Page 20 of Built

Leaving the window open, I pull aside the shower curtain and step into the shower, without bothering to pull it back again. Let the cool air from outside carry away the steam and my disgust at myself. I rest my head back against the cool tiles and let the warm water sluice down my body until I feel a little better.

After fifteen minutes, I’m feeling a little more human again. I’m not ready to go back home, though. I’m not ready to face Oliver. I’m not ready to face my parents, who think the sun shines out his arse. I’m definitely not ready to go back to work. I wonder how long I can get away with sick leave.

I wonder if anyone would actually care if I just stayed here forever. Would anyone come looking for me? If I break up with Oliver, he might actually get to keep my parents in the split. God knows they love him more than they love me.

I’m being melodramatic, but sometimes I swear it’s true. Dad couldn’t wait for us to get married so he can make Oliver a partner in the firm.

A knife laced with poison stabs me right in the guts. Was Oliver only marrying me so Dad would finally make him partner? No. Surely not.

But the more I think about it, the more I wonder.

To distract myself, I shave my legs, my bikini line, my underarms. I exfoliate every inch of my body and wash my hair. When I’m scrubbed as clean and smooth as I can get I take the showerhead down—the one nice feature of this ugly ass brown bathroom—and close my eyes, leaning back against the wall of the shower while I try to forget all of it for a moment.

SEVEN

Luke

Jack: Hey could you bring your 6m ladder up to the hotel when you have a minute? I think there’s something stuck in the downpipe and I can’t get up there.

I sigh and stuff my phone into the bag with my clothes, then wrap my beach towel around my waist. It’s pretty fresh now I’m out of the water and I’ve stripped off my wetsuit. But the surf was worth it today. Having the beach to myself? Also worth it.

Not that there’s any shortage of beautiful beaches around Rosella Bay. Just one of many reasons I love my hometown.

It’s only when I get back to my truck I realise I’ve left my ladder at Mia’s place. I was up there taking down the old fly screens on the bathroom window, when the message about the failed tile delivery came through. With one thing and another, I never folded it up and put it back in the truck.

I glance at the time on my phone, 3:45. It wouldn’t be unreasonable for me to drop by and pick it up. I might not even have to bother Mia. In fact, she might have made the trip back to Sydney by now.

That shouldn’t make me feel empty. Like the water at low tide when the waves seem to suck all of it off the beach, leaving only sand and bubbles. She’s not mine. She can’t be mine. No matter how much I wish things were different.

I don’t call. No need to make contact if she’s already left. I’ve got the key after all. They expect me to access the property.

When I park my truck in the driveway, though, it’s clear she hasn’t left yet. Her little white Audi is still there, parked in the same spot as yesterday. I frown at the right rear tyre that looks a little worn to me, then tell myself to mind my own damn business. Still, I might just mention it if I see her before she heads back to Sydney. I know Jim up at the local garage would fit her in real quick if I called and asked him.

Shaking my head at my stupidity, I hop out of the truck and flip down the tailgate, ready for the ladder to slide in. Then I stride to the front door and brace myself. I knock, waiting for the sound of footsteps or the turn of the handle.

Nothing.

I knock again and still nothing. Frowning, I lean in to squint through the glass panel beside the door, but I can’t make out any movement inside. I let myself in through the back gate and walk around to the yard, spotting my ladder straight away right where I left it. Maybe she’s gone out for a walk or something. If I’m quick, she won’t even know I’m here.

I feel pretty stupid really. You’d think running the business would have taught me to take better care of my equipment, seeing as I’m paying for all of it. Apparently not.

I’m about to fold it up when the sound of water running through pipes snags my attention. This must be why Mia didn’t answer the door. She’s having a shower.

Of course, my mind immediately fixes on the image of her naked and wet beneath a stream of hot water, hands raised to lather her hair with shampoo, exposing her gorgeous body. Shampoo trickles over her flawless skin and between breasts I’d love to cover with my rough palms.

I don’t have clear memories of the night we were together. I’ll admit I’d been drinking a little. All the Rosella Bay kids used to hang out and drink down on Bailey’s Beach on summer nights while we were on school holidays. I remember thinking it was just like an angel from heaven fell right in my lap, standing down there on the beach, looking up at her in her red dress. I don’t know how I worked up the courage to talk to her that day. Just knew I had to shoot my shot.

I still can’t believe I got so lucky.

I know I’ll never get that chance again.

And I wasted it. Fumbled around in the dark on the sand and didn’t even get a proper look at her. God, what I wouldn’t give for a look now.

Fuck!

I’m getting hard at the thought. My feet carry me halfway up the ladder before I realise what the hell I’m doing and stop myself.

I can’t.

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