by Nicola Marsh
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
IT HAD BEEN way too long since Logan had seen Hope at the State Library: four long days.
He’d intentionally stayed away because he felt like a bastard for lying to her.
There hadn’t been a glitch with a permit.
There’d been a glitch in the form of his father calling.
The second he’d heard Stephen Holmes’s gravelly voice in his ear, he’d known he couldn’t hang around Hope for the rest of the day. Dear old Dad always put him in a foul mood so he’d begged off and left. She hadn’t seemed fazed, but he’d maintained his distance for the rest of the week, not because he wasn’t clamouring to see her but because he knew he wasn’t fit company for anybody for days following his dad’s calls.
He’d had to give in today because he’d invited her to this football game so he’d swallowed his resentment at his father and manned up.
‘The team’s about to run out,’ he said, nudging her carefully so she wouldn’t drop her meat pie.
‘We’re barracking for the Sylphs, right?’
Her eyes twinkled with mischief and he clamped down on the urge to cover her mouth with his. She had this way of lightening everything around her and he needed that today. His dad’s pleas still rang in his head days later and this time it was taking him longer than usual to get over his funk.
‘You know very well we’re supporting the Echidnas.’
Her eyes widened in mock surprise. ‘Oh yeah, we’ve already been over all this. Eighteen men on the field per side who can kick, hand-ball and mark the ball, along with tackling each other, with the ultimate aim being to kick goals.’ She pointed at one end of the stadium. ‘Through the big sticks is a goal, through the big and small goalpost is a behind.’
She grinned and tapped her temple. ‘See? All that useless information you spouted earlier is stored up here.’
He laughed, her teasing just what he needed today. ‘You can’t live in Melbourne and not support a footy team. It’s un-Aussie.’
‘Lucky I’m a Brit,’ she said, blowing on her pie to cool it. ‘Though I am partial to these pies. They’re delish.’
Her contrasts never seemed to surprise him. Considering her privileged background—he’d looked her up online—he’d expected her to be a Michelin-star kind of girl who’d think the humble Aussie meat pie was gross. But she’d demolished one and was onto her second before the game had even started. Intriguing indeed.
‘Did you get your permit issue sorted?’
Great. Now he’d be forced to lie again. ‘Yeah.’
Unable to meet her curious gaze, he focussed on the players warming up on the stadium’s pristine grassy surface. Who knew watching a bunch of athletes running through warm-up stretches could be so fascinating?
‘There was no hitch, was there?’
Damn, how did she do that? He hated lying; he had no tolerance for it after his childhood. But telling her the truth could result in more questions and he had no intention of discussing his warped family life. Even now, days later, he still couldn’t forget his father’s pleading tone asking to meet. Asking for a second chance.
His gut churned with repressed anger. He owed his father nothing, even after he’d digested the startling news of how close he’d come to losing him.
When she continued to stare at him in open curiosity, he knew he had to come clean.
‘My dad called. He never fails to rile me and I often end up yelling at him. I didn’t want you privy to that so I begged off to talk to him in private.’
He prayed silently she wouldn’t delve further as thinking about their last call made him want to thump something.
Stephen Holmes had survived a cancer scare.
And the fact Logan had learned about it after the fact rammed home how shitty their relationship was.
His choice, of course. Once his mum had died—and Logan had found out the real cause—he hadn’t wanted anything to do with his father. He’d been blaming his dad for years for abandoning them so it hadn’t been difficult. What had been hard was his father’s constant overtures to mend their relationship. No matter how many times Logan hung up on him, or yelled or called him names, Stephen persisted. His father never gave up despite not being able to get through to him. Until last Wednesday, when Logan had learned about his father’s battle with testicular cancer, and how he wouldn’t have known until he got a call from the hospital if things had gone south with his dad’s op.
It made him feel like shit.
Maybe Rick was right. Maybe it was time to confront his dad and lay the past to rest. But every time he contemplated it he developed an eye tic and he sweated bullets. He’d already lost enough sleep over the years, mulling over his father’s callous abandonment and subsequent overtures to make up for it. He’d be damned if he developed an ulcer over his dad’s latest attempt to reunite.
But he couldn’t get the C-word out of his mind. Cancer. What if it returned? What if his father died before Logan said all that needed to be said?
He’d dealt with his anger and bitterness over the years, usually by wielding a hammer at work. But he’d been off the tools for a long time now and his dad’s latest call kept playing over and over in his head like a damned earworm.
‘You mentioned you didn’t get on with your dad before.’ She laid a hand on his forearm, the tiniest speck of ketchup dotting her thumb. ‘Want to talk about it?’
‘No,’ he spat, tempering it with a sigh when she withdrew her hand. ‘Sorry, force of habit. I have this theory that if I don’t mention him he doesn’t exist.’
He risked a glance at her, not surprised to see a raised eyebrow. ‘Childish, I know, but it’s complicated.’
‘We all have complicated family tales but if yours is affecting you this much maybe you should do something about it.’
