Malaise Page 10

He pauses, swallows, and then carries on. “Seventeen, then. Even worse. What kind of parent ditches their only kid after losing the other one?”

  “Mine.” I scrub a little harder at the unrelenting black under my eyes and cringe at the cramps in my gut. “He said that my behaviour would impede Mum’s recovery.”

  “Well that’s just fucking ridiculous,” Tanya scoffs.

  “Partially.” I squeeze the facecloth out and set it down on the side of the basin. “I have been acting reckless in the likelihood they’d notice and give a shit—I just kind of hoped that when they did it wouldn’t be negatively.”

  “You can stay here,” Carver murmurs. He rustles around in the vanity drawers and comes up with what is presumably Tanya’s hair tie. “We don’t have a spare room, but you can share with me.”

  My eyes go wide after he drops that suggestion as though it’s perfectly normal, and proceeds to bundle my hair into a rough ponytail. Tanya watches on in approval, clearly on board with the idea. My head pulls back slightly as Carver adjusts the pony and sweeps the loose strands off my face.

  “Best we can do for now.” He smirks, resting his hands on my shoulders as he holds my gaze in the mirror. “Get some food in you and then you can have a shower.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Come on.” Tanya rises from the tub, holding out her hand for mine. “Let’s get you some clean and dry clothes first.”

  “You know if Dad’s going to be home tonight?” Carver asks Tanya.

  She shakes her head as we leave the bathroom, worry clear in her eyes.

  Cassie’s idle warning about Carver’s father and the rumours from the Stallion race through my head. It didn’t even occur to me until now that I might have just agreed to crash in the same house as a sexual predator. My face must display my apprehension, given the eye-roll I get from Carver.

  “It’s not true—he didn’t do it.”

  “Do what?” I ask, a little too high-pitched.

  Tanya chuckles and walks on ahead down the hallway.

  “Assault the woman,” Carver says. “I’m not saying Dad is a saint—”

  “Because he’s not!” Tanya calls out from the room she’d turned in to.

  “—but he didn’t do what they said. The woman was pissed he won the bar tab they had on offer for the darts competition that night, and she cried wolf.” Carver chuckles and shakes his head. “What he did do was beat her husband up so bad the guy needed a tooth removed from his lower lip. One thing you don’t do with my old man is start a fist fight unless you know what you’re doing.” His face falls on the last sentence, his eyes dark and glazed as we come to a stop outside Tanya’s door.

  “Will these do?” she asks, holding up a pair of shredded jeans and an oversized T-shirt with a pretty Day of the Dead-style zombie woman on the front.

  “Anything will do.” I walk in the room to take them from her. “Thanks.”

  “I’ll give you two some privacy so you can get changed.” Carver gives me a warm smile as he pulls the door shut and leaves me alone with Tanya.

  She watches the door for a second before turning on me and tugging me over to her bed. “Sit.”

  “Okay?” Not sure how I can get changed while I’m seated, but whatever.

  “That,” she says, pointing toward the door, “is what I’ve been trying to get out of him for years.”

  “Privacy?” I ask, confused.

  She flicks her long hair over her shoulder and huffs out a breath. “No, silly. To be courteous, caring, and all that shiz.”

  I stare at the door also, as though I can still see Carver standing there, and shrug. “Well, what’s he like usually?”

  “Closed off, uninterested, and hiding out in the garage or anywhere but here.”

  I screw my mouth up on one side and look over at her as she nods as though affirming what she’s just said. He’s never been anything but helpful toward me, there when I’ve called, and never expected a thing in return. On one hand I can’t imagine what she’s saying being true, but on the other I’ve seen it. It was there in his eyes when the frustration started to break through at the truck stop: a simmering anger that he seems to keep in check at all costs.

  “Tell me about him when he was my age,” I ask. “You said he was impulsive too. What changed him?”

  She shakes her head with a smile. “Uh-uh. You’re asking him that. I’m done saying my piece.” Tanya flops down beside me and sighs. “All I want is for you to understand that something’s changing in Brett, and whatever it is you do to him, keep it up. Please.”

