“YOU BE GOOD for Grandma, Grandad and Uncle Harry, OK?” I said, giving Ty an extra hard squeeze before I forced myself to let him go.

“Mummy, it’s only a week,” Ty said, sounding too grown up to be my little boy. Nothing seemed to faze him. “Six sleeps.” He held up his fingers.

I kissed them. “I know. I’m just going to miss you so much.”

“I’ll be home soon. We-lax.”

I laughed and hugged him one more time. “OK. I’ll relax. See you in one week.”

He held up his thumb and smiled before moving to hold my mother’s hand.

“Drive safe, OK?” she said, hugging me then Jude. “You take care of my girl. And you’re welcome here any time. We enjoyed having you.”

Jude smiled and thanked my family, telling them all how much he enjoyed being there. It was all handshakes, hugs, and warm wishes.

“I feel weird leaving him,” I said, turning back in my seat once we turned onto the street and I couldn’t see the house or Ty anymore.

“He’ll be fine. He loves it there.”

“He’s a born farm boy, that’s for sure. I’m the one who will miss him. He’ll be too busy having fun.”

“Then I’ll have to keep you busy to distract you,” he said, reaching across the console to take my hand. I rested my head against the back of the seat and looked over at him, taking in the profile of his handsome face as he drove out of town.

“Thank you for coming here. These past few days, they’ve meant a lot.”

He squeezed my hand a little firmer. “To me too. I’m glad I came. I seriously loved it there.”

I smiled. “You took to the work well.”

“It’s therapeutic. You keep busy, you think things over, and you come out with a clear mind.”

“My dad used to say that he was too tired to complain, so that made him happy. It didn’t make sense to me as a kid, but I understand it as an adult.”

“I love my job, but I could be happy on a farm.”

“You think? Maybe you’d change your mind after doing it for a few months.”

“Maybe,” he said with a shrug, pulling onto the main road. It was the first long strip of asphalt that would lead us home over the next eight or nine hours.

As always, our conversation flowed, covering various topics and sometimes breaking into a bit of a healthy debate. Jude was very egalitarian and wouldn’t agree with me that the sexes would never be truly equal for the cold-hard fact that women have babies and are forced to choose between focusing on their child, their career, or to have both suffer. Men didn’t have the same encumbrance. Jude argued that society needed to alter its view on having children and start to provide better services and accessibility so both parents could work and care for children equally. None of it should fall entirely at one adult’s feet. I was inclined to agree.

The back and forth was fun. I enjoyed arguing with him as much as I loved doing anything with him. We were about three hours into the trip when he yawned and I caught it. Then it went back and forth a few times.

“How about we stop and I can drive for a bit?” I suggested.

He glanced at me. “You want to drive my car?”

“Sure.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Equal opportunities,” I responded teasingly.

“It’s not about equal opportunities. It’s just...my car.”

“My finger has been in your arsehole, Jude. I think you can handle me touching your gearstick.”

The bark of laughter was sudden and catching. It was hard for him to argue with my logic when he was almost crying from laughter. So, I got my way. When we hit the next petrol station, we filled up the car and switched places.

“Ohhh, this is comfy,” I said, wriggling in the driver’s seat before adjusting the position so I could reach the pedals and the wheel more easily.

He groaned and covered his eyes. “This is why I don’t like sharing a car.”

I laughed then started the engine, pulling back onto the freeway. I reached over and started flipping through the presets on the radio.

“What are you doing now?”

“Driver gets to pick the music too.”

“How about you just watch the road.” He moved his hand to block my reach but I got one more press of a button in and my face lit up when I heard the lyrics of “Hey Jude” by the Beatles.

“It’s your song!” I moved my body and sang to the nah, nah, nah.

“Not this song,” he moaned, switching the station.

“Hey!” I complained, switching it back.

“Stop.” He switched it again.

“You stop.” I switched it back. I was being childish, I knew that. But so was he. I didn’t see what the big deal was, and the song was almost over, anyway.

The song shut off suddenly, silence quickly filling the air.

“What did you do that for?”

“I don't want to listen to it.”

“Fine. You win. Change the station. Don’t shut the whole damn thing off.”

“I don’t want any music.” He folded his arms across his chest, his chin jutting out stubbornly.

