by Kylie Kaden
Will didn’t do deceit. It was probably the reason he’d hidden – to take stock, strategise. ‘Hannah will barrage him with questions. He’ll want to confess everything. She’ll flutter those fake eyelashes to get him to spill. She’ll feel completely betrayed by us. And so will he.’
Blake sighed. ‘Jesus. I need another drink.’
* * *
Abbi was in her sleep shirt. It was a tight, racerback stretch singlet, and she was short enough for it to be a dress, but it barely covered her heart-shaped arse. She usually paired it with little shorts. Back when Blake had lived with them, if anyone popped in late at night, or a Sunday morning after a big night, and caught her flaked out in front of the TV, she’d put the shorts on to appear proper. He guessed he wasn’t considered in the same class as the general public, so he got the skimpy version. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that as he watched the black lace of her knickers slide up further, but he figured he’d keep watching till he knew. He was sick of caring. Sick of being responsible. Sick of trying to keep it all together.
He never would have met Abbi if his mum had loved him enough to get her shit together. All this trouble with Abbi would not be in his life, all the shame he’d suffered, feeling what he’d felt; the guilt in his heart every time he’d adored her ridiculously long lashes, her milky skin, her warm eyes. Now, simply talking rubbish on her couch, lying beside her, her arm across his chest, he had never felt so at home.
Child Protection had found Blake when he was five. Living out of a car, his mother a ringleader in a drug circle. He was back and forth to her arms for years after, until she lost her appeal for custody when Blake was thirteen. Abbi had always berated him about what she’d overheard the day he arrived in his charity-bin clothes two sizes too big. ‘You didn’t own a bed. Or a fridge. Or shoes.’
He’d shrugged at her. ‘They’re overrated.’
‘Or go to school half the time.’
Sergeant Blake Newell still wasn’t the greatest reader. He still struggled with maths, got Abbi to clarify things for him when he couldn’t manage through high school.
‘She taught me,’ Blake told Abbi.
‘What? About hydroponics?’
He never saw the funny side, not about his mother. ‘About loyalty. That’s what put her in jail. She wouldn’t snitch.’
‘I’m sorry, Blake. You may have forgiven your mother for how she failed you, but I can’t.’
He knew his real mum wasn’t like other kids’ mums. She didn’t pester him to do homework or brush his teeth, or drop him to school with fruit and sandwiches. He scavenged his own lunch, and walked to school alone, the days he actually went. But it didn’t matter. What mattered was the light in his mum’s eyes when he’d entered the room. She’d never raised a hand to him. He’d known he was loved. He’d known he was wanted. He’d lost that, when they took her away.
But then there was Abbi, eventually, who made him feel wanted.
They sunk most of a bottle of Vodka between them, and Blake was soon slurring his words. ‘In any case, I think we’re screwed, Abs. Me and Han. She doesn’t trust me, and she doesn’t know the half of it. Not yet. She’ll kill me if she knows what I did for you. What I risked.’
Abbi winced. He could see the hurt it caused her to see him in pain.
‘She loves you,’ she said.
‘She’ll think I chose you. Because I did – every day that I lied to her to protect you.’
Abbi blanched, looked up with those velvety eyes.
She was drunk too. Abbi never quite got her drinking legs back after pregnancy and nursing Eadie, and always stopped drinking before he did. Besides, Eadie was asleep upstairs and would be demanding porridge at first light. ‘God, I’m so sorry, Blake. This is all my fault. I should never have involved you.’ Abbi inched closer, casually laying her hand across his pecs. He turned his head away from her gaze, thinking he couldn’t risk it, but then thought, Fuck it, and looked her straight in the eye. He kissed her forehead, inhaled the smell of apples and soap and home, a familiar warmth pulsing through him. Abbi might be all he had left.
And there she was, beside him.
Making him feel wanted.
