CHAPTER THREE
In the space of a few days, Paris’s life had taken a nosedive off a sharp cliff.
She shifted in the seat of Jett’s pickup, the leather squeaking beneath her, and stared at the open terrain. Only flat land accompanied them. Oh, and the brooding clouds across the heavens. If the storm could just hold off for a couple more hours, they’d be in Yalgoo sooner. She’d get through the drive alongside Jett, push through the festivities, and work out how to get her life back on track.
The more she thought about it, the more she liked the possibility of approaching several event companies in Melbourne and pitching her national toy run idea. She hadn’t seen any companies collect donations and supply toys to kids in rural areas. And with her credentials from other gigs she’d organised, she might land a job and continue doing what she loved—along with sticking it to Ziggy’s. Perfect on both fronts. She could see it now… she’d be head-event planner soon enough if she got into a company that had ethics.
First, she had to survive the Christmas curse and ensure it wouldn’t tear her down further.
She leaned forward in her seat and changed the radio station that hissed with static until she found a soft ballad. Better than the festive tunes.
“Why are you picking up toys so late this year?” she asked, twisting to face Jett who gripped the wheel with two hands. “I remember the toy delivery run being completed mid-December. Christmas is tomorrow.”
Jett changed gears and sped up as a huge truck gunned it past in the opposite direction, shaking the ute in its wake.
“Damn, I hate those 18-wheelers,” she added.
“Donations were slow this year, and we only received about a quarter of the usual, so the ones in the back are a last-minute order I placed. Didn’t want anyone to miss out.”
“That’s real sweet of you.”
He cut Paris a stare, his eyes narrowing as if not believing her sincerity. “Why do you sound so surprised? Was I really that much of a dickhead when we dated?”
Paris swallowed the boulder in her throat. “Geez, it was a compliment.”
Okay, someone had their defences up, and she couldn’t blame him. But in reality, for years she’d practiced all the things to say to Jett if they crossed paths. About his selfishness for leaving her behind, how he found another girl in the city after Paris had given him her love, her virginity, and even got pregnant with him. Sure, they lost the child, which caused mountains of tension and heartache, but shit. Her first time with Jett was magical, and after all she’d gone through with him, she wasn’t sure how she had survived when he left.
And now, she shared a ride with him—the only guy who was capable of melting her in his presence, who saw her cry for weeks after the miscarriage and kissed every tear away. If she allowed herself, she’d dissolve all over again because he would always hold a soft spot in her heart.
She studied him. Back in the day, Jett had been skinnier. Now he’d filled out with muscles, and his rugged look made him devilishly handsome. Even the way he had his sleeves rolled up to the elbows revealed toned arms and hands rough from working. But she wasn’t sure she could flirt with him as she was terrified if he hurt her once, he’d do it again. And this time, she wouldn’t recover.
An awkwardness crowded the space between them. “You used to hate the toy run,” she said, to keep her thoughts distracted. “Now it sounds like you’re in charge of it.”
“People change.” He glanced at her, and then at her boots.
Fire rose through her. What was his problem? His pissy mood irked her when all she wanted was to survive the drive home. “Why are you judging what I’m wearing?” She leaned over and plucked one boot off her foot, then another, wishing she never wore them. Sure, he gave them to her as a gift, but she didn’t expect to bump into him at the airport. And in town, she intended to stay with her parents, not check in on Jett at his parents’ ranch. Assuming he still lived there… who knew as she didn’t want to get criticised each time she asked a question.
Paris rolled down the window, and a flurry of winds buffered against her.
“What are you doing?” His voice deepened with a serious tone.
“Clearly, my boots are upsetting you, and if they bother you that much, then I’ll deal with the situation.” She tossed one shoe outside, and it bounced off the road.
The car slowed until it stopped completely. A quick glance in the side mirror showed no cars were behind them.
“Get out!” he demanded.
She stiffened. “Yeah, right.”
“Go and collect your boot.”
Paris studied the tightness of his jawline, the cord of muscle straining in his neck. “Why do you care? You’ve been giving me shit about them since the airport. So I did you a favour and got them out of your sight.”
