Arrogant Aussie

by Masen, Kat

  The fear comes as crashing waves, those of a winter beach rather than with any warmth from a summer’s day. It comes as a chill that goes directly to the core of who I am, and it snarled, loudly, telling me to cower just like every other time. Yet, this time, I allow myself the strength to begin swimming, live in that salty water with my own bravery, and be the person I am destined to be. I need to conquer fear and accept my pain as lessons I need to master.

  No matter what I do, I will never be good enough for my family, and that doesn’t matter anymore. I need to be the best for me because, in the end, that’s the only opinion which matters.

  I know at this moment, defying my father will see me walk through the pits of hell to find my heaven or remain in a non-existent life for eternity.

  I choose to walk through the fire.

  “Then I choose to be nothing to you,” I tell him, holding his angered stare with my confident gaze.

  “I never should have accepted you into this family. You were a mistake born out of a foolish betrayal.” He doesn’t say another word to me, demanding my mother to remove me from the property at this instance. My mother breaks down in tears, her scathing expression mirroring my father.

  “A mistake born out of a foolish betrayal…” I repeat, lowering my voice. “I don’t understand?”

  “Why did you have to do this? He gave you everything! He gave us everything. I’ve spent your lifetime paying for my mistakes,” she sputters, momentarily beyond words. “I don’t ever want to see your face again.”

  Pulling her dress up, she storms off leaving me perplexed.

  None of this makes any sense.

  My father taking me in.

  My mother’s mistakes.

  Foolish betrayal.

  Then it clicks, all his words, all my mother’s pleas, everything in my life up until this moment. I don’t belong here because I am not his—Edward Carmichael is not my father.

  Sebastian has disappeared, he’s nowhere to be seen.

  People are walking past me, turning their noses up with their judgmental eyes. I don’t care, I am completely motionless right now, trying to comprehend everything that has unraveled only moments ago.

  Aubrey bursts from behind the curtain, reaching out her arms, embracing me as the river of tears collide with her shoulder. The weight of my decision becomes so real I almost feel myself ready to collapse into her arms.

  Chance is standing beside her with a mixed expression of sympathy and irritation as Frank, our head security guard, appears beside him.

  “Miss Carmichael, your father has requested you leave immediately,” Frank, demands. His expression is remorseful, but I know he has no choice but to follow orders.

  “Oi, give the woman a moment,” Chance responds, annoyance present in his tone.

  “It’s okay,” I sob, my lips still trembling. “Goodbye, Frank. Thank you for taking care of me all these years.”

  Frank extends his arms out to hug me, drawing me into his manly hug. He’d been more of a father to me than my own and saying goodbye to a man who has always protected me is harder than I thought.

  Frank leans his head down, lifting my chin with his hand. “You take care of yourself, okay? You’re stronger than you think. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”

  I hold onto him tightly one more time before taking Chance’s coat he’s offered for me to wear.

  Between Aubrey and Chance, I remain in their embrace as we walk toward their car. Each step becomes a harsher reality, the panic setting in within moments.

  “I don’t have a place to stay.”

  “Hey, you’ve got a home, okay?” Aubrey reassures me. “Your home is with us as long as you need it.”

  We stop at the hotel to pick up their stuff. Aubrey lends me a change of clothes as Chance books us on the next flight home. I have absolutely nothing to my name, exactly as my father had threatened. In two short hours, my father has disconnected my cell, canceled all my cards including my personal banking account which was linked to my father’s main account. I have my driver’s license and social security card. I don’t even own a toothbrush.

  He delivered on his promise and left me with nothing.

  I was glad to get on the plane back to Los Angeles, equally relieved to see the familiar sight of Hermosa Beach.

  But every single thing reminds me of him.

  And I don’t know what pain stabbed me deeper. I am drowning no matter which way I turn or try to climb out.

