by Nina Levine
“Anytime,” I murmur.
We end the call, and I smile at Sean. “Shall we eat?”
He stares at me in silence before puffing out a breath and nodding. And even though a minute ago I was thinking bad, bad thoughts about this small child standing in front of me, I’m now wondering how I could ever have thought them. Because right now, I’m reminded that this tiny human needs adults to cut him a little slack while he finds his feet in this big scary world. He needs us to teach him how to navigate it all, and sometimes that means we need to suck it up and fight our way through the chaos of childhood.
“Callie!”
That’s a tiny human’s voice.
What time is it?
It’s way too early to be awake.
“Callie, wake up!”
The tiny human pulls on my arm, and I concede defeat. Blinking my eyes open, I find Sean standing next to the bed, staring at me with excitement. “Morning,” I mumble.
I need coffee.
Right now.
God, why didn’t you intercept on this one?
Is it because I thought bad thoughts last night?
I promise never to do that again.
“You need to get up. Daddy’s cooking breakfast,” he says, his voice a beautiful wash of enthusiasm and happiness.
I force myself to wake up. Morning’s aren’t my best time. I’m not sure what time it is, but it’s gotta be early. Shifting so I’m half-sitting, resting on my elbows, I say, “What’s for breakfast?”
A deep chuckle comes from the doorway, and I turn to see Luke leaning against the doorjamb, his arms crossed over his chest.
Oh, dear Lord, he’s wearing one of those thin, cotton tees that he seems to love. I’ve never seen him wear one in the last year, but all of a sudden, they’re everywhere. Tormenting me.
My eyes drop to his chest, and a shot of lust hits my core.
Quick, look up.
Look up!
I drag my gaze back up to meet his and find his eyes steady on me. Sleeping over last night may have been a bad idea. When he arrived home, I was asleep on the couch, and he woke me to suggest I sleep over rather than driving home half asleep. I’d been exhausted after my day at work and then taking care of Sean, so I agreed. I made the stipulation that we needed separate rooms, so he gave up his bed and took the couch instead. In my sleepy state, though, with him looking as sexy as he does in that T-shirt and jeans, with bare feet, I’m suddenly feeling all kinds of needy.
“Did you sleep well?” he asks.
“Yeah.” My voice is all croaky still, and I cough to try to shake the croak. I push the covers off and begrudgingly leave the bed. Not just because I’m still sleepy, but also because I loved snuggling into Luke’s pillow and sheets. His scent is everywhere in this room, and it has to be one of my favourite smells ever.
Sean grabs my hand and leads me to where his father stands. Luke’s gaze moves to take in his T-shirt I’m wearing. It ends midthigh, and his eyes sweep appreciatively over me.
“Luke.” My tone is low and full of warning.
He lifts his eyes. “I can’t help it.”
I’m sure our saving grace is Sean. God knows what would happen here if he wasn’t around.
“Daddy, you need to finish the pancakes,” he says, his face lifted to his father, his eyes imploring Luke to hurry back to the kitchen.
“You’re making pancakes?” I ask.
“Yeah. Unless you want bacon and eggs? I’ve got them too, but Sean asked for pancakes.”
I squeeze Sean’s hand and look down at him before saying, “I’m with Sean—pancakes beat bacon and eggs any day.”
Sean grins up at me and nods. Pulling on my hand, he urges, “Come on, Callie. We’ve got juice, too.”
As I let him drag me out of the bedroom, Luke murmurs, “Looks like you’ve scored a fan.”
I hit Luke with a smile. “Just like he has.”
The last thing I see before Sean leads me away is a new look settle across Luke’s face. If I had to guess, I’d say it was joy.
“Morning, Callie,” Paris greets me when I enter the kitchen. “How did you guys go last night?”
Sean lets go of my hand and climbs up onto the stool at the breakfast bar. I smile at him before saying, “We had some initial teething problems, but once we got done with dinner, we had some fun with puzzles and books.”
“And Lego,” Sean adds.
“Yes, Lego too.”
Luke joins us and his hand brushes across the small of my back as he moves past me to get to the fridge. A shiver runs across my skin at his touch, and I catch his eye when he turns to open the fridge door. His gaze is full of as much want as mine.
I quickly turn back to Paris. “How was work?”
She yawns. “It was good.”
“Wait, shouldn’t you be sleeping?”
“Yeah, but I have an assignment to work on. It’s due by midnight tomorrow night, and I still have a lot of work to do on it.”
“I don’t miss studying,” I say as I recall the headaches of assignments.
“What did you study?” Luke asks.
I groan. “If I tell you, you have to promise not to give me grief.”
He frowns, as does Paris. “Why would I do that?”
“Because everyone in my family did.”
“What was it?” Paris asks.
“Arts degree. My mum’s a journalist and my dad’s a financial analyst, and they both told me an arts degree was a waste of time.”
“That’s awful,” Paris says.
“Well, I never did finish it. My parents never let me forget that fact either.”
“Why didn’t you finish?” Luke asks as he pours pancake mix into the frying pan.
“I was finding it hard to afford to live while studying. And juggling work shifts with lectures got hard.”