  I scoff, running my hands up and down my damp thighs. “I’ve got no idea what I do, Tanya. Honestly.”

  “Then don’t go changing. Because whatever that thing he finds interesting about you is, it’s worth holding on to.”

  ***

  “We got off light,” Carver announces as Tanya and I walk into where he’s seated in the lounge.

  He’s shucked his jacket, and a worn and stretched tank barely covers his bulky upper body. I grab the hem of the T-shirt Tanya loaned me and fidget with it at my hips to try and distract from all that muscle I was too drunk to take note of at the bonfire. Definitely a full-grown man. The fact I’m the youngest in the room feels way more of an issue than ever before.

  “Why’s that?” Tanya asks of his statement as she drops over the arm of a chair to sit in it sideways.

  “Old man’s just sent a message to say he won’t be home tonight.”

  “Thank fuck for that. Makes things easier,” Tanya replies.

  Carver looks across to where I still stand in the doorway, stiff as fuck. “You can stop worrying now, Meg.”

  Yeah—that’s totally what I was worried about. Not the fact that I’m supposed to be sharing a room with this hulk of a man tonight. Wonder who has the floor? I walk carefully across the space between them and take the last solo armchair by the window.

  Carver’s eyes track me the whole way, a hard, unreadable expression in place. “How are you feeling now?”

  “Seedy as hell.” I curl my legs up on the seat and tuck myself into the side of the chair. “My head still feels like one of those dashboard dogs’.”

  “I’ll go grab you some Panadol,” Tanya says as she stands. “Might at least take the edge off in the morning.” She takes two steps and then hesitates, giving me a pitiful look. “Plus some dry toast, I think.”

  “And what have we learnt today, Meg?” Carver asks as she leaves the room.

  “Don’t get drunk without eating first?”

  He huffs and leans forward, his arms flexing as he rests his elbows on his knees. “How about, ‘Don’t get drunk at all’?”

  “You saying that you never have an alcoholic beverage?” I tease.

  His narrowed eyes have me finding that extra inch of the seat to sink into. “No, I’m not saying that. But I also don’t make a point of going out to reverse the blood/alcohol ratio of my body.”

  “Oh, shush,” Tanya says as she re-enters with a bottle of water in her hand. She places it on the side table beside me and spills two white pills out of her closed hand. “You might be like that now, Brett, but that’s only because you spent enough times yourself calling Ralph on the porcelain phone to know better.”

  “I’m simply trying to get Meg to learn from my mistakes,” he answers tersely.

  “I think she’ll learn from her own.”

  I sit in silence and down the pills while they bicker between themselves. My gut protests at the simple intrusion of water, and the overwhelming need to lie down to even out this topsy-turvy nausea hits me. “Guys?”

  “Yeah?” Carver answers.

  Tanya storms off in a huff, presumably to make the toast.

  Hand to my stomach, I ask Carver, “Where can I go lie down?”

  “Follow me.” He rises out of the seat and jerks his head toward the hallway. “Don’t worry about the toast, Tanya!”

  “Good thing I’m hungry, then,” she calls back in a teasing
tone. “It just popped.”

  The house is old enough to have the high ceiling and narrow halls that are quintessential to all bungalows of this style. Our footsteps are loud on the wooden floor as we track past Tanya’s room to the next on the right, beside the bathroom.

  Carver gestures to the door opposite his, the room beside Tanya’s. “That’s Dad’s room.”

  Awkward. “Okay.” It wasn’t lost on me that he called it “Dad’s” and not “Mum and Dad’s” or “my parents’” room.

  I hesitate in the doorway of his, still a little weirded out by the concept of sharing a room with Carver. What if I snore? What if I talk in my sleep?

  “You coming in?” He fusses with heavy, dark green drapes that hang from an old-fashioned iron rail.

  My eyes roam the cream-coloured walls, over the dozens of dark charcoal drawings covering every free space. There are night landscapes, dragons, old cars, and women similar to the one on my T-shirt. “Did you do all these?”

  “It’s a pastime,” he answers simply, as though trying to demean the extent of his talent.

