We both turn to see a new man rushing through the garage door. He slams into Nathaniel’s father and pummels him into a brick wall, tools crashing around them.
“Randall?” Nathaniel’s father gurgles through blood, half conscious. “What are you doing?!”
Aaron’s father stands a head taller, an imposing figure in his military dress. It’s as if I’m seeing my Aaron ten years from now, hard jaw, dark gaze, always taking control. “What am I doing? You were the one beating my son, Ben.”
“Your son?” he gulps, eyes flitting nervously down to Aaron who is being helped from the floor by Nathaniel and Damien. “That’s Az and Damo? It’s been so long since I’ve seen them. I’m sorry, Ryan. So sorry, mate.”
Ryan Randall throws him against the wall one last time and releases his hold, letting Ben slide to the floor in a heap.
Behind them, Aaron finally returns to his feet, but the two boys hold him upright nevertheless. Damien is rubbing Aaron’s back, but his fearful eyes are on the two men at the back of the garage.
As Nathaniel’s gaze shifts across the room, I cover a gasp with my hand. His right eye looks normal, but his left eye and cheekbone are puffed up so completely that he looks deformed. He touches it and winces, but when his father passes out on the floor I swear I see Nathaniel smile.
Sirens sound from the driveway, and two police officers enter the garage. One walks toward the camera, until he is so close that all we can see are the buttons on his uniform. The screen goes blank.
Aaron presses stop on the remote. The late news appears. Whatever the headlines are I have no idea. The footage we just witnessed is on replay in my brain.
I peek up at Aaron, about to ask what happened when the police arrived, what happened to young Nathaniel and his father, but he shakes his head, halting all conversation. He never speaks for the rest of the night, just kisses the top of my head and stares at the television. Part of me feels like a captive in his arms. He is willing to hold me, kiss me, but I cannot say a word. At some point my eyelids grow heavier, and as sleep takes me I cannot escape the feeling that all is wrong in the world.
An invitation
I wake to the weatherman’s gloomy weekend weather report on the television. My eyes drift to the clock at the bottom of the news. 9:39 am. I go to pull the covers over me and find a fuzzy blanket instead. The mattress is harder than usual, then I peer down and see why. Six-foot-four of solid muscle lies beneath me, but it’s his eyes, the dark lashes falling over Aaron’s cheeks that keep my attention. He mumbles incoherently, eyelids squeezing tightly.
Resting my head back onto his chest, I run my hand over his shirt. His breathing relaxes, then his dreams take another dark turn and he shifts restlessly, tightening his arms around my waist. His heart beats steadily in my ear, which sends me drifting off into darkness again.
“…. the search for the mysterious Evangeline is over,” a woman says, rousing me from sleep. I blink through blurry eyes and see my photograph on the television—a still taken from my interview with Hudson. The news reporter’s voice floats over footage of Nathaniel being escorted out of the rain and into his fancy black car. “In breaking news, Nathaniel Blake has confirmed that the Original Star contestant, Evangeline Lockhart, is in fact the very same girl who came to his aid early Monday morning. He also stated that he was unaware of a contract one of his employees had issued Miss Lockhart. The contract had prohibited any contact with the billionaire CEO, along with a confidentiality clause, which explains Miss Lockhart’s reticence in contacting Mr. Blake’s hotline and answering questions during the Original Star interview which aired Wednesday night. The offending employee is no longer employed at Blake and Randall Industries.”
Emotion swamps me—shock, guilt, and an odd sense of relief that the world knows the truth, that Laura Barnes can no longer hold that blasted contract over my head. Maybe they’ll leave me alone now. And I have Nathaniel to thank for all of it, for protecting me from afar.
I think of last night. Nathaniel beaten. Nathaniel singing, playing piano, losing himself in a world, even if for a song.
The reporter appears at the news desk. It’s Lyndall Petrovski from Channel 3 news, her smile exuberant. “Evangeline, if you’re watching this, Mr. Blake recorded this message for you earlier.”
A new message?
