Honest Love (Broken Hearts duet Book 1)

by Lauren K. McKellar

  Maybe this one could be the same.

  The thought seemed almost laughable.

  I followed Mack inside. His shoulders seemed to touch either side of the doorway.

  The living room was tiny, with a blue couch and a small coffee table, and a television hanging on one gaily painted yellow wall. I ran my hand over the soft suede material of the armchair in the corner. It was funny how time did that—made your memories larger than life.

  “The third bedroom has room for a crib, if you wanted to grab one of those portable ones on the way down. And everything’s nice and childproof—no glass coffee tables for a kid to hit its head on. No bottles of whiskey for it to drink.” Mack narrowed his blue eyes.

  I glared at him. “You know I’ve got past that.”

  “I know. I just … just making sure.” He nodded. “Anyway, I know Giselle said if you take the child you should stay at her place, but I thought things might be nicer for you here. Nearer the beach. Nearer to home.”

  “Nearer for you to come check in on me?” I arched an eyebrow.

  “Nearer for your buddy Mack here to help you out if you ever need a baby break.” He winked.

  It wasn’t the worst idea. Being closer to him, closer to home—closer to Bella.

  That was important to me. That was what was right.

  And I always tried to do what was right.

  “Mack …?”

  “Hmm?” He opened the fridge door, letting loose a low whistle. “I really should clean this out …”

  “Do you think I should take the kid?” I asked.

  His face turned serious. “Mate, I think you gotta do what’s right for you. I can’t make that call for you.”

  I nodded. I knew he couldn’t.

  But some decisions were so damn hard to make.

  “Why don’t you go for a walk down the road? Go check the surf, think about the good ol’ days while I tidy the place up a bit? You know, in case you decide to look after her and want to stay here.” Mack nodded to the windows, the beach out there beyond them.

  “Sounds good,” I said, my throat suddenly dry. Air. I needed air.

  Now.

  The walk to the ocean took just eight short minutes. Each one gave me time to reminisce. Time to reflect on all the things in my life that were changing. A baby. I had … a baby. I was someone’s father.

  My phone beeped from my pocket and I pulled it out.

  Mack: Wanna grab some beer while you’re down there? Cleaning’s thirsty work.

  I typed out a quick reply, then started the short walk to the bottle shop. A group of women stood out the front, congregated around a van. I turned my head, staring at the ocean again to avoid their gazes. Still, their whispers reached me.

  “Is that him?”

  “I think that’s him.”

  “Poor guy. I can’t imagine …”

  I shoved the door to the shop open, the bell above it not ringing loud enough.

  Always, I heard those whispers. Always.

  My eyes ran over the coloured bottles of beers in the fridge. Which one would I get? Pale ale? Lager? Will you look after your child while Giselle’s in jail?

  “Well I’m telling you, Bentley, that you don’t get to tell me how I live my life. You don’t get to tell me anything!”

  I turned my head.

  Whoa.

  A woman walked into the bottle shop, her phone pressed to her ear. Fury lit her stormy blue eyes, and her golden–brown hair was wild around her shoulders.

  Even in her rage, she was beautiful.

  Or maybe she was beautiful because of it.

  I shook my head, turning back to the beer. How she looked had nothing to do with me. I was in love with Bella. I only had eyes for Bella.

  And yet, as I handed over the money at the counter, as I looped my fingers through the cardboard neck of the six-pack of beer, I couldn’t help looking back. Couldn’t help seeing her one more time.

  There was something about her—so full of energy. So full of life.

  She was wild, out of control, where I was slow and measured. She was—wow.

  I’d been given a second chance at life. Should I have been more like that? Throwing caution to the wind? Living with no regrets, all in, all the time?

  “Idiot,” I muttered under my breath. I couldn’t be that guy. Not when I still missed Bella so, so much.

  But as the woman shoved her phone in her pocket, mumbling about men and how useless they were, I managed a smile, my first in a very long time.

  Life.

  It was a gift I’d been given after that piece-of-shit day.

