Some Girls Don't (Outback Heat Book 2)

by Amy Andrews

  “I said I was fine, damn it,” he interrupted on a low growl, shaking Ethan’s hand off and stalking away.

  “Shit,” Ethan swore as they tracked Marcus’s path through the crowds. “That went well …”

  Jarrod shrugged. “He’s not exactly easy to talk to at the moment.”

  “Yeah. But he can’t go on like this.”

  “I know,” Jarrod murmured.

  Ethan checked his watch. “Crap. I have to get back to the station. I’m still dealing with a bunch of stuff from the bushfires.”

  “It’s fine, man. Go back to work. I’ll keep an eye on him. Pretty sure I know where he’s heading.”

  Ethan nodded. They both knew Marcus would be hitting the pub. “Let me know if you need backup,” he said, clapping Jarrod on the shoulder before departing.

  Jarrod took a deep breath. How was it possible to still smell smoke? Or had it just become so ingrained into every building, horizontal surface and blade of grass in town it would never really go away? Were they destined to always suffer from a lingering reminder of the disaster that had knocked on their back door?

  He looked across the dispersing crowd, either heading for the cemetery or gathering in small, sad groups shaking their heads and speaking in hushed tones. The PM’s protection detail hovered as he greeted some of the townspeople on the way to his ride. Other VIPs climbed into their vehicles.

  A large gaggle of media were cordoned off. Mostly they were packing up now as the crowd broke up but their TV cameras had relentlessly scanned the crowd that had started to gather here two hours ago, their telephoto cameras clicking and flashing as they snapped shots of grieving people and ass-kissing politicians alike.

  He searched through their number one more time. About the hundredth for the day. Just in case he’d missed her, examining every face like it might magically morph into hers. Even when he’d seen John with a busty brunette he vaguely recognised holding a Channel Four microphone he’d hoped that Selena would still show. Would come back to cover the funeral just as she’d covered the fires and the awful moment he and Marcus had found the Wyndham’s bodies.

  She didn’t. She hadn’t come. She wasn’t here. Disappointment dug deep beneath his skin and wrapped around the frozen knot of emotions that had been sitting like a boulder in his stomach since the night she’d walked out of his bedroom.

  And he’d let her.

  Hell. He’d practically driven her out with his anger and his desire to have everything. But Selena had made her choice. Twice now. Both times she hadn’t chosen him.

  Time to move on. Really move on this time.

  Jarrod noticed a few of the news cameras moving away from the cordon now the ceremony was over and the VIPs had left. He frowned as he realised they were making a beeline for Marcus. In his formal uniform with lots of shiny buttons he naturally drew attention.

  Crap. Jarrod didn’t like the odds of what might happen if one of them stuck a camera in Marcus’s face while his mood was so black.

  He doubted it would end well.

  He strode quickly over as the first journo bailed his brother up. “You’re Marcus Weston, right?” Jarrod heard a journo ask as he quickened his pace. “You were the first paramedic on scene at the Wyndham’s car?”

  Jarrod wondered how the hell they knew that. But then he saw a Channel Four mike and John with his camera on his shoulder and put two and two together.

  Marcus looked confused for a moment, blinking at the cameras as if he was seeing them for the first time. “No comment,” he said, pushing past them.

  The reporters followed, all shooting off questions. “Can you tell us how it was that day?” “Were the bodies badly burned?” “Was the little boy dead at the scene?” “What’s it like to witness something like that?” “How does it feel?”

  Jarrod reached his brother’s side just as Marcus swung wildly around, fury flashing in his eyes, his fists clenched at his side. “How the fuck do you think it feels?” he roared.

  The journos all reared back as if the might of Marcus’s fury had physically pushed them.

  “That’s enough,” Jarrod snapped at them, grabbing Marcus’s shoulders from behind pretty much like he had that day two weeks ago when he’d been trying to stop Marcus dragging Reggie’s body from the smouldering vehicle. Marcus strained against the bonds as he had that day too.

