Ridge Creek

by C L Green

  “I don’t suppose there’s any point in us trying to find one of the men to help us carry it out is there?” Emma muses. I think she is right. I doubt anyone is going to go against Jake’s orders by helping us set it up.

  “How’s your back?” She asks thoughtfully.

  “Pretty good, this won’t even be heavy will it? It’s just a flat screen and small stand. We’ll take the flat screen first and come back for the cabinet, yeah?”

  Famous last words.

  Getting the huge screen around all the corners as we negotiated the rabbit warren back to the communal room wasn’t as easy as first thought. Not that it was heavy. It was just awkward. After quite a bit of cussing and laughing, we finally wrestle both the television and its stand back into the communal room. After a brief search, we also find the power and aerial points to one side of the room.

  While I plug it in and power it up, Emma drags a couch that is against a wall on the other side of the room across so that it is facing front and center to the screen. Throwing herself into a seat, she lets out a huge, “Aah.”

  “It’s got heaps of USB points,” I comment as I sit down next to her and start fiddling with the remote. “We can run our lappies through it and watch movies.”

  “Cool,” she mumbles as she snatches the remote and starts flicking through stations.

  Watching as various documentaries, car racing and other boring shows flick across the screen, I realize that it’s Sunday. Hitting a channel doing a rerun of ‘That ‘70’s Show’, Emma shrugs and hands me back the remote. “Not much on in the country on a Sunday.”

  “Better than nothing,” I muse as I stare at the screen, already bored. I’m not too sure what I was expecting but this was not it. Somewhere in the back of my mind I was convinced that if we turned on the television I would suddenly see images of myself as the hottest topic in Australia.

  Apparently not.

  “Beer and chips?” Emma asks as she gets up off the couch and heads towards the bar.

  “Sure,” I agree as I start flicking channels again. There’s a boring looking midday movie on one of the major channels. I settle for the movie.

  Returning with chips and beer, Emma settles back in and we both lean back to relax and enjoy our afternoon. Jambo flies over and starts strutting happily along the back of the couch. With the room to ourselves, we both find ourselves quickly relaxing and we spend the time catching up on each other’s news. Of course Emma knew most of mine but I still hadn’t heard all of her goings on since I disappeared.

  It is about an hour later, as we are both deep in conversation about some of her work that is backing up and how I can help with it that a newsbreak comes on the television. Hearing the announcement, we both freeze mid conversation and swing our attention to the television.

  Mentally bracing myself, I stare at the television waiting. And that’s when I get the biggest shock of my life. A picture of Tony appears on the screen. Not me.

  What the?

  Flicking Emma a confused look, I continue staring at the screen as she grabs for the remote and starts cranking the sound up. It is then that my brain freezes. All conscious thoughts fly from my mind as it struggles to receive small snippets of what the reporter is telling us.

  Tony is dead. Executed in his home, our home, last night. A dark twist to the shocking disappearance of his beloved girlfriend Arianna Lovett. A presumed mob hit. Investigations continuing into the nature of Tony’s illegal business affairs.

  Oh my God.

  Finding myself panting slowly as I stare at the screen long after the news item has finished, I suddenly become aware of Emma’s warmth at my side. At some point she has moved closer and wrapped her arms around me.

  “He’s dead,” I squeal hysterically as I turn to lean into her and push my head against her shoulder. I’m thankful for her warmth because I suddenly feel cold. Ice-cold.

  “Fuck,” Emma mutters against the side of my head as she wraps me closer to her body. “They got him. They fuckin’ got him. Jesus. Fuck.”

  “Who do you think got him?” I ask hesitantly.

  Pulling away slightly, she moves her face to look at mine. Looking serious she says, “The mob. I guess?” It’s more a question than an answer. “Didn’t you say he said they’d kill you both?”

  I nod in agreeance. “Do you think they’ll be coming for me next?” I ask, my voice trembling as all the old feelings of fear for my life come pouring back in.

