“Like what?” Emma got up to give the chili a stir, put it back in the microwave and started it up again. “What did she say?”
“That I wasn’t putting her first. That I wasn’t . . . disciplined enough for her anymore. That I didn’t care about the wedding, like I said. But really, I think it was the putting her first thing. It wasn’t what she’d bargained for, she said. Being a stepmum.”
“It wasn’t what I bargained for either,” Emma pointed out. “Or you. That doesn’t mean it’s not a good thing. Anyway, if she loved you, wouldn’t she want to support you?”
“She’s always been what you’d call . . . high-maintenance, I suppose. Comes from being an only, maybe. All that focus from her mum and dad. I liked that, though, before. Her confidence. She’s always known what she wanted, what she deserved. No insecurities. I admired that. Course, no need for me either, as it turned out,” he added. “No need for support. And she didn’t understand why I’d need it either.”
“Doesn’t sound that good, tell you the truth,” Emma said. “To me, anyway. Not my idea of a partnership. Isn’t that the point, that you help each other through the tough times, as well as enjoying the good ones?”
“I thought so,” he said. “But I’m probably being unfair. It was a big ask, changing the rules like this.”
“Huh.” Emma didn’t trust herself to speak. She got up again to stir the chili instead, wrestled an ancient, sticky drawer open to pull out a box of aluminum foil.
“So did you leave? Move out? Or did she?” she asked, tearing off a flimsy sheet and dumping the muffins onto it, beginning to crimp the edges.
“She did. My house,” he explained.
“What did you do? Ring somebody?”
“Nah. Drank.” He grinned at her ruefully. “Why I look so bad. You should’ve seen me yesterday. Least I had two days to get right afterwards. Not meant to do that, the week before a big game.”
“And at least you didn’t get on any planes, have any ill-advised flings,” she offered with a little smile of her own.
“That’s right,” he remembered. “You did do that, didn’t you? What did you do with the ring?” he asked suddenly. “After—what’s his name? dumped you?”
“David. Best thing that ever happened to me. I’m not saying that’s true for you,” she went on hastily. “But wow, thank goodness we didn’t get married. It wouldn’t have lasted. At least I hope it wouldn’t, because I think all the spirit would have been crushed out of me by now.”
“Oh, and the ring,” she added. “I gave it back, of course. Didn’t think of it at the moment. I’d have liked to have thrown it at his head. Not that it would’ve made much of a dent. Pretty small. But yeah, I left it with my dad to give back to him. He probably turned right around and gave it to Karen. Would’ve had to have it resized first, though. She had fat fingers.”
“And a pig nose,” he reminded her.
She laughed, saw his answering smile. “I told you that, huh? Yeah. Why? Did Claudia not give you back the ring?”
“Nah. She did. Of course. She’s very . . . tidy. She’d never leave a loose end like that. But I have to tell you something terrible,” he confessed. “I chucked it out, after about the fifth beer.”
“What?”
“It was in my pocket,” he explained. “And I went to sit down, felt it in there. And chucked it in the rubbish.”
“You dug it out again, though, surely. Once you sobered up.”
“Nah. Collection day today. I put the bag in the bin, forgot it was in there. Realized a couple hours later.”
She stared at him, aghast. “You’re kidding. How much did it cost you? Oh, whoops,” she realized. “You don’t have to answer that.”
“I don’t mind,” he said. “Not sure if I’m sorry, or glad. Twenty thousand.”
“Twenty . . . thousand . . . dollars?” she asked incredulously. “And you accidentally chucked it out?”
“Yeh,” he said, a smile growing now, turning into a laugh. “Reckon Claudia was right after all. I’m undisciplined, eh.”
She began to laugh herself, pointed a finger at him. “You . . . are . . . an . . . idiot,” she got out.
“I know, right?” he managed to say before they were both overcome with helpless laughter.
“The divorce would’ve cost at least that much,” he said at last, reaching for a paper serviette from the holder on the table and wiping his eyes. “Once I got over kicking myself, I decided maybe I got off cheap, at that.”
