My blood boils. I take out my tool box and remove a hammer, attempting to yank the nails from the wood, but my hands shake. I return to the ute, tossing the hammer into the tray, and grab the axe I always keep in the back. I stalk up to the door and swing, splitting the particle board straight down the middle. I swing until there’s nothing left of that vicious word, until my muscles scream for mercy and my joints stiffen with each blow, and then I take a deep fucking breath, pull out my phone and call a tradie I went to school with who since moved to Newcastle. His wife Annie is friends with Tammy, so there’s every chance she’ll hang up on me, but to my relief Greg answers the phone and we make arrangements.
I limp inside. The smell of a hundred different boozes hits me like a battering ram. There are bottles everywhere—smashed glass, broken chairs, tables knocked on their end. Everywhere there’s evidence of what happened here, and yet it’s been swept under the rug by Red Maine police, as if nothing happened. As if the man I love wasn’t almost beaten to death right here in his own pub.
The bar is empty, but I still see Will in that spot where the bloodstains are, lying there with his face all busted in. I can’t stand here any longer. I go to work cleaning, sweeping up bits of glass and then mopping litres of alcohol that hasn’t soaked through the floorboards. Every move I make hurts like a motherfucker, but I think of Will lying in that hospital bed and I know my injuries are nothing compared to what he’s going through right now.
I almost lost him.
If things had gone differently—another boot to the face, a harder blow to his ribs—he might have died right here on this spot. All because of that one little word painted on the door. Because he had the courage to be himself, and someone else had the cowardice to fear it.
I steady my shaking breath and get back to work, but the more I try not to think about what my father did, what they did, the more I wish I hadn’t been the bigger man last night. I close my eyes and imagine what that looks like—what it would have felt like to sink that knife in his belly and open him up, to pay him back for all the years of belittling and beatings as he screamed for me to stop. The idea makes me sick, and I don’t know if that makes me a pussy or not, but I do know there wouldn’t be any coming back from that moment. I wouldn’t be North Underwood. I’d have lost myself to guilt, to revenge. I’d be someone else, and even though I’ve spent my life aiming for just that, I don’t wanna be a different man. For better or worse, I am who I am, and Will loves me for it.
That fucker’s as crazy as I am.
Around noon, I bust open a packet of chips and wash it down with a beer while wiping the sweat from my brow. I smell like a fucking distillery. I rinse my cup and shove the chip packet into a garbage bag filled with glass and debris. I pull the ties together and glance up when a kid fills the doorway. He looks a lot like Will did at that age—black hair, slumped shoulders, nervous glances and gangly limbs. For a beat I think I’ve walked into a fucking time warp, and then he opens his mouth and I know I haven’t completely lost my shit.
“Hey.” He shoves long fingers into the pockets of his skinny jeans, his eyes roaming over the destruction.
“Hey,” I say, tilting my chin towards him. “You’re Brooker’s kid, right? Brandon?”
“Yeah,” he says, gnawing on his bottom lip the way Will does. Jesus, if I wasn’t sure he’d never been with a woman, I might have questioned this kid’s parentage. I knew he belonged to Brooker though, because the guy was home for about two months and then gone again on another tour of Afghanistan when Lesley started showing.
“I live next door,” he says.
I go back to tying off the bag. “Well, listen, the bar’s not open now, not that you’d be able to buy anything if it was, but—”
“Is he okay?”
“Will?” I study the kid’s face.
“Yeah. I heard what happened. Living next door, I hear lots of things I’m not supposed to. I see lots of things, too.”
I fold my arms over my chest and step closer. “Do you now?”
The kid’s eyes bounce around off of every possible surface. He’s nervous as hell. “My mum says it’s unnatural … what you … what he is, but—”
“It’s not unnatural,” I say, blowing out a huge breath and reminding myself to calm the hell down because he’s just a kid. “Will’s the best guy I know.”
“Yeah.” He glances around furtively before saying, “He sneaks me chips and soft drinks sometimes.”
“He does, huh?”
He nods. “And … we talk. When my mum’s not home and he’s out the back having a smoke.”
