5

AFTER THE BAR

DOC

BURNING ALIVE.

That’s how I feel right now. I’m so pissed off… But if I’m truly honest, more than anything I’m hurt. For the span of an orgasm, I thought Nora might actually be letting down those forty-foot brick walls she hides behind. Everyone can relax, though; they’re still there—taller and stronger than ever.

Perhaps it was stupid of me to think—no. No, I won’t blame myself for hoping. Mum always said punishing yourself for hoping was like slapping someone for making you happy.

When I get back to my car, I’m shivering with cold sweat. It has nothing to do with the temperature outside, but everything to do with the adrenaline rush. Rejection from someone you truly care about fools and fuels your body with all the wrong signals. It’s almost as frustrating as that woman.

I was hoping we could make another go at it, but clearly, I am batshit crazy.

The next couple of weeks are difficult in terms of getting her off my mind. I meant what I said—I miss her. I have since she called it off. Both times.

I’m not dying for commitment, but I could certainly deal with only her. Just her. God, the taste of her. Her mouth, her skin, her pussy. I don’t know what it is, but it holds me like no other. Having sex with, or even just kissing, someone else is like scratching a mozzie bite—the itch just gets worse.

Shit, did I just compare her to a mosquito? I am an Aussie prick asshole. But she, my Beauty, is a siren. And her song is my downfall.

When Fox tells me that not only is Nora going to be at little H’s baptism, but is also the godmother, it takes everything I have not to back out of the deal. How did I get on this far running into her occasionally? I’ve been fine. Relaxed. But seeing her recently—being with her, it re-opened every thought, memory, and grievance.

The last time we split, I was heading home to Sydney to visit the latest ankle-biter my sis had popped out—Harley’s my favorite kid; that baby loves me—and I was so thankful for that distance. I was able to take a breath and come back to California more positive and ready for the casual roll here and there until the need for something more serious struck me.

Well, it kind of has. Again.

Having her sweetness constantly cropping up on my tongue, her scent in my nose, her nails dragging across my skin… I feel vulnerable. I’m supposed to stand up in front of baby Jesus or some shit and swear to renounce the devil like Satan herself isn’t standing right next to me?

No, that’s not fair. There’s more to her than this. She just won’t share it.

I pull into my boy Fox’s driveway and kill the engine. With my mind spinning in circles, a day hitting the waves is exactly what I need. I hit the button on the garage door—so thankful he and Soph agreed to give me the extra opener. Now I can store my board properly, and in the place I surf the most. I have room at home, sure, but I’m not right on the beach like this fucker here.

***

“Hiya, Mum,” I say, answering her weekly call. It’s been over a month since I left Sydney after her double mastectomy surgery, but I told her she still has to call me to check in. I bought her a mobile specifically for this, and I foot the bill. I made a decent living doing stunts, but since I upgraded to stunt coordination, I’m living much more comfortably. And I still get to do some of the grunt work, but usually only when I can’t get my guys to do it right. My girls have that shit in the bag.

“Declan!” she damn near yells.

I think I’m hearing her echo from around the world. She still thinks mobile phones are too small to get all the sound, so she always talks louder.

“How are ya, son?”

“Good, good. I’m fine.” Even I hear the droopy tone in my voice. Why do I sound off? I am fine.

“What the hell’s up with you?”

“Nothing, Mum. I said I’m fine.”

“Declan Martin Wellesley! I did not raise a bullshitter.”

She’s tired; I can hear it. Perhaps the chemo or radiation started already?

“Boy, if I have to pay someone to beat the truth out of you, I swear I will empty my savings.”

I groan, throwing my head against the support of the high-backed sofa. “I’m just tired.”

“Of what?”

“Of this conversation.” That’s going to go over really well. Bloody idiot.

“I swear to all the saints, I think you were more damaged than the doctors let on. You were born in the ocean, ya know.”

I cough a small laugh. When Susan Wellesley is riled up, you know she’s feeling good, despite her energy level. She’s quite a firecracker, my mum.

I wasn’t, by the way, born in the ocean. She was on a boat when she went into labor, but by her account—with the thirtyish years she’s had to embellish it—she and Dad were scuba diving, and she birthed me on a reef. My dad stopped contributing to the conversation (or in other words, arguing) on the topic about twenty-five years ago, stupid man. I’m the youngest of three—how did it take him five years to know this wasn’t the argument to maintain? I’m the only sibling with a ridiculous birth story.

“Is it a woman? It’s probably a woman.” Mum trills a laugh at my groan, proud that she’s hit a target.

“Yes, Mum,” I confirm. “All right? Y’happy?”

“No, I’m damn well not. So what’s the plan then?”

“Plan? There is no plan. I thought we had a chance after reconnecting recently, but she lit that on fire and stomped it out straight off.”