Nathaniel is standing on the lush banks of the Yarra River, surrounded by grand heritage trees and skyscrapers in the near distance. A ferry passes behind him, along with a flock of seagulls that squawk loudly. He looks up at them for a moment as they fly past, then focuses on the camera. He is dressed in a charcoal coat, with a blue cashmere scarf wrapped warmly around his neck. I have flashbacks to the man on the bridge. His blond ponytail has strands of hair whipping around his face. I wonder if this is intentional, a way to remind me of the man I met. It’s as if Fate is taunting me. I have Aaron beneath me, so close but always slipping through my fingers, and Nathaniel chasing me as if he never intends to let me go.
Nathaniel blinks slowly, and you can almost see him internalizing the final touches of his speech before he says, “Evangeline, I need you to know that the contract has been retracted. If I’d known sooner I would never have created that hotline. I’ve scared you, and I’m sorry. I’ve since heard that if it wasn’t for you, Aaron would have been out on the street, but you’ve helped in ways I could not. So thank you.” His eyes cast downwards. Even though it’s an upper-body shot, he looks to be scuffing the ground and I’m reminded of his demo.
He’s nervous.
I want to reach through the television and hold him, take that despondent look away.
Nathaniel smiles a little. “If there’s even a slim chance you might meet with me, Evangeline, I’ll be waiting at noon inside the butterfly sanctuary at Haven Wildlife Park.” His smile falters. “I’d also like this opportunity to send a message out to my oldest friend, Aaron Randall, who I’ve lost contact with in the past few days. And for those of you who don’t know the kind of man Aaron is, well, he has been my most loyal and trusted friend for twenty-five years along with his brother Damien Randall, who—”
I peek up at Aaron, who glances down at me quickly. His discomfort is obvious as he returns his attention to the television.
Nathaniel wipes the corner of his eye. “—who died last week. Aaron, I owe you the biggest apology of all. I lost one of my best friends and my business partner, but you lost your brother—”
Aaron grunts angrily, but I don’t look back as his arms tighten around me.
“—I forgot that. I acted selfishly. The night I met Evangeline, I wasn’t myself. If I’m honest, I don’t think I’ve been myself since Damien left us.” Nathaniel pushes loose strands of hair behind his ear and tries a smile. “You know my number. Call me.” He waves his hand in front of his face to signal that he’s finished, then walks out of the shot, the tassels of his scarf fluttering behind him.
Lyndall returns at the news desk. “In related news, Blake and Randall industries have had several new prototypes stolen from CEO Nathaniel Blake’s desk yesterday. At approximately 3:30pm, surveillance footage revealed that the assailant was former employee and attorney Laura Barnes.” A photo of Laura appears on screen, looking every bit the powerhouse business woman. “She is still at large and in possession of a valuable box of Blake and Randall prototypes. Mr. Blake has issued a ten-million-dollar reward for their return. If you have any information regarding any of the prototypes or Ms. Barnes’ whereabouts please call—”
Aaron presses mute. “The bastard.”
My mind is still reeling from seeing Laura Barnes—the thief! Strange that she went to so much trouble to keep me away from Nathaniel only to be fired because of it. More strange, she stole from the very man she’d been trying to protect at the hospital. I don’t understand it. Not only that, I feel as if I should actually meet with Nathaniel given the pressure he must be under. People are deserting him constantly, and his message to me was almost a plea. His message to
Aaron—that was a repentant man attempting to reach out one last time. “I’m pretty sure he meant it as an apology. You okay?”
His gaze hardens on mine. “I want you to go to that wildlife park, as well as the dinner that will no doubt follow. And if the offer presents itself, let him kiss you.”
“What?” I lift my head to face him properly. Sure, I was considering the park with Nathaniel, but for Aaron to insist upon it is another thing entirely… “No.”
“You realize he won’t stop until he has that dinner with you—at the very least. Why do you think Nathaniel is so successful?”
I can only shake my head.
“Not once have I seen him give up until he has what he wants. And he wants you.”
I sit up, wedged between Aaron and the sofa. “Well, I’m not going. Nor am I going to be dictated to by him or you.”
