Piper screamed.

I jerked up from my spot in front of the TV. My glass of water fell to the ground as I raced to her room, my heart pounding. Was she okay? What was going on?

I flung the door open, switched on the light.

She stood in her port-a-cot, her arms over the side. That cute little nose had turned the colour of a beet. Her mouth was open wide in the sort of cry that could raise the dead.

“Hey. What’s … what’s wrong?” I walked over and picked her up, but she wriggled in my arms. “Hey. Hey.” I jigged, trying to shift her into a position that would lock her down, but nothing worked. Still, the crying went on, long and loud and desperate.

What was I supposed to do? I jigged, and I rocked, and I paced—all the weapons I had in my arsenal. Piper’s hand clawed at my face. Her body twisted in my arms. Damn it! Nothing had prepared me for this

Put her down. Get your phone. Look this shit up.

“Okay, okay, just a sec.” I placed her on the ground. Piper’s shoulders shook as she crawled to a spot a few feet away and—

The pacifier.

She grabbed the pacifier that she must have thrown across the room, popping it in her mouth.

The crying stopped.

Thank God the crying stopped.

I ran my hands through my hair. Damn it. That was hard. Harder than changing her nappy for the second time, and harder than trying to get her out of the bath when she was all slippery with soap.

Crying lingered in my brain. Something about it turned a coil inside me, winding me tight, tight, tighter.

I placed Piper gently back in the cot, then walked out to the living room via the linen closet. I flicked the towel out over the spilt water and sunk back into the suede material. Damn, this was hard. How did people do this full-time? How had Giselle done this alone?

Maybe she wasn’t the horrible woman I’d made her out to be. Maybe she’d just been doing whatever she had to in order to get by.

But why didn’t she just tell me about the kid?

I stared at the television, unable to connect with the animated images flashing across the screen.

I should have been in Piper’s life earlier. I should have known how to stop a child crying. And I shouldn’t have run away from Everly when she’d done absolutely nothing wrong.

Whoa.

Where did that come from?

Emotions surged through me like the swell of the tide, like the angry ocean pounding the sand a few blocks from this very house. I wanted to call her. To apologise for leaving so quickly.

No, part of me roared. You can’t. It’s not the right thing to do.

But there was someone else I could call.

Someone I owed a moment to.

Someone I checked up on once a week, even though it hurt to do so.

But it was the right thing.

Always with the damn right thing.

“Hello, Magenta Recovery Centre, Angela speaking.”

“Angela, hi. It’s Cameron Lewis speaking. Are you able to put me through to the nurse looking after my father, Donald Lewis, tonight?”

“Sure. One moment please.”

The line clicked and I stared at the television, an old guy talking about the house renovations he’d just completed. He stood in a garden, all the soil overturned, and in the background, sketches of plants appeared, ones he no doubt planned to put in. A series of long stone steps were drawn leading from the deck to the garden area. That’d look good at Everly’s.

I changed the channel.

“Hello, Everly speaking.”

“Everly?” I gripped the phone tighter. Air caught in my chest. What was she doing there?

“Eleanor,” the nurse repeated slowly, and I let loose my breath. Of course. I’d misheard.

“Eleanor, sorry. Hi. My name’s Cameron; I’m Donald’s son,” I said. “I just wanted to check in. See how he’s doing.”

“You’re not coming to visit this week?”

I paused. “Something came up.”

“Oh. I hope everything’s okay.”

It’s fine, Eleanor. I just have to look after my alleged child, and I think bringing her into a room with Dad will confuse him even more, given he can’t even remember that I’m his own flesh and blood. “Fine, thanks. Something’s just … something’s going on with work. I won’t be in for a few months, in fact.”

“No problem. Just let me get the notes from the day nurse.”

Papers shuffled in the background, and I picked up the remote, flicking through the channels, ending up back on the renovation show. As I put the remote down, I noticed the thin line of brown rimming my nails, and I snorted. A dirt fight. How old was I? How old was she?

I could find out, if I went on Facebook and—

No.

I wasn’t going to do that.

I wasn’t going to do any of it.

“Okay, let’s see. Donald has had a good week. On Monday, he seemed a bit melancholy, but he snapped out of it and was back to his usual fiery self by the afternoon,” Eleanor said. “The nurse mentioned he was only at the café twice over the weekend. The rest of the time, he was in the room with us.”

“In the room?” My voice shook. “Was he … did he remember?”

