Regret

by Max Henry

  What can I say—I’ve never had trouble adding bulk. It’s the cut afterward that makes me liable to kill somebody. Hangry Zeus is a trigger-happy Zeus.

  “Got a new job, too.” I take the hangers from her to free her hands up, and ditch them in the nearby bin. “Better pay, same hours.”

  “That’s good.” She pauses to negotiate the payment screens. “Can I assume then that you’ve figured out how to move on?”

  I stay silent as she swipes her card, fidgeting with the handles of my shopping bag.

  She pulls the sales docket off the printer and frowns at me. “Zeus?”

  “You got time for a coffee?” I look over at the barber. “He mind?”

  “He’ll be fine about it. Let me duck in to tell him; I’ll grab Bradley and we’ll go to the place just over there.” She points to the café several shops down.

  I hang back while she ducks in to where Eric waits for his cut. He looks around her, holding my gaze with cool eyes. I give a tight nod, and he shifts his focus back to Jodie. I might not like the guy, might fantasize from time to time what it would be like to lay the fucker out, but I’m not beyond keeping the peace for Jodie’s sake.

  She’s happy with the arsehole, and that’s all that matters.

  Jodie wheels Brad out, the kid grinning at me like he’s won the lottery. I suppose he did, having her as a mother. She’s lavished that kid with all the love she’s stockpiled the past twenty or so years. He’s her dream baby, and I don’t resent her one little bit for having what I still long for.

  “Hey, little man.”

  He’s big for a two-month old, already wearing the next size up, or so Jodie says. He’s stocky, like his dad.

  “I’ll go order, if you don’t mind watching this ratbag. What would you like?”

  “Grab me one of their banana smoothies.” I pull out a seat at a table on the edge of the café, and tug Brad in to sit in his stroller facing me. “Don’t take too long; I think he doesn’t trust me.” Not to mention the fact I wouldn’t know what the fuck to do if he starts to cry.

  Jodie laughs, weaving her way through the tables to place our order.

  I stare at the dark-haired kid, and he stares right back at me. Awkward.

  “Been keeping Mum busy?”

  His eyes flick to where Jodie went, and then back to me. I see it in the set of his little eyebrows, the stiffness of his fists. Oh, hell no. A little whimper escapes as he looks toward the table again.

  I check behind me and spot Jodie in the queue, deep in conversation with a server about what she’d like from the specialty cabinets. Fuck.

  Brad’s first cry breaks free, a long, lamenting sound. Jodie turns, her gaze connecting with mine. She makes a cuddling gesture with her arms, lifting her eyebrows.

  Double fuck. The little guy stares up at me, his bottom lip quivering as I reach for the straps that tie him into his stroller. His wail intensifies as my hands connect with his belly, the buckle fucking impossible for a guy with big hands like me. I finally release the poor kid and cradle his head as I lift him out.

  “Hey, buddy. How about we work this out together, huh?”

  His scream damn near deafens me permanently in my left ear. Not going well, then. I strain to see Jodie again. She makes a stroking gesture as the cashier rings up our order. What the fuck does she think he is? A cat? How the hell is stroking him going to help?

  The little guy bashes his head against my shoulder, his back stiff as a rod while he cries his damn lungs out. I place my palm to his back and run it down his spine in even, smooth movements. His cry lessens, but his distress at his mother being so far away is clear.

  “She’ll be back soon,” I say. “Just got to hold on until she is, little buddy.”

  The truth of those words strikes me. It’s the same thing I told myself after Belle left.

  I ease back on the wooden chair and widen my stance, Brad tucked against my chest. His little fists grip my shirt as his wails become warbles, his back relaxing under my touch. Holy fuck. I’m actually doing this shit.

  “You’re a natural. See?” Jodie grins as she sets her food and my shake down on the table. “Be right back.”

  She returns a moment later with serviettes and our table number. I watch as she settles herself in the seat, pulling out a cloth to cover herself so she can presumably feed the little guy.

  “Okay, I’m ready. Pass the ratbag over.” She holds out her hands.

