“No. Not after this. I’ve already blocked his number so he can’t call me. I don’t want anything to do with him.”
“I hope that’s all it takes.”
“Me too. You seem quite knowledgeable on the subject.”
“My Aunt Sara, the one who raised me, left an abusive marriage. It went on for years, and by the time I went to live with her, he'd had a heart attack and died. But she had nightmares for years. I'll never forget the sound of her screams.” I shudder at the memory of running to her in the night to console her and promise her she was still safe.
“She never left him?”
“No. She was my great aunt, so she was married in a time when you didn't leave your husband.”
“That must have been hard for her.”
“She was just glad they never had kids. I guess that's something she missed out on which is why she happily took me in.”
“She sounds like she was a wonderful woman. How old were you when she passed away?”
“Nineteen. She was eighty and just passed in her sleep one night.”
She offers her condolences and we chat for a little longer about family life, or lack thereof. It amazes me that she's so well adjusted considering her background. And the conversation only stops because her phone buzzes.
“They’ve got him.” The relief in her voice hits me in the centre of my marrow.
“Good.”
I drive her back to her unit in Chatswood, and walk her in to collect some things so she can continue staying in my spare room.
“Are you sure you don’t mind doing this? I mean, I could stay with someone else or get a motel room.”
“I don’t mind at all. I wouldn’t offer if I did. Come on, I’ll even cook you a dinner that doesn’t involve much chewing tonight.”
She laughs then all of a sudden she’s crying. I put my arm around her shoulder and pull her into a hug.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you.”
“It’s just that you’re being so nice to me, and you don’t need to be cleaning up my messes.”
“Hey, you came to me for a reason. You came because you knew I’d help you. That’s what I’m doing. You’d do the same for me.”
“You wouldn’t be stupid enough to get yourself beaten up like this.”
I point to the scar that runs through my eyebrow. “You never know. I’ve done it before, and I lost my piercing during it. I used to have a lip one too, but I took that out not long after.”
“Worried about getting into a fight and losing that one too?”
“A little. But I took the lip one out for other reasons.”
“Girl reasons?”
“Everything was about a girl back then.”
She hands me a duffel bag then slings her backpack over her shoulder. “One girl or multiple girls?”
“Mainly just one. I lost my head over her for years.”
“What made you find it?”
I laugh. “I’m not sure that I did.”
Seventeen
Brad
On Sunday morning, I leave the apartment quietly so I don't disturb Ruby when I go surfing with Elliot. I needed to work Saturday night, so after I helped Ruby carry her things into her temporary room, I immediately got myself ready and raced to make it to the restaurant on time. My phone had been blinking all day, and I’d been ignoring my messages while helping Ruby. So when I walk along the sand at Bondi beach and drop my board near Elliot, he’s a little surprised to see me.
“I thought you’d dropped off the face of the planet. You disappeared at the reunion, and you haven’t answered your phone or your texts. I was almost not going to come.”
“Sorry, mate. One of the girl’s from work needed my help. I was tied up at the police station all day.”
“Shit. Was it the girl you were worried about last week?”
“Yeah, her boyfriend decided to use her as a punching bag. It’s not pretty.”
“Jeez. What are the cops going to do?”
“I’m not sure. They’ll charge him with assault and hopefully put out a restraining order. But I don’t know what good that’s going to do. I don’t know what his record is like. So, unless he’s got some sort of priors, and his three strikes are up, he could be released. I really worry for her safety.”
“I don’t blame you. But what can you really do? The judicial system is pretty stacked in the offender’s favour.”
“You’d know better than most.”
“It’s half the reason I quit practicing law. I couldn’t stand the loopholes.”
We pick up our boards and walk toward the water. “I have her staying in my spare room.”
He stops walking and stares at me with an open mouth. “Are you nuts? Isn’t he some gang member or something?”
I stop as well. “What was I supposed to do? She came to me for help.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know, man. But this just all feels like it’s a huge risk to you. I mean, you aren’t sleeping with her or anything are you?”
“No. Why does it have to be about sex?”
He shrugs. “This is you we’re talking about. You go through women pretty rapidly.”
“It’s not like that with Ruby. We’re friends. We’ve always been friends.”
“That’s what you used to say about Cody.”
I walk into the surf. “That was a completely different situation. I was in love with Cody.”
He stops and meets my eyes. “Was?”
I can’t even dignify that with a response.
* * *
The air is still cool in the city when I return to my apartment and carry my surfboard up from the parking garage. There’s a lift in my building, but it’s old and unreliable, so most tenants choose to take the stairs.
“Brad.”
As I hit the foyer, I hear my name, and it surprises me to find Dakota standing there, looking as perfect as always in a summer dress that flows down to her knees. It takes me a moment to catch my breath.
“You’re here again? Shouldn’t you be spending Sunday with your erm…what was his name? Roger? Riley?”
