Enjoy Your Stay (14 page)

W
ALKING AWAY
from that hospital bed without telling him how I felt was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. Well, until Chelcie, with all her perfect hair and teeth, and smile and sweet voice, and even sweeter disposition that wouldn’t hurt a bloody fly came to stay in the house Jack and I shared, that is. You wanna know what the worst part is? It’s completely illogical for me to not like her because she’s just so fucking nice. And funny! Did I mention funny? The woman makes me wish I were still in the morning sickness part of pregnancy so I could have a legitimate excuse to spew on her.

I hate her. The bitch is sleeping in Jack’s room. He’s on the couch, but still. She’s rolling around in the bed that Jack and I fucked like rabbits on, and I’m just supposed to be okay with it? I mean, excuse the fuck outta me, but shouldn’t ex-fiancées stay in the past? Not show up on your doorstep, and move the fuck in while you’re trying to define your stupid-as-fuck messed-up relationship with her ex? He said things to me in that car. He said
things
, and two weeks later I still don’t know what they mean, because ever since he woke up in that hospital, this bitch has been around him twenty-four
fucking
seven. And let’s not forget the way she dotes on him, cooks and cleans, and finishes his goddamned sentences. She makes me feel stabby, all kinds of stabby … and this is not how this shit was supposed to go down.

I should be happy Jack has his ex-woman back. I mean, I told him he couldn’t make love to me.
Who the hell does that?
Hey, big guy, you can totally stick it in whichever orifice you’d like, but looking at me while you stick it in is not on. And while we’re on the subject, no tenderness, either.

I am such a whore
.

I wander out onto the veranda, and take in the beautiful view down the drive. We’re on the outskirts of town, but from this side of the house all you see for kilometres is lush, green cane. For once there’s not a single car or bike in sight to hinder the view, and I have to say it’s a bit of a relief, because it means I’m finally home alone, and I haven’t heard the house this quiet in months.

And then the quiet is shattered by a commotion from the shed, and the sound of tools clattering together. I walk over, thinking Jack or Elijah has forgotten to close it up, and that there’s a possum inside again.

I don’t find a possum, though; I find Jack is inside. Which is weird, because I thought he’d gone with Chelcie to the store. He has his back to me, and he’s attempting to pick up a hammer he dropped on the floor. His arm must be hurting, because he drops it twice more before abandoning it. Jack slams his fist down on the workbench, and then shoves a half-built piece of furniture off toward the other side of the table. It cracks, and he yells, “Fuck!”

I stand in the doorway, the warm sunlight beating down on my back, and I probably look like a complete moron, but the outburst is so unlike him that I’m hesitant to say anything and draw attention to the fact that I’m here. Then he turns and sees me, and I have no choice but to speak.

“Couldn’t you just use your web-slingers to pick it up?” I joke. He turns back around to the bench, and attempts to salvage the broken pieces of furniture. He lifts the hammer from the floor, and begins pulling nails from the wood and tossing them on the bench. “You okay, Spidey?

“You should stop calling me that, sweetheart, or I’ll web-sling your arse right into my bedroom.”

“Sp-i-de-y.” I draw out the word slowly, with a cheeky grin full of challenge.
Please take me to your room, and spread your Spiderman spunk all over me,
I think, and then prop my pregnant arse up against the workbench. Normally I’d try hopping up and acting all cute, but I doubt my weedy little arms would be able to withstand the weight of my giant belly, and really, who wants to be nailed in the arse?

Don’t answer that.

“Where’s Chelcie?”
Picking out lace curtains for your room?

“She took a run into Lismore. I didn’t feel up to it.”

“How long has your hand been bothering you?”

“This thing?” He circles his wrist, and shrugs. “Nah, it’s alright. How you doing, Mamma?”

Mamma? Oh, I see. We’re back to keeping our hands off one another again?

“Can’t complain, no one would listen,” I reply, and glance at the door, wishing I’d just stayed on the couch to watch TV. Jack reaches out, and strokes his finger down my hand that’s clutching the workbench.

“I would,” he whispers. I pull my hand away, because despite how good it feels, I don’t know how much longer I have alone with him, and I need answers.

“Jack, we need to talk about what you said.”

“What I said?” He frowns. “You mean, when we had the fight?”

“No. What you said in the car, before we crashed.”

“Hols, I don’t remember anything about the crash. I was high as a fucking kite, sweetheart.”

I pause, and then decide that if I don’t get an answer it’ll eat at me until I wind up doing something stupid. Stupid
er
. “You don’t remember telling me that you wanted more?”

“What?” His brows shoot skyward, and he whistles. “Fuck me! I must have been further gone than I thought.”

“So you don’t remember a thing?”

“Nope. Look, Hols, you know I love you. You’re an amazing woman, but I’m sorry darlin’, I just don’t feel that way about anyone.”

“Not even Chelcie?”

“Chelcie’s my ex. Yes, once upon a time I loved her, but that’s not the way I feel about her now. She’s estranged from her parents, and she has no one left. She’s just enjoying having someone around who used to be family. Still is, I guess.”

“Oh, come the fuck on, you seriously trying to tell me she’s not playing her Mother Teresa routine in an attempt to get you back?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Are you sleeping with her?”

“Why do you care?”