  A hot fist squeezed Jarrod’s gut. He’d never seen his brother this volatile. Marcus was so laid back he was barely vertical most of the time. He was easygoing and used humour to deal with grief and stress; he always had. He was much more likely to crack a joke than shed a tear.

  “Show some respect for a grieving community,” Jarrod said, glaring right down John’s camera as he dragged his brother back.

  As soon as the resistance ebbed from Marcus’s muscles he turned him around, clamping an arm around his shoulders, taking some of Marcus’s weight as he marched them away.

  “Fucking animals,” Marcus muttered, his voice cracking, but thankfully putting one foot in front of the other instead of turning around and punching someone.

  “You’re doing fine,” Jarrod assured, squeezing the top of Marcus’s bicep where his hand was anchored tight. “Forget them. Just keep walking. Let’s go to the pub and drink beer.”

  Marcus relaxed a little. “Best suggestion I’ve heard all day.”

  Jarrod patted his brother’s arm before releasing him from his grip, the tightness in his chest easing a little. “I’ll buy the first round.”

  Marcus grunted. “Bloody oath you will.”

  It was the first time Jarrod had smiled all day.

  Chapter Ten

  ‡

  Ninety minutes later JJ plonked beer number four down in front of Marcus and said, “That’s it for a while.”

  He picked it up and stared at her belligerently over the rim of the glass. “You’re cutting me off?”

  She folded her arms. “For now.”

  Marcus, who was once again playing the clown, appealed to Jarrod with faux wounded eyes. Jarrod laughed. It took a lot more than four beers to get Marcus drunk but Jarrod knew as well as JJ that’s where this day was heading.

  “When did you become such a killjoy, JJ? You’ve been hanging around Captain Serious too long.”

  She rolled her eyes at both of them. “I promised Ethan you’d go steady.”

  Marcus tutted. “When are you going to make an honest man of him? He needs to retire that cape of his and have some damn fun for a change. Or at least get laid.”

  Jarrod was pretty sure JJ blushed, but she’d worked this bar long enough to give as good as she got. “I think you’re taking up all the Weston family booty juju.”

  Marcus roared with laughter. “Well, I don’t know about that,” he said when he finally got himself under control. “Methinks Jarrod’s been getting lucky lately.” They both eyed Jarrod speculatively. “Or he was at least until he screwed up.”

  “Hey,” Jarrod protested. “What makes you think I screwed up?”

  “She left didn’t she?” JJ said.

  Marcus nodded. “Case dismissed.”

  Jarrod frowned. He did not want to get into some pointless conversation about Selena. The constant replay in his head these past two weeks was bad enough. Thankfully a customer came up to the bar and JJ shuffled off. Jarrod figured now was as good a time as any to broach a delicate subject. Marcus was lubed up, the incident at the church was seemingly forgotten and somebody needed to talk to him about getting some help.

  Ethan had nominated him.

  What he’d seen in the Wyndham’s car that day had obviously affected him. It had affected Jarrod too—stuff like that always did. But he hadn’t been closely acquainted with the family. Reggie Wyndham hadn’t hero-worshipped him.

  Whatever Marcus was feeling right now was normal and to be expected. But it still had to be dealt with. If he left it … let it fester inside him, thinking he could handle it with jokes and beer, it could build to be a much bigger problem
.

  It was better to seek professional help now before one tragedy became two.

  Jarrod drained the dregs of his first beer. “Word on the grapevine say the government’s sending out a couple of counsellors next week to deal with the long-term psychological effects of the fires on the community. They’re basing them at the hospital for the next few months and anyone in the district can see them free of charge.”

  Marcus stiffened beside him but still took three long swallows of his beer. “Is that right?” He didn’t look at Jarrod. Just stared straight ahead as if the bottles lining the shelves behind the bar were the most fascinating display he’d ever seen.

  “Have you spoken to that counsellor the service offered you?”

  “Nope.”

  Jarrod examined his brother’s profile. “Don’t you think you should?”

  Marcus turned to face him. “And have them recommend that I take leave? Or maybe stand me down while they assess me?” He shook his head. “I need to work.”

  “Well then, speak to someone outside the service. Take advantage of the counsellors the government is sending. Or find a private one.”