  And now, it was a gift I had to offer someone else.

  Chapter 3

  It was a long ride in the car. The top was down, and wind brushed over my cheeks as the Mustang snaked along the road that passed through small coastal town after small coastal town. The scent of batter lingered in the air, fried fish and chips a beachside staple, and when I finally stopped the car at Magenta Recovery Centre, I took a minute to breathe it all in, then let it all out.

  For a moment, I stared at the tall, golden sand dunes towering ahead, a wall between the soft sighing of the ocean and me. I pressed my eyes shut. I wanted to stay here and listen to the ocean breathe. Just stay here for the longest time.

  That was the thing about the long drive. If you followed the main road, the trip was quick—forty minutes, perhaps forty-five.

  I never followed the main road.

  I always travelled via the coast.

  “Get out of the car,” I muttered, my hand reaching for the door even as my heart begged to turn the Mustang’s engine over and drive, drive as far and as fast as I could in the opposite direction.

  Instead, I walked across the sandy parking lot. The red brick building’s door slid open, and a wall of cool air hit me. A short, curly haired woman greeted me with a friendly smile. “Cameron! Good to see you again.”

  “You too.” I nodded, gruff. Like always.

  “I know Donald will be glad you’re here.” Her tone was warm, so friendly, so inviting. As if Donald really cared about me.

  As if Donald really cared about anything.

  I thanked her, then shuffled down the hall, head down. Turning right when the corridor forked, I passed a garden full of natives, grevilleas and lily pilllies and bottlebrush. A lorikeet bowed one branch with its weight as it danced across the top of the tree, and I tracked its movements. How nice to be that bird. Carefree. Flying.

  Not weighed down by the past.

  I thought of the phone call a few days prior. You’re a father.

  Three words I thought I’d never hear.

  Three words I thought I’d never hear again.

  I still didn’t know what to make of it all. Still didn’t know why I’d signed up for something I had no clue about.

  All I could think was that this child was born from my loneliness, my pain. I needed to try and do something to ensure her life was better than that. Better than the way she was conceived.

  I needed to offer her life.

  But how could I do that when I didn’t know the first thing about caring for a baby?

  Finally, I reached the green door. I didn’t knock—I never knocked.

  Instead, I opened it, walking straight in to see the man lying on the bed, his eyes closed. Tufts of white, wiry hair sprouted on either side of his head, giving him the look of a mad scientist. His skin seemed almost grey. When did he last go outside? Was it this week? This month?

  This year?

  The white sheets were folded neatly around his thin frame, and a television played in the corner of the room, the low hum of daytime soap drama competing to be heard over the wheezing of his body. Above the screen door leading to the small courtyard outside, a clock ticked: two thirty.

  Maybe he could help me. Maybe somehow, this old man could give me advice on what the hell I was supposed to do with the situation I’d found myself in.

  I always used to turn to my father
for advice.

  Before …

  I pulled out one of the hard, green plastic chairs next to the bed and sat, clasping my hands in front of his face, my elbows rested on my knees. “Hey.”

  The old man sighed in his sleep.

  He slept a lot these days.

  “It’s been a bit of a rough week. Sorry I didn’t get out to see you sooner. Just had things on with work. Been busy. You know how it is.” I scrubbed a hand over my jaw.

  My head.

  That was where it’d been busy.

  “I’m stoppin’ by because I don’t know when I’ll next get in to see you. See, there’s something I should have told you about. Something that happened last year. After …” I swallowed. Gripped my hands together tighter. “After it happened, I … I lost it for a while. I drank too much, too often—I did everything I could to try remember the good times, but drown out the bad. To keep you happy and healthy in my mind …”

  I swallowed down the bitter taste in my throat. Bella in that white summer dress. Long, red hair. Laughter that sounded like the birds. The smell of honeysuckle, lingering in the kitchen.

  Yes.

  The memory teased the edges of my mind, and I breathed out long through rounded lips. Everything would be okay.