That surprises me because Will’s never mentioned anything about this kid, but I can see it so clearly in the way Brandon dresses, the way he speaks. Seems I’m not the only bloke in town sporting a boner for Will.
Brandon dips his head and smiles. “One time he even gave me some.” I raise a brow and Brandon’s cheeks turn pink as a newborn baby’s bum. “Pot, I mean. Nothing happened. My mum was out of town and he only gave me a few puffs. I was totalled after that so I went home to bed.” His eyes widen. “Alone.”
I laugh. “I’m glad to hear it, kid.”
“Will’s really cool. He’s … well, he’s the only one I know that’s like me … you know?” I nod, because I do know, and I know exactly how hard this kid’s life is going to be if he stays here in this town. “Is he going to be okay?”
“Yeah, he’s okay. He’s pretty banged up, but he’s in a stable condition. I can take you to see him if you like?”
“My mum would never let me. She doesn’t like it when I talk to him; she’s afraid he’s going to rub off on me. I don’t think she gets that he’s the only one I can talk to.”
“You know what? Right now you have to listen to your mum but one day soon, you’ll be in charge of making your own decisions. It might hurt, knowing that they don’t support that, that they don’t support you, but that’s the beauty of being an adult—you’re not too young to tell them to fuck off.”
He laughs, and a grin stretches across my lips. I’m sure it makes me look like a fucking axe murderer with my face all jacked up, but it doesn’t seem to scare the kid, so I guess it doesn’t matter.
Brandon’s laughter dies down. “Do you love him?”
I freeze. It’s not the question that’s thrown me. I do. I love Will fucking Tanner. He’s love; he’s in my head; he’s all I need; he’s everything those arsehole love songs sing about on the radio, but I’ve never admitted that out loud to anyone before. Not even him.
“I mean, I’ve seen your truck parked out in the lane behind the pub every night.” Brandon glances down at his feet and back up at me. “I won’t tell anyone, I swear. It’s just … my mum watches a lot of romance movies, and they’re never about two guys. I caught my dad watching one about two girls when he came home from tour last, but I can’t stomach that shit. It just seems like people like me and Will aren’t allowed happy-ever-afters, you know?”
“Yeah, kid. I know.” I turn away because Jesus fucking Christ, this little punk tugs at all of my heart strings and it’s opening up a lot of thoughts I never cared to really think too much about. It’s funny how kids see the truth in everything. From birth we feed them a pack of lies, about fairy-tales, Santa, the tooth fairy, a goddamn magical bunny that leaves brightly-coloured eggs all over the world on one day every year. We tell them that love is unconditional, it’s all that matters … unless you happen to love another man. And then that love is wrong, dirty and shameful. People are so afraid of different. We’re afraid of what we don’t know.
And I haven’t got a damn clue what will happen tomorrow. I don’t know what’s going to happen when Will gets out. I don’t know if I’m going to walk into this bar one day and find him dead because of a bunch of homophobic douchebags, but I know I can’t keep pretending any more.
I sigh. “Yeah, I love him. I always have. I’ve just always been a coward.”
The kid smiles and grabs the broom lea
ning against the bar. “I thought you might.”
I take the garbage out to the ute and toss it in the tray with the rest of the bags and broken furniture. When I return, Brandon is on his hands and knees with the dustpan, sweeping up all the dust that the broom missed.
I mop the floor behind the bar and before long Greg pulls into the carpark and backs up next to my baby. After paying him way too much money for a shiny new door, I help him slide it off the truck and he installs it for me. We chat briefly about his wife and kids, and the headfuck that is my ex Tam, and then he jumps back in the truck and drives away. He never mentions Will. I don’t know if he knows what went on here, or if Tam’s big mouth let it slip that Will and me are a thing. I don’t think he gives a shit either way, which is why I always liked Greg.
I walk back into the bar to find the kid tying off another garbage bag. He rises to his full height and flicks that emo mop of his out of his eyes. Jesus, talk about imitating your idol. “I gotta go. My mum’s gonna be home soon.”
“Thanks for helping out here.”
He shrugs. “It’s cool. I’d do anything for Will.”
