by Henry, Max
“Ow.” Cupping the goods, I lift my head to find Greer hard-edged and ropeable. “Sorry?”
“Jesus, Colt.” She throws a hand to her forehead, massaging her temple with her thumb. “You could have been hurt. You could have hurt someone.”
“But I didn’t.” I flash her a winning smile, finger raised at what I think is a valid point.
“That doesn’t excuse driving drunk, Colt.” Her hand hits her side with a solid thump. “What on earth possessed you to do it?”
The humour drops off my face. “You.”
She’s rendered speechless.
“I wanted to see you, Greer.” Fuck—I can’t stay upright. “I need how you make me feel.” My back hits the grass, and I spread my arms wide beside my head.
“What happened?” Gathering her dress around her legs, she climbs onto the lawn and settles beside me.
“Life.” I try to smile, but I get the impression its more of a grimace judging by her reaction.
“You’ve put yourself through a lot lately,” she reasons. “It’s understandable if you feel stressed.”
“I don’t, though.” I laugh, bitterly. “That’s the messed-up thing.” Along with my stomach at this point. “I’m angry, frustrated, but not stressed. I’m just …” Air heaves out my nose while I search for the right word. “Tired, I guess?”
“Oh, hell.” She whispers the words to herself, reaching across to straighten the lapels of my shirt. “What are we going to do with you?”
“Love me?” My whispered admission startles me as much as it does her.
But that’s what it is about her that makes me feel good. She accepts me. She listens. She does the things a person who truly cares about you does.
And when she kisses me… fuck. That’s the glue that brings me together.
“I’ve never asked anyone that, you know?” The raw throatiness of my words is a testament to both the amount I’ve drunk and how important it is for her to know that.
She stares at the grass, her fingers plucking at the trimmed blades. Greer’s mouth opens, the answer I want so badly balanced on the tip of her rosy tongue.
But I never get to hear it.
“Greer!” Her father hollers from the house.
Fuck it.
“Coming!” She rises to her feet, offering me her hand. “Get up. We need to take you inside.”
“I don’t think he’d want me there. Do you?”
“He also wouldn’t expect me to ask you to drive home drunk.” She wiggles her fingers. “Even if he calls you a cab, Colt, just take what you can.”
Take what I can. Those words resonate more than she knows.
I reach for her, my stability, and slide my hand around hers. Clasping her other over the top, she uses both hands to wrench me to my feet.
I raise a hand at the arsehole at the door in a lame wave. “Mr Roberts.”
It pays to play nice. After all, maybe one day, the bastard will be my father-in-law.
TUCK
“I swear to God,” Ed states, tossing a cricket ball into the air above him. “You pricks should be paying for my therapy after the shit I have to listen to.”
I lean back against his bedroom wall; legs stretched out in front of me. “It can’t be that bad.”
“Mate,” he groans, catching the ball and leaning toward Beau and me. “I’ve heard that much shit about Amber’s pussy that I feel as though I’ve fucked it myself.”
Beau makes a retching noise, tossing an arm over his face where he lies in the middle of the floor. All I can do is smirk. I’ve had to listen to Johnson wank on about his fucking stepsister for way longer than Ed has.
If I can make it through, so can he.
“Did he say anything useful though?”
“Not a hell of a lot.” Ed returns to tossing the worn red ball, flat out on his bed. “Said that she had her interview with Portside this afternoon.”
“And?” I straighten a little.
“And,” he mimics. “I’ll let you know when he says anything else about it. It would be a bit weird of me to just message with a ‘Hey, how did your fuckbuddy do at her new school?’ don’t you think?”
I roll my eyes. “Point made.”
“This weekend,” Beau interjects. “What’s happening there? Is Lacey still going?”
“As far as I know.”
The resulting silence makes me lift my head. Both guys stare at me as though confused that I don’t know the answer.
“What?”
“You said you’d talk to her this morning,” Beau points out.
“And I did,” I snap.
Ed lifts an eyebrow.
“It didn’t go well.”
“Is that why I barely fucking saw your ugly face today?” Ed asks.
I glare at the cheeky prick. “Perhaps.”
“Jesus,” Beau mutters. “Get your shit sorted out already.”
“Rich coming from the fucker who can’t even tell the girl he likes her.”
Ed flicks his gaze between the two of us. Beau looks as though he’s ready to murder me.
“Elaborate.” Ed rolls to his side, setting the ball down.
“Have you seriously not noticed?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I guess not.”
“Beau’s got his cock all twisted over Maggie.”
“The lesbian?” Ed blurts.
Beau’s to his feet faster than I’ve seen him move in years. “Fuck you, Tuck.” He storms from the room, his footsteps retreating down the hardwood toward the living room.
“Nice,” Ed mutters, rolling to his back once more. “How long has that been a thing?” He inspects the ball’s damage.
“I don’t know,” I grumble. “A year, at least.”
“Huh.”
I glance toward the door. I should say something, but one wrong jab from Beau and I’ll be throwing literal ones at him.
I’m not wired for confrontation today.