“Come on, Jack. It’s bad enough that you’re a serial man-whore, but I think I’m entitled to know if you’re fucking another woman. It’s not just me here I have to think about. Not that I’m saying she’s got the clap, or anything, but …”

“Wait, back the fuck up. You just said you’re not the only one you have to think about anymore. You’re right about that. Maybe we should quit this thing while we’re in front? I mean shit, Hols, you’re having a baby. Another dude’s baby. You and I shoulda never started this shit back up in the first place.” He sighs, and then turns his body into mine, tilting my chin up so I’ll look him in the eyes. “Look, sweetheart, it was fun. We both had a good time, but your focus needs to be on this kid, not on my cock.”

“Fuck you, Jack!” I shove away from him. Seething, I head for the door, before spinning back and letting him have it. I get right up in his face, and punctuate my words with a bony little finger to his chest. “You know, in all the years we’ve known one another, you’ve never made me feel like a whore, until these past few weeks. So thank you very
fucking
much for finally coming clean about your feelings … or lack of.”

“Hols …”

“No. Fuck you, and your arsehole coma, and your fuck-stick cock, and your ability to say shit you don’t mean and still have people believe it anyway, and your fucking need to screw everything up by sticking your dick where it doesn’t belong. And fuck your perfect fucking ex-fiancée with her perfect tits, and hair, and her goddamned perfect, put-together life. I hope the two of you are very happy together, and I hope every time you fuck her you see my face, feel my pussy around you, and my nails in your back, because we are never doing this again. So fuck you, Jack.”

I spin around on my heels, and come face to face with a forlorn-looking, and very red-faced Chelcie, whose perfect manicured hand is covering her perfect little mouth. Beyond her, Sammy, Bob, Ana, and Elijah are all standing on the lawn, witnessing my meltdown.

“I’m so sorry. We didn’t mean to interrupt—” Chelcie begins, but I cut her off, because her apologies make me feel even more like shit.

“Great. Perfect. Just fucking perfect. Now that everyone’s here, why don’t we all share our feelings? Bob, you need to quit your drinking, pull your shit together, take your kid home, and stop using your daughter as a crutch for when life gets fucked! Because it’s always fucked!

“And Ana, babe, do you think you and your ex-con could maybe keep the fucking to one corner of the house? Say, like, your bedroom for instance? And you,” I say, and point at Chelcie. “Don’t you have a home to go to? Jack’s fine, he pulled through just fine, so don’t you think it’s time to scurry back to whatever Podunk town you came from?”

“Chelcie’s here because I want her here,” Jack says, coming up behind me. Slowly, I turn and face him. I don’t have words to describe just how pissed I am. He shoots me a black look. “You about done, Hols?”

I realise how heavily I’m panting, and how everyone I live with is just staring at me. In fact, Jack’s looking at me like I’m from Tasmania, and I’ve grown two heads. So I gather up the last of my dignity, take a deep breath, and say, “Yeah, Jack. I’m completely done.”

I stalk past everyone, up the front steps and into the house, where of course I slam the door like a kid having a temper tantrum. It’s only after I lay down that I allow myself to feel the sting of Jackson’s words. The truth always did hurt, like a two-bit hooker after Valentine’s Day.

The sweet scent of apples and golden-browned pastry wakes me the following morning. I stumble out of bed, throw on some clothes, and pray Ana doesn’t want to grind my bones to make her bread. Before my meltdown yesterday, I’d promised I’d help with the baking—Belle’s Pies might be a pile of ash, but we still have deliveries to local cafes, and some that order from two towns over. While I was in hospital, Ana organised a pie drive to raise funds that go toward the rebuild, so once we’ve finished our regular orders, we’ll start baking as many pies as possible and freezing them in preparation.

I slowly make my way down the hall. I have the hormone-over from hell.
I can’t believe I was such a bitch yesterday.
I’m half afraid to see what reception awaits me after my outburst, but I know it’s time to pull up my big girl knickers and get my apology on.

Bob and Ana are talking in the kitchen. I stand in the lounge room, pressed up against the wall, and out of plain sight. I probably look like a complete creeper, but their conversation halted me in my tracks. “Dad, you know you don’t have to leave.”

“Yeah, I do. Hols was right, kiddo. I lean on you way too much. Always have,” he says in his gruff baritone.

“I don’t mind,” she protests.

“Not the point, darlin’. You should be out being a kid.”

“I’m twenty in a few months. That’s hardly a child, Dad.”

“Yeah, all the more reason you don’t need your old man around cramping your style. And between the baby drama and the”—he clears his throat—“ … video tapes, well, I’m not sure how long I can keep Sammy around that shit without scarring him for life.”

I finally decide to make my presence known, partly because I feel creep-tastic eavesdropping out in the hall, and partly because I can’t see how their conversation could get any more awkward.

I walk into the kitchen, give a sheepish little wave and say, “Morning.”

Ana folds her arms over her chest as she leans against the counter. My best friend gives good cranky. I risk a glance at Bob, whose expression is almost the complete opposite of his daughter’s. He stands beside Ana, his arm casually slung over her shoulder.

“Bob, I am so, so sorry about what I said.”

He holds a hand up to ward me off from saying any more. “Don’t worry about it, Hols. We all need to be chewed out by a feisty redhead every once in a while. A good dose of reality was just what this family needed.” He lets out a humourless laugh and shakes his head. “What I needed.”

“No, I was out of line.”

“You think?” Ana says, and her hard-arse stance hasn’t softened, but something in her gaze has.

“Nah, I reckon you hit the nail on the head, sweetheart.”

Tears sting my eyes, and I squeeze them shut and pinch the bridge of my nose to keep them from falling. Next thing I know, I’m engulfed in leather, Old Spice, and a big ol’ hunk ’o Bob. “You did me a favour, Holly. It’s time for Sammy and me to go back to the house and work out how to live without Kerry.”