“Really?” I grin. Brandon chuckles. This kid might be the living embodiment of seventeen-year-old Will, but he has my kind of swagger. “I’m gonna have to watch my back in a few years’ time, aren’t I?”
“Count on it.” He walks backward to the door and flees, almost running into Trev and Sal standing on the footpath. Before he can run far, Trev places a huge hand on the kid’s shoulder and pulls him into a bear hug. My brows shoot skyward, and I glance at Sal for clarification.
“Kid’s a fucking angel.” Sal steps through the door and into the pub, pulling me into a hug of her own. She pats my cheek. I wince. “And speaking of angels, you look like shit, North. I’ll go get you some ice.”
“I’m fine,” I say.
Sal gives me a knowing smile. “You will be, sugar.”
Her heels click against the floorboards as she disappears into the kitchen. I glance over at Trev. Brandon has gone, and Will’s dad is inspecting his new door.
“You did this?” His eyes roam the room. “All of this?”
“It’s a long way from done, but yeah. I spent the night in a jail cell; I needed to expend some energy when I got out.”
“And here I thought you’d have expended all the energy you had last night.” Trev’s tone is chiding, but there’s some humour to it that has me glancing over at him as I walk around to the back of the bar and place a couple of bottles that hadn’t been smashed on the shelf. “Saw your dad wheeled in on a gurney while I was waiting for Sal to pick me up from the hospital. I hear Smithy Robbins is sportin’ a couple black eyes today too.”
“How’s Will doing?” I ask. I have no desire to talk about either one of those scumbags. I don’t know what’s going to happen at work when I return, but I can’t be in a room with any one of those bastards without beating them bloody, so for now, I’m taking a little vacation.
“How are you doing, son?”
“You know me—another day, another black eye.” I chuckle darkly. It must be the day for hugs because Trevor catches me off-guard completely by pulling me into one. He doesn’t let go for a long time. Oddly, it doesn’t make me feel awkward or uncomfortable. I find a strange sense of peace in the embrace. This is how a father is supposed to behave; they hug you when you’re hurting, and they want to take away the pain, not inflict it.
Trev pulls away and looks me in the eye. “Thank you.”
“It’s nothing.” I mean it. I would have gone stir crazy at home, and I can’t visit Will in hospital looking like I do. Will would lose his shit. Not to mention I probably wouldn’t get past security.
“The nurse told me what happened yesterday. He’s afraid; he don’t mean anything by it.”
Yes, he did. But I have no intention of letting him push me away. I’d done that to him once, and if it means keeping him safe I’ll do it again, but when I look back on my life, it’s still my biggest regret.
“He’s been through a lot, and I love ya like you’re my own son, but if you leave him heartbroken again, so help me Christ, I will find you and break both your legs.”
“I’m not walking away this time, Trev,” I say. “He can push all he wants, but I’m not going anywhere.”
I mean that, too. Now I just need to prove it to Will. Assuming the stubborn bastard lets me.
Will came home today. I know because Sal messaged me when they left the hospital. I know he doesn’t want to see me; when I showed up there last night, I barely even made it through the front door before security was on me. I’ve tried to call and I’ve sent texts, and all of them have gone unanswered. Will claims to know me better than anyone else, and he’s right. He does. But he forgot one very important thing. I’m a tenacious motherfucker who doesn’t give up easily.
So while he may not want to, he’s going to see me. We’re gonna talk this shit out, and I’m not stopping until I make him mine.
The pub is up and running again, and to look at it you’d never know what had gone on here just three days ago. Will stands behind the bar when I walk in, bruised and drugged up to the eyeballs, his arm in a sling and a look of indifference on his face. His gaze meets mine when I sit on a stool in front of him. He closes his eyes and sucks in a sharp breath through his nostrils.
“You should be in bed.” I cock my head and give him my best sexy smirk, as if it were an invitation. Yeah, okay, it was exactly that.
Fuck, I’ve missed him these past two days.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Will murmurs, leaning his good arm on the edge of the bar. I reach out and brush my fingertips across his knuckles. He yanks his hand away.
