Somehow, Owen knew that wasn’t the whole story. For now, though, he changed tack. “Tell me about Harry. Was he like Kole?”
That made her smile. “Yes and no. He was the oldest. Kole looked up to him—we all did. The two of them clashed a lot, though—he was forever teasing Kole, who’d lash out, and then they’d scuffle. No real hatred there, just sibling rivalry, you know?”
“Yeah,” Owen said, although he hadn’t experienced it firsthand. He’d adored little Sammy and had seen it as his role to look after her, so they’d never even come close to fighting.
“Harry was hot tempered, passionate, and very protective of me and Maisey. That’s why Kole’s like he is—he tends to be overly protective of us both, sort of following in his brother’s footsteps.”
“I felt a bit nervous when Maisey introduced me to him,” Owen admitted. “But he seemed pleased to meet me.”
“Mmm.” She frowned. “Strange, that.”
He let her muse on it for a moment. Then he said, “Maisey said you and Harry were very close.”
“I guess. I don’t know that we had a closer relationship than the others, particularly.”
“She said she thought you’d never got over his death, though.”
She looked down at her hands, examined her fingernails, and didn’t say anything.
“You want to tell me why?”
Raising a hand, she nibbled on a hangnail. “I’ve never talked about it with anyone.”
“Not even the guy in London?”
She shook her head. “We didn’t have that kind of relationship.”
“I thought you lived with him for a year?”
“I did. He gave me stability and security, which I hadn’t had for a long time, but we never delved deep into each other’s psyches. He was quite a bit older than me. I suppose, looking back, he was almost like a father figure, but I guess that was what I needed at the time.”
“How much older? Older than me?”
“A bit.” She looked embarrassed. “He was forty. He’d been married, and he left his wife for a while to live with me.”
He hid his surprise. “He looked after you, though?”
“Yeah. For a while.”
“Okay.” He’d have to ask her more about that when he knew her better. “So you want to tell me, then, about what happened with Kim?”
She turned her gaze back to the window and hesitated.
“Is it something you haven’t told Kole and Maisey?”
She nodded. “I haven’t told anyone.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m ashamed.”
He frowned. That suggested she’d done or said something to Kim she regretted. “Is this about the night Harry died?”
“Kind of.” Still, she hesitated.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Owen said, “but don’t you think it might be better if you do? That it might be why you’ve never gotten over his death, because you’ve kept all this bottled up?”
“Maybe.”
“I’m guessing you’ve never seen a professional about it.”
She shook her head.
“Then tell me, Skye. I promise, I won’t judge you.”
“You can’t say that,” she said, fierce enough to surprise him. “I’m afraid...you’ll look at me differently.”
He frowned. “Seriously? I can’t imagine you doing anything so bad it would change how I feel about you.”
She went quiet, so he glanced over at her. She was studying him thoughtfully. As he watched, she gave a little shrug.
Looking back at the road, he listened to her soft voice relating the tale of the night.
Chapter Thirteen
“Harry had moved out of the family home by the time he died,” Skye said. She looked back out of the window. The sun had set and the countryside was filled with shadows. Next to her, Owen drove silently, guiding the car through the winding road south. “He’d been to uni, got his degree in engineering, and he’d landed a job in Whangarei.
“He’d been with Kim for years, since before he went to university. They had a very volatile relationship—lots of arguments, very on-off. They were always breaking up, but we grew to accept they’d make up the next day. It was just the way they were. They both went to college in Auckland, and even though she came back to Mangonui when she graduated, they carried on dating whenever he came up. He wanted her to move to Whangarei with him, but she’d got a job at a local beauty salon—she’s a hairdresser, and she didn’t want to move.
“Anyway, we’d all met up for the Easter break. Maisey had started uni, and I’d just finished. Kole was off travelling but he’d come back for a few weeks because Mum wanted us all to be together. We had a few days together, then Harry went to see Kim one evening. That was the last time I saw him. On the way home, just down the road from my parents’ house, he crashed his bike and died.”