He wanted to chastise her for the psychobabble but didn’t want to spoil their day out. This was supposed to be fun, exposing her to a taste of Melbourne culture, to something new she’d never done before. He should never have mentioned his father.
‘The game’s about to start,’ he said, raising his beer to his lips and wishing he could down the whole thing in one go to ease the tightness in his throat. ‘Go Echidnas.’
She stared at him through slightly narrowed eyes for what seemed like an eternity before averting her gaze and focussing on the field.
Relieved, he slumped into the hard, uncomfortable plastic seat and took another slug of beer. He should be enjoying himself. He had a beautiful woman by his side, he was watching his favourite football team and he intended to celebrate with her later back at his place. Instead, the beer burned a trail down his throat and settled in his gut like acid.
‘You need to face me some time, Son.’
That fucking phrase reverberated around his head, impossible to dislodge no matter how hard he tried. Football, beer and sex: it should be a no-brainer for clearing his head. But if the football and the beer weren’t doing the trick maybe he needed to fast-forward to the sex.
He rested a hand on Hope’s thigh and leaned across to murmur in her ear. ‘Want to get out of here?’
‘But the game’s only just started.’ She stared at him like he’d lost his mind.
‘Yeah, but maybe I want to get started in a different way.’
She liked his bluntness. She’d told him so. But this time he knew what she’d say before her mouth opened because it pursed in disapproval and a tiny frown slashed her brows.
‘As much as I want you, I won’t be any guy’s temporary diversion.’ She tilted her nose in the air in the characteristically snooty move he usually found endearing. Not today. ‘I want to watch the game.’
Okay, so she was paying him back for freezing her out about his dad. But how could he articulate all the shit he’d endured because of that man to a virtual stranger when he could hardly face
up to it himself?
He itched to get the hell out of there, to leave and go drown his sorrows somewhere else. But he wouldn’t run at the first sign of the tough stuff.
He wasn’t his old man.
When she continued staring at him with that all too probing stare, he nodded. ‘Fine. We’ll stay.’
But he’d ruined the day and not even an Echidnas victory by forty-five points or her apparent enthusiasm for his team could salvage what he’d screwed up.
When they left the stadium and headed for his ute, he felt compelled to ask, ‘Do you fancy having dinner somewhere?’ even though the thought of spending an evening across a table from her seemed unpalatable, considering his mood. She didn’t deserve this.
‘No thanks. Take me home please.’ Her clipped tone alerted him to exactly how unimpressed she was by his behaviour and he didn’t blame her.
It took less than twenty minutes to get from the Docklands Stadium to her place and when he pulled up outside the front of Hope and Harmony she already had the ute’s door half-open.
‘Hey.’ His hand shot out to still her. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘For what? For acting like a jerk all day? For not speaking to me? For treating me like a hanger-on you couldn’t wait to ditch?’
He winced and scrubbed a hand over his face. ‘I deserved that.’
‘Yeah, you did.’ Her tone softened and he felt the rigid muscles of her shoulder relax under his touch. ‘Look, neither of us signed up for a relationship. We’re having fun for a short time not a long time or whatever other kind of fling cliché you’d like to use. But today wasn’t fun for me and by that residual scowl on your face I’m guessing it was shitty for you too.’
She gently removed his hand from her shoulder. ‘So why don’t you sleep on it? Deal with whatever’s bugging you? And we’ll catch up some other time.’
Logan managed a terse nod, appalled he’d treated her so badly but unable to salvage something from it, not in his current mood.
‘I’ll call you,’ she said, broaching the gap between them to place an all-too-brief kiss on his lips.
Then he watched the woman who invaded his every waking thought get out of his car and head inside her place without looking back.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
HOPE DIDN’T HAVE much time for social media, other than using it to post video clips of her music online. But she hoped it would prove fruitful when she researched Logan Holmes. Something major had gone down with his dad for him to act so out of character yesterday. The fun, flirtatious charmer had been nowhere in sight; instead, he’d turned into a brooding, glowering shadow of his former self.
It had unnerved her, the need to comfort him when they weren’t emotionally invested, so she’d responded in kind, feigning interest in the game while casting surreptitious glances at him every few minutes. It had been one hundred and twenty minutes of sheer torture. To make matters worse, he’d asked her out to dinner from obligation rather than any real desire to spend more time with her and it had been the last straw.
So she’d called him on it. Told him to get his shit together. But would he?
Guys weren’t so great at facing feelings and it looked as if he had a whole carousel of baggage regarding his father.
She knew all about the burdens of family. Even now, five years after she’d left England, her parents alternated between patronising and interfering, condescending and threatening. They would say anything to get their own way and she’d learned that way too young. Her parents lied without compunction and ultimately that was what had driven a wedge between them a long time ago.
If she’d known the truth about her grandmother’s trust fund she would’ve cut ties earlier and followed her heart into a music career. Instead, they’d lied and said she’d be penniless when they cut her off if she persisted in her ‘frivolous nonsense’.
So she’d done what had been expected of her, a stupidly naïve, frightened eighteen-year-old following the path set by her parents.
