Jilted

by Rachael Johns

  Flynn put his hand on her back, rubbing the heel of his palm in tiny circles. Although it was platonic, she felt sparks of awareness shooting down her spine and lingering in parts of her that hadn’t seen a spark in years. She stiffened, so minutely that he didn’t seem to notice, not because she didn’t like the feel of his touch – the complete opposite, in fact – but because his attentions were taking her mind away from where they’d been. Away from Mat.

  What kind of a daughter, what kind of a friend did that make her, if she could be so easily led astray? And when, as far as she knew, Flynn wasn’t even aware of the effect of his actions? He was just being Flynn. Kind-hearted, always-there-for-a-friend-in-a-crisis Flynn. He said she wasn’t a fool but he was wrong. She’d let herself be taken from him by one cowardly decision. And that made her the most foolish person she knew.

  She looked up and twisted her head so she was gazing into his sea-green eyes. He looked back as if he too were lost in serious contemplation. Without thinking, she raised her hand and palmed the stubble on his jaw. Rough as sandpaper, she could run her fingers over his face all day and never tire of it.

  ‘You’re beautiful, Flynn Quartermaine.’

  ‘Don’t, Ellie,’ his voice warned, but it wasn’t irritation she saw in his eyes. A muscle twitched in his throat; she had muscles twitching all over her body.

  ‘But it’s true.’ Boldly, she crept her fingers up his face and into his mussed-up hair. A moan escaped her lips. He echoed it, his eyes closing and his head rolling back against the couch. She took the opportunity, moving quickly to straddle him. He opened his eyes and before he had the chance to voice any opposition, she pressed her lips against his. And kissed him.

  Hard. Deep. Aggressively. Gently. Imaginatively. She couldn’t stop, couldn’t make up her mind. His lips were divine, too fabulous.

  But the best damn thing was that he kissed her back. Wholeheartedly. Roughly. Lovingly. As their tongues entwined, his fingers slipped through her hair, drawing her closer to him. Deepening their kiss even more.

  Once upon a time they’d been able to make out like this for hours, but right now she wanted more. Emotionally exhausted, physically wrung out, mentally drained, she wanted something that would help her forget all else. If there really were such a thing as right and wrong, then being with Flynn would definitely be categorised as the latter, but losing Mat had given her a different perspective. Life could be short. If she lost hers tomorrow, she didn’t want it to be with any regrets.

  Her cheeks flushed, her body sweltered. She broke her connection with Flynn just long enough to peel her sweater over her head. The expression on his face gave her all the encouragement she needed.

  She climbed off him, stood up and smiled, offering her hand. For a brief moment, he hesitated. Staring at her hand but not making a move with his. He hauled in a breath, running his fingers through his already tousled hair before placing them in her palm.

  Her heart lifted. She grasped his hand and pulled him towards the bedroom where she’d lost her virginity. To him. He stopped at the door and glanced around. She hadn’t changed anything since she’d returned, so it still looked much the same as when she’d left, ten years ago – aside from the wedding dress, of course. She shuddered at the thought of him seeing it and sent up a prayer of thanks when she saw that the wardrobe was closed.

  Not wanting to think about her bedroom, or the past, or the future for that matter, she turned back to Flynn and stepped close. Fingering the bottom of his jumper, she lifted it up over his head. He didn’t help but neither did he struggle. Underneath he wore a simple, tight black tee. She inhaled and held her breath at the sight of his muscled torso.

  ‘Don’t just look,’ he whispered, his eyes glazed and dreamy. She knew then that he wanted this as much as she did. To hell with the consequences.

  She slid her hands around his back and under his shirt. He sucked in air at her touch – she guessed her hands must feel like icicles against his burning skin.

  ‘Sorry,’ she whispered.

  ‘Don’t apologise,’ he said gruffly, leaning down and capturing her mouth. Where she’d been the instigator up until now, he suddenly became the assertive one. And if she’d ever been kissed like this before, she couldn’t recall. It was how two lovers would kiss in the middle of a bushfire, breathless and urgent, desperate to hold on to a forever they might not have.

  And then Ellie couldn’t think anymore.

