by Nina Levine
“That’s Charlene Wright,” Mum says to Scarlett, pointing out Charlene. “She’s married to the man who was Justin’s English teacher in year twelve. They’re both beautiful souls. I’ll see if I can introduce you later.”
I take a swig of beer while trying not to laugh. Mum’s spent the past ten minutes pointing out locals to Scarlett. Well, the locals she thinks are of interest. Scarlett has followed along like she’s completely fucking invested in the conversation, but I can see she’s beginning to fray a little.
“Mum,” I cut in. “Don’t you think you should give your guests some of your attention?”
Mum glances down the long table filled with family friends who’ve come to help Dad start his birthday celebrations. “Yes, you’re probably right.” She leans into Scarlett and says, “I’ll be back. We have so much still to discuss.”
Scarlett and I watch her make her way down the table to talk with everyone.
Paul, who’s sitting across from us, says, “Mum’s nervous. I can’t remember the last time I saw her like this.”
He’s right. She’s spent the entire time here chattering like she’s fucking speeding. While my mother could talk under water, she usually stops for breath every now and then and lets others get a word in. Not tonight.
Scarlett frowns. “Do you know why she’s nervous?”
“My best guess is the fact I’m here,” Paul says. “And she’s waiting for our brother to show his face and the fireworks she thinks that’ll cause. Because while Justin might be able to keep Brett from coming near me, he’s still gonna be in the same room causing tension for Mum.”
We’re almost an hour into dinner, and Brett is nowhere to be seen. That tells me one thing: he’s gonna show up drunk. Our brother likes his booze a little too much. Fuck knows if he’ll recall my conversation with him three days ago, during which I told him to stay away from Paul.
“How are things between you and your dad?” Scarlett asks Paul.
“Good if you count neither of us actually fucking talking about the thing we’re avoiding as good,” he says.
“Well, you have to start somewhere,” she says. “At least you’re talking.”
Paul finishes his drink. “I’ll let him celebrate his birthday and then on Sunday I’ll approach him. I doubt whether he’ll broach it with me, but I won’t leave here without beginning that conversation at least.” He stands. “I’m going to the bar. Do either of you want a drink?”
We both decline, and when he leaves, Scarlett says, “I got a text from Phoebe while you were talking with your dad before. She said she got Bailey to agree to therapy.”
“What, like seeing a psychologist?”
“Yeah. Apparently she has one who helped her get clean.” She shrugs. “I’ll believe it when I see it.’
“It’s okay to feel whatever the fuck you’re feeling, Scar.”
“Oh, trust me, I’m feeling it all. I’m just trying to contain it for the sake of your family. And yes, it occurs to me that this is very out of character for me and that must mean I really fucking like you.”
“You already told me that you actually fucking like me and want me in your life,” I say, giving her the words she gave me earlier.
“Yes, but that was in a very unguarded moment that you managed to catch me in. This here”—she circles her finger at the table—“reining my shit in for your family, is me using actions that show how much I like you. That’s a whole other thing to anything I give you in an unguarded moment where you sneak up on me.”
I chuckle. “I didn’t fuckin’ sneak up on you.”
“You did. I mean, one minute we’re casually talking about your high school sweetheart and how fucking high she sits on your girl-rating scale, and then bam, you sneak up on me with your nice. You know your nice always gets me. It’s like a stealth attack designed to make me melt.”
“You’re telling me I made you melt tonight?”
“Yes! And the worst part is that I can’t even make sandwiches with you later because you’re scared of me screaming your name.”
“Fuck,” I growl before kissing her. “We’re fuckin’ leaving early.”
“How early? Like, I don’t want to upset your mum, but I need some time in Wilder World.”
“The fuck is Wilder World?”
She waves her hand at me dismissively. “Ignore that. It wasn’t meant to slip out. Just know that I need you to fuck me, and I need that more than keeping your mum happy, and I’m not even a little bit sorry about that.”
I hear everything she says, but my attention shifts to my brother, who is walking our way.
Brett.
“Fuck.” I shove my chair back and stand, every inch of me tensing the fuck up.
Scarlett stands too, her hand coming to my arm. “Wilder? What?”
I hear the worry in her voice, but it barely registers as I take in my brother.
“Wilder,” she says again, more urgently. “What’s going on? You look like you’re about to kill someone.”
“Give me a minute.”
Without waiting for her response, I stalk towards my brother, who’s looking as arrogant and self-important as always.
“You remember our phone call the other day?” I demand when I reach him.
His lip curls up. “Of course I fucking remember it,” he slurs, drunk as fuck.
“You know, you could have fuckin’ shown Dad some respect tonight by not getting this wasted.”
“I don’t take orders or listen to anyone, least of all you, little brother. And last I knew, I’m the only one who fucking stayed in this town and the only one who actually spends time with Dad regularly, so don’t come at me with your bullshit when I’m the only one who really cares about him.”
“Good to see you never change. Predictable as fuckin’ ever.”
“The same can be said about you. You’re still a fucking bikie who hasn’t made anything of himself since leaving town.”