Ironically, it was after another person she’d trusted had betrayed her that she’d learned the truth. Willem had done his research well in order to ingratiate himself and had alerted her to the fact she had a small fortune waiting for her courtesy of a long-dead grandmother.
She knew her parents loved her in their own way but their lack of compassion for what she wanted out of life and the lengths they’d gone to in order to control her never failed to grate.
It had taken her a long while to be able to have some kind of relationship with them no matter how fraught, and her music had helped.
She hoped Logan would find peace with his father too. And while it had nothing to do with her—getting emotionally involved with the rugged CEO wasn’t on her agenda—she had to know what was bugging him so she wouldn’t inadvertently tread on any virtual landmines again.
She’d resisted the urge to pry into his life last night but after minimal sleep she had no such compunction this morning. Firing up her laptop, she sipped at her favourite breakfast tea. A few seconds later, she put her cup down and typed ‘Logan Holmes’ into the search engine. Stacks of hits popped up but most were in association with his business. He had no social media accounts. Bummer.
Feeling like a snoop, she typed in another name, ‘Stephen Holmes’, and bingo. Stephen had a bio on a major entertainment website, describing him as a stand-up comedian. She clicked on the link and perused the scoop on Stephen, gleaning more from a few paragraphs than Logan had divulged in several conversations.
Stephen toured the country, performing in small venues for the comedy club scene. Considering his extensive CV, he must’ve started before Logan had been born. He’d won a few awards in the early days for his routines and had performed in Vegas twice. There was mention of a son, but no name, and a snippet on a recent health scare. It also mentioned that Stephen currently resided in Melbourne.
She checked out a few more links but didn’t learn anything new. If Stephen lived in Melbourne and had had a recent health scare maybe that call had been him reaching out to Logan. But what was so dire in their past that Logan couldn’t forgive his father and had made a mere phone call rattle him to the point of withdrawing like he had yesterday?
She shouldn’t interfere. She wouldn’t. But she knew what it was like to resent a parent and sometimes it helped to share. Harry had been her sounding board; who did Logan have? For whatever time they would be shagging, maybe she could be his.
Picking up her mobile before she could second-guess her decision, she fired off a text.
U free?
The answering ping surprised her with its speed, as she’d expected him to leave her hanging.
Depends.
On...?
What U R wearing.
She smiled and responded.
Come over & find out.
His response came swiftly.
B there in 30.
Okay, so the text flirting was good. He’d moved on from yesterday. But as she quickly showered and dressed, she couldn’t help feeling guilty for luring him under false pretences. He would be thinking this was a booty call.
She had something else in mind first.
* * *
‘Tell me again why you’re dragging me through the back streets of Melbourne.’
Logan sounded like a whiny kid, deliberately baiting Hope because he knew she loved this. This was the fifth alley she’d shown him and, despite his fake indifference, she saw the gleam of interest in his eyes.
‘Because this is culture,’ she said, pointing at a giant ebony mouth in a scary crimson face plastered across a laneway entrance. ‘You showed me yours yesterday; today I’m showing you mine.’
She waggled her eyebrows and he chuckled. ‘I’m talking about the essence of Melbourne, in case you were wondering.’
He ducked down, his lips grazing her ear and sending a sh
iver of longing through her. ‘I’d much rather see something else of yours,’ he murmured, nipping her ear lobe before soothing it with a flick of his tongue that sent a jolt straight to her nether regions.
‘Later.’ Her grip on his hand tightened as a silent promise of things to come. But for now she had to come up with a smart way of broaching the sensitive topic of his dad without alienating him. ‘Did you do anything last night after you dropped me off?’
He stiffened but didn’t pull away. ‘Went back to my place and emptied the mini-bar, which I keep stocked for my occasional trips to Melbourne. Easier than having a regular fridge.’
She didn’t know if that jibe about him being transient was directed at her, a pointed declaration that he wouldn’t be around for long so she should shut the hell up. It didn’t stop her but she didn’t want to sound judgemental. ‘It’s always more fun drinking from those teeny, tiny bottles.’
‘It’s what’s inside that counts.’ He sounded resigned rather than bitter and she hesitated, searching for the right words to ask what was bugging him. ‘It’s not like a hotel mini-bar. I stock regular sized cans in there. Much more effective for kicking back and forgetting everything.’
Before she could say anything, he continued. ‘I’m not an alcoholic. I’ve had a rough few days and I apologise for my shitty behaviour yesterday.’ He huffed out a deep breath. ‘I’m not some dickhead trying to jerk you around, so maybe if I give you a little insight you might actually forgive me.’
‘Hey, there’s nothing to forgive.’ She lifted his hand to her mouth and pressed a kiss on the back of it, trying to clamp down on her curiosity and failing. Thankfully, she hadn’t had to pry much at all and he seemed ready to divulge snippets of his past.
The tension bracketing his mouth lessened but the haunted shadows flitting across his eyes didn’t. ‘My dad wasn’t around much when I was growing up. He tried to make it as a comedian so was on the road a lot. Mum and I missed him a lot, particularly Mum.’