CHAPTER FOUR
The ute floated across the soaked road. Jett’s pulse spiked. He gripped the steering wheel tighter, turning in the direction of the spin. Everything was happening too fast, and he held his breath. They skidded to a stop, parked horizontally across two lanes, and his gaze shot to the rear-view mirror at the trailer. God, if that had tipped over, they’d be in deep shit.
Paris grasped her door handle, her face ashen, and her breathing laboured. Without another thought, he drove off the road in case another car rushed past, his heart pounding. They could have crashed. Once he had them safe and out of harm’s way, he turned to Paris, his mind tangled into a mess with her earlier accusation and how quick he’d almost lost control of the vehicle.
“What are you talking about? I never cheated on you.” Jett’s pulse thumped inside his skull, louder than the deafening pounding of the rain hitting the roof.
Sure, he’d had other girlfriends since their breakup, but only after Paris refused to return his calls. It took two years for him to move on. She left him hurt and broken. And with her now throwing the memory in his face, she might as well rip open his wounds and pour salt into them.
Paris twisted to face Jett, her expression fierce, her nose wrinkled, as if she’d been planning this argument for a while. Well, bring it on because he was ready to prove her wrong, especially if this was the reason she stayed away from him.
“When you left me for your AFL gig, you went into Melbourne…” She paused and licked her lips. “And you were there with another woman, hugging and kissing her at a bar.”
Jett’s brain whirled, trying to think of what Paris could be referring to. “What woman? What bar?” He’d partied a few nights, even gotten tipsy, but he never hooked up with anyone. He would have remembered because he was watching his drinks, struggling to fit in with the other players who only wanted to party, while he intended to give his best at the trials. He remembered at the time thinking back to his argument with Paris and how stupid he’d feel if he failed the trials after upsetting her so much. Yet nothing compared to returning home and finding her gone. Years might have passed, but the biting pain never left him, especially with her now back in his life.
Paris studied him, her eyes narrow as if Jett had lied, her jaw clenched. “I saw you in a dark, dingy whiskey bar getting cosy with a blonde.”
“Wait! You were in Melbourne then? Why didn’t you come and see me?” Confusion weaved through him. Nothing made sense when he would have been beyond ecstatic to see her then.
She glanced down for a long moment. “I followed you into the city.” She kicked, and one boot clicked against the inside of the ute door. “Stop lying. Just tell me the truth.”
Racking his brain, Jett recalled the whisky bar where he’d caught up with a few mates, including Clive, who came up from a nearby outback town. Then the scene came to him, and laughter rose to the back of his throat. He chuckled, and damn, the sensation left him warm on the inside for too many reasons.
Paris crossed her arms, and her cheeks coloured. “Don’t laugh at me.”
“That was Suzy, my friend’s fiancée. I was congratulating her on the news of her pregnancy.”
“I know what I saw.” She didn’t budge or lift her gaze off him.
“And you were wrong. Hell, Paris, have you been holding onto this the whole time, avoiding me because you misunderstood a situation?”
A glint of shock crawled behind her gaze, and she cleared her throat. “No, the reason I stayed away was because you dumped me to join the AFL. You knew you would need to move to the city if you got in. You didn’t even ask me to join. So you broke up with me.”
“I didn’t dump you. I—”
“Liar!” She slumped in her seat, cutting him a glare. “You signed the papers and only told me the next day as you were about to board the bus. That’s dumping at its finest.”
Jett ran a hand through his still damp hair. She had a point. “Shit, I know I could have handled it differently. I got excited. My mates joined, and this was my chance to get out of Yalgoo and not run my dad’s shearing business. I made a mistake.”
“And yet that’s where you ended up. Back in town.”
“Wow, going straight for the jugular. You haven’t lost your lack of tact.”
She didn’t say a word as her lips thinned. Living with the past as a shadow on his shoulders reminded him of his constant failures. Had she been doing the same?