  “I know, I know. You’d call me out on my shit if you were awake. Because I’m a grown man. I should know better.” I shook my head. “And now, I am better. I eat right, I rarely drink—I do the right thing.” I clutched at the bed rail, needing something solid to hold onto. “Heck, I don’t even date because I can’t stand the pity in the other women’s eyes. That look they give me when they find out—it’s all the same.”

  I eased my grip. “One night, I got drunk and I swear, it was her. It was Bella, you know?” I smiled, thinking of that moment. When I’d been so convinced she was somehow okay. “Only, it wasn’t. And now, this woman has a kid.”

  I sighed, long and heavy. “Anyway, she’s going to jail, and it looks like I’m gonna be caring for her baby for a while.” I barked out a laugh. “Guess that’s what you’d call divine intervention.”

  I stared at the green-flecked carpet, creating imaginary patterns between all the spots. Joining the dots. Connecting things together.

  Maybe that was why work had been so easy to fall into back then. Connecting wires. Electricity. Two parts making a whole. That made sense.

  Some of the only things in my life that still made sense.

  “Piper is eight months old. I’ve never met the kid before,” I explained to the man who wasn’t listening to a word I said. “Giselle says I’m the dad, but I don’t know if I trust her. And I don’t know the first thing about being a parent.” A frown worked its way across my forehead. “You should have taught me that. You should have taught me, Dad.” I shook my head, sinking back into the chair. “You should have damn well taught me.”

  The television zoomed in on the shot of a brunette bombshell, her mouth open in shock, then flicked to a commercial for baby formula. I looked at the screen, not at my father’s prone body.

  Not at the spot where his legs should have been.

  Time passed. More advertisements played. More bombshells were shocked, angered, impassioned.

  And then, finally then, the minute hand on the clock moved to stroke the number twelve. Three o’clock. Home time.

  “Okay, well, guess I’ll be off then.” I reached over and patted his hand lying on top of the white waffle-weave blanket. “Like I said, the weekly visits will have to stop now. So, uh, I’ll see you in a few months.”

  I stood and turned to leave. Thank God that was done. Now I could go back to real life, keep preparing for the shocking change of circumstance that had come my way. A child. I never thought I’d be caring for a child. Certainly not alone.

  Certainly not without Bella.

  I pulled the door to, near closed.

  “Wait!”

  Wait. Slowly, ever so slowly, I turned back to the room.

  Deep brown eyes drilled into me, so full of—nothing. Of emptiness. Void of all true emotion and life.

  “Can I get a café latte, please?” the thin voice asked. “And some menus. We’d like some menus.” He straightened, as if sitting at a table in the cafe.

  “Dad.” I made my voice soft, gentle. “Dad, I can get you a drink, but you’re not back there. You’re not at the café anymore.”

  The old man’s eyebrows drew nearer together. Lines upon lines bunched in his forehead, telling stories of too many smiles, too many frowns. And then?

  A change came over him.

  Something I couldn’t quite put a finger on, but it was there. Like the shift in the wind before it turned into a gale. Like the tension in the air before an impending storm.

  I stepped closer, making my way back to the bed. My father raised a tentative hand as if in question. “Son? Are you okay?”

  I stopped. I froze.

  Son?

  I grabbed the wall. Air whooshed from my lungs. “Dad?”

  He looked back at me, recognition in his eyes.

  “Dad, you—it’s me. Cam. God, is this good. This is—this is—I should call a nurse. We need to get someone in here to see you.” My voice shook. Holy shit. He’s here. The grin stretched wide over my face. “I bet I shocked you, didn’t I? It was the news I had a kid. You had to snap out of it and meet her for yourself.” I turned toward the hall. “Nurse. Donald’s awake. He’s awake!”

  A flurry of footsteps sounded. A tall lady with a mean jaw and kind eyes rushed in. “Donald. How are you?”

  “Good.” He gave a brisk nod. “This bloke here seems to think he’s my son, however. Can you get him checked out, please?”