“The fuck does that mean?” My sister Lynn’s voice screeches over the line.

“The fuck, indeed,” I snarl. “Am I on bloody speakerphone? Sweet baby Jesus on a pogo stick—”

“Now that truly is ridiculous, Declan,” Mum says. “A baby could never use a pogo stick.”

“Well…” Lynn chimes in before I can even respond.

I nearly forgive her for eavesdropping because I know what she’s going to say before I hear it.

“It’s the baby Jesus, Mum. He’ll eventually walk on water. I doubt a measly pogo stick would present a difficulty.”

This is why I love my sister. She’s a professor at a local university and sharp as a box of thumbtacks. The greatest part, though, is when those brains ooze out in the weirdest ways. Like this conversation, which will go on nonsensically as it already is for quite some time. I consider taking a nap.

“Doc!” Lynn shouts. “Are you even listening?”

“Sorry, I fell asleep. What year is it?”

“Awful excuse for a brother,” she hisses, then laughs. “Where did I lose you?”

“Somewhere around the Nazareth Carnival World Tour of 17 BC,” I joke.

“Cheeky bastard.”

“I was waging on earplugs,” Mom offers with a sassy snicker.

“I’m hanging up on the both of you,” I say. “You’re horrible human beings.”

They’re not. At all. They’re my favorites, and I miss them something fierce living across the world. Them, Dad—who’s probably “resting his eyes” somewhere quiet, and my brother-from-another-mother Fox are the best. Sophie, too, really. I’m so glad they figured their shit out. They’re perfect together. Shit, I forgot Fox’s mum, Roz. I love her. She’s like a back-up mum since she’s in Bodhi, too.

And Nora. Fuck. If only she’d let me, I think I could love her, too. She’s already carved her name on my list. I can’t cross it out, no matter how much I’d like to.

“Nora? Is that her name?” Lynn asks.

Fuck a duck. I said that out loud.

I force out a loud sigh. “Yeah.”

“I like it,” Mum says. “I knew a Nora at school. Beautiful girl. Stupid as buggery, but—”

“Mum.”

“Sorry, love. So what’s the plan, I asked?”

I should have realized how digging in like this is the shit Mum loves.

“She doesn’t want a relationship.” The admission stings, but I roll past it, intent on pretending it doesn’t, in fact, sting.

“So you don’t take no for an answer.”

“Mum!” Lynn scolds. “That’s, like, a horrible thing to say.”

“Oh, Chrissakes, that’s not what I’m trying to say.” Mum makes a low, guttural sound, so I know she’s embarrassed. “I mean, if you really feel something, you fight for it. I know you, Declan. You give up too easily. Maybe she needs to be chased a bit. Maybe she needs you to pay a little closer attention.”

“You are sounding more and more like a creepy stalker,” Lynn says, and I laugh. The two of us chortle over the sound of Mum’s voice growling and smacking at us, until I hear Lynn yell, “Ow!”

Well, crap. Mum must’ve given her an actual smack.

“You two are drongos,” she snaps.

We idiot children crack up for a few minutes more. Finally, I swallow the last of my amusement and speak, knowing my mother’s patience will soon run out.

“Sorry, Mum,” I say. “The devil made me do it.”

Lynn absolutely loses her shit.

Mum mutters to herself, “Mary Mother of God, Jesus, God, all the saints…”

She’s asking for strength. Maybe we are drongos.

“Get out,” Mum says to Lynn, stern as she was doling out punishments when we were kids. “Just go in the living room and turn on the heater. I’m freezing in here.”

“Are you feeling okay, Mum?” I ask, switching gears. “It’s not that cold there, is it?”

“Ahh, I get the chills easily,” she says, brushing it off. “And don’t distract me. I want to know more about this Nora. Are you going to see her again?”

“Yeah, next month. Henry’s getting baptized, and I’m the godfather,” I say, voice neutral despite my nerves.

“You’re the godfather?” Lynn hollers in the background. “Fox’s getting dumber with age. Tell him I said so.”

“Take me off speaker, Mum. Fuck’s sake.”

“Don’t swear at Mum,” Lynn continues. “And you know I’m teasing because I love ya, kid. Oh, I have an idea. Should we get Alain on the phone?”

Our older brother is in Hong Kong these days. He’s the most reserved of the lot of us, which, in this family, doesn’t mean much.

“What time is it there?” I ask.

“Right, bad plan. Let me lay it out for you.”

My sister gets really excited, sometimes rambling incoherently in a rush to tell me her scheme to win Nora back. Or at least win the chance. I’m not sure which. She’s speaking so quickly and keeps stopping to titter and snort. Mum catches the bug, and soon they’re both cheerleading and cooing—and fuckity fuck fuck, I somehow agree to it.

Here we go.