  “I’m sorry, honey. It’s our only spare room,” Aubrey apologizes, falling into a digestive silence as we stand in what was once Oliver’s room.

  Instantly, I smell him everywhere.

  The scent is overbearingly present. It‘s a manly scent mixed with rainforest and a fresh summer’s breeze. It ran through my veins, reminding me of his touch, his skin, the way he caressed every part of me when we made love.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Like a train wreck.” I sit on the edge of the bed, rubbing my face into my hands. I am beyond exhausted, my eyes puffy from the constant tears. My body aches as if it has run a marathon. “I have nothing, Aubrey. Not a single cent to my name. I don’t even have fresh underwear.”

  “All problems with simple solutions,” Aubrey says, placing her arm on my shoulder. “The universe must be on the good karma trail or something. We have an admin job opening at the law firm, it pays decent enough for you to get back on your feet until you decide what you want to do. Meanwhile, there’s a spare toothbrush in the bathroom cupboard. Brand new, of course. Never use the green one. Chance uses it to unclog the sink.”

  The corners of my mouth turn up into a small smile, also making a mental note never to use the green toothbrush. How disgusting.

  “First thing tomorrow morning, we’re going to stock up with everything you need. Have you ever been to Target? It’s the one-stop-shop for everything.”

  “Target? Aubrey… it’s too much.”

  “You can pay us back when you get paid. In installments, of course.”

  “I can’t let you and Chance do that.”

  “You don’t have a choice. We’re family, and this is what family does,” she reminds me with a smile.

  I lean into her shoulder, smiling as we both sit quietly. “Family, huh? Does Pixy agree to me being the new third wheel?”

  As soon as I said it, Pixy’s sixth sense must have kicked in. He walks into the room with a loud, “Baaa.”

  We both fall into a fit of laughter, our backs hitting the mattress as our laughs echo throughout the room. Aubrey’s right. This is what family does, and for the first time in my life, I finally understand what it feels like to be surrounded by one.

  Unconditional love.

  The best kind of love.

  Oliver

  I stared through the large glass windows onto Sydney Harbour. There’s something to be said about being on home soil. This place will never leave my blood. It’ll forever be a part of who I am and where I belong.

  The skies are crystal clear—blue with the sun shining strongly on this autumn day. From the view of my window is the renowned Circular Quay, home to my multimillion-dollar penthouse apartment and me.

  The always bustling area and piers are filled with people, tourists, families, and the occasional jogger running along the paved walkways. Only early morning, or late at night, do the droves of people disappear leaving only the city sweepers to clean the overpopulated spot.

  Ferries are coming in and going out moving people around the city. The occasional party boats are also occupying the water with groups of drunken party-goers with champagne glasses in hand dancing on the top decks of the yachts. Bachelorette parties probably. If I had a dollar for every time I’d watched a drunk woman almost fall off a boat, I’d be rich. Well, richer than I am today.

  The iconic landmark of the Sydney Harbour Bridge and Opera House are in full view. Breathtaking as usual. I am fucking blessed
to be here, and I know that much.

  Taking a deep breath, I mentally prepare myself for tonight. Closing my eyes, I work on my mind exercises, my inner pep talks as such, creating a space of ‘zen’ in my usually pre-occupied brain.

  Today marks the eleventh-month post-surgery. It’s been a grueling eleven months. A mind-fuck. The surgery itself went well, no complications or infections holding me back. I followed everything Dr. Wheeler recommended with countless hours of rehabilitation, following a strict diet, and educated myself in Chinese medicine to help with my sleep and nagging insomnia.

  I hired a professional life coach, Trevor, a retired A-league player from England. We have worked heavily on my mindset. I’m determined to transition back into playing full-time, and nothing will stop me.

  I am in my best possible shape ever.

  Recovering was the only thing on my mind, and I committed myself one hundred and ten percent. Coach is pleased with my dedication. My parents being constantly by my side to support and help me push through the toughest of days when giving up seems easier than pushing on, is awesome. Having them live across the other side of the bridge, only twenty minutes away, is reassuring.

