Only We Know

by Victoria Purman

  ‘Well, hello young lady.’ Charlie’s face lit up with a grin.

  ‘Hello, handsome,’ she replied. ‘Why don’t you show me the hall where you danced with Jean that time and broke the floor?’

  Sam watched, speechless, as Calla and Charlie walked slowly out the door to the road where Sam’s vehicle was parked.

  Who the hell was this woman and how lucky was he to have found her? After the day she’d had, and with the emotional wreckage of her family still littered around her feet, she’d pulled herself together enough to help him with his father. When Sam had faltered, she’d stepped right up beside him. Hell, she’d taken the lead, comforted Charlie in a way that he’d been unable to.

  He couldn’t need her. He didn’t want to need anybody. It hurt too much when they didn’t need you back.

  But it was too late. She was in his head. He wanted her in his bed. He wanted her in every possible way. And not just on the island.

  Someone jabbed an elbow into him. It was his cousin. ‘She’s really something,’ Ben said. ‘Uncle Charlie seems to love her.’

  Through the big windows at the front of the pub, the two cousins watched Calla. She was pointing across the wide street and Charlie was nodding and talking.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Hope I didn’t interrupt anything when I called before.’

  Sam reluctantly turned to Ben. ‘What?’

  ‘Vivonne Bay. You and the redhead.’

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘What about her? You can’t keep your eyes off her, that’s what. And I don’t blame you. She’s hot,’ Ben said with a wry grin.

  Sam narrowed his eyes at his cousin. ‘You’re married, last time I looked.’

  ‘To the love of my life. You know, Calla was asking about you last night, after you ran off in that hissy fit and left her here all on her lonesome.’

  Sam ignored the jibe. Crossed his arms over his chest.

  ‘She seemed very interested in hearing all about the kitten whisperer.’

  ‘What the fuck did you tell her?’

  ‘Stuff. About you being footy captain back in the day. Leaving the island. About Andy.’

  Sam felt the familiar stab of memory. ‘And what else?’

  Ben crossed his arms. ‘Mate, I talk for a living. I can’t remember what else. To be honest, I stopped listening when it was all about you, you bastard. You always did get the girl.’

  ‘You got a good one too.’

  ‘I know.’

  And Sam knew he was going to do whatever it took to get this one. ‘Thanks for calling me, handling the old man. Not just today but you know … I appreciate it.’

  Ben searched a pocket and handed a set of keys to Sam with a jangle. ‘The keys to Charlie’s car. Thought you might want to hang on to them.’

  ‘Cheers,’ Sam said, wrapping his fingers tight around them. ‘Now I’ve got to get him home and figure out what the fuck to do with him.’

  Ben patted his cousin’s shoulder. ‘Good luck. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do. And don’t forget to stop by for a beer before you go back to Adelaide.’

  ‘I will,’ Sam said.

  ‘Hey, I forgot to ask. How are Jessie and the baby?’

  The reminder of what had happened that morning to Calla, how she’d gone into that family situation with her head held high, still amazed him. The memory snapped Sam out of his own melancholy. ‘She’s great. The baby’s beautiful.’

  ‘She sure is. I’ll see you round,’ Ben said. ‘And good luck with the girl.’

  Sam pushed the pub door open and went out to find the redhead and his father.

  Charlie hadn’t said much of anything on the drive back to Roo’s Rest. The sun was fast fading in the west and it wouldn’t be long before it would be dark and the big kangaroos would be out on the roads, making it dangerous to drive. Sam was relieved his father was quiet, settled. It meant he didn’t have to hear any more evidence of his slide into confusion and dementia. Calla had been quiet too. Too much had happened to them that day for small talk. There were things to say, but not in the car with Charlie.

  The silence gave Sam time to think. He’d thought he was right in pushing Calla to see her brother, but she’d been right all along to be worried about it. So they didn’t share a father, Calla and Jem. He could understand that the revelation of the family secret would have been a shock to Jem, but why the hell did he think he could blame his sister? And what about their mother? Hadn’t she screwed up? Hadn’t the two parents in that family fucked up and, like a game of dominoes, hurt their kids? He knew what it was like to lose the lynchpin of the family. His own mother had held them all together when Andy had died, had pulled them all close so they didn’t die of broken hearts. Without her, there was no glue to their family any more. It melted; they fell away from each other. Sam had stayed away and Charlie hadn’t seemed to care that he did.

