Chapter Ten
Outside the hotel suite, Murdoch whipped his jacket back on and ran his hands down his shirt in an effort to appear less annihilated than he felt. But there was no point—he was still at three-quarter mast, aching with the effort not to turn back around and finish what he’d started. And there was no hiding the fact that had torn off half his buttons.
That was messed up. But, fuck, it felt like all kinds of right.
Hands on his hips, he took a few deep breaths. What the hell had happened in there? He’d spent the weekend telling himself that he had to take a step back. And the moment he’d seen her – silken hair a little wild, boots a little big, chest rising and falling as if she was struggling to keep from jumping him then and there – he’d lost command of his actions.
Well aware he had choices when it came to women, after Carly he’d always chosen carefully. She’d taught him that choices always had consequences.
Not on of his careful choices had made him itch, and want, and become so fully aware of the raw, open, unhealed places inside of himself.
Till now.
He’d never felt this out of control since... Well, since Carly had sent herself flying off that fucking cliff.
He turned and leaned his head against the cool hotel room door. Banged it a little harder the second time. Then he heard a growl and a roar from the other side that could only have some from Sera.
His laughter was instant, and caustic, and aimed entirely at himself.
Because he couldn’t blame Sera no matter how much he wanted to. She might have a wild side, but it was nothing like Carly’s. It wasn’t deliberate, it wasn’t reactive. It was joyful and raw, like she was seeing the world for the first time. And it made him feel like he was seeing it differently for the first time in a long time, too.
Did he really think that denying himself that would weigh the balance of past wrongs?
Yeah, he did.
His breath hadn’t returned to normal, his thoughts were still all over the shop, but he dragged himself away from the door. Bully for him.
His determined strides slowed when he turned the corner to find Hazel standing outside the lift.
Her fingers clutched and unclutched her purse. Neither the up button nor down were lit. And there was no mistaking the gleam of a tear in her eye.
“Hazel,” he called, his voice gruff as he went to her.
She sniffed, lifted her chin. Gave him a tough as nails smile. “Go back inside, young man. You have work to do.” She pressed the down button. “While I’m in need of a cocktail or three.”
“Hazel, come on.” He walked around in front of her, taking her hands in his. They were cool, and soft, the rings of gold slippery against his rough fingertips. “Enough’s enough. What’s going on?”
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Bullshit. What were you trying to achieve in filling that room with hints of romantic and leaving us there?”
She glanced down at his torn shirt. He could feel the heat burn up his neck.
Murdoch let her go and leant against the wall beside the lift, crossing his arms across his ruined shirt and trying to find a way through the labyrinth of old pain that still made itself keenly felt more often than he’d ever thought it could. Especially when he could feel the same pain radiating off this woman who’d given him so much.
“You can’t force this,” he gritted out. “Sera and me.”
Eyes focused on the light showing the lift slowly heading upwards, she said, “Somebody needed to.”
He shook his head. “She’s far too nice to see this as a chance to take you to the cleaners, but someone with an ounce of malice could sue you for sexual harassment in the workplace for the stunts you’ve pulled so far.”
The gleam in her eyes was one of pure stubbornness. “Lucky for me then the both of you are the nicest kids in the world. One of the reasons why I think you’d be perfect for one another.”
“And when did you decide this?”
“The moment I laid eyes on her.”
“Really?” He levelled her with a flat stare.
“Fine. The moment you laid eyes on her. I’ve never seen you look at a woman that way before. Ever.” She let that settle over him. “I’d come to wonder if you even could.”
Murdoch gritted his teeth, wishing he was anywhere but there. But this was the closest they’d ever come to talking about the ghost binding them so closely together.
It was time to let the blood run free.
Hazel clearly thought the same. “I thought perhaps you’d been out of the game so long your bits had shrivelled up and fallen off.”
“You thought –” He fought the primal impulse to check his bits were well and truly in place.
No need. Not after he’d had Sera on his lap, fingernails in his hair, mouth taking him to heaven and back. His bits were in full working order. Not happy with him right about then, mind, but operational.
“It’s not your place to find me a girl. I don’t have any problem in that area.”
“Then in what area do you have a problem? Because I don’t see a ring on that finger. You are a young man in his prime. I mean, look at you!”
