One Wicked Week

by Nicola Marsh

  ‘And we have date nights,’ Bette said, her eyes sparkling through the tears. ‘Your father takes me to the pub for a meal once a week and nothing, not even watching footy in his mate’s man cave, can make him cancel.’

  Stunned, Brock shook his head. ‘I had no idea.’

  ‘That’s because you’re rarely around.’

  Brock heard the censure in his dad’s tone and it shamed him. He had stayed away because he couldn’t stand being around the two of them and their bickering. But were his memories of the past tainting the present? When was the last time he actually saw them have a big dust-up?

  In reality, he hadn’t spent much time with them the last few years to know if what they said was true. But he had been surprised by their closeness recently and put it down to his dad sucking up to Bette while he was incapacitated. Add in the glowing testimony of Duke and Pat...it looked as if he’d read their situation all wrong.

  ‘We’re sorry for screwing you up, son. You witnessed a lot of shit growing up that you probably shouldn’t and that’s tainted you.’

  Bette snapped her fingers. ‘This is about Jayda, isn’t it? She wants a commitment and you don’t because you’re scared you’ll end up like us?’

  Brock winced and ran a hand over his face. ‘Something like that.’

  George shook his head. ‘She seems like a lovely girl so don’t screw it up with her.’

  Too late, he already had, but hearing the truth from his parents about their relationship had given him insight in a way he’d never expected.

  He’d been foolish, allowing his childhood memories to taint the way he viewed commitment. Not that they’d changed his mind about marriage; he’d seen too many of his friends’ marriages go the same route as his parents’ in the early days, with snide put-downs followed by frosty silences. He doubted he’d ever change his mind about living with someone and having them in his face twenty-four-seven but avoiding any kind of relationship because of the past was idiotic.

  ‘Marriage can be tough, Brock, but it can also be wonderful, having someone who has your back.’ Bette rested her head against George’s shoulder. ‘And no matter what you think about our marriage, the pros have eventually outweighed the cons.’

  ‘Hear, hear,’ his father said, dropping a kiss on the top of her head.

  ‘That’s my cue to leave.’ Brock opened the door, relief warring with foolishness as he struggled to find the right words to tell his parents that while he didn’t get it and probably never would he admired them for sticking it out when most wouldn’t. ‘For what it’s worth, it takes a lot of courage and determination to stay when the going gets tough and I’m glad you’re both in a better place now.’

  ‘Don’t be a stranger, kid,’ George said, sounding gruff.

  His mum added, ‘We’d love to see you more often.’

  Brock didn’t want to make any promises he couldn’t keep so he half nodded before closing the door.

  That confrontation had been painful but cathartic.

  He had a feeling apologising to Jayda would be a hell of a lot harder.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  JAYDA SHOULD BE CELEBRATING. She’d landed her first major donor—Ky, who probably felt guilty for putting the moves on her but she’d take his money nonetheless—and her website had launched without a hitch. Brock must’ve worked through the night to get her software up and running; she should be grateful. Instead, she found herself flipping the bird every time she thought of him and that had been often over the last fifteen hours since she’d left his apartment.

  He had no idea how badly he’d hurt her, how his overt rejection after she’d put herself out there slammed her back to a time when she’d let insecurity rule. When she’d got home she’d lain awake all night, rehashing every horrible moment of their discussion in her head, which had awakened her inner vulnerabilities, squashed but never forgotten. Was she not good enough for him? Not smart enough? Not successful enough?

  She hated those insidious thoughts because she’d conquered most of her insecurities over the years. But they lingered, waiting to pounce when she least expected it. And what really pissed her off was that the last time she’d felt this bad had been the night she’d discovered she’d given her virginity to a heartless loser when, ironically, Brock had been around to help her through it. This time he’d caused this hollow, gut-wrenching sorrow.

  He’d seen the fallout after she’d learned that Deon had only slept with her on a bet, but he didn’t know all of it. He had no idea she’d struggled with her weight all through uni, starving herself most days so she’d stay popular. Or how she’d almost ended up with an eating disorder because of her weight obsession. Or how amazing she’d felt to have Deon make love to her only to discover it had all been a sick, cruel joke and he’d actually laughed about it with his mates.

  ‘Banging the virgin fat chick’ had meant nothing to him and she’d never felt so worthless as she had the night she’d overheard him poking fun at her with his friends. If it hadn’t been for Brock that night...she hated to think how much worse it could’ve been for her. Deon had humiliated her but Brock had done something far worse. He’d taken what she’d offered out of love and thrown it back in her face.

  That was another thing to keep her up all night: the realisation that she wouldn’t feel this shattered if she didn’t love him. Stupid, to fall for a guy who’d made it clear at the start that they were nothing more than a short-term fling, but she’d gone and done it anyway.

  Love hurt like a bitch.

  She’d given up seeking other people’s approval a long time ago but her parents’ betrayal of her trust, and now Brock’s, rammed home that she needed to be smarter, harder, tougher. Didn’t Brock understand it had been a big deal for her to want to commit to him? That she’d had to come to terms with the fact it wouldn’t mean sacrificing her newfound independence?

