by Madeline Ash
“Look,” she said, “this was a one-off thing to get our attraction done with, remember?”
He hesitated. “I assumed the one-off was limited to the night. Not the act itself.”
“Oh.” Her tone was flippant. “Sorry to get your hopes up.”
She felt his silence like a wave of sorrow as she collected her skirt. Then she faced him.
She shouldn’t have faced him.
He was sitting up, sheet gathered at his waist like the lines on his forehead. His glasses still sat on the bedside cabinet, and she wondered with a pang whether it was deliberate. Not wanting to remember her walking out on him in perfect detail. As if visually blurring a rejection could ease the sting.
“’Night,” she said, voice cracking.
He heard it. His eyes narrowed. “You’re running away.”
Wasn’t that what she always did? Regan swallowed down regret. “To the spare room.” She managed sarcasm. “Catch me if you can.”
She’d made it to the doorway when his words pierced square through her heart.
“Did it mean anything to you?” There was sadness in the question. Hurt. And the kind of courage it took to hand over his feelings, despite the risk that she’d scorn them. The kind of courage she’d always lacked.
Self-disgust pitched her gut as she said, “Sex has never meant anything to me.”
And she walked out.
Chapter Eight
Felix couldn’t sleep. He’d stayed in bed for God knew how long, stumbling through his mind, lost in the timelessness of night. Now, at three in the morning, he stood on the balcony seeking company from a half-lit city, ignoring the itch in his sinuses, still stumbling from thought to thought and nursing a collection of wounds for his trouble.
There was the gouge made in the moment Regan had shrugged him off and left him feeling as if he’d somehow been sucked in and played. He’d clutched that wound, cursing himself for not knowing better when it came to her.
Then he’d gotten over himself. He did know better. She wasn’t selfish or fickle.
She was pushing him away.
That realization had come with a growing pressure beneath his solar plexus. She’d admitted that she didn’t know how to talk to people. She’d hardly had company these past years, let alone a companion. She was used to being alone and only knew how to push people away. No matter how determined she was to open up, there was no such thing as a crash course in intimacy.
The mental blow of acknowledging her demons had followed. Along with her duffel bag, she’d arrived with a sack of secrets that she’d guarded with narrowed eyes and a sharp tongue. No one’s problems but her own and she’d fight anyone who thought to make her share. Sure, she had admitted her loneliness, the accident, but there was more. Darker secrets that had turned her into a loner for a good part of her life; probably what she feared to tell Stevie, the truth of which he might never know.
But what had really kept him awake was her final, broken statement.
Sex never meant anything to her.
He could have bought it. He’d known her in high school, had witnessed her fluid approach to sexual partners. She hadn’t had serious boyfriends back then, and by the sound of it, hadn’t had one since. Some people waited for the right person, others just got on with it. She’d gotten on with it—and might still be waiting for the right person to make it mean something more than an orgasm.
But he didn’t think so.
She’d lost herself in him. He’d felt it and there was no mistaking that kind of abandon. She’d handed herself over, body and mind, and he’d taken her and allowed her to forget her own name. Hell, he’d forgotten it, too, along with his own, and everything he knew as a conscious being—and afterwards, she’d brought it all rushing back with a passionate kiss that true indifference could never feign.
Which meant one thing.
She was doing it again.
Felix spun to face his apartment, gripping the railing behind him. At sixteen, Regan had gifted him with ten thousand dollars and turned down his offer of support. She’d had money of her own, thanks, but what she’d really needed was support and company and someone to believe in her, and she’d run away because she hadn’t known how to accept a helping hand.
She still didn’t. Hours ago, she’d given him an experience like none he’d known, showing him that the true importance of life was love, should always be love, but then she’d turned down the possibility of more as if she didn’t want it, didn’t need it.
But she did. He knew she did.
She just didn’t know how to accept it.