Murdoch looked down and saw scuffed shoes and old jeans. By the look in Hazel’s eyes, he might as well been made of Krug.
“I don’t hear you talk about plans for the future. About hopes for a family. From the moment I met you, family was your touchstone. The only thing that changed was –”
She stopped. Swallowed. Paled. For all her bravado, any time Carly was mentioned, Hazel looked all of her seventy-something years.
Murdoch carefully swung the conversation back to safer waters. Back to him and his...bits. “Despite all that, I don’t need your permission to date, Hazel. Never have.”
“But, darling,” she said, moving in to place a hand on his cheek. “I’m afraid you think you do.”
He fought the urge to shake her off. Because somewhere deep down he knew she was right and it killed him a little bit to admit it.
He responded with brutal honesty. “There have been women. Not talking to you about them has been a deliberate act. And you well know why.”
With a small shake of her head, Hazel glanced down the hall. “But has there been anyone important? Anyone real?”
“They all felt real.”
Hazel slapped him on the arm, laughed, and teared up again.
The lift door binged and opened. She took a step towards it. Took a step back. Murdoch had never seen her waver at anything. Yet her voice was steady as she said, “Whatever happens from hereon in, it’s time to let it go, Murdoch. Let her go.”
When Hazel stepped inside, Murdoch gripped the door as he struggled to find the words to explain that it wasn’t as simple as that. Those things Hazel wanted him to let go – his anger, regret, disappointment – were what fuelled him. They were the foundation of who he was today. He wouldn’t know who he was without them.
“I can try. If you try never to tell me who to date or how. Nobody should ever be put in that position.”
She blinked. He wondered if she thought of Carly, dictated to her whole life. Either way, Hazel nodded.
Murdoch pulled his hand away from the lift door.
“What if I’d never intervened?” Hazel asked as the lift doors began to close.
Murdoch said, “I guess we’ll never know.”
Murdoch made it back to the Macquarie site after everyone else had gone. One good thing about being the boss, he had a key to the lock-up fence.
He wrenched the lock open, closed up behind him, grabbed a hard hat and headed up the makeshift stairs to the second level where he knew he’d find something heavy. And something to smash it against.
Instead he found Guy, sweeping.
For all the guy’s apparent indolence, he was the best worker Murdoch had ever known. And the best mate. Still he wished the guy was far, far away.
“Mate,” said Guy, with an easy smile. “Didn’t expect you back tonight.”
“That makes two of us.”
“You look more even pensive than usual. What happened? World-wide beanie shortage announced? Your favourite Kardashian divorce?”
He gave Guy structure. Guy gave him comic relief.
“Hazel,” Murdoch muttered, picking up a broom and helping sweep up the last of the wood shavings into a pile to be vacuumed away and turned to mulch for the new gardens the next day.
“Hazel divorced? Well, that’s shit. Frank seemed like a good one.”
Murdoch shook his head. “She’s not... They’re not...”
“Then what the hell are you muttering about?”
Where was a mallet when he needed one? Despite the desire to go into his usual lockdown, if he didn’t let off some steam, he might literally self-combust.
Guy waited patiently for him to get over himself and answer the question. Shit. Was he really going to do this?
He used the broom as support, and said, “Hazel just gave me implicit permission to date Sera.”
“Huh.” Guy blanked. In fact Murdoch had never seen him so still. “I didn’t know you needed –”
“Of course I fucking don’t. Can’t imagine what made her think she had the right. I can, but I thought she knew me better than that. If anything ever happened between Sera and me she’d think it was because –”
“If anything happened?” Guy nudged, his voice dry as burnt toast as his eyes snagged on Murdoch’s torn shirt.
He couldn’t possibly have a clue how it had happened. And yet, of course he could. The man was an animal, thought the man who’d brought a woman to orgasm with a hard-on behind a pair of jeans.
“That’s not my point.” Murdoch growled, self-inflicted frustration biting him hard now that adrenalin had faded away.
“Sure. Sure.” Guy paused, then, “Why not?”
Murdoch’s scalp prickled. He ripped the hard hat from his head and ran a hand through his hair. But the prickle spread till he couldn’t stand still. It was like something was building inside of him. Something bigger than frustration. Something he couldn’t name. Something he couldn’t stop.
