“Come on, man. Calm down. It’s just coffee.”
“Forget it. What happened yesterday? With the solicitor.”
Ah great! I couldn’t even get in the door without being pounced on. Couldn’t it wait until I’d had a shower? From the angry look on Connor’s face, I already had my answer.
“It took longer than I expected,” I admitted, running my hand over the stubble on my chin. Briefly I debated keeping it there. I couldn’t remember Payton complaining when it was scratching against her thighs.
“Okay…” He rocked back on his heels and folded his massive arms across his chest.
I got it. I wasn’t a complete moron. Connor needed to know because it was his life the answer would change. He deserved to know. I just didn’t want to be the one to tell him. Then there was Dad. Did he even know? Was he oblivious to it all? Or did he just keep his mouth shut for another reason?
I needed to talk to Connor without Dad overhearing, I’d deal with that one later. Maybe after a shower, a nap, and a bottle of bourbon. Maybe then it would be safe. I doubted it, but it seemed like a better option than confronting it sober. “Do you need to head out to the paddocks?”
“Just fucking tell me already!” Connor’s frustrations were bubbling over and his booming voice was breaking the country silence.
“Chill out. I’ll tell you. Fuck! Just not here.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Well?”
“Yeah. I was about to head down to the bottom paddock and check the trough. The filter’s been playing up.”
“Right then. Give me ten minutes to shower and we’ll head out? We can talk on the way.”
“Fine. Ten minutes. Not a second longer.”
I wanted to laugh at the pout on his annoyed face, instead I broke into a jog towards his place. Connor was nothing if not a stickler for what he said. If I was even thirty seconds late, I’d be running after him.
Kicking off my shoes and dropping my pants, I stepped into his tiny bathroom, almost slipping all the way across the tiled floor. “What the fuck?” Lifting my foot up to see what I’d stepped on, I was gobsmacked at what I found.
Peeling off the silver and purple sparkly stuff, it took a minute before I figured out what it actually was I was looking at. Dicks! Sparkly, shiny dicks all over the bathroom floor. Flicking it off as quickly as I could, I suddenly felt dirty. Very fucking dirty. Stepping under the hot water, I washed quickly, my head scrambled. Why the hell would the bathroom floor be covered in cock confetti, anyway?
After washing my hair and quickly lathering up, I stepped out of the shower, wrapping my towel around my waist. Grabbing my toothbrush from the sink, I smothered it in thick green minty toothpaste and brushed quickly. By my count, I had three minutes left. Rinsing my mouth, I dried off and stepped back into the bedroom. Dressing in my jeans and thick grey shirt, I sat on the corner of the bed and tugged on my socks. Just as I was reaching for my last boot, something caught my eye. In a pile in the corner of the room was Connor’s firefighter shit, but on top of it was something shiny and silver.
The old saying, curiosity killed the cat, could never have been more true than in that moment. With one finger I lifted up the intriguing item. It took much longer than it should have for me to figure out what I was looking at. A fucking G-string. Dropping it and shuffling backwards like it was something that would bite my hand off, I stared at it. Connor had some fucking explaining to do. A silver g-banger and sparkly dicks all over the bathroom was too much. If he was gay…well, that’s cool. He’s my brother and I love him anyway. But I did not need to see this shit.
Quickly I stuffed my foot in my other boot and stomped out to where Connor sat in his truck, waiting for me with the music blaring.
“Right! Start talking,” he demanded as I slipped in and he flicked off the radio.
I knew what he wanted to talk about, right now though I was after some answers of my own. “What’s with the dicks all over the bathroom?”
Humiliation crept across his face and stained his cheeks. “Fuck!” he muttered under his breath. I shouldn’t have been so amused, but I just couldn’t help it. Of all of us, Connor had always been the straight-laced good boy. This was just too fucking perfect to let slide. “It’s not what you think.”
“And what do I think?”
“Look, I went out last night. They’re not mine. They just got stuck to me.”
“Right. Sure they did.”
“They did. They were being tossed around…”
“And they magically stuck to you. Right. Got it. I’ll say no more.”