“Mum!” Emma heard from the other room. She got up hastily. “I forgot all about Zack,” she told Nic. “Can you check those muffins, and give that chili a stir, please? Should be about ready.”
They didn’t have another chance to talk until Zack was in bed. “I haven’t seen anything about your breakup,” Emma said. Nic was on the couch, and she’d reclaimed her afghan, was snuggled with it in her chair. “I’m sure it’ll be in the Herald. Because I remember reading about the engagement there, when you announced it.”
“Yeh. Rang the publicist today. That’s one good thing. She’ll take care of all that, ‘alert the media.’ Least everyone’ll know then. I won’t have to explain to everybody.”
“What about your family?”
“Yeh.” Nic sighed. “My family. They weren’t rapt about it. They like Claudia. Specially my dad. I rang them today too.”
“They wouldn’t want you to marry somebody who didn’t love you enough, though,” Emma objected.
“Dunno. My dad probably thinks she’s right,” Nic said glumly, no laughter now.
“That’s terrible,” Emma said sharply. “Though I know what you mean. I got some of that too, when David dumped me. The distinct impression that I’d screwed up. Again.”
“That’s it,” he agreed. “’What did you do?’ That’s what he said. As if it couldn’t possibly have been her.”
“I can’t imagine, though,” Emma said slowly, running her fingers over the crocheted trim on the afghan. “Being a mum, I just can’t imagine not having my first instinct be to support Zack. If I had to choose who was right and who was wrong, I’d be choosing him, every time. Unfairly, I’m sure. But a mother bear doesn’t stop to think about whether somebody has a right to approach her cub, does she? She just charges right in there to protect him. If bears know that, why don’t human parents?”
“Dunno,” Nic said again. “My dad isn’t much of a bear, I guess.”
“My mum either. My dad’s a bit more supportive, thank goodness, though my mum talks more, so you get her opinion first. Her strong opinion. What did your own mum say?”
“She never says too much, when my dad’s there,” Nic admitted. “He can be a bit of a bully. She’ll be kinder, I’m sure, when I see her alone.” He stood up, stretched. “And if I’m going to be any bloody use tomorrow at training, I need to go home now, get some sleep.”
“Yeah. Me too.” She set the afghan aside, got up to walk him to the door. “And if I didn’t say it already, I’m sorry. I know how bad it feels, even if you’re a bit relieved at the same time.” She reached up to give him the hug she’d been longing to offer all evening. His own arms went around her in response, and he held her close for a moment, then let her go and stepped back.
“Thanks,” he said, his eyes a bit damp. “And cheers for dinner. Next time, though, I’m bringing a couple beers with me. If I’m going to bare my soul like that, we could both use a bit of alcoholic help.”
Chapter 19
“OK. How do I look?” Emma asked Zack on Friday night, coming out of her bedroom and giving a little pirouette.
“Pretty,” Zack said seriously. “I like your hair.”
Emma gave the thin silver headband holding back her curls the barest nudge, making sure it was securely in place. “I like this too. What about the dress?” She cocked a hip, struck a pose. “Pretty good for half price, huh?”
Zack examined the coral-colored dress, her high-heeled sandals. “Yeh. You look pretty,” he repeated. Emma pulled t
he door leading to the hallway closed so she could examine herself in her only full-length mirror. The close-fitting bodice with its sweetheart neckline and wide straps was pretty, and the skirt wasn’t that short. She shouldn’t have bought it, back in the after-Christmas sales. But it had been too good a deal to resist. And now she had a chance to wear it at last.
She pulled on the delicate pale apricot shrug with its ribbon edging and eyed her image with satisfaction. “I think so too,” she decided. “It’s fun to get dressed up, isn’t it?”
Zack looked at her dubiously. “Don’t answer that,” she laughed. The doorbell rang, and she picked up her clutch. “That’ll be Mrs. Harrison.”
Her landlady stepped inside, looked her over with approval. “Don’t you look lovely,” she told her. “Your date’s going to feel like a lucky fella.”
“I hope so,” Emma smiled. “Thank you so much for minding him. We shouldn’t be too late. It’s just dinner.”
