Tumble Creek

by Louise Forster

  ‘No, I don’t. I—don’t—care!’

  ‘I missed you.’ He gave her his version of sad, lost puppy face, which only made her cringe.

  ‘I don’t want to hear any more or I might vomit all over your Italian shoes. You’d better give back everything you took by tomorrow or I’ll pass on what I know to the police. Those pieces don’t have any real value, not like you expected, do they?’ Guilt flushed Jett’s face. ‘Well, you actually do have a conscience, of sorts; not that you ever listen to it.’

  He took a big breath and clawed back his self-importance. ‘You’re missing the whole point, again, Sofie. I’m in this—’ arms out he quickly scanned the street, ‘—this backward town to give you back what I borrowed and help you get your life sorted.’

  ‘Borrowed?! You tried to hock, sell at the pub, or whatever, my jewellery; each one has a beautiful, sentimental story behind it. They should be handed down to Claudia, but you took that from her, as well as her self-esteem, her confidence, and her peace of mind; and that is unforgiveable!’

  Sofie was done listening to his bullshit and turned to walk away.

  Jett caught her arm again.

  ‘You’d better let me go,’ she warned, glaring at him.

  He quickly dropped her arm. ‘Sofie, please, I just want to talk, explain to you I’ve changed. Let me buy you a coffee or a drink at the pub, somewhere public, please, Sofie. Honestly, I’ve seen the mistakes I’ve made. I want to try and fix things, please let me do it for Claudia. She needs to know her father lo-loves her.’

  Sofie had little time to wonder why he stumbled over the word ‘love’ as Jett, getting louder, continued blathering on.

  ‘I need to make her see how sorry I am.’ Head inclined, Jett leaned forward. ‘I’m not asking for forgiveness. You need to help me help Claudia. She was so angry with me like the other day, it’s not healthy. Can we at least try and fix it so she’s not in a rage every time she sees me?’

  Now Jett was poking at her motherhood capabilities, sowing the seed of doubt that she’d been wrong. Was she partly to blame for this awful mess? There had been times when she’d been so busy with studies and looking after Claudia, she’d sometimes fallen asleep over her books. Had she married him in the first place just to thumb her nose at her parents? Had she driven him away to look for someone else to get what he needed? It was wrong to make comparisons, but deep inside her soul she was damn sure Brock would never behave like that. If she’d fallen asleep at the table, he would’ve picked her up and carried her to bed, and snuggled. She wanted nothing to do with Jett, but she did want Claudia to have a better relationship with her dad, even if it got her to a place where she was just less angry. She sighed heavily: it was a damned-if-you-do and damned-if-you-don’t decision.

  ‘It’s a trifle early for a drink at the pub, and the only decent coffee in town is at Veronica’s, and I know if Jennifer saw you, she’d come out wielding her best carving knife to cut out your heart. Or at the very least hit you with a mallet while you’re not looking.’

  ‘You’re not serious?’ Jett asked, appalled. ‘What did I ever do to her?’

  Sofie rolled her eyes and didn’t answer—but she did glare at him.

  ‘Okay, well, I’m staying at Tudor House B&B.’ Then he muttered, ‘It’s the only halfway decent place in this burg. Come on, Sofie, we’ll take my car. I’ll give you what’s yours, they’re in a safe in my room. Please, for Claudia. She’ll have her precious family heirlooms.’

  Sofie made a guilt-riddled decision. ‘Okay, where’s your car?’ Shit, was she doing the right thing? She bloody hoped so.

  She followed him to a small car park just off the main street. He pointed his keys, and lights flickered on a top-of-the-range gleaming black Audi. Her mind scrambled for an explanation as to why the hell he had an expensive car like that when he never gave her a cent for Claudia’s expenses—not that she’d have taken it.

  Jett opened the passenger door for her, and that would have to be a first.

  A wave of suspicion caught hold of her and she stepped back, reflexively.

  He inclined his head, and drawled, ‘For no other reason than for old time’s sake and to return what is yours … and Claudia’s of course.’

  She slid into the luxurious leather bucket seat. Jett hurried around the bonnet, climbed in behind the wheel and started the car, which purred beautifully. He pulled out of the car park and headed to the B&B on the outskirts of town.