“Seriously? I’ve spent the past few –” torturous “– minutes explaining why not.”
Guy leant back against a pile of concrete bags – a puff of powder escaping from one – and looked to Murdoch with an air of infinite patience. “Let me get this straight. Because Hazel gave you permission to date the lovely Serafina, then you’re definitely not going to date her.”
“Exactly.”
It sounded right, only as the words bounced about inside his head it sounded...counterintuitive. Kneejerk. The opposite of self-control. He pressed thumb and forefinger into his temples.
“Hear me out for a second,” Guy said, holding out both hands as if trying to quiet a rabid dog. “You’re a smart guy. You work hard. You’ve made a hell of a success of your business. You’re nice to your mum and little old ladies—even those who pinch bottoms, because Hazel has totally done that to me more times than I can count. You’re handsome enough, when you’re not scowling—”
“Mate?”
“Don’t panic, I’m not hitting on you. You’re not my type. Unlike you, I actually like dating women who obviously like me back.”
Murdoch felt the growl in his throat rising.
He should walk away, calm down. Or find a mallet, or maybe a bulldozer, and sweat it out. But the situation was messing with his head, and his libido. He felt like if he didn’t get this out, it would turn, fester, leaving behind yet more scars that never healed. Hell, maybe his bits would stop working and fall off.
He slapped his hard hat into his hand hard enough it stung, then pulled up a stool and straddled it. Holding his hands out in front to illustrate, he closed his eyes and tried to get a grip on the reasoning that had felt so important to him for so long.
“When dad died my choices became...limited. I was angry. Rudderless. And it was either ditch my plans to be an architect and look after Mum and Liam, or not. So I did the right thing. When Carly died... I know it wasn’t my fault. But a conversation we had led her to taking my car and running it off the road that night, so I am not entirely blameless. The loss of Hazel’s granddaughter is on me. I’ve not been celibate since, but I have kept the women in my life out of Hazel’s. Again, I did what I felt was right. But as far as sacrifices I will make for the sake of my family, or for Hazel, my relationships are out of bounds.”
“Makes sense to me,” said Guy. “I’d never do something because someone told me to.”
“You don’t say,” Murdoch deadpanned.
“Then again, neither would I not do something I wanted to do to prove a point.”
“Who says I want to do anything?”
“Mate.”
“No, honestly. I mean the temptation is...” In for a penny. “Well, fuck, it’s constant. Sera’s...” How to describe the woman in a way that didn’t make him sound like a wannabe frickin’ poet?
“Lovely?” Guy finished helpfully. “Spunky. Funny. Knows how to strip an engine, which ticks a big box for me because I wouldn’t know the back of an engine from the front. And she rocks those leather pants of hers like nobody’s business.”
Murdoch ran a hand over his face in order to keep from grabbing Guy by the scruff of the neck and demanding he never think of her ever again.
“She’s all that.” And more. “Meaning for all my good intentions, I can’t seem to stay away from her. But I have to.”
“To prove that you can? Or to prove you won’t be told what to do? Or because you’re shit scared that everyone you love will one day up and die on you.”
Murdoch’s lungs tightened. Like he’d stuck his chest in a vice. “Screw you.”
“Screw that.” Guy shot back, pinning Murdoch with a glare. “And sure, screw me. Why not? Screw your family. And screw Hazel while you’re at it. Forget about what any of us want from you. Forget about doing the right thing, whatever that means. What do you want?”
“I want you all to leave us the hell alone!”
Murdoch hadn’t even realised he’d raised his voice until it echoed back to him filled with rage and frustration. And in the silence that ensued, the unspent fury that had been building inside of him felt like the dust motes raining down on his head; winking brightly into existence and then gone.
Guy shifted on the concrete bags. “You said ‘us’, did you know that? So, if you like the girl, be with the girl. If not, don’t.”
Guy stood and mimed dropping a mike. Then he walked away muttering, “Would never have started talking to the new kid at work all those years ago if I’d known it was going to be all drama, drama, drama.”
The knot of anger that had tethered him to his life for so long now fraying, Murdoch stared into the semi-darkness; the shadows and cool evening air imbuing in the place a magical kind of tranquillity.