“Riley. He’s my son.”
I physically step back. “Your son?”
She nods. “He’s six. Well, six and a half. I should have told you that on Friday when he called but...”
“He’s six and a half?” My heart thumps in my chest as I do the math…I was with her just over seven years ago; a baby takes nine months so that age is right. Oh my god.
Her lips press together, and a sadness crosses her features. “He’s not yours.”
I nod, and it seems as though my heart drops, landing in my stomach with a thud. She has a six and a half year old child with someone else. Suddenly things make a hell of a lot of sense.
She steps toward me. “Do you….do you think we could maybe go and grab a coffee or something? I’d like to try that reunion conversation again. Without either of us jumping to conclusions and letting our emotions get in the way. I’d like to finally clear the air.”
My head aches, and my instincts tell me to walk away. I don’t want to know any more than I already do. I don't want to know about her and other men. But I find myself nodding, knowing that I need this to finally get my heart over her.
“Just give me a chance to get cleaned up and put this away,” I say, lifting my board a little and looking down at my attire. I’m still in my wetsuit that’s tied around my waist and an old stretched out t-shirt–and my hair is full of sand. I need a shower.
“Of course,” she says and moves to go and wait beside the foyer door.
“You can wait in my apartment if you like.”
* * *
Dakota
When Brad goes into the bathroom, I’m sitting in his lounge room, trying not to be a snoop. But the moment I hear the shower turn on, I give up on the pretence and begin to sift through the books on the coffee table. There
’s a few magazines, and a book with pictures of French landscapes, as well as a Men’s Health Magazine. I’d expected there to be one of those hardcover cookbooks or something considering his profession. But there isn't.
I stand and walk around the space. It’s very contemporary in design with a dark wooden floor and navy painted walls. His couch is black leather, but it has this vintage look about it. I stop at a bookcase and run my finger along the spines of the books there. There’s a mix of thrillers and fantasy novels, as well as a few different books on foods from various countries, and I smile because this is definitely something I’d expect.
There’s a photo in a frame of Brad and his Aunt Sara, but it’s small, and it’s the only picture that is here. I pick it up and look at the photo, knowing exactly when it was taken because I was there, watching as he held the medal in his hand and posed with her after winning the state championship for his age category.
“That’s his aunt,” the girl who answered the door yesterday says. I glance over to her. She’s dressed in a pair of leggings, and an oversized t-shirt, and her face isn’t quite as swollen as it was the last time I saw her.
I smile. “I know. It’s his Aunt Sara.” I place the photo in its silver frame back on the shelf and turn to face her. “Ruby, right?”
She nods. “And you’re Dakota?”
“He told you about me?”
She wrinkles her nose a little. “Not really. He seemed a bit upset that you’re in a relationship. But he didn’t say much else.”
My eyes drop to the floor as I remember the look on his face when I told him about Riley. “I’m not in a relationship. He misunderstood. It was my son who called.”
“You have a son? What happened to his dad? It’s not Brad’s is it? Is that the big secret you’ve been keeping from him?” she asks in quick succession then she shakes her head. “I’m sorry. Forget I asked. It’s really none of my business.”
“It’s fine. I get asked about his father all the time. He’s not Brad’s though, and I don’t know where his father is.”
“A bit of a jerk, huh? I know all about that kind of guy. My dad took off when I was twelve and didn’t look back.”
“Can I… can I ask what happened to you?” I ask, pointing at the bruising on her face and her cut lip. “I’m pretty sure you’re not really a cage fighter.”
Ruby laughs. “Sorry about that. The lie just sounded way better than the truth at the time. I just picked the wrong guy to hang out with.”
“I’m sorry.”
She shrugs. “Better to find out now than later on down the track when I’m trapped in a marriage with kids or something. And I’m lucky that Brad’s such a good friend. I don’t know where else I could have gone if it wasn’t for him.”
“He’s always been a good guy, even when he’s trying to be a jerk, he’s still good at heart. He can’t stand men who disrespect women.”
Ruby nods and steps toward me, looking at the photo of him with his Aunt. They look so happy, and you can see how proud she was of him. She doesn't even look at the camera, she's only interested in her boy. “He is a very good man,” she says quietly, and it makes me wonder how much they really mean to each other.
“Have um…you and Brad?”
She looks at me blankly for a moment, as if she was caught in a memory and didn’t hear me at all. “Have we what? Oh! No. Never. We’re just friends. You have nothing to worry about from me.”
Eighteen
Brad
“Is here, OK?” I ask, as we reach a small café not far from my apartment block.
“Anywhere quiet is fine,” Dakota responds, walking in ahead of me when I open the door for her.
I move my hand, about to place it on the small of her back but I stop myself. We’re not in that place anymore–actually, I don’t think we were ever in that place. Our relationship has been filled with wanting from afar a hell of a lot more than it has ever involved physical contact. I find it strange that the wanting has never left me. I’m still feeling that same craving desire to reach out and touch her–to take her.