He ran a hand across his mouth and huffed. “Better hurry, otherwise we’re staying here all day and night until you collect your shoe.”
If she didn’t know Jett, she’d call his bluff, except he had once slept outside in the field all night to prove his dad wrong about sleeping outdoors when camping. Sure, it was winter, and he got a bit of frostbite on his small toe, leading to half of it being amputated, but he stuck it out.
His glare didn’t soften.
Son of a…
She swallowed her pride, holding onto one boot, and shoved the door open. “They’re mine, not yours, so I’m not sure why you’re worried about them.”
She slammed the door shut. Yeah, the shoes reminded her of the times with Jett, him using his saved-up money to buy them, and how they even had sex with her wearing only the boots. But considering his distaste today, Paris had been the fool to hold onto the gift. Now, he’d ruined her sentimental attachment.
Her hair fluttered across her face, and her skirt ruffled around her legs, threatening to billow upward. Lucky there was no one else around. This way, she’d only be flashing the cows in the nearby paddock. The two-lane road remained empty while the pattering of rain kissing her skin quickened. So she did the same, rushing barefooted.
Jett edged the van to the side.
Pebbles stabbed the underside of her feet, so she slid one foot into the shoe and hobbled toward the other lying on its side in a ditch. A forked lightning streaked the heavens, and she flinched. Seconds later, the earth shook from a roaring thunder.
She collected her discarded boot and slipped it on, rubbing the new scuff mark. Secretly, she would have hated to lose the shoes, but she wasn’t letting Jett get the better of her. When she spun to return, the ground trembled once again. The biggest lorry darted down the road. She retreated. The moment the monster on wheels raced past, a swish of air collided into Paris, knocking her backward, causing her to trip over a rock.
She cried out, her arms pinwheeling as she fell onto her butt. And as if the skies were already laughing at her, sheets of rain crashed down, so fast and ferocious, the ute vanished in the torrent. “Come on, give me a break.”
Cold and relentless, water coated every inch of her. Yep, the universe wasn’t finished torturing her.
A hand grasped her wrist and yanked her onto her feet. Her hands snapped forward out of instinct, pressed flat against a firm chest. She looked up into Jett’s face, water shimmering down his cheeks, drops caught in his lashes, his hair plastered. His eyes were the kind of green that pushed all thoughts from her mind. They reminded her of spring, new beginnings, and belief that anything in life was possible. For those few seconds, she was eighteen again, her and Jett in a thunderstorm during a camping excursion, laughing, trying to reach their tents. Afterward, they’d gotten naked and warmed each other all night long. Those were the most amazing memories; to have someone meet her every need, sneak stolen glances, and offer her the world. God, she’d love to relive those times. They were filled with happiness and a sense that nothing could touch her.
“Let’s get a move on,” he said, shattering her silent memory.
Jett’s hand swept across her lower back, and together, they broke into a run. Once inside the ute, she sat drenched. Her clothes were glued to her body, and her hair clung to her head. Jett chuckled and reached into the back seat, returning with a blanket. “Dry yourself off.” He started the car.
She dried herself, yet water still dripped down her cheeks from her soaked hair.
“Stubborn as always.” Jett edged the van onto the road and drove down the road.
“You’re one to talk.” She faced him, noting the white of his knuckles on the steering wheel from the wind crashing into the vehicle. “I’m wet because you made me go outside. They’re my shoes so I can do what I want with them.”
A long pause followed, and she figured he might be feeling guilt. About time.
“If you’ve held onto the shoes all these years, they must mean a lot to you. I didn’t want you to regret your actions.” When he spoke, his voice was barely heard over the rain bucketing down on the metal roof.
Paris froze, her mouth opening with a response, but no words came. Not when Jett was right. Why’d he have to be correct?
“Thanks,” she whispered beneath her breath.
The corners of his mouth curled upward in a smirk. He gloated. Damn him.
“How much longer?” She pulled the blanket around her shoulders, staring out the window. Torrential rain made it close to impossible to see in the distance and explained why they travelled so slowly. At this rate, they’d never get home. And while it had been dandy to catch up with Jett, it was plenty enough to last a lifetime, especially when he kept smirking to himself.