  Sofie rummaged in her bag for her phone and started to ring Brock.

  ‘What’re you doing?’ Jett cried out, took his eyes off the road, then his hand shot out and tried to grab her phone, and in the process backhanded her cheek bone. The car swerved and an oncoming driver hit his horn. ‘Shit!’

  ‘Owe! Bloody hell, Jett.’ The crack to her cheek made her see stars and her eyes water.

  ‘Sorry, didn’t mean it! Will you stop trying to ring that cop!’

  ‘Shut up! Shit that hurt,’ Sofie muttered, rubbing her cheek and wiping away the tears. Brock didn’t answer, so she left a message, ‘I agreed to go with Jett to Tudor Manor for a chat about arranging some sort of compromise with Claudia, hope it works. Talk later.’

  ‘Why are you telling him anything?’ Jett yelled, going red in the face.

  ‘Because Brock is in my life. We’re seeing each other. I’m in his bed! He witnessed the domestic at Veronica’s. Someone in town would’ve seen us talking, people here watch out for each other so, he needs to know that I agreed to this and won’t be after you with his fists.’

  ‘What?!’ He sounded worried. ‘After me with his fists?’ In Jett’s world, he always came first. Eyes on him she waited for him to realise his mistake. And he didn’t disappoint. Jett quickly changed the subject adding, ‘You’re in his bed!?’

  His face hardened, but it was all an act, really he couldn’t give a shit. She didn’t care what he thought, the important thing was she felt good about herself and her relationship with Brock.

  Teeth clenched, Jett made a grumbling sound. Sofie braced herself; years ago when he made that noise it was an unconscious warning, he was about to make a derogatory comment.

  ‘That cop doesn’t think anything of you. He told me Claudia’s a pain in the arse, and that I was right, you are still my family. He said you’ve been through a lot lately, and you know how it is, women are strange creatures. He said he couldn’t understand why you were making a fuss. And that I was just visiting.’ He took a deep breath, and went on, sounding annoyed, ‘All I wanted was to talk, but after investing all my valuable time trying to make you see reason, and to make sure you don’t waste your money on this backward town, for my thanks, I now have the local cop’s attention.’

  Jett’s badmouthing Brock hurt. He didn’t deserve it, and deep within her soul, Sofie trusted him completely. Everything Brock had done for her and Claudia had made their lives easier, happier. Jett was the lying cheating bastard who didn’t care, in his eyes he came first and hang the rest. Even to the detriment of his daughter, and that hurt Sofie more than anything.

  ‘You invited Brock’s attention by the way you behaved at Veronica’s.’

  ‘Rubbish!’ Jett complained. ‘He’s an overbearing Neanderthal.’

  ‘You arsehole! You always make these idiotic comments when you feel small and inadequate. Let me enlighten you—you are what you feel—inadequate.’ Sofie wanted to kick him in the nuts. ‘Obviously this is not going to work. You’re full of yourself as always. Turn around and take me back!’

  But he ignored her and drove up a long dirt driveway lined with tall blue spruce pines interspersed with shrubs laden with ornamental bright red berries. He turned in to a connecting drive and parked outside an attractive cottage in the manicured gardens of the B&B.

  ‘Take me back, Jett. Now!’

  ‘We’re here. I’m not doing anything of the sort.’

  Sofie groaned her irritation, swung open her door, flung herself out, but catapulted forward whe
n something caught her foot. It happened so fast, her hands flew out too late to stop the impact. She fell face down in the dirt and gravel, her chin smacking hard against a large rock. Air whooshed out of her lungs; she couldn’t make a sound, couldn’t scream her pain. The metallic taste of blood made her want to vomit. She lay dazed on the driveway while a voice, somewhere in the distance, yelled at her.

  ‘Sofie! What the hell are you doing? For fuck’s sake!’ Jett cursed.

  The thumping crunch of his feet came closer as he rounded the car. ‘Will you bloody well get up!’

  She had no thoughts other than to get the hell up off the gravel digging painfully into her chin and jaw. She pressed her hands into the dirt and tried to push herself up, but was unable to move.

  Jett grabbed the back of her parka, and yanked it up hard, nearly choking her. It didn’t help that something was locked around her ankle. She wriggled her foot, trying to free herself. Jett’s fingers slipped and she hit the drive again, scraping her knees this time, straight through her jeans, and grazing her palms.