  Flynn walked her backwards till her knees hit the single bed and she tumbled onto the ancient mattress, almost drowning in an abundance of cushions. One by one he threw them off, staring down at her with a ravenous look in his eyes. Still fully clothed, she’d never felt so on fire, so desirable. If he didn’t start undressing her this moment, she’d rip off her clothes with no thought to ever needing them again. She wanted nothing but skin between them.

  He stood at her feet. Her eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to the evidence of desire rising in his pants. ‘You sure this is what you want?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’ She wanted him inside her taking everything she had.

  ‘Thank fuck.’ And with those words he sank onto the bed, reaching out to make quick work of her shirt buttons. Within seconds she was naked from the waist up, her nipples erect and her whole body shaking with need. He ran his hands over her bare skin as if reacquainting himself, cupping her breasts before he stooped down and wrapped his lips around one nipple.

  She arched up off the bed and gripped his back with her fingers, the need between her legs growing with each passing second. Flynn gave her other nipple equal consideration as he rid her of her trousers. Warmth flooded through her and her heart spiked as his fingers slipped under the cotton of her knickers. She wanted to touch him too, but didn’t know if she had the energy or the wherewithal in her bamboozled state.

  She tried to fight the rise of pleasure at her core, wanting to make him writhe too, wanting to come together at exactly the same moment. But it was impossible. With a few deft strokes he had her shuddering, panting and whispering his name as she came around his fingers.

  ‘You’re still so gorgeous when you come,’ he said, smiling down at her. His words worked to build up her desire again. That had been nice – much better than nice – but now she wanted to be truly together again.

  ‘Do you have protection?’ she asked.

  He pulled a little foil packet from his back pocket. ‘I wasn’t a Boy Scout for nothing.’

  ‘Thank fuck,’ she said, giggling as she took the condom and pulled him on top of her.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Ellie woke as if under a heavy weight. She opened her eyes, discovering that the weight was a forearm lightly speckled with hair. A very sexy forearm. Her eyes widened. She shook off the last remnants of sleep as the events of the day before came rushing back to her.

  Mat’s death. She swallowed but the lump in her throat didn’t budge.

  Flynn coming to the hospital.

  Flynn coming back here.

  She jumping his bones like a nymphomaniac.

  Embarrassment and regret visited her briefly, but before they could take hold, Flynn whispered ‘Good morning’ into her ear, tightening his lovely, strong hug. She relaxed in his embrace, resting her head against his manly chest. Refusing to think about how wrong this was.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked eventually.

  ‘A little broken,’ she admitted. ‘I just … can’t believe it.’

  ‘That’s not surprising.’ He nuzzled closer, which wasn’t hard in the single bed. ‘I still sometimes forget that Dad is gone. I’ll be doing something on the farm and think of something to ask or tell him. Sometimes it takes a good few minutes before I realise I can’t. And then the hurt comes back.’

  ‘So the thing they say about time? Is that a myth then?’ She didn’t know how she could live with this clamp on her heart forever.

  ‘Not exactly.’ Flynn brushed her hair away from her face and looked into her eyes. ‘
You’ll never really forget, but living with it becomes easier. With time.’

  ‘I see.’ Right now, though, she didn’t want to live beyond this bed. Didn’t want to think about crawling out from beneath the covers, facing the shower, breakfast, the world outside. ‘I suppose I have to talk to someone about the funeral.’

  ‘What about Mat’s brother?’

  ‘No.’ Ellie shook her head. ‘Mat told me what she wants. Must be in Hope, she said, and no one is to waste money on flowers, and the music can’t sound like funeral music.’

  He laughed. ‘Well, the Co-op is an agent for the funeral directors in Katanning. Speak to them.’

  They lay there a few moments in silent contemplation before Ellie remembered that Flynn was a farmer. She glanced at her watch – it was almost ten. The exhaustion of it all must have overwhelmed her. Pulling gently out of his embrace, she said, ‘Don’t you have sheep to check or something?’

  ‘Or something.’ He laughed again and pulled her back against his chest. ‘I woke a few hours ago when you were channelling Sleeping Beauty and called Mum. She’s going to do a couple of jobs for me this morning.’