“I’m not trying to,” he insists, propping himself up in his corner. “But you need to understand that it’s not only the competition that’s put us on hold. I don’t think I can be with you until you’ve had that dinner.”
“What?” Wait. “You’re testing me, aren’t you?”
“You can call it what you want, but I saw how you were at the hospital, the way you worried for Nathaniel. Yesterday, the way you smiled up at him… I see it whenever you watch one of his messages, the way your world stills so you can absorb each and every one of his words. As for the café, the way he looked at you, it was looking at a man stripped bare. Some spark ignited between the two of you on that bridge, and I don’t think either of you can forget it. If Laura hadn’t arrived with that contract, you and Nathaniel might be together at this very moment. I would be the security guy in the background, opening your door and driving you to parties. Maybe that’s where you’re meant to be.”
“I never asked for this.” I stand up on the sofa and walk backwards, dodging his feet before I jump off. “I never asked for Nathaniel to do all of those messages or that hotline. You know this, yet you’re pushing me straight to him.” I wipe back tears. “I chose you, Aaron. So if you want me to go, I’ll go. Just don’t expect me to coming running back.”
He jolts back in his seat.
I hadn’t meant to say any of this, but there’s no taking it back now.
As if nothing’s happened, he pulls his guitar onto his lap. “Feel free to use the shower first. I’m not in any rush.” He strums some thrashy chords.
“You could be,” I say, raising my voice to be heard.
His fingers pause on the strings.
“We could go together. It would be like meeting up with one of your friends. Nathaniel would get the message that I’m with you.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“He’s competitive. So am I. It would not end well.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
With the raise of an eyebrow, he gives me one last look before staring down at his fingers moving across the fret board, creating an intense melody that makes my heart ache.
I think I officially hate Aaron Randall.
I huff and drag myself to the bathroom. Fifteen minutes later, I leave the hot shower for my bedroom, wrapped in a towel. Aaron is nowhere in sight.
A half hour later, I’m putting the finishing touches on my makeup in front of the mirror. My hair looks like a spill of ink down to my waist, courtesy of the stylists from yesterday’s photo shoot at Channel 3 studios, who’d straightened it to unnatural proportions. I look good—for me. Do I feel happy about it? I’d rather be in leggings and an old sweater playing guitar. Instead, I wriggle into my best top—a navy wrap shirt, with diagonal white stripes—and navy jeans that cling everywhere. As I slip on my favorite black boots, I remember Aaron yanking them off in order to get me naked on the bench. That night feels like an eternity ago.
When I return to the living room his bedroom door is closed. I’m about to knock, to tell him I’m leaving, when his voice becomes heated on the other side. I press my ear to his door, feeling devious until I catch the next snippets of his conversation, “Of course it’s all about you. It always is.” Silence. “Yes, she’s coming to Haven Park.” Silence. “No, you can’t send a car around. She’s perfectly capable of driving on her own.” Aaron pacing. “Yes, I damn well like her!”
Despite the anger in his voice, my heart flutters. The door handles moves and I jump back, ready to run to the bathroom as if I’ve been there all along. Too late! The door swings open and Aaron steps out, nostrils flaring. His gaze wanders over my hair, down my body and up again, landing on my red lipstick, and finally my eyes.
“You’re wearing that?” he asks.
I nod, not seeing the problem. “Would you prefer I put on a short skirt instead?”
He rubs his head. “Christ, no.”
“If it’s such a problem, you should have asked me out on a date.” I smile, then rush to the kitchen. My smile is gone as I grab my little tan bag.
He likes me. He admitted it to Nathaniel.
“Eve,” he shouts.
I walk out the door and don’t look back.
Haven
Smile, Eve, smile!
Who am I kidding? I’m all out of smiles as I walk through the car park and alongside the brick walls of Haven Wildlife Park. The car park is packed with families, tourists, and lovers. This is why I never go on Saturdays. I’ve never liked crowds at the best of times, but now some of them are pointing at me. I smile weakly and rush on.
“There she is!” a girl shouts, breaking away from her boyfriend.
