  We’re moving downhill and as we do, Rose says, “So, you’re opening a business?”

  “Yes. A motorcycle company.”

  “What’s it called?”

  “Lad’s Cycles.”

  “Lad’s Cycles?” She questions my choice.

  “Yeah. The guys and I own it. Well, we will own it in a couple of months. For now we’re leasing it. We decided on something simple. It matches our group.”

  “It’s an okay name.” Is this a compliment from Rose?

  “Maybe you’ll come have a look when we open.”

  “When’s the store opening?”

  “Wednesday.”

  “I won’t have time. I’m going away Wednesday.”

  “You are?”

  “Yes. Slade has a conference in New York, and I’ve been asked to accompany him.”

  “You and Slade are …”

  “Still together. Yes.”

  “Wow.” Shit. Now the worry I’ve had for Rose will only increase. Fucking great. Like I need more stress in my life.

  “Really? You have an opinion, Finlay, on the matter?”

  We stop walking and turn to face each other. There’s tension, a lot of it, and Rose has a hand rested to her hip.

  “Rose, can you please call me Fin or Tank? I bloody hate Finlay.”

  Her eyebrows lift high on her forehead. “This is all you have to say?”

  “Yes. It’s annoying the shit out of me.” I don’t tell Rose what I’m really thinking about, her still being with Slade.

  “Why do people call you Tank, anyway?” She walks forwards without a glance back.

  “Tank is what I’ve been called since high school,” I answer, catching up. “I wasn’t always tall and built, but in time I sized up. High school, I played football and was a back rower, and the name stuck.”

  “I see. It’s really a silly nickname, though. I can’t believe people call you this.”

  “And Roselette is better?”

  “What’s wrong with my actual name? Tank is not even your real name.”

  “It’s very outdated.”

  “No, it’s not.” She shakes her head. “Plus, Rose is so youthful—a little girl’s name, not a lady’s name.”

  “Says you.”

  “Whatever. We’ll have to agree to disagree.”

  “Seems to be our thing.”

  Rose stops and stares at me. I’m not sure why she’s doing it, but I go with it and don’t break contact.

  “Why did you move in next door to me?”

  I can tell she doesn’t believe it was a coincidence even though it honestly was, so I change the subject back. “So, are you telling me you don’t have any nicknames?”

  “One.” She smiles before continuing forwards once more.

  “What is it?” I’m inquisitive.

  Rose dodges the question, and I’m not surprised by this, mainly because it seems as though Rose doesn’t really want to share much information about her life. Why? I’m still not sure, but she has a tendency to change the subject to avoid certain things.

  “So, winning the lotto …”

  “So, have you always been a high-society girl?”

  Rose halts on the spot. “Do you feel like taking a break?” Rose keeps her eyes to the ground.

  “Sure,” I reply, throwing the heavy swag against the dirt trail. Unzipping the front section, I remove a rolled blanket and a cooler holding some light snacks.

  “You’ve come prepared.”

  “Somewhat,” I answer.

  “Good. How about I answer both your questions and tell you a story? You’ll learn my nickname and where I came from.”

  This has me excited. “Sounds good.”

  I hand Rose a container of mixed fruit and a fork to eat with, and she settles onto the blanket. She takes no time opening the lid and forking a piece of pineapple.

  I remove another for myself, and together we sit on the path of the walking trail surrounded by nothing but trees.

  “When I was really little, my dad would rest on the end of my bed at night and make up the most outlandish bedtime stories. Every one of them always had this crocodile named Ullara featured within it. Can you imagine a tale about Roman gods fighting to bring down warlords that always had a crocodile appearing unexpectedly?” Rose giggles, and the youthful gleam sparking her eyes has me grinning like a dork from ear to ear ...
well, until she rests on her knees in front of me and says, “At the end of every story, he’d always say, ‘Bubula’—oh, this is his nickname for me—‘in life there is always a treasure to be claimed. This treasure is special because it has no map, and it can’t be found. It instead finds you.’ To this day, I have no idea what he is talking about.”

  I shrug.

  “I’ve wondered for so long what in the world it meant.” Rose dips her chin and rests her buttocks onto her heels.

  “Did he do or say anything after this?”

  Lifting her head before closing her eyes has Rose taking a lengthy pause. Her face is neutral, but I can’t help wondering what is playing out in her mind.

  “Rose?”

  She breathes slowly before replying, “I was gifted mine, and I hope one day when you’re big and grown, you’re gifted yours.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Deluded, more like it. Anyway, when I turned six and Dad made a splash in the business world, he wasn’t around to make up crazy bedtime stories anymore. The nannies took over nightly duties.” The gleam previously bringing such a brightness to Rose’s eyes washes away. “We should probably keep going. I don’t want to be lost in the wilderness with you when it gets dark.”

  “I’m still eating. Tell me more.”

  Rose takes a steady breath. “We’ve not always had the status we have. In fact, we weren’t overly well-off, and we didn’t always live in Hoffman.” She picks at her nail. Is she nervous? “We lived in a small farming community a long way from here.” Rose frowns. Her shoulders slump. Her head drops.

  “You liked it there?”

  “I was too little to remember.” Closing the lid onto the empty container, Rose hands it to me. “I know you think I’m not a nice person …”

  “I don’t.”

  “Yes, you do.” She stands.

  “Trust me, I don’t.”

  “You will then.” And with this Rose begins trekking forwards with pace.

  Damn, I’m going to have to jog to catch up to her by the time I put everything back in the swag.

  “Rose,” I call.

  Standing a couple of metres from Rose, after I catch up with her, I see her crouched down.

  “You’ve lost your family?” she says. “It’s okay, I know where you belong. I found your home.”