  Ellie chomped down on a grin and raised her eyebrows. Flynn had rearranged his day to be with her. ‘Bet she was pleased about that.’

  ‘Let’s not talk about my mother,’ Flynn said, which told Ellie that Karina had definitely voiced her opinion. Oh well. She didn’t want to waste time on what Karina thought of her, but it led her to think about something else.

  ‘How’d you find out about … about Matilda’s passing so quickly?’ she asked, a new chill coming over her at the recollection.

  ‘Lauren called me,’ Flynn said matter-of-factly.

  She blinked and snapped her head back in surprise, almost tumbling them both off the bed. Once he’d pulled her back on and secured the covers around them, she said, ‘Wow. Maybe she’s not as evil as I thought.’

  He chuckled. ‘She’s not evil, Els, she’s just not … He stared meaningfully into her eyes. She recognised something from long ago there, and a moment of intense silence followed. Not what? She wanted him to go on, but at the same time didn’t. She couldn’t handle that conversation on top of everything else. If they’d made love under different circumstances there’d be all sorts of ramifications. They’d need to talk about why they did it, what it meant for each other and their futures. But under different circumstances, would it have even happened? They’d probably have managed to ignore the lust and think with their heads. As it was, they’d both seemed to accept that sleeping together was inevitable, a need to be fulfilled but not pontificated on.

  He kissed the top of her forehead. ‘Why don’t you have a shower and I’ll whip up something to eat?’

  ‘You don’t have to,’ she said.

  This time it was his turn to raise a brow. ‘I’m starving, and you know I make a mean pancake.’ He patted his stomach.

  Smiling, she climbed out of bed and pulled her old robe around her naked body. Flynn being here made it easier to face the day and all the horrible decisions that lay ahead. Still, she took her time in the shower, letting the hot shards of water pour over her as she cried again. Not that she was afraid or embarrassed of crying in front of Flynn, but more because she didn’t want him to stay out of pity. Or because he worried she might do something stupid if she were alone. She wanted him to stay because he wanted to, because he felt the same strong need to be with her as she did to be with him.

  Flynn used the task of cooking breakfast to take his mind off last night. When he’d woken before Ellie, his first thought had been whether or not he’d taken advantage of her. He’d stressed about this for hours, worrying over what it said about him as he waited for her to wake up. When she did, he’d looked into her eyes and seen the truth. She was neither angry nor regretful. Not yet. It was his job to make sure she stayed that way.

  He whisked the pancake batter he’d managed to throw together from Ellie and Mat’s measly provisions, and then paused. Mat. That was the strange thing about death – you set about doing something normal and totally forget what’s happened, then all of a sudden – BAM – something snaps, reminding you that the world isn’t the same as it was the day before. Flynn felt a sharp pain in his chest and could only imagine the ache Ellie would be experiencing.

  Looking at the batter, he’d never felt so useless or helpless in his life. Well, aside from that day in front of the church, waiting for Ellie to turn up. He’d been certain then that something had gone wrong, that there must be an explanation. Not knowing where she was or how to contact her had been hell. What if she needed help, what could he do? And then, when it turned out she’d gone …

  He shook his head. The last thing he wanted to do was ponder that day. He spooned two dollops of batter into the frying pan and watched them sizzle and bubble. He took care, focusing on the task, and not on all the other places his mind kept trying to go to.

  ‘Wow.’ Ellie entered the kitchen, a towel wrapped like a turban around her head, her skin still shiny from the water. ‘I forgot you know how to cook.’

  He gulped, feeling like a stereotypical male – unable to be in close proximity to a hot, barely dry woman without getting a hard-on. He turned back to the bench so she wouldn’t see his horniness.

  ‘Yes, it’s one of my few uses.’

  ‘If you’re digging for compliments, just say so,’ she said, coming up close behind him. ‘Because I can think of plenty.’ It seemed her mind was scraping the bottom of the gutter, right alongside his.