Fuck, I want to rip him apart. Not for anything he says about me, but just for being the asshole he is in general.
Knowing this, and knowing I’m literally minutes away from acting on it if I remain in his presence, I say, “Stay away from Paul this weekend.”
“Or what? You’ll beat me up again.”
“You think that was a beating?” My fists ball just fucking thinking about it. He’s referring to the night I punched him a few times after discovering what his motherfucker of a friend did to Paul.
“You put me in the fucking hospital.”
“That wasn’t even close to a beating.”
Brett’s eyes flash with anger, but it’s nothing like the anger coursing through me. My fury is a fucking howling tornado, surging furiously through my body, trying like fuck to escape. To unleash itself on the one person who never fails to stir it up.
I want to make him hurt for what he did to Paul.
And for what he didn’t do for him.
The thing I know surer than fucking sure, though, is that no matter how many times I punch him, it will never be enough to rid myself of this anger. It goes back too far and runs too fucking deep. I have to find another way to deal with it. Ignoring it and running from it all these years hasn’t worked, so fuck knows what will, but taking it out on Brett’s body isn’t the answer even though I wish like fuck it was.
Brett steps closer to me, threatening, “You come near me and you’ll have the law to deal with this time.”
“You think I fuckin’ care about the law, Brett? We all know I don’t have two fuckin’ shits to give about the cops in this town.” I lean in close, my voice dropping to a snarl. “The only thing I care about is Paul’s life, and I will do whatever the fuck it takes to protect him. Keep away from him and keep your fuckin’ friends away too.”
I stride away from him, out of the club so I can get my shit under control before going back to Scarlett and my family.
Fuck.
Fucking hell.
I punch the closest thing to me,
a concrete wall, barely registering the pain.
I’m about to punch it again when Scarlett’s voice stops me.
“Wilder.”
I turn to face her, noting the concern lining her face.
She comes closer and takes my hand in hers so she can inspect the damage I’ve done with that punch. “That’s gonna hurt later.”
I nod, keeping my eyes firmly on hers, wondering where she’s taking this.
“That was your other brother?”
I nod again.
She cocks her head. “Have my cats got your tongue?”
Fucking hell.
I might be all racing heartbeats with this woman, but she sure as shit knows how to turn me into steady, calm breaths at times when I’m fairly fucking sure no one else would be able to.
I reach for her, getting my hands on her waist and pulling her to me. When I’ve got her body against mine, I slide my fingers through her hair. “We’re gonna stay for another half hour, and then we’re done, and I’m taking you home to make those sandwiches you can’t get enough of.”
She sways against me, bringing her hands to my chest. “I think I wanna hear how much you like those sandwiches too.”
“You fuckin’ know I do.”
Her lips ghost over mine, too fucking lightly as far as I’m concerned, but hell if it doesn’t get me hard. “Say it, Justin Miller. Tell me how much.”
Placing my hand to her ass, I press her to me and growl, “You feel my dick, Scar? I’m fuckin’ standing here, with people all the fuck around us, hard as hell, and it’s not a lie to say that if I thought I could get away with it, I’d slam my dick inside you right fuckin’ now because making sandwiches with you is all I fuckin’ think about these days.” I bring my mouth to her ear. “And they’re the best fuckin’ sandwiches I’ve ever had.”
She takes a deep breath and tries to push out of my hold as she says, “Okay, good talk. And now we need to go back inside before I let you slam your dick in me out here.”
The fact I’ve gotten her all hot and bothered only fucking gets me harder. I let her go. “Yeah,” I rasp. “You go. I’ll catch up.”
She reads me perfectly and leaves me to get my shit under control.
The next half hour might be the longest fucking half hour of my life.
Scarlett and I leave the club forty minutes later.
Unfortunately, so do my parents and my brother.
Mum has stomach cramps and Dad insists on taking her home, so the dinner comes to an end, meaning that Scarlett and I don’t get the house to ourselves.
Dad puts Mum to bed while Paul sits with Scarlett and me out the back shooting the shit for an hour or so. When he decides to go and sit in front of the TV with Dad, I pull Scarlett up and drag her to the hammock in the corner of the backyard.
Settling her next to me on it, I pull her leg over mine and rest my hand on her ass. “What’s on your mind, darlin’?”
She looks up at me, smiling as she traces a line down the edge of my face. “I was thinking about how much I like being here with your family, because as much as your family has its fractures, you’re still a hell of a lot more put together than my family ever was.”
It’s unusual for Scarlett to initiate a conversation about her family, so I make the most of this opportunity. “What do you like about being here?”
The sadness that creeps into her eyes hits me in the gut as she says, “Your mum. She’s your glue. The kind of glue I always wanted and never had.”
“What did you have?”
She brings her hand down to my chest, making lazy circles over it. “I had shitty DIY tape that I had to apply myself. In the dark. Hoping like hell I was putting it in the right place. You’re working with super fucking glue. Strong bonds all the way for you.”
I cup her cheek and kiss her. I want to wipe all her pain away, but I also know it’s the pain she’s lived through that’s made her who she is. The woman I can’t get enough of.