  “I… I don’t know,” she sighs heavily as she stares at the movie that is now running on the television again. “It would have to be unlikely wouldn’t it? He was the one running the business through your site. I don’t suppose they care about the site designer specifically. And maybe they will figure that retribution has been taken. You can’t be sure though. I’d say that this doesn’t mean you should reappear. I think that if you place yourself under their noses, they might be tempted.”

  Shuddering, I lean back onto the couch and clasp my hands in my lap. Squeezing and massaging them together I try to focus on my hands as I work through Emma’s theory in my mind. She’s right. As long as I stay out of the scene it should all be okay.

  Tony’s dead.

  At least I know he is not still looking for me. That’s some measure of relief. And as Emma says, with retribution against him now taken, perhaps they’ll forget about me? Perhaps they’ll just assume that Tony had me ‘whacked’ and the loop is now closed? It’s likely I’m still safe-ish.

  “It’s probably a good thing, yeah?” I ask Emma as she watches me, her face soft and concerned.

  “Yeah, babe,” she agrees. “He deserved it. You know he did.”

  “Yeah,” I agree softly, my voice barely audible. Still trembling, I feel the burn of tears in my eyes.

  Why the fuck am I gunna cry?

  He’s not worth crying over. What’s wrong with me?

  Blinking rapidly in an attempt to stem the flow of tears I suddenly feel her arms wrapping around me again. “It’s okay to cry, you know. You’re in shock. Your body needs to let it go.”

  “God,” I blurt before the tears start to let rip in earnest and I find myself burrowing into her shoulder, sobs wracking my body. Emma holds me tightly for a few minutes as I let my feelings loose and cry. It is only as my sobs start to slow that she finally unwraps me and moves to stand up. “I’ll get some tissues. And I probably need to change my shirt,” she grins at me as she turns and shows me her wet back.

  “Ewww, sorry,” I mumble as I start breathing heavily through my nose to slow my crying jag down. Watching her as she vanishes out the door, I lean forward to grab my half consumed beer from the floor in front of me and take a huge swig. Time to buck up little camper and get the fuck over it.

  What feels like a few seconds later, Emma reappears with a box of tissues. She is wearing a clean top. “Sorry about that,” I murmur as I take the tissues, ripping three out of the box and wiping at my face.

  “No worries babe. You okay now?” She asks her voice once again concerned.

  “Yeah. Time to move on from that little episode.”

  Sitting up straighter, wiping at my face, I do feel better. I watch as Emma slides back down into the seat next to me while saying, “Good woman.” Grabbing her own beer she takes a swig and looks at me thoughtfully. “What now?”

  “Let’s download a decent movie, this one is crap. Then let’s get drunk so I don’t have to think about Tony anymore. Then we can go to bed, get up again and go shelf shopping with Luke.”

  “Sounds like a good plan.”

  *****

  Three hours later…

  Returning from yet another trip to the toilet, I mentally tally the drinks I have downed and start to wonder why I’m not drunk off my ass. Clearly being an alcoholic creates a certain tolerance. I am getting to the point where I can drink copious amounts of top-shelf spirit and still function.

  Nice.

  Or maybe not so nice. Getting drunk all the time is clearly not
the answer to all my problems.

  But it does seem to help.

  Mentally chastising myself and making a promise to drink water for the rest of the day and sober the fuck up, I find myself staring straight ahead down the hallway at my bedroom door.

  I should turn left and head back to the communal room where Emma, Towball, Pops and a couple of other guys are sitting at the bar waiting for me. But somehow like a moth to a flame I find myself walking along the hallway, my eyes focused on the bedroom door.

  Jake.

  Perhaps it’s time for our chat? Perhaps now is a good time to try to clarify what is going on between us? And I need to talk to him about the shopfront. Considering I am planning on heading off to buy a stack of shelving tomorrow, I should probably bring him in on my plan. For all I know, he’ll wake up and go home and then I’ll miss my opportunity.

  Surely he’s slept long enough?