Owen nodded. He dropped one hand from the steering wheel to hold hers. “So your Mum rang Kim’s parents to tell her he’d died?”
His matter-of-fact tone and the fact that he kept his gaze on the road made it easier for her to talk about it. “Yes. Kim admitted they’d had a huge row, and he’d stormed off. It was clear he’d driven home in a rage, which was almost certainly why he crashed.”
“What happened then?”
Skye looked out of the window, at the mangrove trees standing up to their ankles in swampy water. The nearly full moon cast everything with a strange silvery light. It had been a full moon the night Harry died. It had been raining, but the clouds had cleared, and shards of the moon’s reflection had lain in the puddles around the shattered motorbike, along with a thick pool of his blood.
She cleared her throat. “My mum wanted to talk to Kim about what had happened between them, but her mother said she was too upset, and that she didn’t want us bothering her daughter. My parents decided to concentrate on us and to put Kim to the back of their minds. It didn’t matter to them what had caused the accident—Harry was dead, and it was all about moving forward and keeping the family going.”
“But you didn’t feel that way?”
“I’d never liked Kim. I know that makes me sound bitter, and I know you’re probably thinking I was jealous of her because Harry and I were close, but it wasn’t like that. Yes, we were tight, but I loved him, and I wanted him to be happy. I hated how they were always arguing, and I thought he deserved someone who doted on him, who was crazy about him, and who never wanted to upset him, you know?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
She squeezed his hand. “I suppose. Now, I’ve grown up a bit, and I know relationships aren’t perfect. It’s common to argue and bicker, and it doesn’t mean you’re going to break up. Sometimes, the occasional row can help to make sure you don’t take each other for granted. But at the time, I felt she wasn’t good enough for him, and when I knew they’d had a row that had made him angry, I wanted—no, needed, to know what had happened.”
“So you went around there?”
“Yes. We had the funeral, and Kim came to it with her mother, but they left straight afterward so I didn’t get a chance to talk to her. I went around to her house a week later.”
“On your own?”
“Yep. I didn’t tell anyone. Maisey was back at uni, Kole had gone off travelling again. My parents weren’t interested—they were trying to pick up the pieces of their life and carry on.”
The mangroves were now behind them, and the landscape was opening up to hills and forests. Skye looked down at where Owen’s hand rested on hers, large, brown, and warm. Reassuring.
“When I got there,” she continued, “Kim was on her own. She didn’t want to talk to me—in fact, she tried to shut the door in my face, but I put my foot in and pushed it open. I followed her into the kitchen. I demanded to know what had happened that night. She told me they’d had an argument, that was all, and it wasn’t her fault he’d stormed off. But I knew there was more to the story than that. They’d argued so many time
s before, it had to be something more.
“I kept pressing her, and eventually she admitted she’d told him it was over—for good this time. Again, I knew Harry would just have rolled his eyes at that, as she was always breaking up with him. I pushed her again—what had specifically happened that night—what had she said to make him so angry?”
Skye swallowed down a lump of shame that appeared in her throat. “I practically bullied her into telling me, but she finally caved. She’d told him that the month before, she’d discovered she was pregnant, and she’d had an abortion. He hadn’t known. And she hadn’t given him the chance to discuss it.”
“Oh, Christ.”
“He would have done anything for that baby. He would have married her, moved up here, looked after them both. He wasn’t perfect—he could be an absolute ass at times, but he was one of the good guys. That would have destroyed him. He would never have been able to forgive her.”
Owen’s hand tightened on hers. “What did you say to Kim?”
“This is the part I’m not proud of. I lost it. Completely. Shouted at her, screamed at her, hit her. I was so angry. She just curled up in a ball and cried, and I yelled at her, told her she was a coward, a murderer, and she should just kill herself and the world would be a better place.”