He toyed with his hard hat before spinning it around on his fingertip and twirling it back onto his head, Fred Astaire style.
So he wasn’t all that good at letting things go.
Turned out he was less good at admitting defeat.
No longer filled with the urge to find a mallet, he grabbed the broom, swept, and thought about what to do next.
When the cab dropped Sera off at her dad’s place – she hadn’t been able to stomach the idea of heading back to the office even to get her car – it was dark out. The air cool and the moon low.
Warm, yellow light spilled from under the roller door of the back shed.
Crap. This was all she needed.
There was someone in there. Someone not her. And someone definitely not her dad. He hadn’t set foot in the shed since the accident.
Her instinct was to ask the cabbie to wait, to cajole the poor guy into helping her, but he was already pulling out into the street.
Sera’s heart thumped hard as her mind whirled. If she’d had her car, she’d have had access to an entire toolbox under the mat in her boot. Her shifting spanner would make a pretty fine weapon.
On the way down the driveway, she spied a lawn ornament – a pair of faded pink flamingos neck deep in curling bougainvillea. She reached in and wrestled one out of the ground. Its spike was covered in dirt, but it was long, and sharp. She hefted the neck into her hand, tested the weight and figured it was better than nothing.
When she was close enough that the golden light spilled onto her shoes she heard movement inside. Adrenalin went to town, making her legs shake, her veins throb, and sweat prickle all over her body.
Carefully making her way around the side to the open door, she took a breath, brandished the weapon, and yelled “Ha!”
“Whatever the living saints!” The intruder cried out, turning, and pinning her with a glare.
“Papa?”
His work gear was stained in grease, his hands wrist deep in an engine hanging from chains from the reinforced ceiling.
“Why on earth did you come at me with one of your mother’s flamingos?” he wailed.
Hearing her mother had put the thing there, Sera carefully leant it against the wall. Wiping her hands of the dirt. And the connection.
“I thought you were a burglar.”
“Harrumph,” he harrumphed, grabbing a rag.
It was clear it wasn’t the first time he’d been there. She’d tidied up after his accident. Putting everything in its place. Making it look super-inviting for when he returned. Now the place looked like a working garage.
She hadn’t set foot in there herself since she’d started looking for a job. How her life had changed.
“I didn’t hear Road Runner,” he said. “I can usually hear it coming from a few blocks away. Is something wrong? Did it break down?”
“I caught a cab. Long story. You come out here often then? Closing up when you hear me coming?”
He ran the rag over and through his hands. Scarred hands. Marked by years of providing for their little family. “Sometimes.”
“Why? It’s wonderful to see you working again. I’ll help you practice your phone call to your boss tomorrow. Make a booking to get doctor’s clearance.”
“That’s why.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I have been playing about in here, strengthening my wrist in preparation for when they ask me back. But I’m still not sure I’m ready to put someone else’s baby in my hands.”
All prepared to be the cheerleader, to tell him he was born ready, something in his eyes – a stubbornness she’d never seen there before – made her stop.
And for the first time, it hit her – what if he was never ready to go back to work? How would his pride cope? How would she keep the both afloat?
The Road Runner.
For all the hours they’d put into fixing it up together, if it came to that, she could sell her car. Her baby.
“Alright,” she said, while she felt anything but. “Whenever you’re ready, you let me know and Team Scott can go into action.”
He held out an arm and she tucked in underneath. “Grazie, piccola. I didn’t want to get your hopes up.”
“My hope is always up, Papa. Keep on keeping on, right?”
The tender moment firmed the ground beneath Sera’s feet. The most important ground. For all the fun she was having at work, flirting with Murdoch and following Hazel’s meandering lead, their home, their family unit, was too important to mess with.
It was time to get serious. For real.
A figure leapt into the doorway, with a growling, “Ha!”
“Jesus, Mary and... Marcy?”
Their neighbour lowered a garden gnome. “Hey, guys. Been so long since I’ve seen the light on in here I thought you had a burglar.”
“Just us,” Sera said, holding out an arm and tucking Marcy in with them. “Stripping an engine and sorting out our futures. The usual.”
“Excellent. Want to sort out mine?”