by Dee Palmer
“Don’t just stand there, look for him!”
“Angel, you need to stop.” Charge steps in my path and blocks any further movement with his strong arms holding mine.
“Charge, please.” Tears stream, only to be absorbed, as my plea is muffled against his soft shirt when he hugs me tight.
“He’s gone, angel.” He kisses my hair, devastating words drifting softly from his mouth
“No! No, no.” My heart’s pounding, breaking off tiny pieces with every agonising thump against my hollow chest. “Where?”
“He took his truck.” Toxic points to the fresh tracks in the dirt, leading away from the stables out along the other drive.
“He’s probably gone up to the cabin for the night.” Tug offers his best guess with a light shrug, clearly hopeful that this might soothe me somehow. It doesn’t.
“I should go to him.” I look up at Charge expectantly.
“Absolutely, just let me help you on your way out into the wilderness.” My smile mirrors his, and it takes a fraction of a second to clock that Charge’s sarcasm is like treacle, thick and way too sweet to be sincere.
“I’m serious.” This isn’t the time for jokes.
“Well, I’m not, angel.” He scoffs. I look to Tug and Toxic, imploring with my eyes. They both shrug, and I hear their tacit agreement with Charge, loud and clear from their tight, silent lips. Charge soothes my arms, rubbing the goose bumps with his hands. He dips his head and softens his voice. “Pink’s a big boy, he can take care of himself, and he’ll come home when he’s ready.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Sure,” he says, way too quickly, and I swear his tone carries a fiendish hint of that sarcasm I’m such a fan of. He slides his arm across my shoulders and turns us to face away from the stable. Taking slow steps, he moves me forward on stiff, reluctant legs. Toxic takes my other hand, encouraging me home. Looking at each of their faces, filled with worry, I have to give them this. They must feel just as sick as I do, Pink is their brother, and he’s gone.
“I’ll never be able to sleep tonight,” I say when we reach the porch. Tug and Toxic have already entered the house, leaving me to my darkening mood and Charge to handle-with-care. I saw the look on Tug’s face, and if that didn’t say, ‘suck’s to be you, but you’re the husband’, I don’t know what did.
In all honesty, I know any one of them would be there if I needed them, and that’s why this hurts so fucking much. I know Pink is in pain, and I want to be there for him.
“Then I’ll have to think of ways to keep you entertained.” I feel bad that I can’t even muster the enthusiasm to crack a smile at his playful and sexy suggestive eyebrow wiggle.
“I don’t think even you could distract me tonight, Charge. I feel so awful. I’m heartbroken for Pink and so fucking angry with Hope, I can’t even.”
“I like a challenge.” Bulldozing through my mood, he grins sinfully, swoops and scoops me into his arms. He swings the front door wide and walks over to the kitchen, where Tug and Toxic are sucking down some beers. Charge sits me high on the worktop and eases my legs wider to accommodate his hips.
“Oh, god.” I sigh, and my eyes spring wet with fresh tears.
“Sugar, Pink will get through this,” Tug says.
Toxic agrees adding his own take. “He’s been through worse, Finn.”
“He still has us, angel,” Charge says.
“I guess.” Drying my cheeks with the cuff of my sleeve, I rest my head against Charge’s chest and take comfort from the strong, steady beat of his heart. Shivering when Charge steps back, relinquishing his comforting hold and creating some unwelcome distance so he can look me over. I know it’s warm. The sun hasn’t fully set, and it never really gets cold in this house, not even in the winter. Still, I feel more than the drop in temperature as an unsettling sense of change clouds my mind. “Can we sit on the back porch for a while?” I hate the fearful uncertainty in my voice.
“Sure we can. Are you hungry?” Charge’s gaze searches mine. His hands sweep and squeeze random parts of my body as if he’s checking for physical pain. No, it’s all inside, buddy.
“Not really.”
“I’m starved.” Tug pats his flat tummy.
“You guys eat. I’ll set up the cushions on the porch, and you can join me when you’re done, or not.” I slip from the counter and duck under Charge’s arm.