“No worries,” Lois assured her. “We’ll get on famously, won’t we, Zack? Besides,” she held up the package in her hand and gave the boy a conspiratorial smile. “I brought chocolate biscuits. As I know they’re your favorites. Once you’ve had your bath, we’ll have a cozy time of it, make a bit of cocoa and eat our bikkies.”
Zack was enthusiastic in his endorsement of the evening’s program, and Emma laughed again. She still had her doubts about Ryan’s potential as Mr. Right, but it had been months since she’d been on a proper date. Their lunch had gone pretty well, and it would be nice to be taken out, have somebody look at her with some heat. Somebody she could actually have, if she decided she wanted him.
Ryan, when he arrived a few minutes later, didn’t disappoint. His blue eyes lit with appreciation at her appearance, a slow smile spreading over his face. The coral dress and high heels clearly worked for him, too. A few words to Lois, a parting hug and kiss for Zack, and they were off.
Ryan had spared no effort, Emma found, to make the evening romantic. She’d heard of Clooney’s, but had never been taken there before. It was a far cry from her last dinner date, the hamburgers with Zack and Nic. She really should get out more.
He couldn’t have chosen a more intimate dining experience, she saw as they entered the restaurant. Strings of black beads separated each table into its own little enclave, while the semicircular maroon banquettes and low lighting, cleverly offset by a small spotlight that allowed them to see their menus, encouraged murmured conversation.
Ryan was looking especially handsome tonight, his dark shirt tucked into dark gray slacks a contrast with the blond hair that shone in the glow of the little spot. He kept up a flow of conversation, mostly about his work, as they drank a spicy, savory Marlborough Pinot Noir that had her tastebuds humming in delight, and ate their small but exquisitely presented portions of meat and vegetables.
“So I decided they’d just have to extend the deadline. Sometimes you have to push back a bit. Don’t you think?” he was asking now, his hand touching hers lightly to make his point, his foot shifting, coming to rest against her own.
“Hmm,” she considered, taking another bite of her salmon. She left her hand where it was, but moved her foot. She wasn’t quite ready for sexy games under the table. “Well, I’m not in a position to do much pushing back, so I can’t really say.”
“That’s what I like about you,” he said, taking her hand in his and smiling into her eyes. “That you don’t do much pushing back.”
She took a final bite, smiled noncommittally, took the opportunity to move her hand away under the pretext of setting her knife and fork neatly across her plate. “That was delicious,” she told him. “Thank you. This was a treat.”
“Nah,” he said. “The treat was having you here with me. Because you’re pretty delicious yourself.” He smiled again. Wow, she wondered, how many times had he used that line? OK, that went beyond smooth. That was just cheesy.
“Would you like a sweet?” he asked as the waiter came around again.
“No, thank you. But you go ahead, if you like,” she said hurriedly. “I’m happy to sit for a bit.”
“Want to get back, do you? So do I,” he assured her. “We’ll have the bill, please,” he told the waiter.
“Thank you,” she said again as he opened the car door for her. She had been unsurprised to find that he drove a dark, sporty late model with lush leather interior and all the gadgets. He closed the door after her before going around to his own side and sliding in. Punched a few buttons to fill the car with soft, dreamy music, lush orchestrations and a male voice crooning about love.
It was all fairly effective, and the drive across the Harbour Bridge, through the dark streets in the warm car, soft music surrounding her, found its mark. By the time he had pulled the car to a stop in front of the house, she was feeling warm and had a few tingles. She had been missing being kissed, being touched. And it looked like she’d be getting some of that tonight.
She climbed out of the car, found Ryan close behind her. A bit too close, his hand touching the small of her back. Something about his touch sent a shiver down her spine—and not the right kind. Wow, it had been a while.
“Whew. Too much wine at dinner,” she heard him say in her ear, his arm around her now. “Think you could fix me a cuppa?”
“Sure.” She still had that vague sense of unease. But he was attractive, he was clearly interested, and a little fooling around was just what she needed. She was out of practice, that was all.
Not out of practice wanting Nic, her mind whispered. That was just memories, she reminded herself firmly. Long gone, and best forgotten. Time to set them aside for good, and this was her chance to start. She opened the door with her key, let Ryan in behind her, shrugged off her jacket and hung it up as she called a hello to Mrs. Harrison, ensconced on the couch with a paperback.