Several families point in my direction, smiling. Suddenly, there are dozens of camera phones clicking madly. I feel like a park exhibit and I haven’t even entered the park. Seeing the camera crews and crowds waiting at the front entrance I begin to run, knowing that if I stop now I’ll never get inside. Except the crowd isn’t coming any closer. Security guards and roped barriers are holding back the people.
Feeling slightly protected, I slow down, flatten my hair back to normal and pretend that I wasn’t freaking out at all. I’m almost at the front archway when a group of little kids by the ropes wave crazily to get my attention.
Okay, that’s kind of cute.
I wave—a lot.
A small girl with curly blonde hair sneaks under the rope and gives me a squashed bunch of daisies and a homemade card with a big red love heart drawn in crayon.
I open the stiffly glued card and see her wonky writing: ‘Good Luck!’
I laugh, and she claps happily. I can’t resist bending down and giving her a hug and one of her daisies back. I’m almost through the main archway when a reporter calls, “Is this a date?”
I look back at the guy in the sharp suit leaning over the barrier. He has a mic pointed my way and a cameraman beside him. He yells the question again. I shrug innocently, because it’s true, I have no idea if Nathaniel thinks this is a date, but with the spectacle so far it’s really starting to feel like one.
Turning my back, I walk through the entrance. The queues are completely empty. Everything’s been orchestrated for my arrival, and it’s all too much! My heart thuds in that uncomfortable way against my chest as I wonder what Aaron’s doing now, or if he’s watching this. Or how I will possibly face him when I get home.
“Go get him, Evangeline!” several girls scream from outside.
Wincing, I take the Members Only queue in the middle, showing my card.
“Miss Lockhart!” The girl in the booth smiles cheerfully. “Mr. Blake has already bought you a ticket.”
“Oh.”
She slides an envelope toward me. “We’ve arranged for one of our keepers to drive you to the Butterfly Sanctuary. There’s a lot of press out there.”
“You’re not kidding,” I say, nodding towards the carpark.
“Not there,” she says, then points in the other direction. “Inside…”
I look past the booth and see another crowd, a larger one with more cameras. “Oh no.”
What has Aaron gotten me
into? Or Nathaniel, for that matter.
“Do you mind if I have your autograph?” she asks.
“Um…Sure.” I take her paper and pen, starting with a big loopy E and my name in almost indistinguishable cursive. I remember to smile as I slip my first autograph across the counter and into her eager hands. Weird that a piece of paper with my name on it can evoke such a reaction. It almost feels surreal, as surreal as the animal-keeper approaching me, dressed in a khaki shirt and trousers. He’s in his early thirties, with shortly cropped hair and a smile that lets me know he’s taking his job seriously.
“I’m Ashley, your guide for this afternoon,” he says.
“Nice to meet you.” My voice sounds too quiet, but he smiles anyway.
Ignoring the crowd around us, he helps me into the small electric buggy and jumps into the driver’s side. The buggy has a tinny rattle as we drive at a snail’s pace and pass two tracks, taking the third. More people part for the buggy, waving at us. I’m in perpetual waving mode. As I peer up at the sign ‘Bamboo bridge track’, I’m only half conscious that I’m still waving. The vegetation becomes tall and dense, and I’m transported to a forest of bamboo, passing a majestic tiger statue that is usually burdened with some small child for a photo op. On our left, we pass the large foresty enclosure for the golden tigers. I see them for only a second—the tigers are always crowded—but as the buggy rolls by the beasts aren’t the only ones under the scrutiny. At least five people keep pace with the buggy.
A guy in a sunhat shakes my hand. “What was it like meeting Nathaniel on the bridge? Were you scared?”
“Yes,” is all I can get out before the woman beside him asks, “Are you and Nathaniel in love?”
That I have no answer for—I’m amazed that someone would ask that. I try not to look at any one person. Maybe I’m being rude, ungrateful, but I’m not answering those questions again. Thankfully, I’m saved by the turn up ahead and the woman falls behind. Clenching my hand, I feel the crinkle of paper.
Ardent Strangers Page 15
