Trust (Twisted Hearts Duet Book 3)

by Max Henry

  A golden lion surrounded by black roses.

  I have no idea what made me think of it. The vision stuck in my head when I woke this morning, refusing to budge as I went about our morning routine.

  My mood reaches manic levels when I cruise the first row in the parking lot and find a space two away from the doors. Dancing in my seat as I negotiate the car into the gap, I belt out the last line to “Crazy” by ICEHOUSE and kill the engine.

  “You ready, baby?” I coo to Sera.

  She watches me with wide, bright eyes, and awkwardly manages a half-smile that instantly reminds me of Zeus. Warmth spreads through my chest like an insipid vine, curling itself into nooks and crannies long forgotten. If only a heated emotion were enough to fill my aching belly; I’d gorge myself until the sun went down without the slightest bit of remorse.

  Instead, my stomach growls it’s discord each time I place an item of food into the shopping cart, rather than mainline it down my throat, earning a few curious looks from the other housewives.

  Grocery shopping is bliss at this time of the morning. No hurried career professionals, and no tired children at the wrong end of the day. Only women like me with children too young for school, and the elderly who’ve probably been up since the first rays hit the sky.

  Sera’s patience frays by the time we reach the checkouts, her hands grasping at anything that comes near enough for her to touch. I jerk the bread out of her reach before we end up with several slices donated to the ducks and check my messages.

  Z: No trouble getting to the shops?

  I tap out a reply, nudging the cart forward with my hip when the line moves.

  B: Nope. Just finishing up now.

  Z: Did you get formula?

  I spare a glance to Sera, and then down to the bulk pack of noodles.

  B: Not this time.

  I send the screen to black and ditch the device back in my bag before Zeus can reply. He’ll want to know why, and I’ll have to explain it costs too much to add in this week’s budget. Whichever way we slice it, the discussion will end up with one of us pissed at the other and a fucking great big dollar sign sitting in the middle of our relationship like the elephant in the room.

  So, I avoid it even if that means avoiding Zeus.

  Not much longer. I repeat the mantra that feels more transparent each time it travels through my mind in the hopes my good mood will return. I’m left with a hollow nothingness in its place as I shuttle the few items in our cart onto the conveyor belt and wait our turn.

  Numb. I guess that’s what you’d call it: a total and complete avoidance of anything that’ll send me into a woe-is-me spiral. I’m not unique. We aren’t the only couple who struggle. Hell, look at what Dad went through to raise me.

  I’m a product of my environment, my upbringing. Conditioned and pre-programmed by what I accepted as normal as a child.

  It’s so easy to get wrapped up in the fantasy of what could be, but when it’s outside what you’ve known your whole life, the dream feels like nothing more than an illusion drifting by on a cloud of toxic smoke.

  Pretty to look at, but lethal to keep close for too long.

  “One hundred and twenty-four, sixty-five,” the sun-wrinkled lady behind the scanner announces.

  I do a quick tally in my head, triple-checking that I’ll have enough. Yep. Clean sailing.

  Sera manages to free a rewards card pamphlet from the display case as I swipe and tap in my PIN. I take it from her, much to her disgust, and bend the corner straight again before placing it back with the others.

  “I’m sorry. That declined.”

  What? I rerun the math. Zeus’s pay, less the mortgage, and the power leaves me one hundred and fifty.

  “Can I try again?”

  She gives me a flat-lipped smile as an older gentleman shuffles into place behind me. He unloads the few items from his walker frame while I repeat the process. My lungs burn, my breath held while I bite my bottom lip and watch the EFTPOS screen unblinking.

  DECLINED – insufficient funds.

  Shit. Shit, shit, shit. The flesh on my arms burns at the thought, but I’ll need to place it on the credit card until I get this sorted out—yet another debt to add to the stack that we’ll never pay within the interest-free period.

  “I have a second card.” Switching to the near-new VISA, I lift it for her to see. “Third time lucky, right?”

  “Mmm.” I get no smile, just the rapid tap of her finger over the touchscreen as she pops the transaction through again.