  I’ve done everything I set out to achieve.

  Two Saturdays from now, mark the day I will get back on the field and see if I’ve still got what it takes.

  In front of a roaring crowd.

  In front of the entire world.

  All of this has been a hard lesson in learning to confine myself and creating an isolated environment with no outside influences deterring me from my goal.

  I don’t think about anything else.

  Especially her.

  I adjust my silver tie, positioning it strategically beneath the vest, part of the suit I wear. Regatta blue is the color according to Bianca.

  The boys inside the living room are cheering away to shots of Sambuca. The stuff is putrid. I don’t care for anise-flavored alcohol, but they don’t care one bit. This is the final hurrah before the big moment. The fucking ‘I do’ in front of hundreds of people.

  There’s a loud thump on my bedroom door until it opens wide and the laughter spills into the room.

  “C’mon, Olly, we gotta toast the groom,” Greg slurs, raising his glass with a red face.

  I shake my head with a smile. “No drinks for me, but I’m open to making fun of your hair?”

  The boys roar in hysterics, it’s a bittersweet moment.

  Tate is marrying Bianca.

  My Bianca.

  Past fucking tense.

  When I came back to Sydney, Bianca asked to meet up. I assumed it was to get back together, and at that point, I would have gladly banged anything in sight to forget Gabriella existed. Turns out my arrogant persona got the better of me. She showed me her ring, given by my former best mate, Tate. I was crushed, but not in the way I had expected, more being a bruised ego at best.

  “Best man, eh?” Greg snickers. “Better not run off with the bride. Oh, that’s right, she chose Tate.”

  Greg is a dick, a small-minded one at that.

  At the bachelor party, he drank himself into oblivion, whipped out his dick in public, then proceeded to a pick a fight with some random guys outside a strip joint. The guy has no fucking boundaries.

  It called for a comeback, a dirty one to shut him up.

  But Tate is behind me, nervously playing with his cufflinks.

  I put my bottle of water down and move toward him. Pulling his arm to me, I help him fix the cufflinks into position, relief washing over him as his shoulders relax, and he exhales the nervous breath he’d been holding in.

  “Can’t run off with someone who belongs to your best mate,” I say, patting him on the shoulder. “You can do this, okay? Don’t know why, but Bianca loves you.”

  Tate pulls me into a man hug, holding onto me for what seems like bloody forever. “Thanks, mate. Let’s get this show on the road.”

  Here’s the thing about weddings, I loathe them.

  If you’re single, you are bound to be set-up or placed at a singles’ table, which is usually hit or miss. More miss. Thankfully, I’m on the main table as Tate’s best man. It doesn’t stop Bianca single handily introducing her three bridesmaids to me, all of who are single.

  Out of the three ditzy women, Krystal is the standout of the bunch—sexy lean legs and a body you could smash and blow in zero-point-five seconds. But in the few short hours I’ve spent with her, it’s become increasingly obvious she’s a stage-five clinger.

  The worst kind.

  We’ve done all the wedding rituals—cake, dancing, my best man speech—and thankfully, the end came around quicker than you could say ‘are we done yet’? Look, they deserve the special day and all, but being around all this romantic bullshit is simply too much. And without any alcohol to forget she fucking exists, I find myself in a mental state I desperately avoid.

  The night dragged on with endless dancing, being pulled to the dance floor by Krystal, who had the breath of a dog’s arse after vomiting her champagne in the bathroom. Excusing myself, I walk outside of the venue, taking in the cool night air and open parklands.

  Removing my phone from my pocket, there’s a red notification on the screen.

  Chance B: Hey mate, landed in OZ for an impromptu meeting with a sponsor. You free to catch up this week?