“Your parents didn’t help you out?” Paris asks.
“No. I moved to Brisbane from Melbourne to study. They told me if I moved, I was on my own. We’re not that close.”
“Sorry to hear that,” she says.
I shrug. “I learnt to deal with it years ago. I wish I had a close family, but to be honest, I’m much happier not having them in my life constantly. We do the mandatory visit at Christmas, and that’s enough for me.”
“What is mandahtry?” Sean asks, struggling with the pronunciation a little.
Luke answers his son. “It means something you have to do.”
Sean nods as he takes that in. “Like eating vegetables?”
Luke smiles. “Yeah, like that.”
“So when I grow up, I’ll only have to eat them at Christmas?” Sean asks.
The three of us laugh, and Luke says, “No, little man. Vegetables are an always thing, even when you’re an adult.”
Sean slumps against the counter and groans. “I think God should have made ice cream a vegetable.”
“I’m with you on that, mate,” I agree.
Paris nods. “Aren’t we all?”
“You know what goes on pancakes, right?” Luke says.
Sean sits up straight and grins. “Ice cream!”
Paris turns to her brother in shock. “Since when does Daddy allow ice cream at breakfast?”
“Since today.”
Paris shakes her head and turns to me. “You need to stay over more often. Daddy Luke is like the strictest daddy in the world. We never get ice cream at breakfast.”
I love the affection these two have for each other.
“I’ve kind of figured that out since last night,” I say.
“I swear he’s overcompensating for the way his mother raised him,” she says as she grabs plates and cutlery.
I take the plates from her. “She wasn’t strict?”
Paris rolls her eyes. “Have you met the woman?”
Following her to the table, I say, “No.”
“I’m right here,” Luke says from the stove.
We ignore him.
“Apparently, she let him get away
with everything. I’m surprised he’s turned out the way he has. He could have become so bratty with the way he was raised,” Paris fills me in.
“Tyler’s a little bratty,” I say. I’ve witnessed Luke’s brother pull some really bratty stunts, but for all that, he’s still a good guy.
Paris nods. “Yeah, he is. He’s lucky his father pulls him into line when needed.”
Luke joins us with a plate of pancakes and Sean jumps off the stool to come sit at the table. As we all sit and shovel pancakes onto our plates while laughing and joking, I feel a sense of belonging I’ve never felt. This is all new to the four of us, and I’m not really a part of their family yet, but I feel a little like I’m home.
About halfway through breakfast, Paris remarks to Luke, “You really need to come up with a better design for the backyard. I wanted to lounge on the sunbed while Sean was playing in the sandpit yesterday, but they’re too far away from each other. We need something near his swing and sandpit for me to be able to lie down and read while he’s playing.”
“You designed your backyard?” I ask, eyeing Luke. I explored a little out there last night. He has an awesome setup for Sean on one side of the yard and an area that looks like an adult’s retreat on the other side. Between the two is an immaculate lawn and well cared for plants.
“Luke’s an architect,” Paris declares.
His eyes meet mine. I hope my complete surprise isn’t showing. “I didn’t know that.”
“He’s won stacks of awards and worked for one of the best firms in Australia,” she says, her pride in her brother clear.
“Did you give up your job to take on the bar?”
He nods. “I was already contemplating a change when Dad left me the bar. I think that’s why he left it to me in his will rather than to both of us—”
Paris cuts in, “I told him I didn’t want it.” She turns to me. “Dad left me his car and his bike instead. I didn’t want them either, but he insisted I should get something. Told me to sell them and put the cash towards my study, so I did.”
“Why were you contemplating a career change?” I ask Luke.
“The pay was awful for the level I was stuck at and my boss, who started out great, had begun to stifle my creativity.”
Paris cuts in again. “He was just jealous of your success with your clients. His designs were so out-dated and lacked the fresh appeal yours did.”
Luke finishes off his pancakes and shoves his plate to the side. “Well, either I had to suck it up or find a new firm to move to. I was just starting to think about all that when Dad died.”
“Do you miss it?” I ask.
He doesn’t have to think about that. “Yeah, I do. It’s why I muck about with the yard.”
Sean finishes his breakfast and says, “May I please be excused?”
“Yes, but we need to wash your hands first,” Luke says.
Before he can stand, Paris does. “I’ll do it. Leave you two to have some time alone.”
After they leave us, I reach for Luke’s hand. “You have this whole other life I know nothing of. I can’t wait to learn all about it.”
He shakes his head. “That stuff’s all in the past, Callie. I just want to focus on the future.” His voice thickens, and his eyes turn hard while he speaks. His shoulders tense, and I sense a complete mood change in him.
I take in this gorgeous man sitting in front of me. He's broken. Everything pouring out of him right now tells me that. As I watch him, I realise something. I’ve had one relationship that lasted a couple of years and I thought I knew what love was, but now I know I didn’t. Because although I’m still falling in love with Luke, what I feel for him already is more than anything I’ve ever felt in my life.
I want to spend my days making him happy.
I want to fill my time laughing with him.
I want to love him so hard that he begins to believe in life again.