  She’d worked through her many issues, why couldn’t he?

  Now, she had a bigger challenge to face. Meeting her dad after a sleepless night following having her heart broken might not be the smartest thing she’d ever done but she’d needed to take control of at least one shitty thing in her life so she’d contacted him this morning. Considering she’d been ignoring his calls and texts, he’d jumped at the chance to meet.

  It had been a few weeks since she’d last confronted him with the knowledge she’d discovered his treachery. She’d asked her parents to give her a month to see if she could move past this but in reality she doubted she’d ever be able to forgive them; seeing her mum over a week ago reinforced it. So facilitating this meeting meant she could move forward without stagnating over their duplicity.

  The doorbell rang and a fine sweat broke out over her body. But she had to do this. She had to take back the control she’d lost when they’d shafted her in the first place. Now that he’d arrived she wanted to get this over with as soon as possible so she opened the door.

  Her father, wearing denim and a white button-down shirt when she rarely saw him out of suits, offered a smile. ‘Thanks for inviting me over, sweetheart.’

  If the casual outfit surprised her, his use of ‘sweetheart’ shocked her. He never used any endearments when addressing her. It had always been Jayda. Sasha had been the one to get ‘honey’ or ‘sweetie.’

  ‘Come in.’ She couldn’t bring herself to call this man who’d duped her so badly Dad, but she opened the door wider to let him in.

  He walked directly to the lounge. Another surprise, that he remembered where it was. He’d only visited twice since she’d moved in years ago.

  ‘Your mother said she’d visited.’ He stood in front of the fireplace, feet wide apart, hands behind his back, as if braced for battle. ‘Thanks for asking her over. She was worried about you.’

  ‘As you can see I’m fine,’ she said, sounding anything but. ‘I asked you here today because I want you to kn
ow that I’m trying to work through what you did but I don’t know how long it will take.’

  Her throat tightened as she shook her head. ‘You’re my dad and I trusted you—’

  ‘I’m sorry for being a crap father all these years—’

  ‘Apology accepted. Anything else?’

  Jayda couldn’t stand here and listen to a trite apology designed to make him feel better. He didn’t give a shit about her and never had. She might have instigated this meeting to take back control but now she’d done it she couldn’t pretend an apology made everything better.

  ‘You were never second best and I hate that my behaviour made you feel that way,’ he said, so softly she wondered if she’d misheard for a moment. ‘When your mother told me what you’d said, it broke my heart.’

  ‘Welcome to the club.’

  Her fingers curled into her palms as anger surged through her. Did he honestly think admitting culpability made up for all he’d put her through?

  ‘Losing Sasha made me go crazy and I should never have shut down when I had another daughter—’

  ‘I was second best long before Sasha died, and anything you say now can’t change that.’

  He flinched as if she’d slapped him. ‘I’ve been a terrible father and I’m sorry.’

  ‘Repeating the words won’t make a difference,’ she said, fury underlying her brave declaration while inside she crumpled. ‘We all loved Sasha and losing her gutted us. But while I struggled with my grief and tried to help you through yours by working for you, you took my sacrifice and flung it back in my face.’ Her nails dug into her palms but she barely registered the sting of pain. ‘How do you think that makes me feel?’

  He half turned towards the fire so she wouldn’t see the sheen of tears in his eyes. Too late to show emotion now, Dad, way too late.

  She dragged in deep breaths, willing herself to calm down, and he must’ve been doing the same because after a few moments he turned back to face her.

  ‘I didn’t handle my grief well and when the gambling took on a life of its own I didn’t know how to extricate myself from it.’ He held out his hands palm-up as if he had nothing to hide. ‘But I’m getting help now and I’ve put back every cent into the charity.’

  He blinked several times and his mouth worked but no words came out, before he finally said, ‘I miss my baby girl.’

  Her anger faded under an onslaught of sadness so profound she could barely breathe.

  ‘I miss having you around. I miss seeing your smiling face no matter how rough organising those interminable parties got. I miss...you.’

  He took a step towards her, another, but Jayda had been through too much to forgive him that easily. She wanted to but she felt as if he’d flayed her open with every one of her swaying emotions exposed.

  When he’d almost reached her, she held up her hand. If he hugged her now she’d unravel completely.

  ‘I appreciate you telling me, but I need more time.’

  His expression crumpled. ‘Okay. Your mother and I won’t bother you, but when you’re ready we’d love to see you.’

  She nodded and spun on her heel to head for the door. She needed him out of here asap before she fell apart completely. His heavy footsteps behind her reminded her of the last time a man had made a similar noise on her floorboards—Brock—and her sadness multiplied tenfold.

  She held open the door and her father hesitated. ‘I do love you, sweetheart.’

  And with a brief graze of his fingertips against her cheek, he left.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  BROCK WAITED OUTSIDE Jayda’s place, alternating between wanting to punch the windscreen or bang his head against the steering wheel.

  He’d hoped to catch her off guard and hadn’t texted her ahead of time. Instead, he’d been the one surprised when he saw some guy leave but not before touching her on the cheek with a familiarity that made him grit his teeth.