  Same. Fucking. Result.

  The supermarket feels too small. My heart wildly beats as though I’m centre stage at some show where making an arse out of me is the main attraction. Awareness burns around me like wildfire, every set of eyes in proximity an absolute risk to my safety.

  I can’t get the card back in my wallet; my hands shake so much. The plastic falls to the floor, and as I stoop to retrieve it, my head swims on the return.

  Not enough to eat. Low blood sugar. A racing heart.

  I’m a sitter for a blackout if I don’t get my shame under control.

  “Could you park the transaction while I make a call?”

  “Sure, honey.” Her voice is saccharinely sweet, but her eyes show contempt.

  Yep. I’ve been in this situation enough times to know they can park a sale and serve the next customer. Difference is, those times I had an out.

  This time, according to the VISA, I don’t.

  I push the cart to the side of the exit aisle and remove Sera from the seat. She tugs at my hair, snagging my earring with one finger. I welcome the burn. My little angel here to snap me out of my spiral into panic.

  Thumb screaming across my phone screen, I retrieve the banking app and scour the recent transactions. Damn it. I pull up Zeus’s number next and say a silent prayer.

  “Hey. Gotta make it quick before I get busted,” he greets.

  “The card declined.”

  His pause tells me he’s no longer concerned with being reprimanded for using his phone while driving machinery. “Which one?” I catch the whine of the hydraulics as he probably lifts the bucket.

  “Both.”

  “Debit and credit?” He grumbles, seemingly perplexed.

  “Yes,” I hiss, tucking my chin to my chest to conceal my voice from the curious stare of the checkout lady. “What other cards do I have?”

  A rush of air indicates Zeus’s sigh as the machine rattles in the background. “You said you had enough for food this week, though.”

  “Because I thought the insurance payment would decline,” I mutter. “It did last time we didn’t have the funds to cover it.”

  “Did it not?”

  “No,” I snap, jostling Sera on my hip. “They put our account into temporary overdraft.” She clutches a fistful of my T-shirt and pulls hard enough to cut the neckline into my throat.

  “But we don’t have an overdraft.” The bucket makes an almighty bang. “Fuck’s sake.”

  Great—now I’ve pissed him off so much he’s screwing up his work. “We don’t.”

  “How can they do that, then?”

  “I don’t know,” I cry, all out of fuck’s to give if Ms Judgmental wants to be nosey.

  She glances across while the old man shuffles toward the exit, giving me a chance to jump back in. I turn my back to her and continue my conversation with Zeus.

  “How much is there, then?”

  “Like, thirty dollars.” I jerk my clothing out of Sera’s hand, causing her bottom lip to tremble. Great. “Why don’t we have enough on the credit card? I thought there was two hundred still available.”

  “I used it to get the alternator,” Zeus mumbles.

  “Fan-fucking-tastic.” Our girl’s eyes water, the meltdown imminent. She feeds off my vibes and, right now, they’re volcanic. “What the hell do I do, then? We need to eat, Zeus.” I take a deep breath and add. “Should I call Jodie?”

  “No.” His curt tone takes me aback. “I
’ll make the call.”

  “And I just, what …?”

  “Stay where you are,” he growls. “What else are you going to do, Belle? Busk out the front until you have enough?”

  “Fuck you.” And fuck you too, nosey-parker woman. “Don’t make this my fault.”

  “I didn’t say it was your fault,” he roars before cursing at the digger again. “I’ll call you back.”

  The line goes dead, quickly replaced by Sera’s first whine. Perfect. Nice about-turn, Universe. Couldn’t give me a break for a whole day, right? Just thought you’d tease a desperate woman with a few hours of bliss.

  “Excuse me,” the checkout operator interjects.

  I spin and face her, my resting bitch-face on point.

  “Are we able to close this transaction out?”

  Much like the slow erosion of an ice-flow over time, my tenacity finally fractures. The last shreds of strength melt away, losing their grip as I crumble and disintegrate.