  The second I see his name, my mind races to her. I’ve never once asked him or Aubrey what happened to her. I choose not to succumb to the pitfalls of social media. My gut warned me what I would find wouldn’t be pretty, therefore I shielded myself from the heartache. I was done grieving over a woman who chose someone else.

  I wonder if Chance came alone, and I have no doubt he will raise the topic during our catch-up.

  Me: Good to hear from you, mate. How about tomorrow? I’m free in the morning. We can hit The Rocks for brekkie. Not too far from my joint.

  He responds instantly, asking me to text him with details early morning. Tucking my phone back in my pocket, a rustling sound alerts me someone is nearby.

  “Hey, what are you doing here?” Bianca asks, carrying the train of her dress in her hands.

  I smile, tired and wanting so desperately to call it a night.

  “Just needed a moment,” I sigh heavily. “Your friend, Krystal…”

  Bianca laughs. “I’m sorry. She gets a bit carried away on the drink, and she recently broke up with her BF, so she’s eager to hook-up.”

  “Eager would be an understatement,” I mumble.

  “Oh, c’mon, Olly. You’re one step away from becoming a monk according to Tate. What’s gotten into you? Or should I say who has gotten to you?”

  I keep silent, not willing to talk about how the girl I fell madly in love with and would have given up everything for, couldn’t do the same for me.

  “So someone has gotten to you. An American girl, I assume.” Bianca sighs, leaning herself against the street pole. “Olly, I know what it’s like to be in love with you. I also know what it’s like to be hurt by you. I’m not asking you to answer how you feel about me, we’ve both moved on and to a better place. But you’re miserable. I’ve never seen you this miserable, and I’ve known you since high school.”

  I hate that she’s right. Unlike most women, she has known me since I was a kid. I treated her like dirt, disrespecting our friendship all because of my selfishness.

  Thank fuck Bianca found someone who will treat her well.

  “It’s just the way the world turns.”

  “No,” she argues, softly. “The world doesn’t always turn on its own. Sometimes, it needs a nudge. Now judging by the cynical attitude, I’m assuming she hurt you.”

  “A lot of assuming, Bianca—”

  “Well? Am I right?”

  The confusion stumped my thoughts. She ultimately decided to stay in that lifestyle, but did I push her away forcing her back to a place she didn’t want to be?

  Fucking questi
ons.

  They hurt my head.

  What I wouldn’t do for a drop of bourbon right now.

  “It’s not meant to be. Can we drop the subject? It’s your wedding day, and you should be inside with Tate instead of feeling sorry for me.”

  She shakes her head, eyes flickering with a know-it-all smile. “Still the arrogant boy from high school. Some things never change.”

  “I’d love to see the view.”

  Krystal sits beside me in the taxi. A small hiccup escaping her lips with a girlish giggle following soon after. Bianca begged me to take her home and as far away from the wedding reception as possible. A fight had broken out after Krystal tried to crack onto one of Bianca’s brothers-in-law. Quite comical actually. Throw in a wrestling ring, mud, and some score cards, and it would have made for some amusing entertainment.

  “Look, it’s just the harbour—”

  “C’mon, Olly, I don’t bite.” Her eyes glint with laughter. “Besides, I need to work off the impending hangover tomorrow. I’m staying at the hotel across from your place.”

  With much reluctance, I agree, just to get her off my back.

  The taxi driver pulls to the curb of my building and quickly swiping my credit card, I thank him for his service and guide Krystal out of the car.

  Walking into the lobby, I smile at Barry, the concierge, then enter the elevator up to the penthouse.

  “Bianca said you were comfortable, but this elevator is something.” Krystal hiccups, again. She latches onto my arm for support. “You’re really pretty, Olly.”

  “Pretty?” I snort. “You need coffee. Lots of it.”

  “Coffee?” She giggles, leaning her head onto my shoulder. “And you smell nice.”

  The door opens wide, and upon stepping out, a shadow distracts me.

  The mane of curly copper hair catches my attention.

  It can’t be her.