FOURTEEN
Zeus
She didn’t come out of her room all of Sunday except to use the bathroom or snatch something from the kitchen when she thought nobody watched. Pair Belle’s sulking with John’s silence over the subject of Cerise, and it made for one hell of a quiet end to the weekend.
In an odd way, it made me glad to go to work today. I needed the distraction, the mind-numbing state of nothingness that accompanies being on the end of a shovel for a few hours. I needed to put myself to work and replace emotional pain with physical pain—something more tangible to focus on.
I succeeded.
My back hurts, my feet hurt, and I swear to God I’ve even managed to get wind burnt. Welcome to your new permanent job, motherfucker. My boots leave dirt halos where I kick them off at the front step, my clothes still filthy despite the fact I spent what felt like the better part of an hour brushing myself off before I got in the car.
Roadwork is fucking dirty work, especially on days we finish early because of the rain.
Drawing a deep breath, I hesitate before opening the front door. I did my best to keep up Belle’s bullshit story yesterday about her food poisoning, flat-out lying to my best friend when he asked me if she told me anything different to what she told him. “Look after her tomorrow, okay?” he’d remarked as he headed off to catch a few hours rest before his next shift.
Yeah—I’m pretty sure he’s got no idea exactly how I’d like to look after his daughter.
Quit it, dickhead. No matter how hard I try, I can’t shift her from my thoughts. The more I replay the sight of her sitting there on her bed, ashamed at what I noticed, the more the memory shows me a young woman seated across from me. A young woman who may have made a stupid fucking decision, but a woman nonetheless.
She’s eighteen, but fuck me, I can’t wrap my mind around why that doesn’t seem to matter. It should. Her age should be the reason why I back away before things get even more complicated.
But if I’ve ever been one thing, it’s a selfish son of a bitch, and I’m not ready to give up Belle just yet. Not when being around her leaves me feeling better than I have in years… as though I’m worth somebody’s love.
It’s just your divorce playing games with you. The only logical explanation to the way I feel. Yet as I finally twist the handle and push, I know a fragile heart is the last thing that’s got me the way I am.
She sees me, just like she said. She sees me and that makes her happy. Nobody is happy when they find out the truth about who I am. Only her.
“How was your day?” Belle pauses in the hallway, presumably on her way back to her room with a bowl of what looks to be muesli.
Seems the appetite has returned.
“Long.” Fuck it, I give in and smile at her, because why not when the sight of her immediately lessens my aches?
She squares her stance, and then runs her gaze the length of me. A small frown pulls at her brow. “You’re going to track dirt all through Dad’s house.”
Dust and mud are caked around the legs of my work pants. “Yeah, but how else do I get to the laundry?” Let alone to a clean change of clothes. If I were at my own place, I would have stripped in the doorway and walked through the house in nothing but my boxers.
But… Belle.
“Hold on.” She disappears for a moment, returning without the bowl in her hands. Instead she carries an armful of towels.
“What are you going to do with those?” I chuckle.
“Lay them down like a path for you to walk over so you at least save the carpet.” She drops the stack, then picks up the top towel and shakes it out.
“And you’re going to greet me at the door to do this every time it rains?” I tease.
The corners of her mouth turn down in thought. “You have a point.”
“What we need is a better plan.” I look around as though the house itself will provide me with the answer.
I have nothing. No ideas that don’t involve me at least partially undressed anyway. Fuck. They’re just boxers. How different would it be to her seeing me in swimmers? It’ll only be this one time; I’ll take a change of clothes from now on, be more prepared.
“Honestly, go do whatever you were doing when I walked in,” I tell her. “I’ll sort myself out.”
“If you’re sure.”
“Positive.” One hundred per cent positive I want her to fuck off so I can shed my clothes without things getting awkward.
I wait until the rustle of her moving around in her bedroom filters to where I stand, and then unbutton the cotton work shirt with quick fingers. Dust falls to the floor as I slide the sleeves down my arms, but at least on the entry tiles I can sweep the mess up. My belt buckle clangs as I whip it open, and then shove my work pants down my legs and over my feet. With the filthy clothing balled in my hands, I head for the laundry, hoping like hell Belle stays in her fucking room.
Safe as houses. I make it to the washer and let out the breath I didn’t realise I’d held. After taking the wet clothes in the machine out to hang up later, I throw my things in and set the load to heavy. My skin prickles at her sudden intake of breath.
Shit.
“I… um, I remembered there was stuff in the machine, so I was coming to get it.” Belle’s gaze stays stuck on my chest.
I clear my throat.
That deep rose blush shows itself as she steps forward, careful not to bump into where I stand in nothing but my boxer briefs, and reaches for the basket of clothes. “I’ll just take this,” she whispers, backing out of the room in a hurry.
Fuck my life. Night shift. John had to go and take fucking night shift.
How the fuck am I going to survive this another day? More to the point, how the fuck is Belle going to survive me?
I take a step forward and then freeze as she reappears at the door. “I forgot that.” Her hand lifts and she points to the clothes airer tucked down the side of the machine.
Twisting to my right, I slide it out and lift the metal frame to pass it over. Her gaze flicks off my arms as I face her, meeting mine with nothing short of guilt. Be the adult, Zeus.
“It’s okay,” I tease. “I know for a fact I’m not the first half-naked guy you’ve seen, so no need to act shy.”
Her face falls and those soft lips turn down. I didn’t intend the reference to her first fuck on Friday night to be so harsh. What a jackass thing to say, Z.
“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”
She clutches the airer in her grasp, swallowing before answering. “No, you’re right. I shouldn’t be so stupid about it. What’s a bit of skin, right?” She laughs awkwardly before backing out of the room.
I throw my head back, hands over my face, and groan. Well played, Zeus. Fucking tool. I’m supposed to be making her feel better, letting her know that we all fuck up sometimes, mostly at her age when the world is still so new and there’s still so much to learn.
But instead, here I am making her feel even worse for what happened. Fuck. She said it was her decision to take the guy bare, but I’m not stupid, and I’ve fucking known Belle long enough to know she isn’t either.
She didn’t choose to be so careless. She wouldn’t roll the dice on a risk that great. It just doesn’t add up. Not to mention the fact she said she was punked when I picked her up.
Still, I have to take her word on it, because thinking of what the alternative implies has the blood in my veins charged and ready to take down whatever ignorant fuck thought he could take advantage of her like that.
And for a man who’s out on good behaviour? Yeah, revenge isn’t exactly on the cards if I want to stay on the outside of the razor wire-topped fences and in Belle’s life.
Not yet, anyway.