  “They’re amazing.” I step closer to one he has beside his bed and study the intricate detail in the leaves of the tree and the reflections on the water.

  “I had time to fill, and drawing was one way of keeping my mind busy with anything but what was going on out in the world.”

  I cock an eyebrow and step back to face him.

  “Home detention,” he explains. “If I watched TV, or talked to my friends, I always ended up so fucking angry at missing out that I wanted to smash the shit out of stuff—so I drew.”

  “What did you get HD for?”

  “Theft.”

  “Oh.”

  His eyes drift the length of me. “Told you that you knew nothing about me.”

  I cross my arms over my middle and look away from his intense stare. “I know what I need to.”

  His bed is big, but not enough so that the two of us can sleep on it without ending up on top of one another. But the room is narrow, and with a dresser and freestanding wardrobe in here, there’s stuff-all space on the floor. “Who’s sleeping where?”

  “People generally sleep in beds, Meg.”

  “Alone, yeah, unless they’re a….” I wind my hand about, hesitant to voice the ludicrous concept. “A thing.”

  “Are we a thing?” he teases, stripping the tank off to reveal his perfectly moulded torso.

  So not fair. “Funny, Carver. Real hilarious.”

  “If that’s the only way I can get you to stop being such a prude and get into bed for the night, then we can rectify our ‘thing’ status right here, right now.”

  Oh my God—is he serious? “Uh.”

  “Just get out of those clothes and into bed, would you? Looking at you in my sister’s stuff is kind of creepy.” He drops his jeans in one fell swoop and steps across to the bed in only his boxer briefs.

  Thick thighs, a trim waist, and wide shoulders have my thought processes back to front, and I try to step out of the jeans without undoing them. Nice move, Meg. My face flames as he chuckles at my faux pas.

  “Shut up,” I murmur, fumbling with the button at the top. The scarring on my fingers seriously impedes my dexterity these days, the tight skin pulling when I bend them too far.

  “Would you like a hand?”

  I hold up my injured one. “Yeah, that might be nice.” I didn’t even think when Tanya helped me do the damn things up that she might not be around when I wanted to take them off.

  Carver jerks his head, indicating I should walk to where he lies on his side of the bed. I make my way over, unsettled by the quiet intensity he watches me with as I round the foot of the mattress. He reaches out from his laid-back position and hooks his fingers in the waist of the jeans to jerk me closer when I stop too far away.

  My mouth goes dry, my throat tight. His fingers are hooked in my pants. They’re so close to there. It’s the most intimate touch anybody’s given me since the awkward fumbling session with the exchange kid I had in Year 10.

  “You look like a deer in the headlights.” His thick fingers make light work of the stud button, his bright blue eyes fixed solely on mine.

  I make a move to step away, yet his left hand holds the jeans captive, keeping me in place as he moves on to the zipper. Lord, give me strength. Does he know how aroused this has me? Can he tell what his touch is doing to me down there? Most of all: is he doing it on purpose?

  “Relax, Meg. What do you think I’m about to do? Jump you?”

  I shrug, not sure if I open my mouth right now that proper English would come out, or if that sick swirling in my gut is a result of the alcohol or him.

  “You’re not here for that reason.”

  And just like that, all my inhibitions and preconceptions about how awkward this could be are thrown out the window, because he’s an adult and I’m a kid. Thanks for the slap back to reality, buddy.

  I step back, the jeans tugging as I break his hold, and head to the far side of the room to undress. It still doesn’t seem private enough.

  “Are you finished?” I snap.

  “Meg….” He frowns, probably realising how cutting what he said was. Yeah, he spoke the truth, but way to pick a moment to be an arse about it.

  “I meant are you finished with the light on?”

  “Yeah.” His Adam’s apple bobs, and he frowns.

  I spin away and flick the old-school switch down in its round housing, plunging the room into darkness. My eyes take what feels like forever to adjust to the minimal moonlight creeping in around the heavy drapes. I lose my balance twice in the effort to get Tanya’s tight-as-fuck jeans off, first slamming my shoulder into the wall, and second barely breaking my fall before I add a broken tooth to my current repertoire.