But more than anything, I want to take those broken pieces and bandage him back together.
I want to swathe his wounds with love.
Squeezing his hand, I say softly. “You can’t wipe your past from your life, Luke. Good or bad, it’s gotten you to this point, and your future wouldn’t be what it could without everything that’s already happened.”
His eyes dip to look at our hands. He stares at them for a long silent minute before slowly lifting his gaze back to mine. When he speaks, his voice is as hard as his eyes. “I don’t see it that way. My life has been shredded, and I’m just the fucked-over guy who has to pick through the remnants and figure out which bits to keep and which to toss. And I can tell you now, there are a lot of bits I want nothing more to do with.”
His pain pollutes the air and snakes along my skin causing me to shiver. Life isn’t always fair, but this feels like a gross injustice. I’m lost for words, because what do you say to a man who thought he had it all only to discover his life was just a wreckage waiting to happen?
Luke ends up filling the silence when he says, “I’ve gotta head out for a few hours this morning. Thank you for looking after Sean last night. He didn’t stop talking about you this morning.”
It’s clear that he’s ready for me to leave, and while it hurts that I feel like I’m being dismissed, I try hard to remember everything he’s said to me up until this point. He’s made it more than clear he’s in this—it just might take us a little while to wade through the debris in his way.
13
Luke
“You took your time to come back,” Jolene says. Her tone is full of accusation that I ignore.
My lips press together. “I’ve been busy.”
“Too busy for your wife?” Her eyes glitter with anger. And resentment. Always that. Jolene and I exist in an acid bubble of resentment, anger and misery.
“Can we just move past this? I’m here now.”
Her eyes bore into mine, and I try to imagine the thoughts filling her mind. I’ve spent hour upon hour trying to figure out the workings of her mind over the last two years. Hell, even before that, when our marriage spiralled into a whirlpool of arguments and accusations, I spent hours trying to work her out. What I’ve decided is that I will never come close to understanding my wife. The other thing I decided? Marriage is for fools. Handing your life over to someone else and giving them permission to fuck with everything you value is something only those who are crazy in love would ever do. The rest of us know better. I’ll never do it again.
She leans forward and places her arms on the metal table between us. Her face is just as pallid as it was the last time I was here, and she still appears ill. Ice slithers down my spine when I realise just how much I don’t care. Am I really as cold as I feel? “Exactly why are you here, Luke? Do you actually want this marriage?”
“Why the fuck else would I be here?” I snap.
Careful.
You need this.
We sit in silence.
She stares.
I try not to glare.
I clench my fists by my side and remind myself of everything I’m working for here.
I end up breaking the silence. And faking the shit out of this visit. “I’m sorry…” I reach for her hand and do my best not to flinch when our skin meets. “I’m tired, and I’m a bastard. I love you, and I need you out of here just as much as you need to get out.” The words taste dirty even as I think them, let alone speak them.
Her breathing picks up, and then tears fall down her face. Within a minute, she’s sobbing. All I can do is hold her hand and watch in fascination as my wife gives me an Academy Awards-worthy performance. Because it sure as hell isn’t real.
She spends a good five minutes turning on the waterworks. Finally, she gets herself together enough to talk. “I love you, Luke. I feel so alone in here, and I spend my time wondering where we are at and what you’re thinking.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “I think I’m actually going crazy.” Another sob tears through her, and she gasps for breath. “I just want to come home.”
If I were a Hollywood producer, I’d hire her right fucking now. My mind begins cataloguing the last six years that I’ve known her. What was real? What parts of my life can I look back on and know were honest?
I let her hand go. I can’t take one more second of touching her. “Right, so we need to sort through the information the investigator needs. He thinks he’s close to a breakthrough, sweetheart.” Bile threatens as I let that endearment pass through my lips. But I’m closer than I’ve been in a long time. I just need to push myself a little harder.
She takes a deep breath and nods. “What does he need?”
“Did you have a chance to think about those things I asked you the other day?”
Nodding, she says, “I think I was with Alanis the Monday before Mum died. It’s hard to remember that far back, but pretty much every Monday we spent together shopping.”
Her best friend.
The friend who uncovered the truth.
The woman I owe so much to for putting an end to the lies.
“And do you remember if you took the car to that carwash?”
“No, never. The only car wash I’ve ever used is the one you and I went to together. But I still don’t understand why he thinks this information is relevant.”
I want to sag with relief that she finally gave me this information. However, I hold myself together. “I don’t know, but he made it clear it was important.”
She frowns. “Is that all he wants to know? It doesn’t seem right that he’s only asking those questions.”
My carefully held together patience frays. “I told you, I don’t know,” I snap.
Jolene recoils and I swear silently. I need to keep her onside in case the detective demands more information. Raking my fingers through my hair, I mutter, “Sorry.”
She doesn’t respond, but the expression on her face settles back into acceptance.
We sit in another few minutes of tortured silence. The minutes drag by, and I feel like I’ve been sitting here for hours rather than the short time I have been.
Finally, she cuts through the quiet. “We can get us back on track, right?”
I swallow down my distaste. “Yes.”