  Sofie tried to clear her blurred vision and focus on Jett’s expensive Italian shoes near her face, which made her nervous. She had enough sense to edge back. Thankfully the idiot didn’t follow.

  He bent right down and yelled, ‘Stop fucking around and get the fuck up, Sofie!’

  He tugged at her clothes, but Sofie was too groggy to do anything about his commands.

  Unlike Brock who could lift her with ease, Jett struggled, and had to shove his hands under her arms and drag her up, complaining the whole time that she should lose weight, and tried to push her back into the car. Muttering obscenities, he moved behind her and lifted her foot, untangling it from the shoulder strap of her handbag.

  ‘Jett, stop pushing me around, I don’t feel good,’ Sofie mumbled with difficulty.

  ‘Shut up.’ He hauled her back out of the car and dragged her, with her shoes scraping along the ground all the way, back to his rented cottage and up the four steps leading to the veranda. No fight left in her, Sofie leaned against the wall while Jett opened the door. He shoved her inside, and she stumbled across the threshold. The door slammed shut behind her; the finality of it rang through the little cottage. Jett pushed her towards a couch. Hands on her shoulders, he pressed down and Sofie sank into the cushions, not difficult since she was ready to drop anywhere. She let her head tip forward to her knees and blood dripped out of her mouth.

  ‘Stupid fucking thing to do, Sofie,’ he muttered, feet clomping away on the timber flooring.

  If she’d been able to speak, she would’ve told him that falling out of his car was not something she did on purpose, for Christ’s sake. The second time was all his doing, so therefore not her stupid fucking thing she did—but his.

  She checked to see if she had any broken teeth; her tongue swept past the inside of her bottom lip. Damn. Her teeth must’ve sliced into her lip. She breathed through the pain and, slowly feeling less dazed, she took stock of her injuries. Stones had cut right through her jeans and her knees stung. Her elbows were sore, but protected by her winter coat, hopefully just bruised. Her hands were a mess with gravel rash, weeping as well as bleeding. Jett came back, his fancy Italian leather boots stopping right near her sneakers. If she had the strength, she would’ve lifted her head and glared at him.

  ‘Why’d you grab me?’ Pain shot through her mouth, which had started to swell. She took a moment to breathe through it, then carefully mumbled, ‘You should’ve just let me lie there … until I got my breath back … ow!’

  ‘Oh, so now it’s my fault you fell. Look at you, you’re a mess.’

  ‘Don’t start, Jett,’ Sofie growled, ‘I’m not the same submissive little thing you left!’

  ‘I really couldn’t give a shit.’

  ‘Oh—and don’t we know it! You bastard!’ Eyes screwed shut she winced and brought her hand up, her fingers hovering. Afraid to touch her face, she let her arm drop to her lap, hand dangling between her knees.

  What had happened to change the sweet surfer guy into this ugly moron? The pretentious prick waffled on, making demands he had no rights to.

  ‘What I want is to talk. You have no idea what I’ve been through to get you here so we could.’ He handed her a wet face washer.

  She took it, resting the cool cloth on her swollen mouth and chin, thinking, once again it’s all about him and what he went through.

  ‘Seems to me, Jett, you’re doing fine,’ she mumbled behind the cloth. ‘You’re driving a one hundred thousand dollar car.’ Head like a heavy weight on her shoulders and pounding unmercifully, she leaned back against the couch feeling utterly miserable.

  Jett edged forward, widening his stance so he could place his legs either side of hers. He was trying to take them to a place she definitely did not want to go.

  The bastard was taking advantage. ‘Get off me!’ Eyes screwed shut she winced.

  ‘Aw, Sofie, you used to like it when I—’

  ‘Are you insane?!’ she boldly cut in. It was painful to speak, but she didn’t care. She glared daggers at him. ‘Touch me and so help me, I will have you charged with assault.’

  He stepped back. ‘Aw, Sofie I was just trying to make you feel better.’

  She shook her head and regretted it. ‘Ugh, you don’t know how. Most of the time with you, I faked orgasms.’