Felix stiffened at the sound of footsteps inside. The light pad of bare feet, moving out of the spare room. With the lights off, he could make out the pale shape of Regan’s pajamas as she ghosted into the kitchen and ran the tap.
Now or never.
She snapped around when he slid open the screen door and stepped inside. In the moment it took his eyes to adjust, she shifted her weight to one side and crossed her arms, water glass held against her side. Bracing for a confrontation, when he just wanted to talk.
He closed the door behind him and stood with the bench between them. “It meant something to me.”
She exhaled roughly. “God, Felix. Don’t.”
“I face the truth. I don’t run from it.”
She shook her head, turning back towards the sink.
“There’s something between us.”
“Yeah,” she said mockingly. “A misunderstanding.”
Her guard was up. Felix spoke to the woman behind it. “Yes. Between our hearts and heads. Wires got crossed and now I’m so gone on you that I can’t think about anything else. But you know what? I don’t care that our situation is complicated or that it’d be easier to fall for almost any other woman out there. I want you.”
For a moment, she stared at him. Then she turned aside and took a long drink. “And I want to be done with this. But obviously what you want is more important.”
“Hey,” he said quietly. “I don’t deserve that.”
“And what do I deserve?” The glass hit the bench with a loud clunk. Water sloshed over the rim. “To be pushed into a relationship?”
“I’m not pushing. I’m concerned that you’re too scared to let this happen. That you’re going to throw this away because you don’t know how to keep it.”
“Unbelievable.” Regan strode out of the kitchen to stand in front of him. She glared right into his eyes, shaking her head. “You make me come and suddenly you think you know me.”
Felix bit his teeth, stung. “Can you not do that, please?”
Her eyebrow arched in the city glow.
“Desensitize this,” he said. “Make me feel like an arsehole because I’m not happy to turn my back on you.”
“Sorry, sorry, I forget—I’m the arsehole, because I always end up disappointing people. Doesn’t matter how I’m feeling, or why I make the choices that I do. It’s all about how it impacts others, right?”
He didn’t answer. Anger restricted his muscles. Betrayal locked his jaw. Not anger at her, but at a life that had demanded that she wear her armor so tight that he honestly couldn’t get through.
“I don’t think that about you.” Maybe once, but not anymore. “You’re not selfish. If anything, you need to be more selfish. Don’t be scared to take what you want.”
Her scoff was weak. Quiet. “And that’s you, is it?”
Felix shifted towards her. Not touching, but locked close by chemistry. “Yes.”
She didn’t answer. Slowly, he reached out and ran his fingertips down her cheek. Her breath shuddered in. Her body stumbled back.
“None of this was supposed to happen.” She raked a swift hand through her hair. “I came back here to become a better person. Not to mess up a good guy. I can’t do this, Felix. There’s no way forward.”
A shadow crossed his heart. “We’ll find the way together.”
“There isn’t one. There are things you don�
�t know about me, okay? They dictate that this stops here.”
“Explain them. I’ll problem solve. There’s always an answer.”
Her head shake was apologetic. “Not this time.”
“Regan—”
“Don’t force this,” she said, turning her face away. “I know you’ve been pushing to help me open up, but please, don’t do it now. This is different. If you push, I’ll break.”
He couldn’t push her and he’d been unable to persuade her.
His resolution came, hand-in-hand, with regret.
“Then I’ll wait.”
There was a pounding in Felix’s temples, a sleepless grit in his eyes, and a hollow that plunged deep into his chest. He stood by his computer, welcoming fellow residents as they wandered in to observe and judge his Christmas display. Many held paper plates, unbalanced by pastries and fruit from the breakfast table set up in a downstairs apartment. All held scorecards and pencils. This was the final stop.
“Very pretty lights.” This from an affectionate Italian widow from the first floor. “And a tree out there this year, oh, lovely. And—” She paused, turning, as Regan shuffled out from the spare bedroom and stopped at the back of the small throng.