“How about I do a barbecue out back? You set the cushions at the far end of the porch near the grill, and then we can all be together? No one moping, off all on their lonesome.”
“I like the sound of that.”
“That sounds great. I love me a barbee.” Tug high fives Charge, murders the Australian accent in the process, and they all get busy in the kitchen as if everything is normal. Maybe it is. They know Pink better than I do. Maybe he does just need a little time.
All I know is, I’ll feel better when I’ve spoken to him, and I have my family back together.
I did manage to eat a small cut of the perfect porterhouse steak Charge cooked for me. It smelled so good, and he was quite insistent I eat something, happily pulling out the ‘you owe me card’. We all chilled, lounging over the cushions on the porch after dinner, watching the sunset, drinking beers, and talking about nothing special. I appreciate they were each making an extra effort to steer clear of any topic that might trigger the rollercoaster of my emotions from derailing, and around midnight, Tug and Toxic called it a night.
I don’t want to go to bed, and it warms my soul that I don’t have to explain why to Charge. I’m so damn lucky to have him, and that makes this situation so much harder. I want this for each of them, I do. I want them to be as happy as I am, and I hate myself that I wanted that so badly, I was blindsided.
“What are you going to do about Hope?” Charge interrupts my inner turmoil after rearranging the cushions into one big bed. He’s sitting with his back against one of the posts, and I have my head in his lap with my eyes closed. I would normally be asleep in under five seconds, with his fingers idling in my hair like this. I’m fighting the pull, and his question has definitely woken me right up.
“I can pack her shit up and send it to London.”
“Not what I meant.”
“Well, in that case, nothing.” His dark eyes stare down at me, and his lips quirk at my reply.
“She’s your best friend.” Adding a head tilt does nothing to change my opinion.
“Was my best friend, so I’m going to do fuck all. I really don’t care about her.”
“Yes, you do, but you’re angry,” he counters, and I scoff at the understatement of the year.
“So fucking angry.”
“I know. I think you need to let the dust settle and ask yourself who are you really angry with here.”
I let his words sink in and balk at the uncomfortable truth churning up my insides.
I’m angry at myself. I interfered.
Still, I’m in no mood to fight or agree.
“Will you hold me?”
“All night, angel.”
“Just until Pink comes home.” I roll off his lap, giving him space enough to get comfortable. I climb right back onto him, and we lie back together, staring at the pitch dark night until it fills with a billion twinkling lights.
I stay awake for a long time, but somewhere between the last star fading and the tip of brilliant sunlight peeking above horizon, I must’ve fallen asleep.
“Pink!” I call out, jolting myself upright and wide awake, only there’s no-one here. I’m still fully dressed, yet I shiver enough to warrant pulling the fur throw across my shoulders and up to my neck. I can hear voices, and the warmth of the cushions beside me means Charge has only just gotten up. It’s probably what woke me. I tuck the throw around my body and pad barefoot downstairs and into the kitchen, lured by the aroma of fresh coffee brewing.
“Is he back? What’s that?” The three of them snap to attention, and too late Tug tries to hide the piece of paper behind his b
ack. I walk over, dropping the throw to the floor and hold out my hand.
“It’s a note.”
“From Pink, he must have come back to post the note. Was he here? Did you see him? What does it say?” I fire the questions without drawing breath, all the time trying to reach behind Tug for the note.
“Finn, sit down,” Toxic urges.
“No, what does it say?”
“Please, sugar.” Tug urges me to stop, and I respond by perching my bottom on the edge of the stool, still holding my hand out. He places the note on the counter, and I snatch it up.
I read it a dozen times and I don’t believe what I’m seeing. I won’t.
“No! No,” Shaking my head slowly, jumbling the words of his note so they won’t form any kind of truth in my mind. “What does he mean, ‘he’s taking off for a while’? A while? How long’s a while? Where is he?” I jerk up from my seat. My heartbeat is as erratic as my voice.
“He’ll be all right,” Charge says, reaching for me. I slap his hand away and spin, turning all my vitriol and sorrow his way, pointing a hostile angry finger in his face and yelling.
