by Max Henry
“All due respect, mate, I called it off because of you. I did what you made me believe was right.”
“It was right.”
“Bullshit.” I lean forward, hands clasped tight before me to save the need to hit something. “You tell me she was a mess, and yeah, I know that to be true. But what about me?”
He frowns, refusing to look me in the eye.
“I’m still a fucking mess, J.” I flick my gaze to Sharon to find her watching me with what looks like pity. “This is me saying fuck the consequences, fuck hiding how I feel for everyone else’s sake, and laying it out bare. I love your daughter, always have, and forcing myself to believe otherwise is messing me up something wicked.”
He nods, acknowledging my words. “And what if you do go see her and she tells you she’s happy, that she’s content with her new life with Damien?”
Swear to God. He says that arsehole’s name one more time…. “Then I know for sure that this fucked up state I’m in is just how it has to be and I deal with it. But until she tells me that, until I hear it from her own mouth, then the wondering kills me, man.”
Sharon squeezes John’s shoulder again, causing him to look up at her as she speaks to me. “I think, for what it’s worth, you two need to sit down and deal with this yourselves—you and Belle. I only urge you to listen to what she has to say, Zeus. To listen without your own preconception of what you think she feels.”
I nod, thankful that somebody in this house has an ounce of common sense in them.
“I think you’re wrong,” John states, eyes to the floor as he shakes his head. “I think this is a huge fucking mistake and after all is said and done, I’m going to be left with a wreck of a daughter to put back together again.” He lifts his gaze to mine. “I don’t want you to see her, Zeus. I won’t allow it.”
I stand, arms tight as I coil my hands into fists at my sides. “Good thing I’m not asking for your fucking permission, then.”
NINETEEN
Belle
“Belle, can I have a word with you before you go?”
I hesitate, mere feet from escaping the store, and turn to face Wade. “Sure.”
He jerks his head toward the table at his station, indicating I should take a seat.
Everybody else has left, only Wade and I on for the late-night appointments. The lights out front are off, the sign flicked to closed as I cross the dimly lit shop floor to his corner.
“What’s up?”
He removes his glasses and sets them on his station. “I could ask you the same.”
My stomach churns, the blood in my veins sluggish.
“I know you’ve only been with us a couple of weeks, Belle, but in that time I’ve already seen a change in you.”
My saliva seems tacky, swallowing not enough to clear my mouth. “If somebody has complained, then please let me know.”
He waves a hand dismissively at me. “It’s not about your work. Well… about your skin work anyway.” He frowns and sighs before rising from his stool. “Come.”
I follow to the front of the store, where my half dozen artworks are displayed for sale. He looks to the series, and then back at me, arms folded while he waits on me to catch on.
“If you need the space back, I’m totally okay with removing them.” He did me a favour to begin with, so he shouldn’t feel bad if he doesn’t want my side business in his shop anymore.
“That’s not the issue, Belle.” He closes his eyes, lifting one hand to pinch the bridge of his nose while he talks. “Look again. What can you tell me about the progression of your work?”
I feel as though I’m back in art class, being grilled about how bad I am at mimicking Andy Warhol’s style. These pieces are an extension of me, and if he doesn’t like my style then—
My style.
I take a step forward and familiarise myself with the subject matter of each of the six pieces, his point sinking in the longer I do. “They get more disturbed as they go on.”
“Darker, I would have said. But disturbed is probably accurate too.” He points to the first. “You start out safe with a traditional piece perfectly inside the box. And then—” He points to the last framed piece. “You delve into something a lot more dystopian, painful.”
Fuck—I do, too.
“That’s why I asked what’s going on, Belle.”
This is seriously the most awkward conversation I’ve ever had. I like Wade; he’s down to earth, patient, and cares about the people around him more than material wealth. But I hardly know the guy, and he’s psychoanalysing me.
“I have a few things I’m working through.” What else can I do but admit the obvious?
My worry is, what the hell does he want to do about it?
“Take the day off tomorrow. You only had an appointment for a design consultation; I’ll reschedule it and tell them you’re not well.”
“Wade. I’ve only just started here and, as thankful as I am for the offer, I’d rather come in and work on building my client base.”
“It wasn’t an option.” He gives me a small smile. “I need good energy in this shop, and Belle, your energy is seriously unwell. Take the time to regroup, meditate, do whatever you do to find yourself and then come back Wednesday refreshed.”
Shit. “Yeah, okay.”
I meant what I said: I’m grateful for his thoughtfulness, but damn it, my budget is worked out the last dollar. If I want to stay on track with my plans to open a shop of my own, I need every cent.
I can’t afford to fake sick days.
“Have a good night. If you need me to come in—”
He lifts a hand as I retrieve my bag. “We’ll be fine.”
“Thanks, Wade.”
“Take care, Belle.”
I push the front door open and step out into the darkness, the echo of the deadbolt as he twists the lock behind me seemingly deafening. Drawing a deep breath, I frown at the rain that steadily falls. Rivers run from the shopfronts to the gutter, puddles already formed in the cracked sections of the sidewalk.