Chapter 31
40 DAYS AFTER THE MOON FESTIVAL
A hurried grasping of buttons and zips, a scraping of limbs on the rough decking. Will pulled his t-shirt off. Hannah had never seen him bare chested before. He kissed her neck, clawed lower, reached to pull off her shirt and wrestled with the task. She couldn’t stand the delay, and wriggled out of her shirt and bra, her bare chest crushed beneath his. She was embarrassed by how much she wanted this, barely feeling the splintery deck beneath her. A familiar pulse warmed between her thighs as his hand cupped her breast. He was rugged, strong, handsome in his simplicity. It wasn’t necessarily his appearance that attracted her, it was his confidence that made him sexy. As she anticipated how glorious it was going to be, his lips inched closer.
Then, he hesitated.
It ended as abruptly as it began.
He pulled away, sat up. ‘I can’t.’ He swallowed. Hannah heard his conscience control his words, but she had felt his body betray them. She sat next to him, their legs dangling over the small platform over the water, and cradled his jaw in her hand.
Will took her hand and removed it from his face. She touched his shoulder as he turned, disbelieving. He wanted this. She knew it.
But he handed back her shirt, his eyes avoiding her half nakedness respectfully. ‘I can’t do this to her.’
Hannah replayed the scene in her mind: Abbi and Blake entwined on her couch, arms akimbo, hands straying, and was overwhelmed with jealousy. ‘You don’t think they have?’
His eyes focused on the stars, the sky above, as if he couldn’t bear the sight of her skin.
Embarrassed, Hannah pulled her shirt on, her need turning to shame. Tears pooled in her eyes. In that rock-bottom moment, she knew this wasn’t about Abbi and Blake. This was about her. About wanting to feel wanted. That Hannah Worthington was not that special to anyone. Not since her mum died. Not since she got pregnant at sixteen and disappointed both her parents in one swift kick. Hannah wasn’t even worthy to claim the love of her own daughter. A daughter she thought about every time she ran her finger along that thin red line that traversed her public bone – the only visible sign of their real connection. The only sign of the truth. She felt glimpses of adoration from a few students she’d taught – felt that wide-eyed, focused attention – but they were merely drops, echoing as they dripped into an empty well that never felt close to full.
It was clear Will didn’t want a bar of her, but she hovered her hand above his knee anyway, knowing she’d embarrass herself further, just to feel that familiar sense of rejection, proof she wasn’t worthy of him.
He pulled clear, like she was infectious. ‘Stop, Hannah.’
Will’s denial of her affection was almost a relief. Confirmation.
He put on his shirt, started gathering belongings as if he couldn’t bear her presence another moment. ‘We were both drinking. It was a mistake.’
Her shoulders curled over her chest as she bowed her head. She gathered herself. ‘You kissed me back.’
‘I’m sorry.’ His voice was tender, but then it changed. ‘But what sort of person makes a move in this situation? I’m going out of my mind, here. You think I need another fucking thing to feel bad about?’
‘Did that kiss feel so bad? I don’t think it did. I don’t think you do, either.’
‘You think because it felt good that makes it okay? That we should do whatever we feel like? Can you imagine how our partners would feel? The people we love most. You teach kids every day about self-regulation, impulse control, empathy. That control, that forethought is what separates us from animals. Isn’t that what got your mate Trevor killed – acting on his vile impulses? Same thing that forced me to lay into the bastard when I caught him at it. I don’t want to be that person.’
Hannah’s breath cau
ght. ‘You saw it?’ No wonder he was so adamant.
The mosaic of random pieces in her mind suddenly made sense, shrinking together to form a clear picture. A devoted father. His only daughter. And a man with hands in places they should never be. She knew what that meant.
A man who witnessed that was going to react. Even a man like Will.
She hesitated to leap to the horrific conclusion: that Will had witnessed the worst thing a father could see, and found a permanent solution to prevent it from ever happening again. Because that would not only mean Trevor Adler was a monster.
But that Will Adams was, too.
* * *
Blake awoke to the sound of keys rattling outside Abbi’s front door and the resident seagulls on the verandah flustering away in panic. He scanned her living room; it resembled how his own used to look, before Hannah: congealed cheese on a pizza box, empty shot glasses, beer cans.