  Just as he was turning around to kiss her again, a knock sounded on the back door. Ellie sprang back as if they’d been caught defacing the Mona Lisa. Flynn watched as she tugged off her towel-turban and shook out her long, wet hair. She tucked it behind her ears as she held her head high, opening the door to Joyce.

  To Joyce’s credit, she barely batted an eyelid at the sight: Flynn, standing in yesterday’s clothes, cooking at the kitchen bench, with a just-showered Ellie nearby.

  ‘Morning Ellie, morning Flynn.’

  ‘How’d you sleep?’ Ellie asked, embracing the older woman.

  Joyce shrugged. ‘Like there was a boulder under my mattress. I was worried about you, and spent all night wondering if I should come see if you were okay.’

  As Ellie’s cheeks turned a lovely pink, Flynn returned to flipping pancakes.

  ‘I’m okay,’ Ellie answered demurely. ‘To be honest, I don’t think it’s really sunk in yet.’

  Joyce nodded and pulled a chair out from the kitchen table. She sat down. ‘It won’t till after the funeral, when life goes back to normal. That’s when you really need your friends. Or, will you be going back to Sydney straight away?’

  Flynn’s ears pricked up. He stiffened.

  ‘Umm.’ There was the scrape of a chair on the old floorboards as Ellie sat down as well. ‘I haven’t really thought that far yet.’

  What did that mean? His grip tightened on the eggflip as he told himself to cool his thoughts – along with his hormones. Now wasn’t the time to be questioning these things. He tuned back into Joyce and Ellie’s conversation.

  ‘I’ll call the Co-op in a moment,’ Joyce said, ‘and make the appointment for you. Would you like me to come with you?’

  ‘That would be lovely, thanks.’

  ‘Don’t mention it.’ Joyce turned to Flynn. ‘Now, are you making cuppas too or should I?’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Ellie said, jumping up – Flynn could tell she wanted to keep busy. While she set about making the drinks, he laid the table and placed a plate of pancakes in the middle. Then they all sat down and shared breakfast. He was glad to see Ellie eating a good fill. When they’d finished and washed up, and the women were readying to go to the Co-op, he made his excuses.

  ‘I’ll be back this arvo,’ he told Ellie, wondering if she’d object or push him away. But instead she smiled her thanks, and showed her appreciation with a kiss goodbye.

  He sat in the ute out front, turnin
g the keys over in his hands as he glanced back at the house. How the hell was he supposed to concentrate on work for the next few hours when his mind was on a permanent replay of last night? Groaning, he put his head on the steering wheel. Heavy labour was the only answer.

  Ellie entered the Co-op with Joyce at her side, the older woman’s fingers closing encouragingly around hers. Solemn faces met her, and she accepted each sympathetic apology, every word of condolence, even the occasional hug. But part of her still felt detached from it all. When she’d arrived back in Hope Junction a mere two months ago, she’d never imagined it would come to this.

  Trying not to dwell on what she’d lost, she sat and faced Gavin, the man who’d gone ape at her over the newspapers all those weeks ago. Neither of them mentioned that embarrassing incident now, it felt like a lifetime ago. Whether it was Flynn’s friendship, Mat’s death, or a bit or both, Ellie seemed to have been accepted once again into Hope society, and a small country town looks after its own.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Gavin said, clasping his hands together on the desk in front of him. ‘I can’t begin to express how much Matilda Thompson meant to this town. To lose her so suddenly, so cruelly, is just inconceivable. I want you to know the staff and directors of the Co-op offer you and Matilda’s family our sincerest condolences. If there’s anything we can do, please just ask.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Ellie thought she’d already shed her daily quota of tears in the shower, but her throat tightened at his sentimental words.

  For the next half-hour, Ellie, Joyce and Gavin planned the funeral, going over every detail. They chose a low-key, relatively cheap coffin, as Matilda hadn’t believed in paying good money for something the worms would chew through. She’d have preferred a cremation to any coffin at all, but that would mean holding the service outside Hope, in a bigger town, and Matilda had made her wishes quite clear about that. She hadn’t wanted any fuss, so a burial it would be. A burial in Hope, with music from around the world and the reading of a poem written by the Dalai Lama.