“Unfortunately, no. But at least he wasn’t reliving what happened that day.” Eleanor’s voice sounded apologetic. “I wish there was something I could say to help, Cameron. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine.” I straightened my shoulders, rigid, and repeated the line I’d said over and over since the accident. “Sometimes, bad things just happen.”

“They do. Especially in this world we live in.” She hesitated a moment. “Did you see on the news today, some bomb in—”

“Sorry, Eleanor. I’ve got to go,” I blurted. I didn’t watch the news.

Ever.

Not since I was featured on it.

Unscarred survivor. Last man standing.

“Okay, dear. Let me know if you need anything from me.”

“Will do.” I hung up the phone.

Straight away, almost as if it had waited for the call to end, a new notification popped up on my screen.

Everly Jenkins accepted your request.

I tilted my head back and rested it against the sofa. As if my slightly rude behaviour wasn’t enough, now I was reminded of the false profile I’d set up.

And yet I found myself opening a new message, like reaching out online would absolve me of the mess I made of things today. Of the way I treated her when she did nothing wrong.

Slowly, I typed out a message. A message from the false profile I set up using Giselle’s name. After all, surely they didn’t let you have Facebook in prison, and using her name like this—it made me feel less like I was creeping on a woman I’d just met. Less like I might have an ulterior motive for getting in touch.

Less like I was betraying Bella.

Giselle: Hi. My name’s Giselle. I see you run a blog—looks awesome. So much great advice. Do you have a forum or anything? A place I can go to and chat to other parents?

I reread the message over and over. It wasn’t a lie. The articles on her blog had been fun—informative. She seemed to be an expert when it came to raising kids, and I wondered how it was she didn’t have any of her own.

Everly: Hi Giselle. Thanks for reaching out. I do have a closed Facebook group, but before I can add you I need to ask a few questions. Make sure you’re not just here to hawk your home baby business or something.

Make sure I’ve not created a false profile and am trying to slip into your life undetected. Was I a creep?

No. I didn’t want anything from this. I didn’t like her. I didn’t have feelings for her.

This was about Piper.

This was about staying friends with one of the first women I’d met in a long time, without the temptation of taking things to another level.

After all, it wasn’t like I planned to ever go back to her house or see her again.

Giselle: Sounds good. What do you want to know?

I hit send, waiting for Everly to respond.

Then I cursed myself.

That wasn’t the sort of thing a chick would write. That wasn’t feminine at all.

Giselle: Sorry, that was a little blunt. Have a bit of a headache. Not a lot of sleep.

Three dots bounced across the screen for a moment before the message came through.

Everly: Oh gosh, one of those nights, huh? How many wake-ups did you have?

My heart rate sped up. If only I could blame Piper for my lack of sleep.

Giselle: The problem was all me, not my daughter. The only time she stirred was when the delivery guy came with my Thai.

I shook my head. I still couldn’t believe I didn’t think to leave a note with my order requesting that he not ring the doorbell.

Everly: Rookie mistake! Bet you’re wishing you’d settled for cheese on toast now

I cringed. That wasn’t a meal.

As I typed out a reply, I crept into the guest room, poking my head through the cracked door to check on Piper.

Giselle: Cheese on toast? Not my kinda thing.

Everly: So what is your kind of thing?

Giselle: Is this a part of my entrance exam?

Everly: Sure. Think of it as your test to see if you’re a real human. Tell me your ultimate cheat food. Is it pizza? Ice cream? Waffles with bacon and maple syrup?

I winced. I swear my stomach bloated at just the mention of the fat-inducing junk. Aside from a few beers, I couldn’t think of the last ‘cheat food’ I’d had.

I smiled a small smile.

There was that one thing, I supposed.

Giselle: I can’t tell you. You’ll laugh.

Everly: I won’t. I swear.

Giselle: You promise?

Everly: Scout’s honour.

Giselle: Can chicks even be scouts?

Send. I froze.

Chicks? What had I written? Women didn’t refer to themselves as chicks. For fuck’s sake. I was hopeless at this.

Thankfully, Everly didn’t seem to notice.

Everly: Just tell me the cheat food, lady.

I took a deep breath. Hovered my thumb over the keyboard.

In front of me, Piper rolled over. Her little lips moved, as if she were chewing, and I smiled. She was growing on me. In fact, in her sleep, I downright liked her.

Everly: Make with the confession already.

I smiled. I was starting to like Everly, too. She was just as fierce online as she was in real life.

Giselle: Ice cream. Soft serve, specifically.

Everly: There’s nothing weird about that.