Will eclipsed the morning light billowing through the glass-panelled door, sending the room into darkness. His presence charged the air like lightning. Blake sat up too fast, and his stomach churned as if one of those damn seagulls shitting on the deck had died inside him.
Abbi heard the ruckus, came down the stairs, dressed, showered, angelic. ‘Will!’ She threw her arms around him, her face soft with happiness. Blake saw no trace of mistrust despite Abbi knowing that Will had been alone with Hannah out at the lake. Blake had to look away.
‘We have to talk, alone,’ Will said to his wife, peeling his arms away from her.
Blake picked up an armful of rubbish and cans from the coffee table. ‘Sorry ’bout the mess, mate. We had a few last night.’
Will nodded. ‘You weren’t the only ones.’
Blake put the rubbish in the kitchen recycling, scratched, figured he’d make himself scarce. But he had to know. Fuck this trust bullshit. ‘So, ah, what did she weasel out of you?’
Will frowned. ‘Who?’
‘I followed Hannah out to your little secret retreat yesterday.’
Will dumped a bag of fishy, muddy clothes on the hall floor. ‘So, now you decide to be a detective?’
Blake chose to ignore the snipe. ‘It was just after she came to the station yesterday arvo, told Penny what Eadie said about Trevor. I figured she went out there to clarify things.’
Will just stood there with his steely stare. He looked to Abbi, and something passed between them he couldn’t decipher.
Blake continued to prod. ‘I know Han can be persistent. Doesn’t take no for an answer.’
Will’s eyebrows raised. ‘She’s persistent. That’s for sure.’
Heat curled up Blake’s neck. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ He tried to look him in the eye but he was a foot shorter, and felt stupid.
‘Ask her. I think she’s got a lot to tell you.’ Will scraped his beard.
Blake was more confused than before. ‘About what?’
‘Let’s just say I’m not her favourite person right about now.’ Will spoke to his wife but failed to look at her. ‘And she knows I caught Trevor in the act, and reacted badly. So, there’s that.’
Blake cursed under his breath, then louder as if he hadn’t got all of his anger out just yet.
‘I’m having a shower.’ Will looked at Blake. ‘When I get out, you won’t be here.’ He said it like a Jedi, playing tricks with his mind. He paced down the hall.
Blake turned to Abbi, now standing by the window.
‘You reckon that’s all? He admitted decking the prick? Jesus, I have to get back home to Hannah. Talk sense into her.’
Abbi stared outside with animal focus at the fence of the heritage-green house next door, a glare so intense Blake started to sweat alcohol.
He wanted to run, get out of Will’s path, discover what his girlfriend knew, what she did that was so persistent. But Abbi was unravelling. ‘He’s home, Abbi. It’s a start.’
She wiped tears away, crestfallen. ‘He didn’t hug me back.’
‘He does reek.’ Blake approached her. ‘One good thing: if Hannah’s pissed at him, I’m guessing they’re not shagging.’
Abbi’s eyes narrowed. ‘Not funny.’
‘Or he really disappointed. He’s not the most agile of blokes.’
‘You’d be surprised.’ She pulled in a deep breath.
Bastard. Blake cringed on the inside and tried to stay focused on putting out the next fire. ‘I need to talk to her.’
‘You sound like you expect her to cheat. Are you so used to her moves you can’t play it any other way? How do you live like that? You deserve better than her.’ Abbi grimaced.
‘What? Someone like you? Oh, no, that’s right, I’m just your back-up.’
Abbi’s eyes fluttered. ‘What?’
Blake shook his head.
Abbi breathed out. ‘Can you please go talk to her? Make sure she doesn’t get us all jailed?’
‘She’s opinionated, but she’s not stupid.’
‘I can’t have the cops turning up here, in front of E. She’s five years old.’
‘I won’t let that happen. Besides, look at what that kid has faced already. She’s stronger than you think, and so are you. We’ll manage this. She’s already bounced back better than you thought.’
‘Has she? She wets the bed now, not because she’s upset but because she misses that monster and his damn cat – she’s got me feeding it. I don’t know how many times he got to her, Blake. You don’t know what I found her pretending with her dolls last week. She thinks of what he did to her as play.’