  Sam turned off the road, navigated the track with his high beams on, and pulled up to the house at Roo’s Rest.

  He could hear Charlie mutter and sigh from the back seat. ‘Home,’ he said quietly.

  Calla looked at Sam. She looked like she was about to cry.

  ‘Yeah, Dad, we’re home.’

  When his feet hit the steps of the front veranda with a weary thud, Charlie turned back to look at Sam and Calla. Calla thought he looked worn out, exhausted from trying to decipher what was happening to him, tired from being old and lonely, possibly confused about who she was and what she was doing with his son. He wasn’t the only one.

  ‘I’m going to bed,’ he said, his voice a rasp in the night air. Banjo and Boxer stared at their master with pricked-up ears. He whistled a sound and they sat. They looked as confused as he was.

  ‘Good night, Charlie.’ Calla went to him, wrapped her arms around him and held on tight. When he squeezed back, with a glimmer of strength in his arms, she felt the tears well again. This poor old man, this poor confused husband and father. Her heart ached for him, for his loneliness. She knew his sadness as if it were her own. They were both alone.

  Jem had a family. Rose was about to have hers too. She would go back to Adelaide and her house, having no one else, and would remain that way.

  Charlie’s big old gnarled hand patted her back in a soothing rhythm. ‘Night, love,’ he said into her hair.

  Then Sam shook his father’s hand. ‘Night, Dad.’ Then he turned to Calla and lowered his voice. ‘Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back in a minute. I’ll just make sure he gets into bed.’

  Calla nodded. Sam pulled off his boots and the move reminded Charlie to do the same. When the two Hunter men stepped inside, the door slowly closing behind him, she found Charlie’s big old chair and sat down. She dropped her head into her hands. With a shuddering breath, the tears flowed. Long buried, they spilt from her eyes, stinging her cheeks, making her face cold in the night breeze.

  The emotional tug of war of the day had had her right on the edge of breaking down for hours, but she’d locked up the memories and the anguish while they dealt with Charlie. Now they were back at Roo’s Rest, the dam wall was breached and the pain and the hurt kicked at her from the inside.

  She’d messed up her life. If she was going to simplify it, she’d have to stop thinking of herself as the big sister, solely responsible for her siblings now that their parents were gone. She had to be strong for herself, to fight as hard for her own life as she’d fought to find Jem. Did she feel better for having seen her brother? Not yet. Was she glad that she’d been able to give him his share of their inheritance? Yes, she was. She could now close that chapter. She and Rose could move on, not live any more with the guilt of being party to hurting him any further.

  Jem had moved on. She’d seen it with her own eyes.

  Josh had moved on too.

  She’d been stuck in pain and guilt and grief. But not any more.

  Calla heard a noise from inside the house, a door closing. She sat up, took a deep breath to try to stop the shaking
in her shoulders. She twisted her fingers in a knot. She didn’t want Sam to see any more of her tears. She didn’t want his pity.

  And most of all, she didn’t want Sam to see that she knew Charlie’s secret.

  It had happened back at the pub, when they’d been waiting outside for Sam to drive them home. What Charlie had said about Sam had cut her in two. She was now burdened by a secret between a father and a son that was almost too much to bear.

  ‘Don’t let him put me in one of those places, love,’ Charlie had urged, his fingers gripping her arm. ‘Don’t let him sell Roo’s Rest. He’s going to need it one day. When he gets banged up again, when he can’t do his job any more, he’ll be able to come home to the farm.’

  ‘You remember Sam’s accident?’ Calla asked, hoping it might prod him into remembering about Jean too.

  ‘I thought I’d lost him too. How can I forget that?’ Tears had spilled from Charlie’s eyes as he sniffed. ‘The farm will give him an earner, you see? He doesn’t understand that. For him, the place is only full of bad memories, about Andy and his mother. But as long as I’ve got the farm, I’ve got Sam too.’