  Standing outside the door, I hesitate and stall as I consider whether it is too presumptuous to walk in and wake him up. I also wonder if he’s one of those guys who wakes up in a foul mood. If he’s one of those types it might not be the best time to talk to him about anything. Especially about rearranging his shopfront.

  Bah! Who cares?

  We need to talk.

  Grabbing the door handle I twist it slowly and push the door open. The room is still grayed out from the heavy drapes drawn across the windows. I can see Jake lying on his side facing the far wall, one huge arm wrapped around a pillow holding it to his head. The other is flung forward, his hand resting in front of him. He still looks to be sleeping soundly.

  Closing the door softly behind me, I approach the bed as my eyes accustom to the dim light. I am soon able to make out the dark shadows of the tattoo on his neck. Flicking my eyes to the floor, I can see that he must have wakened at some point. His socks, pants, jacket and shirt are now tossed on the floor next to the bed and he is underneath the doona cover.

  Moving closer to the bed, I tread softly as I wander to the far side of the bed to so I can see his face. It is as I approach that I notice his eyes are open. He is blinking slowly as he watches me draw closer.

  “You’re awake,” I whisper quietly, still not sure he is. Maybe he is one of the people who can sleep with their eyes open?

  “Yeah,” his deep voice crackles from having just woken up.

  “Did I wake you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you grumpy?” I ask hesitantly, wondering if he will tell me to take a hike.

  I hear his deep chest rumble as he chuckles softly.

  Apparently not.

  Standing next to the bed, I watch as he pulls his arm out from under the pillow and rolls to his back. “Why would I be grumpy?” He crackles again, sounding amused.

  “Because I woke you up,” I reply as I place a knee on the bed and cross it under myself so I can lean back on the headboard, turned slightly to face him.

  Twisting his head to look at me, I can see he is smirking. The dark shadows of his unshaved face highlighting the strong shape of his jaw and the brightness of his teeth. His eyes look black in the dim light.

  Moistening his lips and then yawning, he says, “No I’m not grumpy. Yet. But I suppose that might change, depending on why you woke me up. Or more to the point, what you plan to do with me now that I am awake. I can think of few things I’d like to do and I’m sure they’ll make it a definite that I stay not grumpy.”

  Oh.

  Perhaps now is not the time for us to have a chat?

  Staring at his darkened face, I find myself lost for words. What do I say in response to a statement like that? Chewing at my lip, I watch as he starts smirking again. “Cat got your tongue?”

  “Umm…”

  “I’ll give it a chance to loosen up. Gotta go for a slash and brush my teeth. Wait here.”

  Still unable to develop words, I watch as Jake throws the covers back to reveal the entirety of his huge body.

  Fuck he’s huge. Everywhere.

  And hard. And very very muscly. When does he get time to work out?

  I swear to God my heart stops as I stare at his body as he rolls form the bed, grabs his jeans, pulls them up and strides to the door. Grabbing the handle he twists and yanks the door open quickly. Then he is gone.

  Holy shit.

  Should I get the fuck out of here? Do I want to? Staring at the open doorway, I consider my choices and decide.

  No I don’t want to go anywhere. I’m staying put.

  I want Jake to come back and do whatever it is he wants to do to me. We can talk later.

  Chapter Twelve

  Expansion Of Morality

  Jake wanders back into the room carrying a bottle of water. He closes the door behind him and walks to the window to open the curtains just far enough to spread dim light through the room. Returning to the bed, he peels his jeans off as he approaches before sliding himself back under the covers. After fiddling with his pillows, he settles with his back against the headboard. With a single twist, he removes the lid from his water bottle. I sit and stare in silence as he lifts the bottle to his lips and drains the contents in one go. He replaces the lid and flings the empty bottle on the floor.

  “Jesus,” I mutter as the bottle skids across the floor before coming to rest leaning against a wall. “Do you ever put rubbish in the bin?”

  “If a bin is within easy reach, yes. If not, no.”