He pinched the bridge of his nose. He thought she was fine. ‘I don’t want to hear it.’
She inhaled sharply, as if it had all come to a head. ‘I’m not sorry he’s dead.’ Her face was wet with tears, her voice shredded.
Blake watched the hallway for signs of Eadie. ‘Keep your voice down.’
‘I’m not sorry. He deserved it. He’s a shitty, scum-sucking piece of filth. In fact, I wish I had done it myself. I wish I’d been the one,’ she whispered through gritted teeth.
Blake blanched. ‘What did you say?’
Abbi closed her eyes, then opened them, like a new person had materialised. She tilted her head to the side, as if he was an idiot to not see it before. ‘Blake, did you really think I could bludgeon someone to death? I can’t even kill spiders.’
* * *
Lies. Lies. Lies.
He’d had her back. He’d risked everything. For what? A user?
Blake had never wanted to escape his reality more than he did right then. All the shit he’d moved, all the risks he’d taken to keep Abbi safe, keep her family together, to find she’d played him too. Control – she wielded it so subtly. It made him sick.
Was she seriously willing to cover for him? Do time for him? Blake was sure all that bloody love for her bloody husband would wilt over a twenty-five-year sentence. Wilt, shrivel, die and leave her with nothing but resentment and regret.
He sped home, an audio clip of all their conversations spooling through his mind. Why had he not suspected she was covering for her perfect fucking husband? Why the body was slightly cool to touch, inflexible, despite her hitting him only moments before? And to think he’d been worried about her dealing with the trauma of what she did – researching PTSD, handing her leaflets for online support groups.
And yet, Abbi’s only fear was getting caught. Losing her family. She’d never expressed regret for bludgeoning a man to death. He put it down to what he was. But she hadn’t even been in the room when the bastard had died.
It had been Will – this whole time.
Blake took the corner fast, screeching to a stop in his own driveway. Newman greeted him, tail wagging so hard his whole body lurched from side to side.
It still didn’t make sense. He wasn’t a doctor, but in the one-punch kills he’d heard of, and there had been a couple in drunken brawls he’d witnessed, the guy passed out from the hit immediately, cracked his skull on the way down. Will would have known what he did
, surely?
Blake thought back to that night at Will and Abbi’s when he came clean about all of it. Will was awe-struck when they’d told him Trevor died in the shed.
Blake shook his head, bashed the steering wheel.
Abbi. She’d played Will, too. Used them both to orchestrate this absurdity.
Unlawful striking causing death carried a minimum of fifteen. Could he seriously turn Will in? How would he explain his own crimes if he did? Interfering with a corpse, accessory to murder, and he’d just written all those fake statements with the fake facts.
Blake was tired of his life being about everybody else.
Hannah’s car was out the front, and he was glad of it. She was in reach. He could try to de-escalate, reframe her understanding of what she knew, if anything. He took in the cedar panels he’d bought custom, the extra-wide deck he’d laid himself, the potted figs in ball shapes he’d painstakingly hedged with care. This house – he built it to share with someone. No bachelor needs a four-bedroom house with a wrap-around deck and butler’s pantry. Would he ever have someone to share it with? Was this all about to implode?
He got out of his car, walked up the steps to his front door, hesitated, then turned the key. He’d dealt with death knocks, crime scenes, car crashes. He could deal with Hannah.
She was sitting rigid on a chair positioned in the middle of the dimly lit hall. He could tell she knew by the slightly deranged look on her face. Blake was already reeling from Abbi’s betrayal. He had nothing left.
‘It was Will.’ Hannah’s voice was soft and supple, like a child’s, and she was the sweet, innocent, broken Hannah he fell in love with, that he wanted to put back together.
He threw his keys on the bench, almost relieved he didn’t have to break the news himself. It was barbaric, all of it.
Hannah took him in. ‘You knew?’
Blake wasn’t entirely sure this was a question. He felt his eye twitch. He couldn’t stop it. He wondered if this was the first sign of going mad. He resisted the urge to look away, but his lack of denial implied agreement.