  Another shake of his head as he turned his gaze back to the front. “I’m fine. Brett and I had a debrief session the other day. We’re good.”

  “Brett may have been in the ambulance with you that day, but he didn’t see them all huddled together like that. He didn’t coach Reggie Wyndham all year. It’s not Brett we’re worried about.”

  Marcus shot him an exasperated look. “I’m good too. Now how about we stop obsessing about the state of my mental health and talk about you.”

  Jarrod laughed. “Me?”

  “Yes, you. And the sorry state of your love-life.”

  It was Jarrod’s turn to contemplate the bottles behind the bar. As heat crept up his neck he was pleased that, like Marcus, he’d shed his jacket and tie the minute he’d sat himself down on the barstool.

  “It’s fine.”

  “You think I didn’t notice you scanning that media pack over and over looking for her?”

  “I was just curious who her replacement was.”

  Marcus snorted. “Okay. Sure.”

  “Leave it be,” Jarrod muttered, lifting his empty glass towards JJ to indicate he needed another. Really needed another.

  “What the hell are you doing, man?”

  Jarrod glanced at his brother who was shaking his head at him in disgust. “Getting on with my life.”

  “What life? The one where you still live and work in the same town you grew up in. Still live in the same house you grew up in?”

  “What the hell is wrong with that?” Jarrod demanded, accepting a full beer glass from JJ, who moved quickly on to another customer.

  “Dude.” Marcus shook his head. “You’re thirty-two. It’s kinda weird.”

  Well now, wasn’t that pot calling the kettle black? “You’re thirty-three. You still live there.”

  “Yeah, but Ethan and I have come and gone over the years. You’ve been a constant. What the hell for?”

  “Because family’s important. Because dad died and Ethan became a single dad and Connie needed an uncle, and mum got cancer. You know all this crap.”

  Marcus shook his head again. “I know that they’re all just excuses for the real reason.”

  Jarrod rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah? What’s that, genius?”

  Marcus grinned, unperturbed by the sarcasm. He took a sip of his beer. “You stayed in Jumbuck Springs, in the house, waiting for her to come back.”

  “I didn’t.” The denial fell quickly from his lips. Easily. His brother was full of shit.

  “Waiting for Selena,” Marcus continued, clearly undeterred by Jarrod’s easy rejection.

  “You’re wrong.” Because that really would be pathetic. He’d gotten on with his life, like she had. He’d even been engaged, for Christ’s sake.

  “Well guess what, genius? She came back.”

  Jarrod glared at him. “And she left. Again.”

  “Right.” Marcus nodded. “So what are you doing to do about it? You going to sit around for another fifteen years or are you going to go after her this time?”

  He looked morosely into the foam head of his beer. “She made her choice.”

  “Seriously, dude. Anyone with two eyes in their head can see how much she wants you.”

  Jarrod snorted. “She doesn’t want me bad enough, apparently.” Even two weeks later Selena’s words still felt like barbs in his flesh.

  “So that’s it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you still love her?”

  Jarrod wished he could look his brother in the eye and tell him no. But he couldn’t. “Yes.” He took a sip of his beer instead, swiping the froth off his upper lip with his thumb.

  “Then what the fuck are you doing, man? Go after her. If this whole fucked-up thing with the Wyndhams has taught us anything it’s that life’s short. Go and get her. Do whatever it takes. You could be dead tomorrow, man. Gone.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that. Be fucking happy.”

  Jarrod stared at his brother. It was easy to forget that under his larrikin exterior Marcus had always been a great sounding board.

  “Coach!”

  Jarrod turned to find a group of Marcus’s footy buddies making a beeline for them. They’d also been to the funeral and had also shed their jackets and ties.

  Marcus grinned at them. “A beer for my mates please, barkeep,” he said to JJ.

  JJ rolled her eyes then glanced at Jarrod. Jarrod shrugged, resigned to a very long day but mostly relieved. Relieved to be out from under his brother’s scrutiny and his unsolicited words of wisdom.

  Words that were resonating a little too much.

