THIRTY-TWO
Zeus
If I ever had a reason to go to hell that would be worth the suffering, sex with Belle was totally it. Not sex. No. Making love. I’ve always been hesitant to use that term, thinking it was too flowery for a guy to say. But that… that was love without words. It was our bodies saying everything a dumb fuck like me can’t voice despite his best efforts.
I roll my head and look at Belle as she lies beside me, arms spread as her chest heaves with her quickened breaths. She’s everything I want, and yet I still don’t feel as though I deserve her.
“Thirsty?”
She turns to look at me, and smiles. “Parched.”
Her grin widens as I lift my hand and gently stroke the backs of my fingers along her jaw.
“What?” A nervous giggle mixes with the word.
“I want to enjoy this a bit longer.” Maybe she thinks we’ve got away with it, but spend enough time with a person and you begin to read them like a book.
John may have chosen to leave the lie where it rested last night; that the morning-after was from a mistake with this Scott kid, and that the only role I had to play was that of the sympathetic uncle figure.
But once he sleeps on it. Once he replays the night in his mind as he drinks his morning coffee, he’ll work it out. Memories are strange like that—the more you replay them, the more you see. Like an artwork that you’ve walked past a thousand times, it’s not until you actually stop and shut out the noise of everything around you that you see what the artist intended.
And intentional or not, Belle and I gave off plenty that proved John has reason to be suspicious of his best friend’s intentions.
I push up on one elbow and lean across to place a kiss to Belle’s lips. She sighs against my mouth, her eyes slipping closed as I gently cup the side of her neck. I love this girl. Love her enough to do some pretty fucking stupid things to protect her, but what scares me is that I’m coming to realise something else.
I love her enough to do what’s right for her, and not for me. I love her enough to save her from the destruction my love will cause in her life.
“I’ll get you that drink before you wither into dust, huh?”
She chuckles, pulling the sheet up over herself as I slide off the side of the bed. “We could order in and spend the rest of the day in bed, you know?”
“As tempting as that sounds….”
“Go on.” Her eyes crinkle with her happiness. I want to bottle it to save for later.
She’ll need it.
“Maybe next time, huh?” Only there won’t be a next time. Not if John does what he threatened when he phoned.
Yeah, her father called looking for her, but I only told Belle half the story. I said she wasn’t here, but he knew. He always knows; he’s my best friend.
“If she shows up, you call me. You hear?”
He knew she’d be here eventually. He’d had that coffee, pieced those parts of the puzzle together. He was getting warmer, and when John reaches hot… yeah.
“I don’t know what the fuck Cerise thought she was doing last night, but you tell me man to man, best mate to best mate, Zeus: do I have anything to worry about?”
Of course I said no.
I tug my rugby shorts on and head out to the kitchen while Belle stretches her sore muscles out. Her satisfied moan follows me down the hallway as I scrub a hand over my face.
How did I let things get this far? How can I contemplate letting her go? What the fuck is wrong with me? You work to get the things you love, and once they’re yours, you keep them. People don’t willingly give up what makes them feel good—sane people anyway.
I pull a bottle of water from the fridge for Belle and then down what’s left of my PowerAde. The bottle pops as the air rushes back in, the rattle of knuckles on the door almost lost in the noise.
Every cell in my body freezes as I stand with the empty bottle in hand and listen. Sure enough, another three raps on the door.
I set the trash down and head for the entrance. John doesn’t know where I live—I made it a point not to tell him the exact address for the reason that one day I might have his daughter here without him knowing—like now. The only other person who knows where I live is….
“Jodie.”
She looks up as I open the door, her brow knitted together as she rubs her forefinger and thumb together in that way I learnt over our years together meant anxiety. “Can I come in?”
“I guess. Wait here for a minute though, okay?”
“Sure.” She steps inside the entrance and shuts the door behind herself as I head for Belle. “She probably needs to hear this too.”
I freeze at the end of the hallway and slowly turn back to her. “Hear what?”
“Just bring the poor girl out, Z.”
I step into the bedroom to find Belle half-dressed already. “I heard her voice.” Worry etches the lines of her brow. “What does she want?”
“I don’t know. But I’m placing bets on it being about the fact your mother’s car is in my driveway.”
“Shit.” She tugs her jeans on and heads out to meet Jodie, sans shoes.
My girl isn’t ready to leave. An almost insignificant sign, but one that I shouldn’t overlook either. She’s willing to fight for this.
I wish I could be confident that I can do the same. My loyalty is torn in two directions, and right now, I can’t tell which is the stronger.