“Is it really that bad if you let Lacey go to this thing?” Ed ponders out loud. “So, she turns up, and the girls are bitches like they always are. What then? She cries, you play the hero, she admits you’re right.” His head turns, eyes boring into mine. “Is that such a bad outcome?”
I give him a second to realise how fucked up what he just said is.
It doesn’t register.
“I don’t make people suffer for my benefit, Ed.”
He shrugs. “I wouldn’t call it suffering. You’re just making her learn the hard way, right?”
No wonder this guy can’t hold a girlfriend for long. “Jesus. Listen to you.” I huff a breath out my nose and rise to my feet. “I’m off to sort that moody prick out.”
“Good luck with that.” He makes no move to join me.
I find Beau seated out the patio doors, staring at the yearlings that graze the house paddock. He doesn’t acknowledge me when I join him, choosing to stay focused on the young heifers instead.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” I offer.
He draws a deep breath and then lets it out twice as slow. “Nah, you should have.”
I frown.
“I can’t keep it secret forever. What kind of pussy would that make me?”
“You aren’t a pussy, mate.” I huff a laugh. “Girls are complicated.”
“You can say that again.” Beau drops his head into his hand, scrubbing the pads of his fingers across his scalp. “What are you going to do about Lacey?”
“What are you going to do about Maggie?”
He levels me with a hard stare. “We make a deal.”
I cross my arms to indicate I’m listening.
“If you can sort your shit with Lace, then I’ll tell Maggie how I feel about her.”
I’m not sure who has a more impossible task. “Deal.” I offer him my hand.
He shakes it twice, firm, and then goes back to watching the heifers. “What did she say when you spoke to her about it?”
Finding a vacant seat on the edge of a massive p
lanter pot, I sigh. “Told me to stop trying to be the hero and to let her do things herself.”
Beau frowns, blinking a couple of times when he looks my way. “I thought girls liked that whole prince saving the day shit?”
“Apparently not.” A cloud drifts across the late afternoon sun, casting an appropriate dull glow on the day. “How the hell am I supposed to step back and watch her self-destruct, though? What kind of jerk does that?”
“One who respects the wishes of his woman, I guess.”
“Maybe.” A yearling with a white patch over one eye steps up to the fence to watch us. “You think it’ll piss her off more if I go to this fucking party and keep an eye on her?”
Beau laughs, startling the heifer away. “Fuck, yes.” He shakes his head, messy mop of black hair falling in his eyes. “You need to be more subtle than that.” His eyes narrow, and he snaps his fingers before pushing the hair away. “I have an idea that helps both you and me.”
“Do you now?” I cock an eyebrow at him.
“Uh-huh.” Beau jerks his head toward the house. “Go get Ed. We might as well keep him in the loop.”
“Won’t matter if he lets it slip to Johnson?” I query.
He seems certain. “Nope. It’s got nothing to do with him.”
Now I’m curious. “Be right back.”
LACEY
“I thought we must have a visitor,” Dad announces as he leans in my bedroom door. “Whose motorbike is that beside the house?”
“Mandy’s.” I softly close my journal and set it aside on my bedspread.
“Is she coming back to pick it up tonight? Otherwise, you might want to make it less seen from the road.”
“No. She’s not.” It’s not technically lying if I omit the truth, is it? “I’ll shift it to the back path.”
Dad nods as I slide off the bed. “I’ve got a tarp that you can use to cover it up. I know this isn’t the city, but I don’t want to risk something that valuable.”
“Yeah. Okay.” Every muscle in my body tense, I slip past Dad and head for the front door.
I’m mere centimetres from freedom when he adds, “Why did she leave it here?”
Damn it. Now I’d be lying. “Uh…” Think, Lacey. “She doesn’t need it until later.”
“Oh.” Dad heads for the stove to see what I have simmering. “Fair enough, then. Just make sure she picks it up soon; our insurance doesn’t cover it.”
“Sure.” I slip outside, my heart thumping wildly against my ribcage.
Guilt sinks through my body, seeping into every pore until it reaches my toes. After everything Dad has done for me, this betrayal feels worse than anything I’ve done in the past. It was so much easier to numb my conscience when I didn’t physically see his efforts for us kids. But now that I have—now that I’ve witnessed my father go toe-to-toe with my mother over me—damn. I feel like the worst daughter.
But I can’t tell him the truth. Not when I know for sure it would entail him demanding I return the Yamaha to Mandy. I’m not ready to give up feeling included yet.
The grass underfoot is cold, the breeze fresh against my exposed arms. I heft the bike off its stand and then start the task of pushing it around back. The ride home went pretty well considering. I missed two gear changes, and almost stacked myself after pulling on the front brake too hard. All teething problems, Mandy assured me.
She didn’t stick around long, promising to get Cate to meet me at home tomorrow morning to escort me to school.
I told her there’s no way in hell I’m ready to ride the motorbike to Arcadia High.
She laughed and told me to stop being so precious before vanishing within seconds.
“Would you like help?” Dad startles me from my thoughts, offering to take the bike.
I shake my head, fingers tight on the bars as I give it a final shunt to get the front wheel over the lip of the back path. “I’ve got it.”