  Be happy. Do whatever it takes.

  Was it really that simple?

  * * *

  At eight-thirty that night, Jarrod staggered up the front stairs with an inebriated Marcus. Jarrod had stopped drinking after his second beer when it became clear Marcus was going to be drinking enough for both of them.

  “Eshan,” Marcus said, grinning drunkenly at his older brother as Ethan helped Jarrod support Marcus.

  “Jesus.” Ethan shook his head. “You’re going to hate yourself in the morning.”

  “We waited til afsta Connie would be in bed, didn’t we Sharrod?”

  Jarrod nodded. “Yep.” There’d been an unwritten rule in the Weston house since Connie had come to live with them permanently at the age of two. No getting drunk in front of the kid. Marcus had been pushing that rule a bit lately. “Come on buddy. Bed for you.”

  Marcus shook his head as they half-walked, half-dragged him into his room. “Need anosher beer.”

  Jarrod rolled his eyes at Ethan. “Okay, sure,” he said as they lowered him to the bed. “You lie here for a moment and I’ll bring you one in.”

  Marcus tried to salute as Ethan swung his legs up onto the bed but smacked himself in the face instead. He laughed “Guesh what, Eth? Sharrod’s gonna go afsta Selena.”

  Jarrod was about to open his mouth and deny it when Ethan said, “About time,” as he yanked off Marcus’s shoes.

  Jarrod shot his brother a startled glance. “You too?”

  Ethan nodded. “What? You think you can do better? You’re already punching above your weight for a ranga.” He grinned. “Get your shit together, man.”

  Jarrod was stunned for a moment, before barking out a laugh. Nothing like brothers to keep you grounded, call you on your bullshit and tell you the truth.

  “Gee, thanks.”

  Ethan shrugged, looking suddenly serious. “You think the kind of thing you feel for Selena comes along very often?”

  Jarrod met his brother’s gaze. If anyone knew about being kicked in the ass by love it was Ethan. He shook his head. He knew what he felt for Selena was rare. He’d never loved anyone like he loved her.

  “You should go after her.”

  “I’ll think about it,” he said, pulling the sheet
up over an already sleeping Marcus.

  Ethan nodded and clapped him on the arm a couple of times. “Make sure you do.”

  Jarrod followed him out of the room knowing he wasn’t going to go after her. The ball wasn’t in his court anymore. Selena had made it very clear that it wouldn’t work between them. That her career was still her focus. And he needed to get on with his life. Not waste another fifteen years hoping she’d change her mind.

  And he sure as shit wasn’t going to take advice from a divorced dude, who couldn’t see the woman he called his best friend was in love with him, and an inebriated Casanova who wouldn’t know commitment if it smacked him in his sorry, drunk face.

  * * *

  Selena sat in the dark of her apartment and watched the replay of Marcus’s confrontation with the press at the Wyndham funeral for about the twentieth time since she got in from work an hour ago. She’d refused to let them play it on the broadcast tonight, but every other station had featured it under the guise of exploring high community emotions in the aftermath of the bushfires.

  Or some such bullshit.

  The pain in Marcus’s eyes had been as hard to watch as it had been the day it had all happened, but Jarrod had been harder to watch. The worry for his brother in those green eyes, the fierce protectiveness that had burned in his gaze had clutched big handfuls of her gut.

  That’s the kind of guy he was. If he had your back he was like a freaking warrior.

  She’d watched it about a dozen times before they’d gone to air tonight and the footage had still been so raw in her mind that she’d had to rapidly blink her tears away when the funeral segment, minus Marcus’s outburst, had ended and she’d had to go on to the next story.

  Go on like nothing had happened. Go on like her heart hadn’t been torn out and was bleeding on the floor.

  What had she done?

  Why had she turned her back on such a magnificent man with his big heart, his deep streak of loyalty and his profound ability to love?

  To forgive.

  Leaving Jarrod Weston, the teenager, had broken her heart into two. Tonight, sitting here in the dark, she realised that turning her back on Jarrod Weston, the man, had smashed it into a thousand tiny pieces.