  Calla understood Charlie. He was desperately trying to hang on to his family. She knew what that was like and she knew the pain that sucked up inside you when you’d failed at it. Maybe Charlie had seen it in her eyes. Was that why he’d confided in her? She wasn’t really sure that he knew who she was, but he seemed to want to make her the protector of his plan. She’d held Charlie’s hand, tried not to cry for him, and when Sam had found them, they’d got into the car and she’d held it inside her, like a stone inside her fist, all the way back to Roo’s Rest.

  She wondered when she would find the right time to tell Sam how much his father loved him.

  That plan she had to simplify her life had just endured another setback. Walking away from people had seemed like the best strategy and she’d been determined to do it. She’d walked away from Josh. She’d apparently just walked away from Jem.

  She wasn’t sure now that she could walk away from Sam.

  The front door opened. Sam closed the squeaky screen door behind him. He was carrying a bottle and two glasses and he put them down on the wooden log next to Calla. With a twist, the screw cap was off and he poured. The sound echoed out into the darkness and out into the night.

  ‘I put some more wood on the fire so it’ll be warm for him in the morning.’ Sam handed Calla her drink. It was in an old Vegemite glass, full to the brim.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Don’t thank me yet. It’s an old tawny port. It’s all I could find but, given the day we’ve had, I figured it was better than a coffee.’ Sam stood next to her, his glass in one hand, his other hand in his pocket.

  ‘Is he in bed?’

  ‘He’s asleep. Being that confused wore him out, I guess.’

  ‘It must be exhausting for him when his mind wanders like that.’

  There was a long beat of silence between them. Calla sipped the port and wished it were something stronger.

  ‘You’re right,’ Sam said. ‘I don’t know how you did it, but thank you.’ His words drifted into the chill of the night air, into the blackness and the mystery of the place.

  Calla tried to find the words. ‘He’s wonderful, Sam. It’s easy.’

  ‘You seem to have a way with him.’ He came to her side, crouched down to look into her face. She could barely make out his features in the dim light, but there was no mistaking the feel of his hand on hers and the touch of his forehead against her curls. ‘With all the Hunter men, apparently.’

  Sam was so close she could smell the sweet port on his breath.

  ‘As I said. He’s easy.’

  ‘I can’t leave him like this. I need to stay here tonight,’ he said. ‘I have to talk to him in the morning.’

  ‘I know.’ Calla leant back in the chair, felt the cold wood against her back. She lifted her eyes to the night sky. A million stars were already dotted in the black velvet canopy, twinkling down on them like distant fairy lights. She knew what he was saying and didn’t want to fight her feelings any longer. This was her last night on the island. Her last night with Sam. Those memories he talked about, the ones she should take home with her? She wanted the memory of being with him, of letting go with him, of having him inside her, all around her, of being in his arms.

  ‘I’m right here, Sam. I’m not going anywhere without you.’

  He dropped his voice. ‘You’d get lost if you did.’

  She was already lost. Lost in him, in how it felt to be with him. In his eyes and that voice and in who he was. She had no choice to make now. It had been made for her. She wanted this one night with Sam, wanted this accidental and mysterious connection between them to play out to its logical conclusion. This was what it was, something mysterious and accidental. And maybe, in that same mysterious and accidental way, that was why she’d met Sam in the first place. Tonight could be the real turning point of her life. What better way to wipe the slate clean than to have sex with a beautiful stranger? A kind stranger who kissed like a demon and melted her bones one by one. There was nothing wrong with letting that happen. They were adults. This could play out and then they could say goodbye and go home.

  Couldn’t they?

  ‘I know exactly where I am, Sam Hunter.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘And I know exactly what I want to do.’

  ‘Good.’ Sam stood, pulled her to standing. He lifted his hands and began stroking her hair, softly, gently. All around them it was quiet, as dark as pitch, private. The night air was frigid but neither of them wanted to go inside. Calla put her hands on his chest and an entirely new tension flickered to life in her stomach and lower, a glowing ember about to ignite. He cupped her cheeks and brought her closer until their lips were a sigh away from touching.

  ‘I want more than good, Sam Hunter,’ she whispered into his mouth and she could swear he swallowed her breath.