  I turn the little guy around, amazed by the look of adoration on his face when he sets those big eyes on his mum. I wasn’t jealous when she told me that they’d conceived, didn’t hold it against her the entire pregnancy. But having the little guy in my arms—fuck, I want that.

  “True bloke, huh?”

  She lifts a questioning eyebrow as she settles Brad against her.

  “Always hungry,” I explain.

  “Always demanding, more like,” she says with a small laugh. “You can look away if you prefer.”

  I shrug as she positions him under the cloth and peers in the gap between it and herself. “I’ll just keep my eyes above shoulder level, eh?”

  She smiles as the waitress brings her coffee over. “Thanks.”

  The girl grabs the number and leaves, seemingly going out of her way to avoid looking directly at me.

  “Still got that effect, Z,” Jodie observes.

  Yeah. I do. Still don’t give a shit unless it’s one woman in particular that I leave wanting.

  “What did you want to talk about, then?” She reaches for her coffee with her free hand.

  I delay answering, paranoid she’s about to spill hot drink on the little guy. Jodie picks up on my clear concern.

  “It’s okay. I’ve done this a few times now.”

  “Won’t that shit keep him up all night?”

  “It’s decaf.”

  Of course.

  “Talk, Zeus. What’s on your mind?”

  I glance out at the people who wander the mall, shifting my gaze across until I spot Eric in the barber’s chair. The distance is too far to know if he watches me in the mirror, too.

  “I got a message from Belle.”

  “Oh.”

  “It’s okay. She was being friendly.” I omit the fact it was in response to my declaration of undying love for her. “I sent her a picture.”

  Jodie carefully sets her coffee on the table. “What the hell?”

  “Not that kind of picture.” Although the idea is tempting. “A tattoo I want done.”

  “And what did she say?”

  “Said she wants to do it. Even redrew it so it looks better.”

  “Okay?” Jodie clearly struggles to see where my dilemma is.

  “Now I haven’t spoken to her in a week.”

  She frowns, adjusting her boy. “Why? Did you say something to upset her?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Well, what was the last thing you talked about?”

  I reach out and turn my smoothie on the table. “She wanted to borrow money to set up her shop.”

  Jodie’s silence tells me all I need to know: she assumes exactly what I did.

  “Do you think she’d be the sort to do that?” I ask.

  “Take you for a ride to her own benefit?”

  I nod.

  “I don’t know.” She focuses on Brad, switching sides.

  I value the friendship Jodie and I still have. I’m usually a good judge of character, but at the same time I’ve never been the best at reading people’s true intentions. Jodie’s always been the one to help me work out the kinks when I had a problem with people. I respect her opinion, always have, and I need her sound advice now more than ever.

  “She has been away for a while,” Jodie points out. “I sent her the odd message while she was over there, just to check in, and I saw her briefly a few days after she got back, but I don’t know for sure if she’s changed.” Her features soften as she looks across at me. “Why don’t you talk to John about it?”

/>   I laugh, leaning back in my chair as I bring the smoothie to my lips. The cold drink is refreshing, enough to fill me up until my next bland meal of roast beef strips and salad.

  “He’d have a fit if he knew she’d been messaging me.”

  “She’s a grown woman. It’s her prerogative.”

  “Maybe so, but you can’t deny history makes it a sore subject.”

  Jodie sighs, flattening her lips. “Then get another artist to do it.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “What are you going to do then?” Brad fusses, drawing her focus.

  I wait until she’s settled again. “I don’t know. That’s why I wanted to talk to you; you always know what the right thing to do is.”

  “Do I?” she scoffs. “I slept with your goddamn boss, Zeus, because I didn’t know how to break it off with us.”

  “And look at you now.” I gesture to Bradley. “You’re exactly where you wanted to be: happy, with a kid.”

  “At your expense.” Her mouth sours. “I don’t feel right about that.”

  “Don’t sweat it. I’m not.” My inability to move out of this rut isn’t her problem.