“So, if you had made the cut into the AFL, would you have considered the way you treated me a mistake?”
Jett’s mouth opened, but no words came out because he’d like to think he would have regretted his decision.
“Thought so,” she said before turning to face the windscreen.
“Look, Paris, I can’t make up for my terrible decisions or predict how I would have reacted if things went differently, but I’ve dealt with my demons. And what I have in my life now, I wouldn’t change. No AFL contract will replace that. Not sure what else I can tell you?” The words falling from his mouth were not what he expected to say out loud. And the sharpness in her eyes told him he’d hit a mark, the kind where she’d twist his explanation and not speak to him for another five years.
She remained silent as sheets of rain slammed into the ute. Puddles of water flooded around them. Sitting around would only lead to them getting stranded, so he put the van into gear and merged onto the road.
Yep, no matter what Paris thought of him, he wasn’t the same Jett anymore. Not after Clive and his fiancée, Suzy, passed away in a small plane crash. They died, along with their unborn child. The tragedy destroyed Jett, and he still had nightmares about seeing them falling from the sky. But his mate had their four-year-old staying with Clive’s parents that weekend. Ace became an orphan overnight, and his grandparents were too elderly to look after him, so Jett adopted the little guy. The decision went against his mother’s wishes, but for his buddy, he’d do anything. And despite his mum’s protest, she now adored Ace. Jett brought the little man to the nursing home in Pinter a couple times a week, so Ace could spend time with Clive’s parents.
Yeah, Jett knew he had fucked up with Paris, but knowing he’d offered Ace a family near his grandparents meant every decision leading up to this point was set in stone by fate. And Jett wouldn’t change taking Ace under his care and into his heart.
***
The heavy downpour dragged the darkened clouds lower. Booming thunder continued, and Jett focused on the road as his windscreen wipers flicked back and forth in a frenzy. After two hours, the storm wasn’t letting up. He took the next left, heading into Pinter. Better to take a break, because if the waters kept rising, they’d never make it to Yalgoo. The trees flanking their passage swayed in the winds, and dead branches rolled across the lanes ahead. Jett held onto the steering wheel that insisted on pulling to the right.
Paris still hugged herself and stared out the passenger’s window. Not a word. Was she reassessing spending five years being mad at him for thinking he’d cheated? He doubted it. Either the universe brought them together again for a reason, or it was playing a cruel joke on him.
“Why haven’t you returned home? Your parents have missed you,” he said to break the silence.
“They’ve come to Melbourne to visit me plenty of times. Besides, there’s nothing for me in Yalgoo. I have a career in Melbourne.” Her voice carried no emotion, just empty words.
“Things change,” he said.
“Perhaps.” She pulled the blanket tighter around herself. “But I love what I do in Melbourne and want to keep growing that opportunity.”
“I understand following your dream.”
Silence.
Okay, fine by him. Maybe too much time had passed between him and Paris to patch things. If she wasn’t ready to forgive, he understood, and her future was in the city. He had zero plans on leaving his family or the sheep shearing ranch. He owed it to his father who passed when he was fifteen to make the place successful. His home was in Yalgoo.
They might have grown up in the same town, but he couldn’t feel more distant from her. She curled in on herself, hugging her knees, wrapped up in the blanket. She carried that innocence about her, the kind that made him want to drag her into an embrace and tell her whatever upset her so much would get better. But he’d lost the privilege. Her gaze faded into the distance, as if she were miles away. So, why was she coming home this year anyway?
By the time Pinter came into view, Jett sped up, exhausted from fighting the storm and needing a hot coffee before deciding his next move.
Paris perched on the edge of her seat, staring at the stores and residential houses. Small and quaint, the area was empty of people. Even the hardware store had the roller door pulled down. Not much different to Yalgoo.
Farther down the street, Jett took a left and followed a winding road. One of his dad’s old friends, who helped each year with the toy delivery, lived here.
“Where are we going?” Paris asked.