I didn’t know if it was the fatigue or the fact we’d been stuck in this car together so long, but my own obstinacy kicked in and I reached over and switched the radio back on.

“Hey Jude,” it sang.

He shut it off. “Pull over,” he demanded. “Right now.”

My mouth gaped. “I might like you being bossy in the bedroom, Jude, but you don’t get to boss me around whenever you feel like it.”

“Pull over, Sarah.” His voice grew louder. “Pull the fucking car over to the side of the road. I want to get out.”

“No. You’re being a baby.”

“Pull the fucking car over to the side of the fucking road.”

The sound of his voice rang in my ears, causing me to jump. A lot of girls would cry if their partner yelled at them like that, but not me. My fight or flight response was firmly set to fight. I yelled right back.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I shrieked, steering the car into the emergency lane of the highway. He got straight out and slammed the door. I followed. “It was a song for fuck’s sake. We were having fun.”

“You don’t listen,” he yelled back, touching his head. “I say no about something and you push things. You push and you push.”

“Excuse me for wanting to drive for a while because you were obviously tired. You don’t fucking sleep. Yeah, don’t think I haven’t noticed. I didn’t feel like dying because you fell asleep behind the wheel.”

“Fuck you, Sarah. You think I’d be that irresponsible?”

I folded my arms in front of me, jutting out my chin. “You were yawning.”

His face screwed up and he shook his head. “You are fucked in the head if that’s what you think. Fuck you, Sarah. Fuck you.”

“So you keep saying. How about fuck you, Jude? Stop getting angry at me because you got triggered by a song. How about trying to talk to me about it instead of deflecting and making it about something else? That’s what you do. You deflect, deflect, deflect. I hardly know anything about you.”

“Then why the fuck are you with me?” His face was scrunched up and his hands were moving in the air with his speech. He was obviously agitated, and I’d never seen this side of him. I took a step back, shaking my head because I didn’t understand what was going on and how we got from laughing to fighting so quickly.

“Fuck this,” he said, stomping over to the car and jumping in. He started it up and I moved toward it to get in. The next few hours would be awesome if we were going to be driving in silence. Angry. But the crunch of gravel made me jump back as he peeled out of there, leaving me coughing in a cloud of dust.

“Arsehole,” I yelled, pulling my shoe from my foot and pegging it at the retreating car. I was fuming, my body shaking with rage, blood pumping in my ears. I looked up at the sky and screamed, my fists balled up at my sides. Then I dropped to the ground and I cried. “Fucking arse.”

Ten minutes later, I’d retrieved my shoe and had started walking along the side of the massive freeway, tears streaming down my cheeks. I figured I’d go back to the service station and call my parents. Without my phone or my wallet, I really didn't have any other option. I was going to kill Jude.

A car slowed down beside me. An older couple with teenage kids were looking at me with worry in their eyes. “Are you all right, sweetheart?”

Every time a stranger called me sweetheart, it ached in the centre of my chest. I cried a little harder than before. “No. I’m not all right.”

“Can we give you a lift?”

Under any other circumstance, I’d never accept a ride from strangers. But after weighing my odds, I nodded and moved toward the car.

“Do you need to call someone? Are you hurt?” the woman asked as I got closer. I was a blubbering mess. I could only imagine what they must have thought.

I shook my head, using the sleeve of my T-shirt to wipe my eyes. “I’m not hurt. But I’d like to call someone to come and get me. Can you take me to the next service station?”

“Of course,” she said, getting out of the car and handing me her phone. “What in heavens are you doing out here on your own?”

I shook my head, my tears threatening to fall again. Applying pressure to the bridge of my nose, I took a deep breath. “I honestly don’t know.”

She exchanged glances with her husband. They probably thought I was on drugs.

It was in that moment that a grey Honda Civic pulled over and Jude got out. “I’m so sorry,” he said straight away, his hands held out at his sides, a horrified look on his face. “I don't know what came over me.”

In one movement, I passed the woman back her phone then launched myself at Jude, shoving him in the chest as I cried and unleased the pressure of the fear he’d just caused me. “Arsehole,” I yelled, my balled fists slapping against his chest. “How could you? You left me here. Anything could have happened. How could you!”