He stands aside, patiently waiting while I line the Yamaha along the narrow strip of cracked concrete, and then set it on the stand. “What time do you want me to drop you off tomorrow?”
I step back with a frown to let him throw the tarp over. “Tomorrow?”
The plastic sheet crinkles loudly as he pulls it tight around the wheels. “For your sleepover at Maggie’s.”
Oh, yeah. Oops. “I’m not sure. I can get her to pick me up.”
“Nonsense. I was thinking about going out anyway. I can drop you off on the way.”
“Really?” I hold one end in place while he loops a short piece of rope through the eyelets. “Where are you going?”
His mischievous gaze catches the light from the house. “What’s the point of living in the country if you don’t experience the local, right?”
“You’re going to the pub?”
“What?” he playfully asks. “I heard they have a great meat tray up for raffle on a Saturday night.”
I laugh as he secures the tarp around the bottom of the bike, effectively making a giant blue present out of it. “I suppose it beats sitting around here, huh?”
The light-hearted comment hits harder than I intended. Dad’s mirth fades as he stands, his eyes losing their brilliant glow. “That’s what I figured.”
Silence falls between us while we trek back into the house. I curse the fact the back door is locked, meaning we have to take the extended route around to the front. I have no idea what to say after ruining the mood so grandly, so I choose to say nothing at all.
Of course, he’s lonely. His whole world shifted the same as mine did. And if I stop to think about someone other than myself, I’d see how hard this is for him. Hell—I’m just like my mother: self-centred to the core.
“Have you heard anything from Colt?” Dad asks when we reach the front step.
I go inside first, chewing my bottom lip while I think over what to say. What will seem believable without lending toward me having to explain more? “He wished me luck yesterday,” I admit. “But I haven’t heard much since then.”
And I haven’t. Colt still won’t answer my call or message me back.
I’m trying not to think about what that might mean.
“I worry about him,” Dad says, shutting the door behind us.
You and me both. I hesitate in the kitchen, back against the dining table.
“I worry that I’m not doing enough.”
“Dad …” Arms crossed over myself, I rub the chill away from my flesh. “You’re doing everything you can.”
“I suppose.”
I know that’s not what he wants to say. It doesn’t take long once you’re mature enough to recognise your parents as people rather than the invulnerable beings you believed them to be—to know that they hide a lot from you in the name of protecting what they love.
Sometimes, I think they hide too much.
“What’s going on here?” Dad announces, turning for the simmering pot on the stove.
“Potatoes,” I say. “Turn them down and let them boil.”
“What are we having with them?”
And just like that our domestic bliss swings back to two people trying to make sense of how to do everything for themselves. At least we care to try, I suppose. Unlike Alicia, who attaches herself to the nearest provider in the room—married or otherwise.
I finish up my meal with Dad an hour later to find a missed call from Maggie on my phone. She answers on the second ring, barely giving me time to shut and block my bedroom door before retrieving the document Derek gave me.
“Hey,” she calls out from where my phone lies in the centre of my bed. “I realised after I called that you’d be having dinner.”
I chuckle, settling cross-legged beside my phone. “I think most people are having dinner at that time.”
She laughs. “I can’t help that my eccentric mother has to finish her art project before her brain even switches over to maternal mode.”
“I guess not.”
“So?” Maggie whispers. “What have you d
ecided?”
“I don’t know. I hadn’t thought much about it yet.”
She makes a tsk sound. “What have you been doing all afternoon? When I didn’t see you at the gate, I figured you were somewhere doing some deep thinking.”
“I wish.” I snort. “I was at Mandy’s.”
“Oh, right,” Maggie says dubiously. “Why?”
I fuss with Derek’s folder. “Mandy wanted to teach me to ride. Crazy, huh? Her and Cate thought it would be a good distraction while they grilled me about the weekend.”
“Uh-huh.” She seems untrusting.
I smile at the phone even though Maggie can’t see me. “Stop worrying, mama bear. They’re being nice.”
“Lacey,” she deadpans. “You know there’s no such thing as a nice girl, right?”
I laugh. “Let me dream, okay?”
“Ugh.” She huffs out a breath that sends static across the line. “We’ll deal with those devious bitches later. Tell me about that statement. Are you showing it to your dad?”
“No,” I choke out. “He’d have a conniption.”
“For good reason.”
“He can’t deal with that.” The guy carries enough guilt as it is. “I need to figure out another way.”
“Another way to what?” Maggie levels quietly. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” she stresses. “That whole document is based on bullshit. You don’t need a plea bargain to save your innocence when you’re already innocent.”
“You don’t get what it’s like for us,” I argue.
“Us?” She pulls me up on my slip of the tongue. “So, you’re one of them again, huh? We’re back to a battle of city and country, right?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“No,” she snaps. “It’s what your subconscious said, which is ten times worse.” Maggie expels a laden breath. “No wonder Tuck is frustrated.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I pick the folder up and clutch it to my chest as though I need to protect what it infers from her judgement.
“It means,” Maggie says short yet soft, “that you can’t unravel yourself from their bullshit. You’re so caught in up in being a ‘spoilt rich kid’ that you can’t start to see how people outside that circle might view things differently.”