Sliding my hands into my jean pockets, I look toward the counter, tearing my mind away from the thoughts that are threatening to turn racy in my mind. I clear my throat then we order our coffees, and she orders a slice of banana bread, while I get a ham and cheese toasted sandwich.
We find a seat toward the back of the coffee house and place our order number on the table.
“So…” I say, folding my arms as I look across at her.
Her lips curve in a small smile. “Here we are,” she returns as the air between us seems to fill with all of the questions that time hasn’t been able to push aside. My emotions feel almost as raw as they did all those years ago, because it seems as though something I’d always feared had come true–she really was with someone else that night.
There aren’t many people here at this time on a Sunday morning, so our coffees are brought over almost immediately. It’s a welcome distraction, but it isn’t getting us anywhere.
“You were telling me about your son,” I prompt, as I tear the top off a sachet of sugar and sprinkle half of it inside my mug.
“Riley,” she says quietly.
“He’s six and a half,” I state, looking at her and watching her reaction as we go through the facts that I know.
“He is.”
“And I’ve done the math. So, if he isn’t mine that means you were with someone else. It means that the guy I beat up for telling stories about you might have been telling the truth after all. Do I know this guy–the father?”
Our food is placed in front of us, and the number is taken away. I watch as she quietly spreads butter over the warm bread. Then she meets my eyes.
“I don’t even know him.”
My brow furrows. “What does that even mean?”
She places her knife on the side of her plate. “It means that when I didn’t wait for you, I made the worst decision of my life.”
Something about the way she’s talking is making me feel uneasy, almost fearful. My mind recoils, knowing that what's about to come is going to change everything. “Tell me what happened.”
* * *
Dakota
This is the conversation I’ve been dreading for years. It’s a truth that very few people know, because after it happened, I basically dropped off the face of the earth. I couldn’t deal with the world. I couldn’t stand people knowing things and asking how I was. Because I wasn’t fine at all. I was terrified. I was broken. And no one could fix it. Not even the boy I loved most. Not even Brad…
After Brad and I had experienced the magic that two souls in love can create, I’d been on an absolute high. We’d made promises to each other that spanned the rest of our days. We felt as though we had overcome the worst of it, and that nothing could come between us.
“I have work,” Brad had groaned. He’d wanted to stay in bed with me as much as I wanted to stay with him. But I had to get home. There was no way that my father would have been alright with me spending the night at Brad’s–he was already against me dating, and Brad was three years my senior and in my dad’s eyes, Brad was a man, and I was still a child.
Brad was already running late for his shift, and his boss was going to have a fit. “Give me five minutes to shower and change, and I’ll drive you home.”
“It’s fine. I walked here. I can walk home.”
He’d wrapped me in his arms and kissed me softly, telling me that he didn’t want me walking in the dark. “Give me five minutes,” he insisted.
I should have given him that five minutes. But I didn’t want to be the reason he was even later to work. I knew how important becoming a chef was to him.
So I walked. I wrote a note that I left on his table–it was a simple ‘I love you!’–and I walked.
I made it maybe a block away before I began to get this uneasy feeling. There was an old yellow Datsun that I was sure I’d already seen drive past me. It slowed down as it passed
again, and I quickened my pace, my heart beating rapidly in my chest as fear sped up my breathing.
When I was only two streets away from my home, they turned around again. I knew in the cold grip of fear in my heart what was about to happen to me. So I ran, knowing the distance wasn't great, praying that my legs could carry me. If I could just make it to that corner...If I could just run fast enough...
I didn’t get far.
Two men with those Scream masks jumped out of the backseat and grabbed me. I’d tried to fight and scream but they were too strong. I was no match. Then they punched me in the side of the head.
As I retell the events of that night to Brad, I struggle to look him in the eye. This is so hard for me to recount, as I’d rather think that it didn’t happen at all. But there are times in the middle of the night that I still scream out, and it feels like that moment is never going to end.
“The next thing I knew, I was waking in a hospital room with several broken bones after being severely beaten and…” I swallow hard. I don’t want to say the words. Brad reaches across the table and takes a hold of my hand. I can tell by his expression that he knows what I’m not willing to say.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.”
I swallow again, needing to continue, needing him to understand that I didn’t leave him. I didn’t cheat on him. “They…they said there was more than one who… who…” I close my eyes and push my way through the knowledge of what they’d done. “They took samples, and I had to go through all these tests. I didn’t remember anything but flashes, as I drifted in and out of consciousness, and I wasn’t any help. They couldn’t catch them. Their samples didn’t match anyone known and…” I let out my breath and wipe at the tear that’s fallen from my eye. “And they got away with it.”
“I had no idea,” he breathes, looking as though he’s about to cry himself.
Taste: Beautiful Series, Book 6 Page 7