“Hey,” Jodie greets as Belle walks into the living room, me in tow. “I came straight over.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Cerise called this morning. Gave me hell about last night, wanted to know why I was backing you up.” Her eyes soften as she looks to Belle. “She wouldn’t let up. John caught wind, snatched the phone off her and apologised before he hung up. That’s when the messaging started.”
I stand stock-still, watching as my ex pulls her phone out and swipes the screen a few times before handing it to Belle.
Her gaze shifts to me as Belle drops onto a seat to read the thread. “Cerise is on the war path, Z. She’s determined to destroy everything and everyone in her stupid crusade to make the damn girl pay for things that aren’t her fault.”
“She blames me for my twin dying, doesn’t she?”
The two of us look across at Belle as she sets the phone in her lap and lifts her chin to search our expressions for the answer I’m sure she already knows.
“Cerise told her this morning,” I explain.
“Yes,” Jodie whispers to Belle. “I think she does blame you.”
Shit. I knew Cerise didn’t handle the death well, that she struggled with motherhood at the start. John reached out after the midwife’s duty of care ended and found a not-for-profit that could help with counselling for postnatal depression. Eight weeks he thought she went before he found out the truth: she’d drop Belle with Jodie and frequent the mall alone, killing time until she was due home again.
It pissed me off at the time because all that burden did to Jodie was fuel her own jealousy over the fact she didn’t have a kid of her own. But I never once thought that Cerise would actually lump the blame squarely on Belle.
As if a baby has any control over what happens in the womb.
“So, what do we do?” Belle asks of Jodie as she hands me the phone to read.
I scroll back to the top of today’s thread and read while the other two wait.
C: I will make damn sure you go down for this as well you sick bitch.
J: There’s nothing sick about it. She’s of legal age to consent.
C: Now. But how long has he groomed her? Sick fuck probably started before he went to prison.
My gut tightens in a knot, acid burning as I realize the extent of how Belle and my relationship is viewed from the outside.
J: Which would mean he started while we were still together. I can tell you that is NOT the case. Stop being such a bitter cow.
C: She’s my daughter.
J: A fact you conveniently forgot when some big dick with an even bigger bank account bought your affection.
C: At least he sympathised with me. John never did.
J: Because you were wrong, Cerise. You were wrong to take this out on Belle.
C: What’s changed with you? You used to hate her.
J: And I admit to that. But unlike you, I realised she had no part to play in my own misfortune. Unlike you, I noticed that she was happy for once. Do you know how many times that girl has been truly happy in her life?
C: What is this? Some motherhood test?
J: Twice. And both times they related somehow to Zeus.
C: Sick arsehole is going back to prison. I’ll make damn sure of it.
J: Good luck. You realise they haven’t done anything illegal.
C: You realise he’s out on parole? Be a shame if he fucked that up.
“She hasn’t got a fucking thing on me.” I put the phone to sleep and hand it back to Jodie.
“Not yet, but you better make sure you keep your nose clean. She’s out for blood.”
Fuck. Belle watches me intently. “It’s okay, Dove. I’m doing everything I’m supposed to: check-ins, reporting change of address, staying within the area… I’m fine.”
“She would do that, though.”
“Without a doubt.”
Jodie sighs and backs toward the door. “I’ll leave you two alone to talk this out, but you need to come clean before this gets out of hand. You need John on your side, and the longer you lie to him, the more fuel you add to Cerise’s fire.”
“Thank you.” My chest warms as Belle gives her thanks and then steps forward to take Jodie in her embrace.
The two women hug it out, Jodie murmuring her support before she lets Belle go. Who would have thought things could change this drastically in the space of a few months?
“I better go,” Jodie says with a thumb pointed toward the door. “Eric is expecting me for lunch.”
I cringe at the mention of that fucker’s name. Guess not every wound heals that quickly.
“Let me know how you get on. Message me, Z.”
“Yeah, of course.” I lean my arse into the back of the sofa, arms folded, as Belle sees Jodie out.
I walked into prison after my sentencing with my head held high, convinced I had done the right thing. The officers stripped me of my possessions, but the one thing they couldn’t take away was my pride. I held on to that golden key the whole two years that I flew under the radar, behaving myself, and making sure I’d get early release.
Never once, no matter what any of the more seasoned guys said to me, was I afraid.
Yet as I stand here now watching the girl I love walk toward me with a mournful smile, not only am I terrified of what’s to come, I’m ashamed.
Grown men who bore tattoos that told of a life spent on the wrong side of the law couldn’t break me. Nope. Turns out all it would take was an eighteen-year-old girl. A girl, and the words that fall from her rose-tinted lips as she slips her hands around my waist and lays her head on my chest.
“I love you, no matter what happens.”