  She watches me closely as I suck back half the smoothie, eyes critical as she chews the inside of her cheek. “I still think you should go see her.”

  “You know how that went down last time I was at John’s.”

  “Yeah, well, this time it’s not so much of a surprise, is it?”

  “He told me to stay the fuck away.”

  She frowns. “He doesn’t see what I do. You left things unresolved with Belle. She might have gone on to create a new life, but you let her go when you were still in love with her—you’re stuck in limbo.”

  “I know.” It’s like fucking Groundhog Day.

  “You need to do something to kick-start your life again. If she wants to be a part of it, she has to respect the sacrifice you made. She has to play fair.” Jodie shrugs. “If she can’t, well then she needs to make damn sure your paths don’t cross again. You don’t deserve to be left out in the cold like a fucking Christmas puppy. It’s not fair for you.”

  I trace the condensation on the glass with my finger, frowning at her observation. This is why I came to talk to my ex-wife about my hopeless love: she gets me. She has the outside perspective I need to figure this shit out, because fuck knows I’m not able to do it on my own.

  “All done?”

  I look up to see Eric has arrived on the scene. He leans down to give his boy a kiss on the head as Jodie burps the kid, balanced on her knee. I retrieve a ten from my wallet and toss it on the table for Jodie.

  “Thanks for the chat. It helped.” Her eyes hold concern as I shift my focus to Eric. “You’ve got a hell of a family, mate. Look after them.”

  He’s lost for words as I rise and leave Jodie to the rest of her afternoon. The crowd swallows me as I wind the handles of my shopping bag around my fist and head for the bike.

  I’m holding on to things I know are impossible, yearning after a future that’s now an unachievable past. I’ve got to separate Belle from who I am and really evaluate what it is I want from the rest of my life.

  If I’d never met her, never struck up a friendship with John and in turn never known his kid, then who would I be?

  Figure that shit out, and then the answer on what to do about Belle will be clear as day.

  FIFTEEN

  Belle

  “Your destination is on your right.”

  I lean forward and peer out the windscreen, counting up as I crawl past the letterboxes. Damien’s parents’ place is a sprawling acreage house set back on a two-acre section at the outskirts of town. I take a gamble that they’re even here. For all I know, they’ve all gone out to lunch to catch up.

  A compact car sits parked in the driveway, a larger SUV behind it. Good signs.

  I park Sharon’s car and check my appearance in the rear-view before I get out. It’s ridiculous that I’m bloody well nervous. What the hell is there to be worried about? I’m here to surprise my boyfriend—what guy wouldn’t like that?

  My heart races as I walk up the wide concrete path toward the front door. Perfectly trimmed shrubs line the walkway, lights recessed into the lip at the sides. I can imagine the house would look magical at night.

  The distant murmur of voices drifts to where I stand, my fist clammy as I raise it to the heavy oak door and knock. What seems like forever passes before the sound of the seal around the door breaking has me straightening my spine and plastering a smile on my face.

  Damien’s father greets me, an unmistakable look of confusion on his face. I’ve never spoken to his parents, never met them, but I know what they look like from pictures.

  “Hi.” I lift a hand briefly. “I’m Belle.”

  He hesitates, and my heart plummets to my stomach before everything seems to click into place and his entire face lights up. “Belle! Come in. Come in.” He steps back, gesturing for me to enter.

  I slip my shoes off at the entrance, and then wait for him to take the lead. He smiles, and then settles a hand on the middle of my back to guide me through the enormous, open-plan living area.

  “Damien didn’t tell us you were coming, so excuse my rudeness.”

  “He doesn’t know. It’s a surprise.”

  His lips curl up in a mischievous grin. Damien’s dad is tall and broad in the shoulders. I can’t remember where he works, but I recall something about it being an executive position. Everything about him seems to corroborate that story: perfect hair, unweathered face, soft hands, and impeccable taste in what looks to be expensive clothing.