Felix’s whole body clenched at the sight of her. Eye makeup smudged and blonde hair unbrushed. Wearing a white singlet and the same blue skirt from yesterday, both askew, she came very close to looking like a one-night stand who hadn’t realized she’d gone home with an early-riser.
“And a girl,” the woman finished, turning back around with brows raised high.
Felix said nothing as he pressed play.
There were laughs as the song started. Gasps of delight when the light sequence kicked in. And then the good humored eye-rolls that admitted defeat against the obvious winner.
Felix tried to smile, but couldn’t concentrate on anything but Regan. She avoided his gaze, leaning against the wall with arms crossed. Her shoulders dipped ever-so-slightly as she bopped along, but overall, she looked as bad as he felt.
It tore him clean through that he couldn’t comfort her. Go over there and cuddle her against his chest. Press a kiss to her forehead. Tell her that they would find a way to make it work, because he truly couldn’t believe that it wasn’t possible.
People fought for love. They didn’t fight against it, not when it was mutual. It didn’t make sense.
What could happen to a person convince them that they couldn’t accept love?
Felix was brought back to the present by sudden applause and he forced a grin, taking a small bow before locking eyes with Regan. Despite the upbeat music, her features sagged with a gloomy regret. Nothing to mirror her deflections of the night before and everything to prove that she was running because she could see no other way out.
A black thought skittered along the edge of his consciousness.
Maybe she was right.
Maybe there was no other way out.
This woman had run from a loving sister into the threatening grip of the ice roads. In what mad world did that kind of crazy danger seem like a respite? She’d cut herself off for years. With a truck for a home, she’d needed help from no one. She had hidden, believing acute loneliness was better than what had come before.
Uneasily, it occurred to him he mightn’t want to see into that sack of secrets, after all.
They might tear his heart out.
Regan wondered how her skin was strong enough to contain the madness within. As the plane landed out of Byron Bay, her insides were pummeled by fear, guilt, and an unbearable sadness. Such selfish emotions, they all fought for center stage, careless of the fact that their raging left her brittle and on the verge of cracking. Hadn’t she felt like shit enough in this lifetime? If her reunion with Stevie went badly—and she could hardly visualize it working out any other way—Regan didn’t know how she would bear it.
In silence, most likely, and alone.
She’d hardly spoken to Felix all morning. She’d congratulated him on winning the parking space, although it had come out more sardonic than she’d intended, as had her well wishes for a good flight when they’d parted for their separate seats at the terminal. Not that Felix seemed inclined to chat anyway—he’d hardly looked at her since his neighbors had crammed into his apartment. She’d hurt him, used him, and that wrenched at her painfully, but the worst part was that he hadn’t expected it. He’d actually thought well of her—precisely what she’d sought when she’d knocked on his door.
And she’d thrown it back in his face.
Not only had she turned away the kind of man she’d only ever dreamed about, but in doing so, had likely ruined her already slim chance of earning Stevie’s forgiveness.
“Oh, you’re back,” Stevie could say. “And you’ve already made yourself useful and broken my best friend’s heart. Why did I miss you again?”
Anguish joined the pummel.
Felix broke their silence in the taxi on the way into town.
“So, there’s Jed, one of my closest friends.” He looked out the window as he spoke, and after a quick, fraught glance at him, Regan resumed staring out the window opposite. “He’s the comic artist and has dark, kind of curly hair. He’s quiet. You’ll like him.”
She swallowed. After last night, she doubted this close friend would like her.
“His wife is Dee. She’ll be the hipster. Not a fan of discretion, so her questions can be a bit rough. Heart of gold though, so see how you go.”
Regan appreciated the heads up. Blunt questions—not her favorite.
“Dee’s friend is Alexia. She’s the actor from the sci-fi we watched, so you’ll recognize her. I met her at Jed and Dee’s wedding at the start of the year. She’s nice.”
Nice sounded manageable.