“We’ll take a small detour to Pinter and drop off toys. If it storms tomorrow, the flooding will get worse. Hope you don’t mind?”
“Not at all.” She wouldn’t be labelled as the Christmas Grinch by objecting. She kept moving in her seat, unable to get comfortable. It wasn’t the delivering that bothered her, but it lengthened the trip, and if they stopped, that meant people asked questions about whether they were back together. The whole outback would gush over them, insisting they should get married, as the neighbours had done while they dated. And considering she couldn’t even make sense of her own emotions, she didn’t need them putting her in an awkward position.
“So, tell me what it’s like living in Melbourne?” Jett asked.
Paris cringed. Talking about the city or her time there was the last thing she wanted to do, not when her trip to Yalgoo was her means to get away from losing her job. But it wasn’t a topic to bring up with Jett and have him tease her about it like he did with her boots, so she planted a smile on her lips and used her best happy voice. “The place is amazing. Hundreds of restaurants with foods from around the world. And everything’s open late. People are out and about at night. But you would know that from when you were there, right?”
He shrugged. “I got to go out a few nights, but the rest were spent in training. Not that it mattered. I didn’t make the grade.”
Paris remembered when her dad told her the sad news. She even called Jett once to check in on him, well aware that playing AFL was his dream, his passion, and all he talked about with his mates. But she had hung up when he answered. Pity made her want to give him words of comfort, tell him to not give up and try again. But just hearing his voice brought back too much pain and betrayal.
“Shit. Sorry.” Yeah, she might be pissed at him, but it still would hurt failing at something that meant so much to him. It reminded Paris of her own recent loss, and that overwhelming heaviness returned, the one that told her she was a failure, a nobody, and no one wanted her. If she had worked harder, she might still have a job. She should have paid attention to notice that her best friend was sleeping with the boss. Paris saw that now, their constant meetings, heading off to venues together. Regardless, being made redundant sucked balls. She had savings to last a few months. Then what? She shoved those thoughts away, refusing to go there now. Her time back home was about taking a break.
She blinked fast to keep her tears from escaping.
“Can’t tell you how devastated I was when I got knocked back,” Jett said, and his words only thickened Paris’s throat. “I was ready to throw everything in and become a bum. I stopped playing football.”
“That’s horrible.” Giving up? Was Paris ready to walk away from her career that she had been building for the past four years? Losing the connections she’d made in the industry, the excitement of a successful event, seeing the joy on her client’s faces? Her sentimental feelings might sound lame to some, but Paris hadn’t realised her passion until after she started the job. Now she craved nothing more. Except, oh right, she had lost her job from the biggest and most well-known firm in the country. She chewed on her cheek and sniffled, wiping an escaping tear.
Jett’s hand touched her knee, his warmth electric and sliding up her leg. “I’m okay now. Didn’t mean to get you upset. Truly, that rejection was a miracle in disguise.”
Paris cleared her throat. “What? I’m not crying. It’s just the rainwater.”
He pulled his arm back and nodded. “I do appreciate how much you still care. I didn’t expect it at all.”
Did his assumption make him feel better, or was he poking fun at her? “Anyway, you must have had fun while you were in the city,” she said. “Meeting up with friends and new people?” Yeah, she shouldn’t pry, but if she had a chance, she ought to discover what tempted Jett into the arms of another female. When would she get another chance?
“Nothing special to be honest,” he said.
Heat burned her skin and anger pressed in the forefront of her mind. “Nothing special?” She must have meant close to zilch to him if he cheated with someone not important. Part of her considered punching him, then throttling him for being so blasé when in reality he’d torn her heart to shreds.
He studied her, his brows lifting. “Are you all right? You look flushed.”
“No, I’m not okay.” She should have kept her mouth shut, but her mind had a different plan, and the words gushed free. “Did I mean so little that you cheated on me with someone who was nothing special?”
Jett did a double take in her direction. “Wait! What?” He swerved across the road as he kept staring at her.