“I missed you.”
“Don’t.” He glances around to see if anyone’s listening, if anyone saw. Phil lifts his head and sets rheumy eyes on us. Clearly he’s making up for these last few days of sobriety with the pub being closed. He doesn’t say anything, just goes back to staring down into his beer.
Around us, tables full of people continue to chatter, but nothing happens. The sky didn’t fall, the world hasn’t ended, and no one gives a shit about the fact that I just stroked his hand in public.
“We need to talk.”
“No. You need to leave,” he says firmly. “Before you do something stupid.”
I glance over at the door, and awareness prickles down my spine. Will takes a giant step back from the bar. His alert gaze meets mine, and not two seconds after he warns me not to do something stupid, I am. Because my father and his gay-bashing buddies walk in. They laugh uproariously and stand at the bar waiting to be served, like they hadn’t just come in here a few days ago and beat the shit outta Will.
All I see is red.
I stalk over and grab the bastard by the shirtfront, gripping the threadbare cotton in my fist as though I could disrupt him as easily as the fabric. “What the fuck are you doing in here?”
Dad holds his hands up in front of him in a placating gesture, but there’s a challenge in his eyes that tells me I’m playing right into his twisted-as-fuck little mind games.
“Chill out, Kid.” Tommo clasps me on the shoulder. “We’re all friends here.”
“Take your fucking hands off me.”
“Easy, North,” Rooster says.
Dad smiles, and fuck me if he doesn’t look like one of the devil’s henchmen with his face all jacked up like that. Pride swells within me, but it’s short-lived. I should have fucking ended him when I had the chance. “It’s alright, fellas; the boy and I need to sort out some family shit. Seems like he needs another lesson in what his dick is for—”
I lean back and head-butt my father.
“Jesus Christ” Will exclaims, and in my now-blurred peripheral, I see him grab the baseball bat from underneath the counter with his good hand and step out from around the bar. Trev isn’t here, but Phil is on his feet though, drunk and at the ready. Sal is on the phone, probably to the cops, and Jenny is huddl
ed in the corner again. Several people flee the pub.
My head hurts like fucking hell as pain radiates through my skull and the bridge of my nose, but there isn’t time to dwell on it. My dad always was a dirty fighter, and it takes all of two seconds for him to recover with an uppercut to my jaw. I reel back from the blow and swing, my fist connecting hard with his broken ribs. He’s winded and staggers back, gulping in huge breaths. I glance at Will; Phil shoves him back as Tommo lunges for him. Several more people throw themselves into the fray. I take a second to assess that Will’s out of the way and that I’m still in one piece. A mistake. Dad comes at me like a Pitbull in a dog fight, catching me off-guard with a hit to the face. My teeth creak as I slam my mouth shut and taste blood.
I block my father’s next blow and grab him by the throat. I shove him back against the bar and lean over as I tighten my grip. Not too long ago, he did this to me over our kitchen counter. I’d been a scared kid, clawing at his hands, kicking, sucking in breath he wouldn’t afford me, and knowing I was about to die. He’d stopped himself, tearing out of our ramshackle little house like a tornado, leaving me wondering why. Why he’d stopped, why he hadn’t just killed me, and how it was possible to finally be a man and not hold my own against him? And now, I know—I didn’t want it bad enough. I was too afraid to fight for what I believed in because all my life, everything from Hollywood blockbusters to the people in the quiet little streets of Red Maine had conditioned me to believe that what I wanted wasn’t normal.
Well, fuck that shit.
Fear has governed me for too many years. I won’t give it any more.
I squeeze harder. Rage fuels my blood like gasoline to a flame, and I lose myself to the calamity and the calmness of it. I follow it down the rabbit hole, drawn to the way the spit bubbles up out of the corner of Dad’s mouth, the colours shifting on his terrified face from red to puce and finally blue. Too soon, the tether that keeps me from reaching the very bottom is yanked back and I’m being pulled off him, guns aimed at my head as Officer Wheeler reads me my rights, shoves me down on the ground and slaps a pair of cuffs on my wrists for the second time in as many days.
Finding North Page 18