He looked at me like I had two heads. Playing with him was so easy. I realised that this, right here in this moment, this was what I missed the most about being away. Bagging each other and generally giving each other shit. Friends were great and all, but no one came close to family.
“Thanks.”
“So, what’s with the g-banger then? Gonna try and tell me that’s not yours too?” I couldn’t help myself. It was just too easy.
My question caught him so off guard that he failed to see the dip and we hit it hard, causing us both to bounce off the seat, my head hitting the roof and making my eyes water.
“Can’t a guy have any fucking privacy around here?” he growled, rubbing at his temples.
“A guy can. You can’t. What the fuck was I supposed to do? It’s just lying there on the floor. Anyone could see it.”
“No one goes in there!”
“You knew I was.”
“Fuck me. Four years and not a soul found out. You’re home two fucking weeks and suddenly I have no secrets.”
“What’s going on, Connor?” All the taunting was gone now. Now curiosity was taking over and I was desperate to know what he’d been up to. Did Connor have a secret life?
He sighed heavily. His shoulders slumped as we passed through an already open gate. “I’m a stripper.”
“Huh?”
He was talking in such a low, soft voice I didn’t catch what he said. I thought he said he was a stripper, but that couldn’t be right. Surely.
“I’m a stripper.” This time there was no mistaking his words.
“Shit.”
“Look, it’s no big deal. I just do it for parties. Mainly hen’s nights. It’s good money. All I do is show up. Dance. Tuck the cash in my underwear. Go home. There’s nothing to it.”
“And take your clothes off. Don’t forget that part.”
“Yeah.”
“Four years?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Why? Seriously. That’s your question.” He looked confused. The ute skidded to a halt on the wet grass and we were both out and heading towards the troublesome trough. “It started as a joke. I stumbled in on a party one night, I was smashed, and it just kinda happened. I made some great cash from it and just kept going, I guess.”
“Hang on a second! Were you at a hen’s party in town last night?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Fuck!” I screamed and it echoed off the deserted countryside. A couple of sheep looked up uninterested.
“Why? What’s wrong?”
What’s wrong? What’s fucking wrong? My own brother was the one responsible for getting Payton all hot and bothered, then I’d cashed in. He’d been her fucking foreplay and I didn’t even know it. I hoped like fuck she didn’t either…that I could live with.
“Nothing,” I spat between gritted teeth.
Yanking the cover off the pump, I wiped away at the mould. I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Preferably never again. I just wanted to imagine that it wasn’t happening and go back to being blissfully oblivious. Stomping back to the ute, I grabbed a spanner, and a second later was undoing the bolts. A couple of minutes and a few choice curse words later, the pump was in pieces at my feet but I could see the problem. Not bad for someone who’d been hiding out in the City for the last couple of years.
“All of the seals are gone. Should be able t
o replace a few of the washers, give it a good clean out, and it will be good to go.”
“That’s good. I’ve got some spares in the ute. Hang on a second.”
Connor jogged back to the ute and started rustling about. While he was occupied, I wiped off the parts I’d pulled out and rinsed the others. I wanted to get this over and done with as soon as possible so I could get some space from him. I wasn’t exactly sure why I was blaming Connor for my shitty attitude, I just was.
“Here you go,” he said, dropping the rubber washers into my outstretched palm before stepping back and giving me some room to work. Whatever. I didn’t give a shit. As long as I got it.
It took longer to put back together than it did to get it apart, then again, it always did. At least when I tightened the last bolt and checked the ground beside me, there were no parts left over. “Turn it on.”
Connor did as I asked and I stepped back, not really in the mood to get soaked. With a groan and a garble, the pipes protested, but soon enough the trough started filling again. We watched on in silence until the float cut it off. “Done!”
“Sweet. One more thing off the list.”
“Okay.”
Grabbing the spanner and the rag, I headed back to the ute and jumped in. I was so ready for some shut eye.
“Why are you pissed?” Connor asked as he revved the engine and spun around in a wide arc.
“Why do you do it?”