A tear ran down Skye’s cheek, but she wiped it away. She’d felt sorry for herself for years, but if Matt had taught her anything, it was that she’d never feel better until she forgave herself. Although she’d never told him what had happened with Kim, he’d known something lay beneath her misery. We all make mistakes, he’d said, and we all have to live with them. Whatever you did, accept you screwed up, Skye, and move on.
To her relief, Owen hadn’t removed his hand in disgust. A frown furrowed his brow, though, and when he glanced at her, his eyes held pity. “What happened then?”
“I found out a few days later that after I’d left, she’d tried to kill herself.”
He inhaled deeply, then let out a long, slow breath. “Did she tell anyone what you’d said to her?”
“Not to my knowledge. Nobody ever mentioned it. I think everyone assumed she was cut up about Harry, and they didn’t realize there was anything more to the story.”
“What did you do afterward?”
“Went off the rails, basically. I was supposed to be applying for teaching jobs, but instead I took the money I had in the bank, bought a plane ticket, and left. I didn’t even say goodbye to Kole and Maisey. They were angry with me for a while because of that, although I like to think they’ve forgiven me now. I just couldn’t stay—I was filled with fury and guilt and shame. So I lost myself in other worlds for a while, tried anything that helped me to forget. Of course, it doesn’t work. In the morning, when you’re sober, your problems are still there. I came to realize I was going to self-destruct if I carried on like that.”
“And Matt helped you move on?”
Was it her imagination, or did his voice hold a hint of jealousy? She glanced up at him, but his gaze was fixed on the road, and he didn’t turn his head.
Biting her lip, she looked out of the window again. The forests were turning to kiwi orchards, the occasional house lighting up the darkness of the countryside. They passed a home that had Christmas lights all around the outside, including a huge glowing Rudolph. She smiled wistfully. “At the time, I felt he was helping. Now, though, I wonder if he was just a distraction, something else to help me try to forget.”
“And have you? Forgotten? Moved on?”
“What do you think?”
“Honestly?”
Her lips twisted. “You can say what’s on your mind. I won’t be offended.”
“I hope I’m never offensive, but you should bear in mind I have no psychological training and have no idea what I’m talking about. I think the only way you’ve been able to cope is to change your vision of who you are. In Europe, you’re an artist with no roots—you’re like a butterfly, and every time someone tries to catch hold of you, you can just fly away somewhere new. Here, though, in New Zealand, you’re surrounded by the memories of the past. You see yourself through everyone else’s eyes, and it reminds you of what you did. Ultimately, I wonder if you’ve actually forgiven yourself, or if you’ve just tried to pretend you’re a different person now. And coming back here reminds you that you’re still that same person, and you can’t escape what you did.”
Her heart was racing, and she tried to take deep breaths to calm herself. He was right, of course. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to escape what I did.”
To her surprise, he lifted her hand and pressed his lips to her fingers. “Yes, you will. Honey, it’s not about forgetting. And you’ll never completely be able to forgive yourself, because you can’t wipe away that you were cruel to that girl when she was probably suffering from guilt herself. But we all make mistakes, and it’s how we deal with them that forms the person we are. You have to learn from them, and use them as a springboard into the future. Like what happened to Sammy. Was I responsible? Strictly, no—I was a child, and it was my parents’ responsibility to look after us both. Do I feel responsible? Yes, of course I do. My mother had asked me to watch over her, and I hadn’t. And on my bad days, I still feel guilty about that. But guilt is a pointless, destructive emotion. I deal with it by working with Search and Rescue, and trying to make sure other families don’t go through what I went through.”
“I know what you’re trying to say. I’ve tried so hard to move on, but I just can’t seem to do it.”
“Have you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you fled the country. Tried to lose yourself so you wouldn’t have to face up to the truth. Tortured yourself with what you’ve done, because you feel you deserve that punishment. But that’s not going to solve anything. What you need is to do something positive.”