  Jett’s eyes grew round like a startled cat and a flicker of embarrassment passed across his face. His neck reddened, the colour creeping up to join his flushed cheeks. He gasped but said nothing, made no comeback. Nonetheless, the fact his latest marriage had ended badly surely would make him think and doubt his own sexual prowess … he was the only one who believed he had any, anyway.

  Just as quickly his embarrassment disappeared, and the arrogant prick returned. Then he tried to belittle her. ‘You’re a klutz as usual. Not good at anything, can’t even get out of a car without falling flat on your face. You’re not fit to be a mother. I’m going to fight for custody.’

  He was talking rubbish, yet the jibes hurt. As for getting custody, Claudia was way beyond the age where she had no choice. Let him bloody try.

  He babbled on about how he was going to show her a great time, just like he used to. God what an idiot. And he took it further trying to ingratiate himself and weaken her emotionally, going on about how sad a stolen truck destroyed her house, and how she’d never get revenge because the driver had vanished. Not wanting to alert him because he could change his expression to suit the moment, Sofie carefully squinted up past her brow, despite a searing headache that made looking anywhere painful, and tried to focus. It shocked her to see his self-satisfied sneer, enjoying the fact some idiot demolished her house and revelling in telling her all the details.

  Sofie slid her eyes to the side wondering if she could make it to the front door, and if she could shove him hard enough to make a run for his car … yeah, and then what? She didn’t have the keys. Shit! Anyway, standing up would be enough of a problem, let alone shoving him anywhere.

  Hang on, her sluggish mind registered, there was a noteworthy piece of information during his self-absorbed waffling—how did he know it was a stolen truck? Did her mother pass that on?

  ‘You’ll love it back in Sydney,’ he went on, and judging by the smug look on his face, he relished having her as his captive audience. ‘And with the all the money you’ve got right now, we could buy a house at Rose Bay, or better still Lavender Bay, just like the street here where you used to live.’

  ‘I’m going to be sick,’ Sofie announced.

  With an almighty thump, the door burst open so hard it bounced back off the wall. Sofie barely had the energy to squeal. Squinting against the light was excruciating, but she had no trouble recognising his silhouette.

  ‘Brock,’ she said on a breath.

  Instantly, the atmosphere became explosive. Sofie’s throat went dry and her pounding heart made her headache a whole lot worse, like someone was using a sledgehammer against t
he inside of her skull.

  Jett’s mouth hung open, he quickly pulled himself together and yelled, ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’

  It only took a couple of Brock’s long strides and he was right there in front of her, dominating the space. He raised a hand to Jett’s chest and shoved. Jett wasn’t ready and fell back on his arse.

  Brock hunkered down and gave her a thorough body scan. His eyes moved to her face, and his look, already enraged, turned fierce. Then something strange happened. Brock’s staring eyes glazed over, his expression one of horror, fear and utter grief. Hands on her thighs, fingers squeezing her muscles, his mighty frame was there right in front of her, yet his mind—no, more than that—his very soul was somewhere else.

  Every muscle in Brock’s body hardened with tension, and then he began to shake.

  ‘Brock,’ Sofie murmured, ‘you’re scaring me.’ Movement over his shoulder caught her attention. ‘Jett, don’t move!’ Damn that hurt. Leaning forward, she curled her fingers around Brock’s forearms, and hung her head. The knuckles on his hands gripping her thighs were white; she softly whimpered, ‘Ouch.’ She didn’t know what to do, so waited and hoped he’d come out of it soon.

  ‘Don’t give me that shit, I can go anywhere I want,’ Jett crowed nastily.

  There was too much heartache, too much feeling like crap to worry about the idiot. He didn’t even try and across the timber floor quietly as he came right up behind Brock. He must’ve had a death-wish because the fool dared to place a hand on Brock’s shoulder. With care, and trepidation, Sofie eased her eyes to Brock’s, not in the least bit shocked that his face, set in hard angles and lines, held a menacing expression.

  ‘Get off me,’ he growled, his tone a dire warning. He’d returned from wherever he’d been and was back with her … thank God.

  In a blink, Jett’s hand was gone.

  Brock’s eyes captured hers, penetrating deep, and without saying a word, he assured Sofie everything would be all right. Her eyes stung, damn it, and she blinked back the tears blurring her vision. Seconds went by and she whispered, ‘Brock?’