Connor shrugged, and I thought he wasn’t going to answer me. Then he started talking. “At first it was fun. Just a laugh and a way to meet chicks. Then as things started to get worse around here, the money was just too good to give up. Easily a couple of hundred bucks cash, and all I had to do was shake my ass. The women buy the drinks, so it’s a cheap night out too. And it was something different. Something that was mine.”
“Is the money situation that bad?” I felt worse, if that was at all possible. If my baby brother had resorted to stripping to pay for shit around here, I was going to throw something. Probably in his direction for hiding it from me. I could have done something. Helped somehow. Sent money home. Come home. Something. Anything.
“Not all the time. I mainly put it away and keep it until Holly needs it. Then I send her money.”
“What’s she need money for?” According to the solicitors, her schooling was covered as part of granddad’s estate.
“Fuck if I know. Makeup. Clothes. Shoes. Girly shit. I don’t ask and she doesn’t tell. The arrangement seems to work for us.”
“I wished she’d asked me.”
I was feeling sorry for myself. I was a shitty brother. I was supposed to be the oldest. The most responsible. The one dealing with this shit. But here Connor was doing everything. Stepping up. It should have been me.
“Things are going to change around here. They have to,” I declared resolutely.
“What’d the solicitor say?”
“Well, the good news is Mum can’t touch the farm. If she demands fifty percent, which she’s entitled to, she gets half of Dad’s car and stamp collection.”
“That’s it?”
“Pretty much. Since Dad isn’t the one on the title deed for the property, she’s got no claim to it.”
“Wh-what do you mean Dad isn’t on the deed? Granddad left it to him. It’s Dad’s farm.”
“That’s what I thought too.”
“What aren’t you telling me? If Dad doesn’t own the place, who the fuck does?” Connor stopped the ute where we were in the middle of a dusty road in the middle of the paddock.
The sky above us had turned angry and grey. Thunder clouds were rolling in, and off in the distance lightning lit up the sky. Across the way a couple of horses, including Holly’s Appaloosa mare, Alice, didn’t even flinch. Climbing out, I walked around the back and lowered the tailgate, propping my ass on the edge. For a minute I sat there alone. A strange calm settled over me despite all the chaos swirling inside me. I felt the truck dip as Connor slid up beside me.
“It’s mine,” I answered his question quietly.
“Sorry?”
“Granddad didn’t leave all of this to Dad. He named me. Apparently this place is mine.”
Stretching my arms high above my head, my joints creaked in protest. After I shooed everyone out and cleaned up, I headed back upstairs for a shower and a nap. Anything to make me less bitchy. The problem was, the moment I stepped through my front door, all I could see were all the mistakes I made. My eyes locked on the kitchen bench, the same one only hours ago that I’d been wriggling my bare ass back and forth against while I moaned under Beau’s extremely talented fingers and tongue. I mean, the pleasant soreness between my thighs left no doubt. It was just my head couldn’t accept it. It wouldn’t. It was so not like me. Or maybe it was. Maybe it was something the real Payton would do. Maybe it’d just been so long since I’d seen her, I’d forgotten who she really was.
With the memories buzzing inside my head, I grabbed a cloth and the disinfectant and started scrubbing. Three hours, a sweat-soaked shirt, and pruny fingers later, I’d cleaned the kitchen bench four times, the bathroom, changed my sheets, did a load of laundry, including the bra I found in the kitchen sink, and vacuumed the floors. The place sparkled. You could eat from the floor, it was that clean.
Needing to get some of the tension from my shoulders, and the scent of lemon bleach from my skin, I stomped into the bathroom and blasted the hot water. Stepping under the spray, I let the steam fill the room and wash away all my regrets. Last night had been fun. Exactly what I needed. It scratched an itch that desperately needed scratching and I survived. My emotions didn’t get the better of me and allow myself to believe it was anything more. I was okay. I’d survive this.
After rubbing my favourite red apple lotion all over my body, I grabbed my Kindle and a blanket and curled up in the sun, needing to escape into another world. Even if it was only for a couple of hours, it was better than nothing.