  I frowned. But … but I had him. For one precious moment, he was there with me. “Dad, no.”

  “Bit of an interruption, but not to worry.” Dad smiled up at the nurse as if I were losing my mind.

  I stopped breathing.

  “Cameron, is everything okay?” The nurse looked at me out the corner of her eye.

  I stood there, pointing. My arm shook. Damn it, but I didn’t want it to. “He was—he called me his son.” I spun to face her front on. “He knew I was his son.”

  “Son? He’s not my son. My son is …” Dad’s head twitched, as if a memory had stung him like a mosquito. He jerked up and clapped his hands together. “Right! Time to get this looney outta here and let us have some peace and quiet. I’ll be ready to order soon.”

  “Donald, we’ve spoken about this before.” The nurse’s voice was a soft soprano as she moved closer to the bed. “This is your son. Cameron. He’s come to visit, and—”

  “I suppose you’re my wife, right? Trying to take an old man for a ride.” He shook his head adamantly. “You’re going to have to get up earlier in the morning to pull one over me, toots.”

  “Donald, Cameron is—”

  “Leave it.” My words fell flat. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said as she followed me out the door, but I waved her off, walking down the hall. My hands clenched into fists. I didn’t need this. Didn’t need the pain of it all.

  The air seemed to tighten around my body as I strode through the building, headed straight to the door outside. It was as if a balloon full of emotion swelled in my chest, pushing against my ribcage, ready to burst.

  I couldn’t let it burst.

  As I passed through reception, the woman behind the desk called something out to me, but I didn’t stop. Didn’t slow down.

  Couldn’t slow down.

  It’s coming. I can feel it coming …

  My knuckles tightened. My heart raced.

  And just as I reached the door, I heard it.

  One long, torturous scream.

  He was there again. My father was replaying that day in his mind.

  And so was I.

  Chapter 4

  When I’d asked to take my three months’ leave early, my boss had sighed, but agreed. I hadn’t been able to bring
myself to tell Robbie the real reason behind this unexpected absence from work. I was still trying to work it out myself.

  And now here I was, staring at the ocean stretched far out before me, the grey clouds overhead a stormy reflection of my turbulent insides. How the hell did I get in so deep?

  The baby in the pram beside me let loose a long cry, and I pulled out the pacifier from my pocket, placing it in her mouth. Her whole body relaxed as she sucked.

  “She takes a pacifier when she cries. Feed her formula from the tin on the bench. She naps twice a day, and if her crying gets too much, walk her in the pram,” Rita had said, shoving the child into my arms. She’d taken care of the just gone nine-month-old while Giselle had started her sentence.

  I’d nodded, a million questions running through my mind, unable to give voice to any of them.

  Because in my arms was this … baby.

  She smelled like citrus and milk, a bittersweet combination. She wriggled in my grasp, and I didn’t know where to put my hands, how to keep her safe, but I wanted to try.

  I had to try.

  “Rita …” I’d said as she’d turned to leave Giselle’s mess of a house.

  “Hmm?”

  “Aren’t you going to stay? Make sure I’m doing this right?”

  “Ha!” she’d barked out a laugh. “You’re on your own.”

  On my own.

  I was used to that.

  Giselle’s house had been a mess. Rubbish was everywhere. A bottle of lube and a pack of condoms sat on her bedside table. Her sheets were stained, and when I went to change them, I found a gun on the bottom shelf of her linen cupboard. Why the hell did she have a gun? Was it registered? And who’d keep that there with a child?

  I’d called Mack straight away, eager to take him up on his offer. Eager to get out of that shithole.

  “We’re going to make this work, kid.” Now, I rested one hand on the pram handle, looking down at the child inside.

  Two big blue eyes looked up at me. Her cheeks were round, full in the way that most baby cheeks seemed to be, all red and balloon-like. Her nose turned up at the end, and her hair was a mass of golden curls. She doesn’t look like me. Not the photos I’d seen from when I was a child. The only resemblance was in those eyes.