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” He caught my face in his hands, forcing me to look at him as he used his thumbs to wipe my tears away. He was white as a ghost, his eyes rimmed with red as he stared into mine. “Forgive me, Sarah. I lost my mind. But I’m back now. I’m back. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

I believed him, knew in my heart that he meant what he was saying to me. But his actions and words hurt me, so I hit against his chest again, this time with little strength but a lot more tears. “I hate you.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered in my hair, his arms wrapping around me. I lost my will to stand and relaxed against him. He held me up, whispering over and over that he would never do that to me again. “I don’t deserve you,” he said.

I pushed away from him, wiping angrily at my eyes. “No. You don’t. That was an arsehole move and if you don’t plan on explaining yourself, I’m getting in the car with these people and I’m leaving. You won’t see me again.”

He nodded, then he reached out for me but let his hands drop to his side instead. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

After making sure I was OK, the family somewhat reluctantly left, leaving Jude and me alone together on the side of the Hume Highway, hours away from home. I stepped back from him and wiped my hands over my tear-stained face.

“Explain yourself,” I said as calmly as I could. People didn’t have massive outbursts unless they wanted to push someone away or talk about a problem. Since he’d come back for me, he was obviously willing to talk. It was a fucked-up way to go about it, but it was the human condition—we were slaves to our emotions. I just hoped his reasons justified his actions in some way. I didn’t know if I could be with somebody who had a penchant for running away when things got tough—not again.

He folded his arms across his chest and lent on the back of his car, scuffing the sole of his black converse into the loose gravel. “I freaked out.”

“About the song or me?”

He looked at the sky and sniffed, his eyes flicking to mine before landing back on his shoes. “The song.”

“Because of your mum?” I understood that he’d lost her at a young age and that he’d been named because of that song, but I failed to see why he flipped out over hearing it twenty-four years later. Surely he’d heard it many times since she’d passed. It was a popular song.

“Come here.” He held out his hand, his voice soft but thick. I tightened my arms across my chest, not wanting to give an inch when I was so hurt over the way he’d treated me. But he didn’t lower his hand. “Please, Sarah.” There was something about the sound of his voice that tugged at my heart.

Relenting, I stepped closer. It was there I could see the tears in his eyes. One fell and he wiped it away quickly. My heart just about broke for him. He was obviously in pain, far more than I was. Having me angry wasn’t helping the situation. He needed me to be understanding, just as he’d been every time I got scared and tried to push him away.

Moving even closer, I stood in the space between his legs, his hands holding mine, his thumbs moving side to side over my knuckles as he focused on their movement while he spoke.

“When I was a boy, my mother sang that song to me. She sang me to sleep, sang when I needed cheering up. She had a beautiful voice,” he said with a sad smile. “She sang all the time. You always knew where she was because she’d be singing something while she cooked tea, or folded a load of washing. I remember...light when she was alive. When she died, everything became dark.” His voice strained a little on the last two words and he paused, needing a moment before he could go on. I had questions sitting on the tip of my tongue: Was it because of your father? What did he do? What happened to you? Or was it your stepmother? Was she not the saviour of you and your siblings that I thought she was? He rarely spoke of her. The questions raced on, but I stayed silent, waiting for him to be ready just like he had the night I told him about Tyler.

“We knew she was dying. It was fast as far as cancer is concerned. From diagnosis to her last day, it took a little over two months. The entire time, my father was beside himself. Once she died, it was like he lost any source of light inside him. He just stopped caring—about himself, about us. At first, neighbours would call in, dropping off food and making sure my brother and I were OK. But that didn’t last long. Fairly soon, we were left with a drunkard for a father and no one to look after us. There was nothing in the pantry. I was doing what I could, trying to keep things functioning. But, I was nine. Rigby, he wasn’t much older than Ty at the time. He cried at night because he was hungry and he wanted his mother. And my father, he became so callous. He’d shake Rigby and scream at him to shut up. He was a little boy, so he cried even more. That’s when I stepped in, trying to protect my little brother by putting myself in between them. I yelled, ‘Hey’ at him. Then he stopped, grabbed me around the throat, and laughed. He repeated what I said, ‘Hey. Hey Jude.’ Then he sneered and dragged me into the living room.” Jude took a deep breath, slowly shaking his head, his eyes distant as he focused on the distressing memory. “He turned the song on, then he used it to mock me while he used his fists to ‘teach me a lesson I’ll never forget.’ And he was right. I’ll never forget the look in his eyes that night. He’d barely looked at me in months and when he did, I swear, I saw nothing. The man I knew as my father was gone. He’d been replaced by a monster.”