When I woke, the sun was fading and the room was chilly. I hadn’t intended to fall asleep, but I must have needed it. After throwing a frozen dinner in the microwave, I shut all the blinds and flicked on the heater. I hated being cold. Cold equalled miserable, and I’d spent enough time being miserable. I wasn’t going back there.
The microwave pinged and I grabbed my dinner. Sitting on my couch surrounded by complete silence, with flickering candles for company, I was swallowed by loneliness. It was palpable. I was desperate for a hug. I needed someone to wrap their arms around me and hold tight. Help me just get through this moment. Abandoning the cardboard dinner, I wiped the tears away from my cheeks and pulled out my phone.
Fighting the overwhelming need for comfort, I started scrolling through my photo library. Yet another stupid way to torture myself. My chest hurt—physically fucking pained me. I don’t even know why I still kept them. Maybe it was for moments like this, moments of weakness, to remind me just how much life can hurt. Or to remind me at one point, I almost had it all.
They were all there. Photos of when I was happy. When we were happy. Hayden and I smiling. Laughing. Kissing. I wondered how much of it was real. Now, looking at these photos for the first time since I’d moved away, I found myself searching for the hidden meaning. The secrets that were there that I hadn’t seen before. The truths that shattered our happy little love bubble.
When I looked down at my trembling hand, I found myself rubbing my bare finger. The finger where my engagement ring once sat. Even though I knew exactly where that diamond was, I wasn’t about to go and dig it out. I might be torturing myself right now, but I wasn’t a complete masochist.
I needed a drink.
Or two.
Maybe more. Maybe a whole bottle.
Grabbing my phone, I unlocked it, not surprised that there were no missed calls or waiting texts. I’d managed to piss off my only friends around here. I knew Mia wasn’t in any state to back it up, and Josie wouldn’t want to leave Matilda, so it looked like another miserable, lonely nigh
t in. Just me and Jose.
Putting my phone on the bench, I grabbed a lemon, hacking it into wedges before yanking the bottle of tequila from the cupboard above the fridge and filling a shot glass. Three quick shots were more effective than any painkiller. Playing lick, sip, suck by yourself wasn’t really much fun.
Another shot and I wobbled back into the lounge room and clicked on the TV. I didn’t care. Stuffing my well-used Pitch Perfect DVD in, I started the party. When Fat Amy mermaid danced across the screen, I dropped to the floor and danced right along with her. When they sang in harmony, I joined in, pretty much fucking up their sound, but another shot and I didn’t care. When the movie finished, I slumped to the floor and curled up.
“Fuck!” The incessant quacking from the duck which was my alarm clock woke me too early. Way too fucking early. My mouth felt stuffed with cotton, and my head was pounding in a way I never suffered through before. Turns out tequila wasn’t the friend it pretended to be.
Finding my feet, I wobbled into the bathroom and emptied my queasy stomach into the toilet bowl before sitting back on my knees, panting. My eyes were sore and watering while sweat rolled down my face. If I’d felt miserable last night, this morning was a whole other level of torture.
Rinsing my mouth, I showered again and yanked on my work clothes. I couldn’t afford to stay shut two days in a row, no matter how bad I felt. I had responsibilities. No one could do it for me, and this hangover, well, I had no one to blame but myself.
I settled into a boring, predictable rhythm over the next couple of weeks, but it seemed to be working for me. Well, that and the fact I’d poured the last dregs from the tequila bottle down the drain, turning my apartment into an alcohol free zone. Two hangovers back to back was enough of a wakeup call to keep me sober for a long time.
It wasn’t just the cleansing of grog that was helping me find my feet. I started getting rid of all the reminders of Hayden as well. First, were the photos on my phone. Although it hurt and I cried like a bitch every single time I hit delete, once they were gone, I did feel a little lighter. The next night, I’d sat in the dark, a candle in the sink as I farewelled the birthday cards, the notes from the flowers he’d sent, and the Valentine’s Day cards with a puff of smoke. By the end of the second week, everything was gone. Well, almost everything. There was still the matter of the white wedding dress hanging in my wardrobe and a sparkly diamond ring buried in a drawer.
Taking Charge (Meet the McIntyres Book 1) Page 13