  We navigate past a gigantic corner suite and across to where stacking doors have been pushed back to open the living area out onto an enormous entertaining area. Five heads turn to take me in as we approach where Damian’s family sit around a large outdoor table. Finger food and liquor are spread across the surface.

  “Belle.” Damien doesn’t rise, simply leaning back in his seat to give me a “what the fuck are you doing here” look.

  “Thought I’d surprise you,” I lamely explain, at a loss for what to do with myself as Damien’s father resumes his seat at the table.

  “Get your girl a chair, boy.” His father then proceeds to introduce everyone while Damien scrambles to find me a seat.

  I’m awkwardly jammed between him and his younger sister, Beth.

  “I’m glad you came.” She leans in close, her voice low enough for only us to hear. “He’d never bring you here to meet us, otherwise.”

  I stare at her, not sure what to say to that. Is she insinuating that he’s embarrassed of me? Or that the thought wouldn’t have crossed his mind?

  “How long are you here for?” Damien asks, taking hold of my hand.

  The contact seems contractual, rather than wanted. “I thought I’d stay for the afternoon, if that’s okay?”

  He shrugs. What the actual fuck. “I’ll see if Mum has enough for dinner.”

  “So, Belle,” his dad says. “Damien tells us you’re a tattoo artist. That’s an interesting choice of profession.”

  My skin burns as I look around the table and realise that nobody else has a visible tattoo. My money is on the lot of them not having a single one between them.

  “Yes.” I offer a warm smile. “I have a love for drawing, and it naturally progressed, I suppose.”

  “What got you interested in art?” his mother asks.

  “It helped me through a tough time in my life.”

  “Oh.” She cocks her head, as though the concept of a rough patch is foreign.

  I’m so out of my element here.

  “How about we head indoors, babe, and catch up?” Damien’s question is innocent enough, but I can’t help but feel he’s steering me away from possibly saying something he didn’t want to reveal.

  “Sure.” I rise with him and offer the table a small wave. “It was nice meeting you all.”

  “You too, dear.”

  I’
m shepherded indoors and down a long hallway to what is clearly Damien’s room. He closes the door behind us, hesitating with his hand on the flat surface, back to me.

  “You could have given me warning, Belle.”

  “I didn’t realise I was such a dirty secret.”

  “You’re not.” He spins, clearly exasperated. “You’re different, is all. I would have liked to prepare them.”

  Different? Not as though I have three heads. “You’re not happy to see me.”

  “Babe, no.” He lifts his hands to placate me. “Of course I’m happy to see you.”

  “Well?” I sling both arms out wide, welcoming a hug.

  He stares at me. “What are you doing?”

  “Waiting.” I shut my eyes and concentrate on my breathing.

  The scuff of his feet on carpet pass by, and then his words echo off the windows behind me. “I just needed this time to get my head together, is all.”

  My arms hit my sides with a slap as I spin to face his back. “You had four fucking weeks, Damien.”

  “Where I was sightseeing, not thinking about us.” He turns to frown at me.

  “I didn’t realise the two things had to be mutually exclusive.”

  Damien sighs, running a hand over his face. “How about I show you the pictures I took? Yeah? Maybe that’ll help us cool off.”

  Oh, buddy. I was cool as a goddamn cucumber when I came in. “Whatever.” I’ve driven three hours to get here; no matter how mad I am, I at least intend to get a break and something to drink out of this visit.

  “Here.” Damien retrieves his iPad and spreads out on top of the bed. He flicks the stand on the hard case and props the device up before him. “Come lie down beside me.”

  I reluctantly agree and do as he says, bored before he even finds the start of the pictures. The further he flicks through the images, though, explaining each as he goes, the more I have to give it to him: the place is amazing. It makes me yearn to head out and explore myself. I’ve been so wrapped up in my career that I forgot what it can be like to get back to nature.

  “Who are they?” I point to a group of three people—two chicks and a guy—who appear in most of the pictures.

  “They were some German tourists that joined the trek.” He points to the guy and the tallest chick. “They’re engaged, and this”—his finger moves to the shorter blonde—“is her sister.”