“You don’t know that! This is your fault! If you’d let me go to him…” A guttural sob bursts from me. I hate this, hate this crushing feeling in my chest and hate the unchecked venom still spilling from my mouth. “He wouldn’t have left. It’s your fault.” The accusation cuts him, and pain tears across his face. I’m breaking, lashing out at the best person ever, which kind of makes me the worst person ever.
“You can’t know that.” He reclaims his ground, stepping flush to me and encasing me in his arms.
“It doesn’t matter now, does it? He’s gone! Oh, god!” My knees buckle, and I crumple through his arms to the floor. “I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean it. I don’t know what to do.” Kneeling on the hard floor, I wrap my arms across my waist, trying to hold myself together.
“Angel.” Charge drops to his haunches, and the others are quick to do the same, each reaching a tentative hand for comfort.
“Sugar…” Tug strokes my hair out of my eyes, meeting my gaze with a sadness I echo. “It kills us to see you like this.”
“Come on, Finn, it’s going to be all right,” Toxic soothes, and I look at each of them now crouched around me like a protective wall. Their impassive expressions hold just a tinge of concern, and I get the feeling that is more for me than Pink. Which, given the abundant lack of information for their missing ‘brother’ seems off. Something’s not right.
“You can track him though, right? Trace his whereabouts from his credit card, or phone? You can find him for me, yes?”
“No, sugar. He disabled the GPS and switched it off just South of Phoenix, late last night.” Toxic explains and casts a knowing look at Charge.
“What? What aren’t you telling me?” I look back to Toxic when Charge gives the imperceptible nod to continue.
“I know you’re worried, sweetheart, but he’s done this before, and if he doesn’t want to be found, well, he ain’t gonna be found.”
“But he’ll need money.” My mind is racing, because people don’t just disappear. They need the basics. Even a resourceful retired Navy SEAL needs money at some point.
“He’s got money, angel. This morning he drew a chunk of cash, enough to last him.” Charge says, and my stomach drops.
“Last him how long?” My question hangs like a big ugly noose around our little unit. Charge looks at Tug and Toxic before answering my question.
“Unless he’s hitting up Vegas, I’d say he’s got enough money for around six months.”
“Six months!” I cry out, drowning the sound of the doorbell. This isn’t happening.
“I’ll get it.” Toxic stands, and I let Charge pull me into his hold, and a fresh river of tears soak my face. Tug strokes my hair, and l let the tears free fall. I don’t register the connection between the doorbell and the footsteps approaching. I’m more than a little out of it, just trying to comprehend what’s happened in the last twenty-four hours.
“Finn, I wanted to come and say…” Hope’s voice catches when I look up. She stops whatever she was going to say when I fire a look that almost says it all.
“Say what, Hope? There’s nothing you can say.” Slowly picking myself up from the floor and roughly wiping my face dry. The tears freeze with the chill coursing through me as I look at my former best friend. I keep my voice level, empty and honest. “You’ve torn my family apart, broken my heart, and I let you. No, I encouraged it.”
“Finn, I—”
“Just go, Hope, I never want to see you again.” I walk over to the door Toxic is still holding open. Hope steps beside me, her hands clasped and tears streaking her cheeks. From the brief glance I gave her, I could see the puffy red rings around her eyes and hollow, bone tired expression on her pale face. I haven’t looked in a mirror, but I doubt I look any different.
“Please, Finn, I’m so sorry. I was scared, I never knew what love was, not like you have and when I did, man, it was…I was so happy, Finn. So fucking happy and scared too.” She rushes to speak, and I mentally begin turning her volume to mute. I switch off, and yet some ingrained loyalty demands I hear her out. Her heartfelt explanation filters in and out of my consciousness. I hear her but it’s really not going in. “It’s only ever been my mum and you that I love; you know that. I didn’t want anything else. You know me, and I’ve never believed in any of this bollocks, and then…then him. It’s complicated and wonderful and terrifying and perfect, and I fucked it up straight out of the gate. I was humiliated in the national press, Finn, and I ran. I was ashamed and lost, and I should’ve told you all of that. I didn’t tell anyone, not even Mum.” She sucks in a breath, and I still haven’t looked at her, I can’t. “I came here, because I needed someone to help me forget, and I let that person be Pink. I never meant to hurt anyone, least of all you and him. You have to believe me.”