“And Parker is Alexia’s partner. He’ll be the surfer.”
Regan unclenched her teeth enough to say, “Right. Thanks.”
“You can have the room at the hotel. I’ll bunk at Parker and Alexia’s, since I know them more than you do.”
“Okay.” She should have added “thanks” again, but didn’t.
The rest of the taxi trip was silent and the endurance test of Regan’s skin continued. Wretchedness pushed with a pressure that tried to tear her open. When Felix had invited her to join him for Christmas, he’d hardly expected to introduce a woman he’d slept with and been ditched by in the same day. Way to make him feel like a fool in front of his friends.
By the time they’d reached the town center, she couldn’t sit still any longer. “Could you let us out here?” she asked the taxi driver. Then to Felix, without looking at him, “I want to see the place.”
Outside, the humidity engulfed her and the clammy clutch almost made her forget the bone-deep sting of an icy winter wind. She shuddered as she shouldered her bag.
Almost.
Byron Bay boasted an alternative lifestyle to residents and tourists alike. The main street thrummed with energy, color and sun-streaked people in sarongs and bare feet. Summer sun beat down and rippled up from the concrete, meeting in a dense stickiness that most people seemed not to notice. The air was rich with the scent of spices, coffee, and incense, and Regan slowed as she passed food stalls of freshly-harvested produce, natural remedies, and candles. Cafés lined the street with wicker chairs out front and street musicians attracted small crowds by playing djembe drums and guitars.
Christmas had come ashore like a rogue wave, drowning the town in colored lights and tinsel. As far as Regan could tell, the latter had been granted procreative abilities. It glittered from street signs and shop fronts, car aerials, and sidewalk bins. Silver, red, and green everywhere.
The festive vibe clashed against Regan’s mood. This was where she would see Stevie for the first time in eight years. This wasn’t necessarily a joyful occasion—this could be the end of the world.
The main street took them right to the beach and Felix led her along the sand towards a two-story, beachside hotel. Tables and benches spill
ed out beneath a wide verandah, occupied by beachgoers taking a break over beer and chips. A surfboard was mounted over the door, spray-painted with the word Lullabar.
“Here we are,” he said, words carrying to where she trudged along behind him. “Parker’s place.”
That snapped her out of her anxiety-induced stupor. “You mean he owns it?”
“Yeah. It’s a side project, apparently. He also runs a surf brand called Lullabyron.”
Regan halted in the sand. She knew that name. In Canada, she’d owned a snow jacket with the Lullabyron logo on it. “He owns Lullabyron?”
Felix glanced back over his shoulder, unfazed. “Yeah.”
Thrown, she resumed stepping in the footprints he’d made in the sand. A perk of being antisocial was not having to deal with inadequacy, but for a moment, her shortfalls joined the cram inside her. As if there was room. Felix was friends with successful people. A surf brand owner, a Hollywood actor, a successful comic artist...and when they asked what she did for a living?
Truckies hardly impressed.
“Felix!” A woman shouted from one of the outdoor tables. She stood, hand raised excitedly, and Regan’s stomach twisted. “Over here!”
She tailed behind Felix as he headed over. The others at the table also stood, all smiling, and there were hugs and handshakes all round, before he stepped back and gestured to where she waited, duffel bag over her shoulder, regretting that she’d ever agreed to this.
“Guys, this is Regan.”
They greeted her as an enthusiastic collective.
“Hey,” she answered uncomfortably, not quite meeting anyone’s eye. “Thanks for letting me crash your Christmas.”
“Anytime.” This from a bronze-skinned, blond man wearing nothing but board shorts. He smiled easily, green eyes shining. “I’m Parker. Can I get you a drink or something?”
“No. Thanks.”
The woman who had initially called out was eyeing Regan through amber sunglasses. Her hair was black and short, and her lips bright red. She wore high-waisted shorts, a tartan-print singlet and a black tie. Hipster, she noted, which meant—