Giselle: With fries.

Everly: That’s not that strange.

Giselle: And a pickle.

I waited. It was pretty weird—not even Mack knew about my very occasional cheat food. I hadn’t had it in years, not since well before the … well, not since before Bella and I started dating. As a gym junkie, she’d have been horrified.

I stared at my phone. No dots moved across the screen. Nothing. Had I blown it?

Giselle: Hello? You still there?

The reply came almost straight away.

Everly: Still here. Just trying to see if I have any pickles. You’re giving me ideas, and I like it.

I released a long, slow breath. So I hadn’t blown it after all. In fact, I’d inspired her to try something new, albeit kind of gross.

Giselle: So does that mean I’m in? You’ll let me join the group?

Everly: I’m only one of three administrators, but I’ll present my findings to the other head honchos and let them know that while I think you may have some food issues we need to sort out, you are A-OK.

I walked back out to the living room and settled onto the couch, my mood somehow lighter than before. Everything was going to be okay. I could keep up my friendship with her online, where she interacted with mothers in a professional capacity. This way, there was no way she could get hurt.

No way I could get hurt.

Yes. Everything was going to be fine.

As I turned my attention to the screen in front of me once more, a news update flashed across the bottom of the renovation program.

Fifty-four killed in suicide bomb attack in Vegas.

I clicked the television off before I saw anymore.

Before the bomb of guilt exploded inside my body, killing me slowly once more.

* * *

I was at her house at ten thirty a.m.

I didn’t intend to walk there. I’d thought I was taking Piper on a morning stroll, since the fresh air seemed to be like catnip for her and the roll of the pram’s wheels over the asphalt put her to sleep.

And yet, there I was, in front of the small surfer shack.

Out front, a pile of dirt towered shoulder-high. Hell, but she was ambitious. How was one woman going to get all that dirt into her backyard?

“You’re late.”

I jerked my head up in surprise. Where did she even come from?

The brunette walked toward me, gardening gloves dwarfing her hands as she pushed a wheelbarrow. A red-checked scarf was tied around her head, keeping her hair from her face, and she wore denim overalls and a big white shirt underneath. Somehow, the combination didn’t look as masculine as I imagined it should. She looked … cute.

“I said ten, and I meant it.” She narrowed her eyes, then broke into a smile. “But I can forgive you on account of your beautiful baby girl. Is she awake?” She stepped closer, leaving the wheelbarrow next to the dirt.

“She’s asleep.” I gestured to the mountain of soil. “How were you going to do all this by yourself?”

“I wasn’t.” She shrugged simply, pointing to the side of the house. “There’s a shovel in the yard. If you want to start laying out the soil, I’ll pile another load.”

She’d honestly expected me to come back?

Anger fired through my veins. She didn’t know me. She shouldn’t have counted on me when I couldn’t be trusted to save people when they needed it the most. Infuriating! She was infuriating!

And yet as she walked away, I shook my head. “You know, I wasn’t going to come back.”

She turned to face me, walking backwards, a bemused smile on her face. “And yet, here you are.”

And yet, there I was.

She made a damn good point.

Why am I here? I knew she was no good for me. Knew I was starting to swim in waters where my toes just touched the ground, my heart hammering every time a wave neared.

But she couldn’t seriously move that entire pile of soil from the front yard to the back alone. It would take days, even with the two of us—more than a week doing it solo.

I huffed out a sigh and began pushing the pram around the side of the house. “Just so we’re clear, I’m only doing this because no woman should have to move her own mud from one end of the yard to the other.”

“Mm-hmm,” she replied, picking up the shovel from against the fence.

“It’s not because I’m a nice guy or that I’m trying to hit on you or anything like that,” I continued, parking Piper under the shade of the cloth that covered half the deck. No wrong ideas.

“You’re the worst, and I’m an un-hit-on-able troll.” Everly approached, thrusting the shovel forward. “Here.”

“You’re not a troll.” I huffed out a sigh, and she laughed, proffering the shovel once more. “And I’m going to do the wheelbarrow stuff.” I folded my arms across my chest, a battle of wills commencing. She was so small, and yet so full of life, of energy—despite my hours at the gym, my commitment to a healthy diet, I wondered if I was anywhere near as strong as her.

“Fine.” She pulled the shovel back toward her, and raised her eyes, a challenge behind that blue-eyed stare. “You’d better get moving then.”

I turned and walked back out front to the waiting wheelbarrow, shovelling dirt into its rusted-out tray.