Great. I still don’t have a car, which means I walk the twenty minutes from Dad’s place to work every morning. It also means I’m going to be a hot mess by the time I get home tonight. Guess I could always try Sharon.
Head down, focus on my phone as I bring up her number, I turn right and start toward the corner where there are parking spaces for her to pull over and collect me. I take a dozen steps and then almost drop my damn phone when I realise I’ve nearly walked into someone. The streets are so quiet at this time of night I didn’t expect to see anyone else.
I take better hold of my phone from where I’d caught it against my body and look up to apologise.
All the wind gets knocked from my lungs.
“Why?” is all I can say. The only word I can voice as the last cracked lines of mortar around my heart shatter and reveal the starved creature behind.
“Why not?”
Zeus stands powerful before me, his presence more intimidating than I remember. Or perhaps that’s simply due to the fact we haven’t physically spoken to each other in years? Everybody changes. Maybe the years did this to him: made him more confident, more sure of himself?
Whatever the reason, I can’t stop myself from staring. He wears a zipped sweatshirt, the hood pulled up around his head, his shoulders broad and strong. His hands are shoved in the pockets as he stares at me, seemingly waiting for me to do something, or perhaps talk? Yeah, words would be good.
“I’ve finished for the day if you wanted to talk about your tattoo,” I ramble, thumb slung over my shoulder to point behind me. “You should have let me know you were coming down, I could have—”
“Belle.”
“What?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
My eyes go wide at his attitude. Are all men arseholes now? “Excuse me?”
“You know as well as I do that I’m not here about the fucking tattoo.”
Okay then. My head screams at me to abort, to
turn tail and walk the other way. Fuck—Dad would have a hernia if he knew the two of us were here right now, talking. Yet my tired and desperate heart keeps me rooted to the spot to hear what Zeus has to say next.
I’ve wished too long for this moment—I’m not about to give it up now.
“Where’s your boyfriend?” His gaze narrows, his jaw hard. “Why isn’t he here to get you?”
“Because he’s not even in town,” I admit.
The revelation seems to stun Zeus silent. His brow twitches, as does my palm with the need to reach out and touch him, check this isn’t some sex-starved dream I’m having.
“You need a lift?”
I glance down at the phone still in my hand. “Yeah.”
He shifts to stand beside me, and then pulls his hood back. My gut flips, my heart flopping around in my chest like a fish out of water when I set my eyes on his hair. He grew it back. I lift my hand between us, yet drop it to my side before he notices, intrigued as he removes the sweatshirt, peeling it down his thick arms.
“Here.”
He drapes the warm fabric over my shoulders. I let go of the breath I’d held, willing the tears that sting the backs of my eyes to go the fuck away. I’m not ready to fall apart yet. I need to stay strong just a little longer, until I can get home and be alone.
“I parked up this way.” He gestures to the direction I was headed and then sets a hand on my back to guide me toward his car.
His ride turns out to be the damn bike. Great.
“Don’t have four wheels for rainy days?” I look up at him with a smile as he lifts the helmet off the seat.
“Not yet.” His face is tortured as he sets the helmet over my head and gets to work securing it under my chin.
The barest brush of his fingers against my skin warms me in a way a thousand sweatshirts never could. I stare into his eyes, despite the fact he watches his hands, and search the depths for answers.
Answers I don’t think I’m ready to hear just yet.
“Here.” He twists my bag around my body, tucking it to my stomach before he zippers the sweatshirt over top of it all. The clothing is so damn big on me, the sleeves fall over my hands. “It’ll help keep your shit dry.”
My shit. I smile, laughing on the inside. He hasn’t changed that much, I guess.
The rain wets his T-shirt as he steps out of the cover of the shopfront again to start the bike. The fabric hugs his body, the red turning crimson where the rain soaks through.
“Are you sure you’ll be warm enough?”
He answers with only a smile, reminding me that he’s a grown man; he can look after his damn self. Smooth, Belle.
The sight of him as he throws a leg over the machine and seats himself has me reconsidering the sanity of this idea. The difference between Zeus and Damien is too obvious to ignore. Damien was always the laid-back type, the guy who wanted to cruise through life doing as little as he possibly had to, soft hands and an even more passive temperament. Yet Zeus. As he twists and holds a hand out for me to steady myself with, I can’t see anything but raw masculine brawn. He’s a worker, through and through, with rough calloused hands and the body that says he seeks out challenge every day.
They’re poles apart, and as I take Zeus’s hand and seat myself behind him, I know which one of the two affects me in ways no other can.
This one.
The guy who reaches back while still facing forward, and wraps his hands around my mid-thigh to shunt me forward, hard against his back. Desire courses through me in a hot wave as he then searches for my hands, placing them securely against his middle once he finds them, still encased in the sleeves of his sweatshirt.
I’ve never been so thankful for cotton. If my bare hands were against his wet shirt….
It’s a five-minute ride home. I can do this.
I’ll thank him and use the excuse that I need to get dry to make him leave. As much as I want to forgo sleep and spend the next however many days immersed in everything Zeus, I know there’s no way in hell Dad would let him in the house.