  ‘Just you wait, baby,’ he said as he nipped her bottom lip. ‘It’ll be spectacular.’

  CHAPTER

  35

  Sam’s lips, cold in the night, burnt against hers, and Calla fell into his kiss and his power over her. She opened her mouth and their tongues met, fiercely and desperately. His hands tangled in her hair and she tugged at his jumper, pushing it up so she could feel his skin against her fingers. Smooth and hot, she slid her hands up his chest and around to his back, pressing her nails into him, clinging to him as their mouths and tongues danced. They kissed like teenagers, there on the veranda in the dark, not a sound in the night except the panting breath and moans of two people who really wanted to have sex.

  But the kissing, oh the kissing. It was the best entrée to sex she’d ever had. When Calla came up for air, Sam searched her face. Her eyes, her lips, her neck where he’d nipped her. He traced a line from her ear down and around the curve of her left breast, to the hem of her jumper. And then his fingers were on her skin, searching upwards again, seeking, cupping her breast in his big, strong hand and rubbing a nipple with his thumb. His tongue danced with hers in rhythm with his fingers and Calla simmered despite the winter night. She dug her fingernails into his back, harder, and when he moved his hands lower, found the button on her jeans and undid it, she couldn’t breathe. He slowly unzipped her, then slid a palm against her stomach, and then down inside her knickers.

  ‘Sam,’ she whispered, half disbelief, half desperate agony.

  ‘Hold on,’ he growled, as he held her in his left arm and sent her to heaven with his right. He pushed her backwards, pressed her against the wall, and she hoped like hell it would help hold her up. And then he was teasing through her curls and feeling her, caressing her clitoris with his skilful fingers, the pressure intensifying with every exhaled breath. With every stroke, he kissed her harder, inside her, around her, his tongue doing the same dance as his fingers, and she shimmered and tensed as the waves built and built, and when he set fir
e to her, Calla felt her legs buckle. She threw her arms around his shoulders, held on as she came with an electric shock and a cry at the back of her throat.

  Then there was her panting breath and his voice, saying her name. ‘Calla …’

  She was burning up despite the chill wind. He’d lit a fire in her that was still raging, squeezing the breath from her lungs, melting her bones.

  ‘You were right,’ she said, her eyes squeezed shut. She was afraid to look at him, afraid of what he might see in her eyes. ‘That was spectacular.’

  She felt for him, grabbed the belt loops on his jeans, pulled him against her. She wanted more, so much more. And she could feel that he was ready to give it to her.

  ‘I want you, Sam.’

  ‘You got me, baby.’

  Sam took Calla’s hand and pulled her through the house. He knew the way in the dark, past every other door, the bathroom, the laundry, and out the back to his old bedroom. He urged Calla inside and locked the door. Once he heard the familiar click, he took two steps and flicked on the bedside light.

  ‘The living room isn’t safe. Charlie could go wandering. It’s my old bedroom or my car.’

  ‘Here. Now,’ she demanded.

  ‘Get naked then,’ Sam said.

  When Calla met his eyes and stripped off her clothes, he felt like the luckiest man in the world. He did the same, would have ripped off his jeans if he’d had to. She looked him up and down, reached out for him, spread her fingers over his pecs. Her fingers were like silk and he breathed deep, trying not to go too fast. But fuck, since the second she’d come against his fingers he’d been desperate to be inside her. He cupped her left breast, flicked her nipple with a thumb and it peaked again in a hot second. She reached up, ran a tongue over each of his nipples and then lifted her head, her gaze a challenge. When she wrapped her fingers around his cock, he groaned.

  ‘Condom?’ she murmured.

  ‘Two seconds. If I can wait that fucking long.’ He found one in his wallet and almost exploded when Calla rolled it on. When she was done, the backs of his calves hit the mattress. She pushed him, and then climbed on his lap, pressed her breasts into his chest, and crushed her lips against his. His hands were in her hair, urging her closer. She spread her legs wider, opened herself up to him and met his thrusts with her own until he slid inside her — and felt alive for the first time in so fucking long he couldn’t remember. They found a rhythm, of bodies and tongues and lips and hands, and when he came, he called her name and forgot his own.