  Right there on the fucking supermarket floor.

  Amongst strangers.

  TEN

  Zeus

  Like fuck, I’ll go running to my ex-wife for a handout. May as well rip my balls off and hand those to her as well.

  Nope. My wounded pride has me do the unthinkable as I try to fix up the damn spill I created while talking with Belle. I flick through to John’s number and smack speaker before tossing the phone on the instrument panel of the backhoe.

  “G’ day,” he answers with a hint of a question in his tone.

  “Hey, man.”

  “It’s been a while.”

  “Yep.” The request clogs my throat, refusing to budge no matter how hard I swallow.

  “What’s the occasion?” John finally prompts when I let the silence hang too long.

  I nudge the bucket carefully against the edge of the overflow, sweeping it back in the channel. “Can you meet Belle at the supermarket?”

  “Is everything okay?” His whole approach shifts and fair enough—it’s a strange request.

  “She’s fine. Everyone’s fine. I just need a favour.”

  I need his money, but I can’t say the words, so instead, I ask for a random rendezvous and hope he accepts. He has to; his daughter is involved.

  “When?”

  “Now.” I relax in the seat, job done, and retrieve the phone. “She’s at the checkouts. Can you let me know when you get there?”

  Yep. Too much of a proud pussy to call my ex-wife, yet I’ll let my damn woman be the one to ask her father for money. Such a man, Zeus.

  “Yeah. Okay.” He shuffles around. The rattle of keys. “Talk later.”

  The line disconnects, and I leave the phone seated in my lap while I hammer out a text to Belle to let her know help is on the way. I know it’s irritational, but I can’t escape the feeling this is the beginning of it: the end.

  I’ve failed in my job as the provider in the house. I’ve failed Belle. Worst of all, I failed my damn daughter.

  It won’t be long until whispered I love yous and sex aren’t enough to keep Belle happy. She’ll see that it isn’t our situation that holds her back, but mine. My jealousy already crawls every time she works on a young guy at the tattoo parlour. How long before the need to keep her away from temptation turns me into an emotional abuser? How far will it get before I realise what I do to her by clipping those beautiful wings?

  Fuck. I scrub both palms over my face, not caring in the slightest how grubby they may be. Fuck that. Who cares about a little dirt when my whole fucking world hangs in the balance?

  If I could turn back time and take back the call to John, I would. But what else was I to do? We don’t have any money. Period. It’s all gone.

  The last thing to do would be to sell the Barracuda. I’ve done it before for her—could I do it again? Sell off the only thing that gives me a glimmer of sanity outside of the mundane routine of work, sleep, and sometimes eat?

  Without a passion project, the daily slog feels pointless. I grind myself into the ground for the sake of a roof over our head and the means to do it all again the next day. What kind of fucked up hamster wheel is that?

  “Eh!” The cab rattles with Lenny’s fist to the glass. “What are ya fucking around at?”

  I glance outside to the guys working a few hundred metres ahead of me. I missed smoko entirely, and now I’m behind.

  “Yeah. Keep your fucking skirt on,” I holler, starting the Kubota.

  The diesel engine shudders to life, shaking the last of the fog out of my brain. Get through the workday. One step at a fucking time. I can worry about what shitstorm I have to face when I get home. Until then, I need to make sure I keep the only source of income I have.

  ELEVEN

  Belle

  “Come on,” I mutter, pacing the length of the checkouts with a screaming Sera clutched to my bouncing shoulder. “Calm down.”

  I gave up trying to settle her outside when a bitter south-easterly wind pricked icicles at our faces, and the shoppers kept eyeing me as though I was some disgusting, homeless druggo looking for change.

  “Not long.” Shades of the roadside two days ago flash through my mind.

  My. Doesn’t this feel familiar?

  Only, this time it isn’t a paid employee of the government coming to save me. It should be my darling partner—the father of my child.

  The guy who can take this fucking screaming baby when he steps foot in the door.