I was horrified. I felt sick to my stomach knowing what must have happened next. Those poor boys.

He wiped a hand over his mouth. “A little after that, he brought Cherie home and told us we had a new mother. She was a sweet woman—still is. She’s very compassionate and took care of us when no one else would. When she was around, I knew I was safe. He wore a mask of a good man for her. But when she went to work, the monster would come out again.”

My hand went to my mouth, I didn't know if I could hear anymore, but I held my breath, waiting. His voice was tight with emotion when he continued. “He used that song—the song she sang with love—and used it as a warning. Every time I heard it, I knew I was about to get the absolute hell beaten out of me. At first, I tried to fight back. I was angry. I was hurt. I’d lost my mother but I’d lost my father too. In my mind, I was fighting to protect my brother. I knew that if my father wasn’t hitting me, it would have been him. So, I fought back as if it would make some sort of difference. But it never did. The result was bigger bruises and broken bones that he explained away as accidents from me climbing trees. It wasn’t long before I figured out that if I stopped fighting with my fists it would end faster. I learned to put sleeping pills in his food, or get my brother and me to bed before the drink kicked in. The pacifist in me was born.”

Listening to his words, my throat grew tight, how could someone treat his son like that? “That must have been horrendous to live through. I’m sorry, Jude. If I’d known, I never would have—”

“I know.” He squeezed my hands gently. “I should have explained it then and there, should have told you earlier. But…” He looked at the sky and sighed. “I don’t want to burden you with all my shit. You’ve got enough of your own.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re the one who told me that I needed to talk about my grief for this relationship to work,” I pointed out.

He sniffed, his mouth twisting then curving. “That’s because my siblings and I are the fucked-up product of a grief left unchecked.” He released my hands, rubbing his against his jean-clad thighs. “I really messed up today. Hearing that song set something off inside me unexpectedly and I reacted poorly. I’m so, so incredibly sorry for leaving you back there. It was unforgivable; I know that. I only hope you can find it in your heart to let me make it up to you somehow. I’ll do anything you want, Sarah. I don't want to lose you just because I’m fucked up. I care about you too much.”

Up until this event, Jude had been nothing but perfect. He’d been patient, supportive, understanding. What he did was shitty, but it certainly wasn’t unforgivable—especially after he explained his reasoning. I couldn’t imagine the emotional scars that had created. But I could forgive his actions. As long as something like this never happened again.

I lifted my hands and rested them on his cheeks, wiping his tears the way he had mine, looking into his eyes, empathy in my heart. “You can keep talking. Tell me all the things you hide from other people, the things that are in your nightmares, the reasons you don’t sleep. Tell me your secrets, Jude. Help me understand you, because I don’t want to lose you either.”

Taking hold of my forearms, he slid his hands up until he was holding my wrists, turning them gently, kissing the palm of each hand. Then he held our hands together, kind of massaging my hands as he spoke. “I’m trying, Sarah. I really am.”

“I know,” I whispered, rising on my toes, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I know.” A spark of need seemed to ignite inside him and he kissed me back, but harder, his tongue searching as he brought his arms around me and held me close, tight.

I could sense his need to mask his pain with desire for me. I’d done the same with him countless times, so I recognised it easily and allowed him to take what he needed. I let him take me to the back seat of his car and lift my dress. I let him push inside me, burying his pain in my body until we climaxed together. Then I held him, both of us shaking, both of us crying.

We’d each experienced terrible loss and trauma. Together, we were clinging to something to take the pain away. Whether it worked or not, I didn’t know. It was possible we were just distracting ourselves with a different kind of pain. But we gave each other something to hold on to in the darkness. I wasn’t sure if our pain would continue to bind us, or if it would be the thing that pushed us apart. Because he still had secrets. And secrets scared me. I needed to know what they were.