I want him. I want our future. But I need to keep my distance a little bit longer while I figure out how best to do it. I rushed into love with him once before, and look how that ended up. Nope. This time I’m letting my head rule, and reason to be my guide when it comes to making sure we get off on the right foot.
Says the girl who leans a little closer to inhale his warm scent.
I’m in trouble. So much trouble.
TWENTY
Zeus
Her hands slip a little as she twists to look back at the turn-off to John’s. I don’t lose the smile it gives me until I pull up the driveway to my house and feel her sag against my back.
“Why are we here?” Belle stands under cover as I walk the bike into the garage.
“I’ve got something to show you.”
She might not have known what to do when I sent her the picture of the kitchen just how she liked. But I did. I kept going.
Her steps slow and eyes widen as she takes in the new colour on the living room walls, and the new accessories I picked up at IKEA. I haven’t even showed her the best part yet.
“This looks….”
“Like you imagined it should?” I keep my distance, admiring her from afar.
The wet ends of her hair drip over my sweatshirt, the material brushing her knees despite her long legs. Her cheeks hold a rose blush from the cold, her lips a deep pink.
“It looks fantastic. Did you do this because of me?” She whispers the question, as though unsure if I’d go that far for her.
“Yeah.”
Her lips press together as she swallows, slowly turning to take in the main living area again. “You should do this for a job, Zeus. I can’t believe how good it looks.”
“I only copied what you sent me.” Could guarantee it would be a damn eyesore otherwise.
She’s the artistic one, not me.
“There’s more.” I walk past, indicating she should follow.
Belle trails a safe distance behind as I lead her through the garage, her hesitation obvious once she realises where we’re headed. I open the door to the studio, lean around to flick the lights on, and then step back.
“Ladies first.”
A smile tugs at her lips as she steps past me and gasps. “Holy….”
“I guessed the colour based on what you liked in the house.”
Judging by the tears on her cheeks, I did good. Belle walks further into the room, her hand trailing over the pale grey walls as she heads for the glossy black cabinets still in pieces along the back wall.
“I haven’t quite finished it.” It looks flasher than it really is; the workstation is simply part of a flat pack kitchen set.
She leans over to pull the edges back on a cardboard box that sits in the middle of the room. “Oh my God.”
It’s the centrepiece of the whole room: a vintage-styled black chandelier that’ll hang from a pendant in the middle of the studio, recessed lights giving her the direct light she needs otherwise.
“You’d need to kit the room out with whatever else you need, but it gives you the bare bones,” I explain.
She runs the back of her hand under her nose and shakes her head. “It’s amazing, Zeus, but I can’t.”
“Can’t what?” My frustration is clear in my tone. She’s still caught up in what others think—I can tell.
“I can’t use this studio. I can’t work from your home.”
“Fuck’s sake, Belle.” I close the space between us. “It’s our home. Don’t you get it? I brought you back here to show you this, because all of this could be yours.” I throw my arms wide and turn as I step away. “All of this should be yours.”
Her nostrils flare, the strain evident in the tears that still leak over her cheeks. She doesn’t say a thing, simply hugs my sweatshirt to her before it clearly registers that she’s cloaked in something of mine. Her hand is a blur as she yanks the zipper down and shakes the wet clothing off
.
I frown and fold my arms when she holds it out for me.
“Take it.”
Fuck’s sake. I snatch it from her grasp and turn tail, marching out of the room to ditch the damn thing in the laundry. She doesn’t follow at first, taking her sweet time before I hear the door to the studio close and the swish of her wet pant-legs as she tracks across the garage floor. Yet she stops, not quite making it back into the house.
I find her at the nose of the Barracuda, the dustcover in her hand as she lifts it to see underneath. She doesn’t seem to notice I’m there, so I lean a shoulder into the doorframe and watch as she uses her free hand to lift the cover higher.
“You like it?”
The cloth billows when she drops it. “Sorry.”
“No. You can look.” I step into the garage and yank the cover off, revealing the stripped bones beneath. “I keep it covered to stop the dust from the driveway getting over everything.”
Belle circles the car, squeezing between the tail end and the garage door to end up on the same side as I am. “It’ll look so good when it’s finished.”
“Look even better with you in it.” Or on it naked.
“Zeus, stop it.” Her brow pinches as she drops her gaze to the floor.
“Stop what?”
“Talking as though us, together, is a thing.”
“Isn’t it?” I pick the dustcover up and throw it over the car again, busying myself with straightening it out so that I don’t push her up against the wall and remind her what it is that we let go of.
Fuck her boyfriend. Fuck whatever she’s got herself into with him. If she thinks I’m going to hide how I feel out of respect for some douche who can’t even bring himself to be with her, then she can think again.
Belle retreats into the house while I finish up, silent and lost in her head. I walk through to the living room expecting to find her there, yet the space is empty. To my surprise, I find her seated on my bed looking at the picture I keep on my nightstand.
The only picture I have of us.
“I wondered where this went,” she whispers, her finger tracing the outline of her arms in the shot.