  “No wonder this room was such a mess when I first got here,” I mumble swinging my eyes away from the bottle to settle on his bright green ones. That is, after my eyes take their time drinking in his enormous chest, tattoos and eyebrow piercing. “I estimate the room held a few years of rubbish before you mother cleaned the floor.”

  “Yep,” he agrees, grinning like a cheeky schoolchild. His eyebrow piercing lifts and his eyes sparkle a brilliant green. I note he doesn’t look tired any more. He looks wide-awake and refreshed.

  With a small grin of my own, I shake my head and roll my eyes. Without warning, the cheekiness slides from his face and his eyes narrow. “A word of warning. I’ve already told you I don’t like the bitching and moaning about mess so don’t fuckin’ start on me woman. It won’t end well. It never does.”

  Right then.

  We shall not be mentioning his rubbish tossing habits any more.

  “Noted,” I say as I roll my eyes at him again. “Any other warnings?”

  He starts to grin again, and looks even more pleased with himself as he adds, “I don’t clean. Ever. If you want something clean, have at it. I also don’t cook. The main reason being that if I did, it would force a need to clean. So to avoid cleaning, and because I don’t like food poisoning, I either buy take-away or go out to eat.”

  He shifts his weight and rolls onto a hip so he can face me. After looking thoughtful for a short while, his face grows serious again. “And my shit is my shit. Unopened boxes of my shit stay unopened. No woman is welcome to poke around in my shit. No matter who the fuck she thinks she is. No poking in my shit is a big one. You hearing me?”

  Lifting an eyebrow, I flick him a sarcastic nod. Within an instant his body stiffens and his eyes narrow again. He looks dangerous. In a deep voice of warning he growls, “Don’t fuckin’ roll your eyes and act unconcerned Arianna. I’m serious about this shit. I find you poking around in my boxes, there’ll be consequences.”

  Um. Yeah. Got it.

  “Message received,” I lean back as his eyes harden to a dark green color, drilling into mine. He’s giving me more than a simple warning. My heart starts beating faster at his growl and I wonder whether I am terrified or whether I am turned on – big time.

  He studies me for a few more seconds before appearing satisfied I absorbed his message. He relaxes and his eyes become lazy as his lips soften. He flicks a glance down at my top and I find myself suddenly self-conscious.

  Why I’m self-conscious, I’ve no idea. I am wearing a simple black short sleeved shirt with Nickelback written across the f
ront in cool purple and silver writing. The shirt is not provocative. The front comes up high on my sternum to cover my breasts modestly. There is no cleavage. I own shirts far more revealing than this one.

  I bought this one online to replace the one I left behind in my old life. I bought my first one at the 2012 Nickelback concert at Rod Laver Arena. The concert I attended on my own because Tony took a call on the way summoning him to resolve a ‘business matter’. This equated to him dropping me out the front of the venue and speeding away without apology or a single glance back at me.

  Fortunately, despite the shaky start to my night, I loved every second of the concert. So much so it left me unaffected by Tony’s lack of hesitation to abandon me. Mainly because I didn’t care. Even without my boyfriend at my side, I had a blast. The only real downer for the entire night had been Tony’s inability to come get me after the concert to take me home. This translated into me standing for two hours in the chilly night air waiting for a taxi due to the high volume of taxi usage at that time of night.

  Physically shaking off thoughts of the Nickelback concert, my shirt and my self-consciousness, I take a deep breath and study his face again. New thoughts of how sexy his lazy eyes are fuzz my brain and I decide to continue along the box theme.

  In hindsight, a stupid idea.

  “Um. While talking boxes, I hoped we could have a little chat.” I pinch my fingers together in front of his face hoping to make the conversation seem as insignificant as possible.

  Another stupid idea because boxes have already featured in our current conversation as significant.

  I watch his eyes flick to my fingers before they blank out. He looks annoyed again and his eyes are distant and cold. He also looks dangerous and I instantly decide I do not like his dangerous face. His dangerous face is scary and it would be best if I never saw it again. Ever.