  In that instant, he knew he’d made a mistake. The last time a guy had screwed her over, she’d turned to him for comfort. What if she’d done the same now? He’d hurt her badly and maybe she’d turned to some other prick?

  His gut roiled with the realisation and he thumped the steering wheel, the lesser of two evils considering he didn’t need a broken hand or a shattered windscreen. His hand ached like buggery but he didn’t care as he glared at the dude who sauntered down Jayda’s path as if he’d done it before. Only as he got closer did Brock realise the guy was old enough to be her father.

  Her father. There was a vague similarity between the guy and Jayda, something about the shape of their eyes, their cheekbones. Feeling like a fool, he watched the guy get into an expensive four-wheel drive and pull away from the kerb.

  He’d jumped to conclusions regarding Jayda. Again. Would he ever learn? Considering what he’d come here to say, he sure as hell hoped so.

  Before he could second-guess his decision in coming here, he strode up the path and banged on her door.

  ‘Leave me alone, Dad,’ she yelled, as he glanced at his car, wondering if it was too late to retreat. Considering her tone, she wouldn’t be happy to see him and as the door swung open he was right.

  Anger darkened her eyes to indigo, her expression thunderous. It didn’t ease up when she locked gazes with him.

  ‘What the hell do you want?’

  ‘To see you—’

  She slammed the door in his face.

  Taken aback, he stood there like an idiot. Okay, he deserved that but if she thought it would deter him she didn’t know him at all. Which was kind of the point of him turning up unannounced, because she didn’t know him. He hadn’t let her. He’d been an asshole when she’d been nothing but sweet and caring and in order to fix this he needed to do the one thing he’d vowed never to do with a woman: open up.

  ‘I’m going to thump on this door all night if you don’t let me in,’ he said, banging his fist on the door in an annoying rhythm. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang-bang-bang. Long knocks followed by short raps, over and over, until he heard a muttered curse behind the door and it swung open.

  ‘I’ve got nothing to say to you,’ she snapped, glaring at him with ill-concealed dislike.

  ‘Good. Because I’ve got plenty to say to you and I need you to listen.’

  Glowering, she opened the door wider and let him in, slamming it behind him before stomping into the living room. There was nothing remotely funny about this situation but he bit back a smile when she hitched up her blue flannel pyjama pants and kept stomping. By the way they kept slipping down they were old, and he hoped once she forgave him he could rip the damn things right off her.

  ‘Well?’ She stood in front of the fireplace, arms folded, a deep frown denting her brow. ‘What’s so damn important that you had to bust down my door to get me to let you in?’

  ‘I made a mistake.’

  He had so much more to say but she remained still, not a muscle flickering, and his pre-rehearsed speech that he’d gone over and over in the car on the way here faded into oblivion.

  ‘I did too.’ Her upper lip curled in derision. ‘I thought you actually liked me when I was nothing to you but a quick, convenient fu—’

  ‘You are so much more to me and you know it.’

  The pain in her eyes slayed him. Had he really given her that impression? Considering he emotionally shut down whenever she showed a hint of moving beyond the physical, and he continually pushed her away after they’d had sex, yeah, he’d done a mighty fine job of treating her like crap.

  It shamed him and he hated that he’d despised his father for doing the very same thing to his mother for years. Luckily he’d figured out he needed to treat his woman right a hell of a lot faster than his father. Jayda was his woman. He’d make sure she understood that if it took all night for him to bumble his way through this apology.

  ‘What I know
is I opened myself up to you and you shut me down.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘Just like that.’

  She blinked rapidly and glanced away, and Brock hoped she wouldn’t cry. That would undo him completely.

  ‘You belittled me and made me feel like shit so if you’ve come here to apologise to make yourself feel better, you can go fuck yourself.’

  When she met his eyes again, hers were filled with defiance and even in those old flannel PJs, with her hair a tangled mess and her skin devoid of make-up, he’d never seen her look more beautiful.

  ‘I want to apologise for treating you so appallingly, but I also came here to say something else.’

  She tilted her chin up. ‘What?’

  For a moment the words stuck in his throat because he’d never said them before. But as disappointment downturned the mouth he wanted to kiss for ever, he knew he had to say something before he lost her.

  ‘I love you.’

  It came out too soft so he cleared his throat and tried again. ‘I love you and I hope you’ll let me prove it to you.’

  She stared at him in open-mouthed shock. He took a step forward and she didn’t move, which he took as a good sign considering she glared at him with suspicion.

  ‘I want a real relationship. I want to have brunches with you and go to jazz bars with you and wake up next to you.’

  She still didn’t speak and his meagre confidence started to flounder, badly. ‘My freak-out the last time we were together had nothing to do with my folks matchmaking us and everything to do with them.’

  Her shoulders relaxed a little and she unfolded her arms, an encouraging sign. ‘Growing up witness to a shitty marriage made me never want to be in a long-term relationship, ever. I can be like my dad sometimes, grumpy and introverted, and I didn’t want to inflict that on any woman who’d end up hating me because of it.’

  He huffed out a breath. ‘Then lately when I’m around you, I’ve found myself feeling possessive, another less than attractive trait I associate with my dad.’