  My bounce gets a little more pep to the step when Sera’s warbles gain a shudder that indicates she’s at her limit. Aren’t we all, honey? I know what the issue is: she’s hungry. The logical thing to do would be head to the disabled bathroom at the end of the checkouts and relieve her ache. Problem being, the weight in my chest tells me that I’ve yet to produce more than a few mouthfuls. And if there’s one thing that makes a hungry baby more maniacal, it’s a hungry baby with the taste of milk on its tongue.

  “I’m sorry, love,” a woman who I assume to be the shift supervisor says as she approaches. “But I need to ask you to take her elsewhere while you wait.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I stop walking with such ferocity that I need to place a hand to the back of Sera’s head to stop her toppling off me.

  At least it shut her up for all of a second.

  “The noise is upsetting the customers,” she says as sweetly as one can when delivering an insult such as that.

  “The customers,” I repeat with a nod. “You realise I’m a customer too, right?”

  “You’ve been here for over forty minutes, and some of our patrons have sensitive hearing aids.”

  I glance over her shoulder to the Betty that fits the bill of a complaining pensioner. “It’s single digits outside,” I point out, returning my focus to the supervisor. “Neither of us have an adequate coat.”

  “Well, that’s not our problem, is it?”

  I swear she’s taking advantage of the fact I wouldn’t deck her while holding a baby.

  I’m seriously calculating the logistics of it when a familiar face appears behind her.

  “Dad?” I so did not expect to see him.

  “What’s the issue here?” he asks, glancing between the salty supervisor and me.

  “I was just advising your …”

  “Daughter.”

  “Your daughter,” she continues, “that she will need to take the child outside until it calms down as the noise is upsetting some of our older customers.”

  It occurs to me that nothing hinders Dad from landing one on this woman. For a second, I wonder if he would when his nostrils flare, and he grinds his jaw.

  Instead, he quietly and levelly replies, “Has it occurred to your staff to perhaps ask how they could assist my daughter and granddaughter, who are clearly in distress?”

  “Sir, this is a supermarket, not a doctor’s clinic. If they need emergency help, we aren’t the ones to administer that.”

  “Lady,” he grinds out. “I understand where the fuck I�
�m standing considering there are aisles of cut-price shit to our left. What I’m asking,” he growls, “is whether you have the common decency and morality to perhaps offer her refuge in your staffroom instead of outside in six-degree weather.”

  The woman blinks twice, speechless.

  “It’s okay,” Dad says, layering on the charm with his hand to her shoulder. “I’m here now. So, why don’t you do what you’re paid to, and help me settle the bill? I assume that’s what you’re waiting on?”

  I fucking love him.

  He could have slid in and quietly removed me from the place to avoid any further embarrassment. But instead, my dad strides into a situation he has no background on and goes to war for my honour.

  His response is something I’d expect from Zeus.

  Well, something I would have expected from Zeus a few months ago. Our struggle has eaten away at his confidence; I see it. But he never says a thing, always putting on a brave face and telling me everything is fine.

  It’s not. And I hate that I don’t know how to fix it. Not when I feel as though I’m the cause of it.

  “All sorted,” Dad announces as he arrives, pushing my barely loaded cart. “Was this all of it?”

  I duck my head, clutching a mostly sleepy, sometimes crying still, Sera to my chest. “Yeah.”

  The metal cart wheels rattle and grind as he speeds us toward his work ute. “Are you topping up?”

  “I’ve got my car here,” I point out when he begins hastily loading the bags onto the tray. “I can take it home.”

  “So can I.” His face is hard and unreadable. I can’t tell if he’s tired, grumpy, or disappointed. Maybe some mix of all of them? “You didn’t answer me. Is this just a top-up?”

  “Uh, yeah,” I lie.

  He fists his hands around the handle of the empty cart and stares me down. “How much weight have you lost?”

  “I don’t know.” I stopped keeping track when it fell lower than it was when I left town as a teenager.

  “And bubba?” He asks, lifting a hand to stroke Sera’s hair delicately. “Why is she so upset?”