“A friend lives out there. We’ll drop the toys off, and we can dry ourselves.”
“I think I’ve only visited this town a few times, but I remember you used to spend heaps of time here,” she said, staring out at the rolling fields dotted with cattle.
Up ahead stood a long and narrow house with huge gum trees crowding around it. Thick wooden frames encased the windows, giving it a cottage look. A small vegetable garden sat at the side of the building, though in this storm, it was impossible to see, just like the tiny yellow flowers coating the meadow. Kangaroos frequented the meadow too, and Ace still got excited each time he spotted one. Jett would call home once he got inside and check up on Ace.
Jett followed the curved driveway and parked as close to the front door as possible.
“Let’s go.” He pushed open the door and rushed to the covered veranda. With Paris by his side, he knocked on the wooden door. No response.
“Maybe they’re not here,” Paris suggested.
Her drenched hair remained plastered to her head. While his hands tingled with the urgency to pull her into him, keep her warm, he wasn’t sure she’d welcome his approach. They might have once been close and planned their futures together, but that memory belonged to another lifetime. The person standing next to him didn’t resemble his Paris.
When no one responded to his third knock, he tried the door handle. He entered the hallway where family picture frames lined the walls and several doorways on either side lead to different rooms. A faint aroma of baked cake permeated the air.
“Hello? Mac?”
Paris squeezed in alongside him and entered. “Could they be napping?”
He stepped deeper inside and pulled his phone out to find a bar of reception. Perfect. He’d call home in a moment. Ace loved storms, and Jett pictured him glued to the window, studying the lightning. He smirked to himself, wishing he could join him. On a bright side, Ace was in good hands with his mum.
He stepped inside the living room. Long shadows from the window cast across the floral rug and three-seater couch. An enormous Christmas tree filled the room, the top scraping the ceiling. Fairy lights and tinsel balanced on every bauble-tipped branch. Wrapped gifts sat beneath the tree. Stockings hung from the windowsill, each one stuffed with gifts, reminding him of his family ranch where he lived with Ace. His mum had moved into a smaller building on the property. This year, Jett went above and beyond with Christmas, wanting Ace to experience the full festive vibes. Sure, the stocking Jett had bought at the local store was the same height as his son, yet he had no problems filling it with presents. He couldn’t wait to watch Ace ripping into them.
“Stay here,” Jett said. “I’ll go find Mac.”
Without waiting for a response, he marched down the hall and into the kitchen at the rear of the house as it backed onto the yard. The comforting spell of burning logs filled the room. Pots and pans hung from the rafters above the counter against one wall. Dishes lay in the sink, and the fridge in the corner hummed. In the centre of the room sat a table large enough for eight people with a fruit bowl in the middle. No sign of Mac or his wife.
The wooden floorboards creaked beneath Jett’s footfalls as he crossed the empty room. A pot of something steaming sat on the wood stove, so he pulled the boiling water aside. The milk carton sat on the counter near the sink, along with two mugs set up for a cuppa. Okay, someone was home.
Jett hurried to the glass door and slid it open, overlooking a row of sheds in the distance and, beyond that, a field. When a piercing cry sounded, he stepped out into the downpour. A baby goat running toward him halted and jerked away at the last second, bouncing toward the meadow.
Mac bred goats, but the kids weren’t meant to be out and about, especially not in this weather. He sprinted after the animal hopping away.
The ground slid under his boots, but he held his balance. He raced up behind the goat that bounded right and left, everywhere but into his grasp. “Come on, fella.” He charged after it, trapping it beside the fence, and swooped the animal into his arms. Its cries pierced his ears, but he held tight. “Time to get you back inside.”
Jett quickened his step to the other end of the yard, but stopped, seeing the hatch had collapsed and at least half a dozen goats were scattered around the corner of the house. This was terrible.
A loud, energetic laughter drew his attention to Mac carrying two of the animals and his wife with another. Then a third person moved in his peripheral vision. Wait! Was that Paris chasing a goat?