“I got pretty fuckin’ lucky with my mum,” I say.
“Yeah, you did. What about your dad?”
“What about him?”
“I know Paul has problems with him, and I get that, but it seems like you’re angry with him too. Are you?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“Because?”
“Fuck, because he didn’t keep our family together. His choices blew us apart.”
She frowns. “How?”
“He refused to see that Brett’s actions changed everything for us. He tried to force us to carry the fuck on the same way we always had, with family gatherings and shit, when that wasn’t what Paul or I wanted. Or fucking needed in Paul’s case.”
She makes more circles on my chest. “Have you said all this to him?”
I exhale. “No.”
“I think you need to,” she says softly.
“Why? What will it achieve? Dad’s stubborn. Anything I have to say isn’t going to change his mind on shit.”
“Maybe telling him is more for you and what you’ll get out of saying those words to him.”
We both turn silent for a while and I contemplate what she suggested. I’ve verbalised a lot of shit about this situation over the years to my father, but it’s never been anything to do with me. It’s always been about how Paul has struggled. I’ve focussed on trying to get Dad to understand things from Paul’s point of view. Scarlett might have something here. Maybe Dad needs to hear another point of view.
“What was your favourite thing about growing up in the country?” Scarlett says, breaking our silence.
I think about that, and when I realise all my favourite things centre around my father, I also realise that Scarlett probably guessed this already. “You’re a smart woman, Scarlett McKenzie.”
She smiles and shrugs, telling me she knows what I’ve figured out. “I’m aware.” She taps my chest. “You gonna start spilling, country boy, or do I have to start guessing?”
“For a woman who doesn’t like feelings and shit, you’re digging pretty deep tonight.”
“Well, to be fair, we’re digging into your shit, not mine.”
“Okay, my best memories are of fishing, camping, and football with my dad.”
“So he was around a lot, doing stuff with you boys?”
“Yeah. He was one of those dads who was always there for his kids. And for my mum too.”
“More glue.”
“I see what you’re doing, Scar.”
“Sometimes we forget shit.” She pauses and adds softly, “And sometimes we don’t know what we have.”
She’s right.
Fuck, how she’s right.
I smack her ass. “Time for bed.”
“You’re scared of digging some more?”
“No, I’m concerned I’ll fuck you out here for all to hear you scream if we continue this.”
“Oh, in that case, let’s continue this. I might even be coerced into digging through my shit if it means you’ll make me scream.”
“Who knew you could be so fuckin’ playful?”
“Who knew you could go so long without sex? Oh wait, me. I knew that.”
I laugh and smack her ass again. “Up.”
She grumbles and complains, but she moves off the hammock and lets me lead her inside.
Scarlett goes to bed just before midnight, and I go just after. Paul’s already asleep, and I toss and turn for hours, unable to stop thinking about everything Scarlett said to me tonight.
She’s right; I need to talk to my father.
I need to tell him I’m angry.
Everything we’ve ever said about what happened has been about how it affected Paul and Brett. And Mum and Dad. And while it should absolutely centre around how it affected Paul, the fallout of this affected our entire family. That needs to be discussed.
Sometime after three, I leave my bed to get a drink of water. On my way to the kitchen, I see light under Scarlett’s door, so I go in to check on her.
She’s asleep,
a tangled mess of hair, sheets, blankets, and scars. The kind of scars that sit deep and only reveal themselves at night. The kind that keep you awake when all you want is sleep. The kind that live in the lines of your face, waiting to be traced away by the person who sits in the dark with you.
I pull up her blanket, and as I do, a journal falls to the ground. Picking it up, I intend to place it on the bedside table, but her handwriting catches my eye, and I read the words she’s written.
he was marked by his past
broken and bruised
the crack so deep the light struggled to get through
he went on
forcing, pushing, charging
it was the family way of dealing
with the cracks
with the cuts
with the ache
it was the family way of bandaging, gluing, fixing
the fractures that defined them
long after they tore them apart
Fuck.
I stare at the words, losing myself in them.
Losing time to them.
Scarlett sees me more than anyone has ever seen me.
I put the journal down, switch off the lamp, and press a kiss to her forehead.
And I trace my thumb down the frown line between her brows.
38
Scarlett
“Where is he?” I demand on Saturday morning when I drop down into the chair across from Paul at the kitchen table. It’s just after nine and I slept in, and Wilder is nowhere to be seen. And I’m all moody, cranky, and agitated for reasons I don’t even want to get into with myself.
Paul arches his brows at me. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Good morning to you too, princess.”
I glare at him, refraining from giving him the bird because his mother might walk in and I like her too much to chance making her think bad thoughts about me. “Well? I’m waiting.”
“This might be a fun game we can play today. The ‘let’s keep Scarlett waiting’ game. I’ll be sure to text Justin and let him know we’re playing so he can join in.” He pulls his phone out and taps out a message. I can’t be sure if he’s just pretending or what, but at this point, I don’t fucking care. I just want to know where Wilder is.