  The padding in my bra cups is still damp from the rain at the park, but there’s no way I’m taking that last semblance of dignity off. He’ll just have to make do if they end up making a wet patch on his bed.

  Carver is silent all throughout my struggle to get bed-ready, not so much as a rustle of the sheets coming from his direction. Arsehole probably doesn’t want to open his mouth in case he slips the other foot in. Good. I make my way over to the bed and pat my hand around on the edge to locate the top of the sheet.

  “I already pulled it back for you.” His voice is amplified by all my other senses being useless in the dark. It sends vibrations through to my very core.

  “Thanks.” I slip a leg onto the mattress, heart in my throat while I wait to see if he’s moved from where I guess he is.

  All good so far.

  Arse on the bed, I scoot over enough that I won’t wind up on the floor, and slide my other leg between the sheets.

  Still safe.

  “Do you always take this long to settle in?” His question comes with a yawn.

  “When I’m figuring out how to share with somebody, yeah, because strangely enough it’s not something I do every weekend.”

  “Really? You don’t know what you’re missing out on then,” he quips.

  I tense, halfway between sitting and lying.

  “I’m pulling your tit, Meg. Now lie the fuck down so I can get comfortable too.”

  I stretch out on my back, stiff as a board, and try to hush my damn breathing, which sounds like the freaking ocean is trapped in my head.

  The bed dips and rolls as Carver moves around, and to my horror, his hand shunts under my pillow so that his arm is beneath my neck.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “Getting comfortable. I don’t know about you, but sleeping on the edge of the mattress, terrified I’ll touch the person beside me, doesn’t sound like a good night’s sleep.”

  Well… that’s that then.

  “Meg?” His deep voice tickles my left ear, he’s so damn close. “Don’t freak out, but”—his leg crosses over mine. The ability to breathe escapes me—“this is way more comfy.”

  “Are you finished yet?” I croak o
ut, not sure how much more of this mind-fuckery I can take.

  “Tell you in the morning.” He wriggles a little, settling in. “Good night, Meg.”

  Yep—don’t think there’ll be much sleeping going on over here….

  THIRTEEN

  Turns out I don’t know squat. There was a lot of sleep. So much sleep that I never stirred when Carver left.

  I stretch out, unsure if it’s a wise idea to move just yet, or if I should let my acidic stomach wake up properly. I’m definitely never drinking again. She says now….

  One of the heavy drapes has been pulled open, and a mockingly blue sky is visible over the top of the trees that line the driveway. I stare out the window for what feels like forever, reluctant to get up and set the gears in motion.

  I’ve been away all night. But I can’t stay here forever. Sooner or later I’ll have to return to my parents’ house to face the music—as in today to get my uniform, considering I’m working tonight. I slap a hand to my face and groan. How could I have forgotten that?

  “What’s up?”

  I roll my head to the right and almost groan all over again, yet for a vastly different reason. Carver leans against the doorjamb, with what I presume is a coffee in hand considering he doesn’t seem like a tea person, shirtless.

  The man in only a pair of jeans is toxic to an unbalanced mind like mine.

  “I just remembered I have a shift at the supermarket tonight.”

  He sips his drink as though waiting for the punch line.

  “Aaand my uniform is at home.” The word feels foreign on my tongue. Home. I don’t think I really have one anymore.

  “Oh.” He lowers the mug to his waist, drawing my eye to his ridged, defined stomach. “That’s awkward then.”

  “Yeah.”

  He stays put, watching me as I fidget with the sheet over my chest.

  “Could you….” I spin a finger toward the hallway.

  “Right. Sorry.” He retreats, looking all kind of bashful and cute as hell at the same time, and shuts the door behind him.

  I dash out of the bed, positive if I don’t find the toilet soon I’m going to be asking for more clean clothes. My phone tumbles from the pocket of Tanya’s jeans as I tug them up my legs. Snatching it in my fist, I hook a sharp right out of the bedroom and straight into the bathroom, closing the door behind me.