“It doesn’t matter now; Pink’s gone.” Void of any inflection, I barely recognise my own voice as I take the door from Toxic. Hope gets the blatant signal I want her to leave and steps over the threshold. She’s said what she’s needed to say.
“Gone, gone where?”
“Goodbye, Hope.”
“We’re staying at the Fairmont if you change your mind. Finn, please, you have to forgive me.” She sobs, and I look dead into her eyes when I enlighten her with my reply.
“No, I don’t.” I let the door slip from my fingers, shutting her out of my life, and only when it clicks closed, do I let my own tears fall.
“YOU KNOW, UNDER THIS WATER it almost looks as if you aren’t crying.” Jørgen looks down at me, shielding the torrent from the showerhead from hitting my face. The steam rises, and I welcome the comforting strokes and touches as his strong hands caress and cradle me. He brought me back to his hotel, close to the airport, and after a few hours of incoherent wailing, he’s persuaded me to take a shower with him.
“I’m so sad.” My shoulders judder, and I hiccup, a dry burn in my throat. I haven’t stopped crying, and every part of me inside and out is raw.
“I know, baby, and it’s breaking my heart.” I nestle against his solid frame, rubbing my nose against the hard curve of muscle and look up with water-laden lashes.
“Then why are you grinning?”
“Because at least I know, in this instance, I am not to blame.” He beams, and the genuine relief on his face makes me, very briefly, smile.
“Oh, you broke my heart all right, and then some.” I poke my finger playfully and hard on his chest. He captures my hand in his as I posture another thought that crossed my mind. “In fact, if you hadn’t reacted like an arse, I never would’ve run. This is your fault; you are to blame.” He considers my ridiculous accusation for what it is, the rambling of his exhausted and utterly devastated wife.
“You forgave me.” He reminds me softly, and I scoff, aware my rebuttal is going to be equally fallacious.
“Not for all the aftermath. T
he blame from your initial crime, yes, is forgiven. The cataclysmic aftermath, no! Oh, Jørgen, this really hurts.” Even pretending to pass the blame is agony. Nothing helps.
“Fuck, baby, please don’t, please don’t cry.” He holds my face, squishing my cheeks between his big hands and kissing my wet, swollen lips.
“I have to fix this.” I say, when he releases me.
“I know,” He nods, holds my gaze, and the way he’s looking at me right now, he holds my heart and soul, too. He reaches behind me and kills the searing hot water drenching us both. Stepping out of the shower, he returns with the fluffiest towel for me and what looks like a washcloth for him, loosely wrapped at his waist and doing nothing whatsoever to cover his enormous erection bobbing temptingly through the gap. Even with this glorious image before me I can’t bring myself to focus on anything else.
This is serious. I need to fix things with Finn, ASAP.
“I just don’t know how, if she won’t ever see me again.” I switch the towel for a bathrobe and bundle my hair into a fresh towel. Jørgen swipes the steam from the room width mirror above the sinks and cracks open the shaving cream. I hop up on the vanity unit and watch him groom. He lathers up, stretching his face in preparation for the actual blade he is now wielding in his right hand. He flicks it locked open and makes the first scrape through the frothy white mix of stubble and cream.
“I’m sure she didn’t mean that.” He washes the blade clean between each pass, glancing my way, and making me nervous that he still has a cutthroat razor sliding over his skin when his eyes are on me.
“Don’t look at me when you do that. The last thing I need right now is the death of a loved one on my hands.”
“No one’s dying.”
“I know. But it feels like a bereavement, this hole right here.” I thump the thick material crisscrossing my body for emphasis. “And I happen to think she did mean it.”
“She’s upset.”
“No, she’s numb, and that’s worse.”
“Maybe we should go back home, to England, I mean.” He’s a little too quick to clarify, and my hackles rise with the arch of my brow.