She nibbled her bottom lip. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Like…put a percentage of the profits you make from your sketches toward a charity like the Grief Centre. Volunteer some of your free time to talk with others who are suffering. I don’t know, that might not be your thing, but do you understand? Something positive, where you can use your experiences to help others. Just running won’t solve anything, because as you’ve said, every morning you’ll wake up and your guilt will have found you again.”
She nodded slowly. In many ways, he reminded her of Matt—he had a down-to-earth practicality that grounded her, as if she were a helium balloon heading for the stars and he’d caught the piece of string and refused to let go. But whereas Matt’s loyalties had been torn, and he’d only ever given her little pieces of himself to satisfy her craving, Owen had opened up his heart to her completely.
The thought brought a lump to her throat.
“I’m sorry I ruined the evening,” she whispered.
He squeezed her hand again, then left it briefly to signal and turn the car off the main road toward Kerikeri. “You’ve hardly ruined it. I’m taking home the most beautiful girl in the restaurant.”
That brought a smile to her lips, and her cheeks grew warm. “That’s a nice thing to say.”
“It’s true. And do you know what we’re going to do when we get home?”
“Enlighten me.”
“Well, first we’ll have to cope with a very excited Mozart who’ll want to cover you with kisses.”
She laughed. “I think I’ll be able to cope with that.”
“After that, I’m going to pour us a whisky, and we’ll sit together and drink it slowly until we feel all relaxed.”
“That sounds nice.”
“Then…” He glanced across at her, and his lips curved, “I’m going to take you to bed and give you the best sex of your life. And if that doesn’t take your mind off everything for a while, I’m losing my touch.”
Chapter Fourteen
As Owen had predicted, Mozart was over the moon to see them. He was even more excited to see Skye, which was a bit insensitiv
e considering who took care of him. Owen understood, though, how much more pleasurable it must be to have a beautiful woman tickling behind your ear.
“I’d better whisk him out for a quick walk as he’s been cooped up for a few hours,” Owen said.
“I’ll come with you, if you want,” Skye said, a little shyly.
“Sure,” he replied, pleased to keep her with him, afraid she might disappear if he left her alone for too long.
So he clipped on Mozart’s leash, and they walked down to the inlet and along the bank for a while, letting the Lab stretch his legs and take in some evening sniffs.
Skye didn’t say much, and Owen didn’t push her, just glad to have her there. Was she thinking about what he’d said in the car? Had he gone too far? Hopefully not, as she hadn’t appeared offended or told him to fuck off. Ultimately, he believed what he’d said. He wasn’t particularly religious, but he understood the purpose of atoning, and it did go some way to cleansing a person of the sin they felt they’d committed.
Perhaps he’d sown a seed that might flourish, he thought with hope as they reached the end of the path, turned, and began to walk back. He couldn’t deny that deep down he was hoping she’d change her mind and decide not to leave in February. He’d been with his share of women, but he’d never met a girl he’d thought was perfect before. Not in every way—sure, she was flawed, but it was the flaws that made her interesting and beautiful. Her vulnerability brought out his protectiveness, and although she’d lived on her own for a long time and was clearly used to looking after herself, he wanted to take care of her, to hold her when she felt down and, if at all possible, to make the smile that dazzled him become a permanent fixture on her face.
“What?” She was looking up at him, her lips curving, and he realized he’d been staring at her for a while.
He stopped, pulled the hand he was holding toward him so she bumped against his chest, and lowered his lips.
Hers were cool, but they warmed beneath his, and when she parted them, her mouth was hot and wet, hungry as she kissed him back, her tongue sliding against his. He gave a long, soft groan that turned into a startled yelp as Mozart tugged hard on his leash and pulled him off balance. His heels hit a tree root, and he stumbled backward before falling onto his butt.
Christmas Down Under: Six Sexy New Zealand & Australian Christmas Romances Page 10