The older woman carefully slipped a bookmark into place, then rose to greet them.
“How’d it go, Lois? Any problems?” Emma asked her.
“No worries. A lamb, like always,” Mrs. Harrison said fondly. “Had his bath, we had our cocoa and bikkies, then he cleaned his teeth and was off to bed like the good little fella he is.”
“Please thank Fred for sparing you tonight too,” Emma said.
“Hmph. Don’t think he missed me. Anyway, it’s given me a chance to catch up on my reading, without the telly blaring away,” Lois assured her. “I’ll be off upstairs, then. Goodnight. Pleasure meeting you, Ryan.”
“Likewise.” He smiled briefly, held the door, then shut it behind her. Came over to where Emma stood, still near the couch.
“I don’t really want a cup of tea,” he told her. “I know what I want.” His mouth descended on hers as he pulled her down onto the couch, coming down over her. No softness, no romance now. She offered an instinctive protest that was smothered by his insistent mouth, the crushing weight of him. Her lips opened to tell him to slow down, and he took the opportunity to push his tongue into her mouth, even as he pulled her back towards the arm of the couch. His hand went to a breast, and she uttered another ineffectual protest as she shoved against him once, then again, pushed him as hard as she could from her prone position. He paid no attention. Instead, he seemed to interpret her struggles as encouragement, deepened the kiss until she felt as if she would gag on it.
She felt the panic rising at the sensation of being trapped beneath him. This wasn’t what she wanted. This was too much. Too fast. She had to get out.
He wasn’t letting her go, though. Or letting up for even a moment as he continued to kiss her, his mouth bruising hers, his hands moving over her. Grabbing at her, pulling her against him. He drew back at last to reach a hand under the hem of her dress, onto her thigh, his knee pushing her legs apart, and she seized her opportunity. Gave a convulsive heave and slid out from under him. Crashed into the coffee table on the way to the ground, bruising her shoulder badly against the edge. She barely felt the pain as she shoved off with her hands, made it to her feet. Da
shed around to put the end of the couch between herself and Ryan.
“No!” She was trembling, clutching the arm of the couch for support. “I don’t want this. Stop!”
Ryan was standing himself now, staring at her, fists clenched. “Then why the hell did you invite me in?”
“Not to attack me!” Was he going to grab her again? She couldn’t tell. She gave a fast glance around her. She could hit him with the lamp, if he tried. She reached for it. Just in case. “You need to leave!” Her breath was coming hard now with effort and fear.
“What kind of a fucking tease are you?” he demanded angrily. “You dress like that, walk like that, invite me to come in? And then when I go to take what you’re offering, you change your mind? What the bloody hell are you playing at?”
“Mum?” The small voice from the doorway. Zack, his hair on end, the inevitable drooping sleeves and pajama legs puddling around him. His anxious gaze moving from one to the other of them. “What’s wrong?”
“Baby.” Emma moved swiftly across the room to him, pulled him to her. “Ryan’s leaving.”
“Too right I’m leaving.” Ryan spat the words, then turned on his heel, grabbing his jacket from the hook by the door on the way. “Fucking waste of money.”
Emma ran to the door, locked it after him. Held onto the handle for a moment before she turned back to Zack, who had followed her anxiously. She smoothed his hair, unable to stop the trembling in her hands, before she pulled him close again. She wasn’t sure if she were trying to comfort him or herself. She’d really thought, for a moment there, that Ryan had been willing to rape her. She still wasn’t sure what he’d have done, if Zack hadn’t come in. How could she have been so stupid?
“He was really angry,” Zack said against her waist. “I woke up, and I heard a big noise. His voice was really loud. I was scared.”
“Oh, baby.” She rubbed his shoulders. “It was OK. He’s gone now, anyway. It’s all over. Let’s get you back to bed.”
She got him off to sleep again with a glass of water, a song, and Raffo held snug against him, the hard, lumpy contours seeming to soothe him as always. But sleep, for her, was a long time coming.
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