Page 19 of Pieces of Us

‘I swear, baby, I’m okay. If it was serious, Uncle Jacob or Mum would have told you. I’m back at home, and a nurse is going to come by every day to check on me.’

There’s no way I’m relying on some nurse to look after him. She or he will be there for an hour max and then choof off. Nuh-uh, no way.

Pacing the deck, I’m already itching to make it home to him. ‘I’ll be there next week.’ I’ve already made up my mind.

‘You have work.’

Mentally going over my diary in my head, I actually don’t. The Oppenheimer interviews were my last for a few weeks. I was going to meet up with Mum in Paris, where she’s doing Paris Fashion Week, but all my interviews were pre-done with the models, so I don’t technically have to be there.

‘The only things I have on are catching up on some business stuff for Ami-tea and this new lingerie line, but I can do my meetings from anywhere.’ Bouncing on the spot, I’m jubilant that this has all worked out. I would have felt terrible if I couldn’t help Dad.

‘What about…’ He doesn’t finish his sentence. I haven’t been back to the Gold Coast since I left at eighteen, the memories of Lincoln and Billie too painful to bear. They were also the catalyst for my downward spiral with my health. But that’s in the past. I’m better now. I’ve never once asked about how he is or what he’s doing, and thankfully Dad and Uncle Jacob haven’t mentioned him either, unless it’s something trivial.

I wave my hands around at no one in particular, but the movement makes me feel calmer. ‘It’s fine. I’m fine. I’m a big girl now. I have a fabulous new life. I’m coming. End of.’

Twice a year since I left, Dad has met me in a fancy new country and we explore the sites and cities together. Once a year, I go back to Australia to focus on Australian content, but I’ve managed to avoid the Gold Coast. The closest I got was Cairns and Hamilton Island.

‘Only if you’re sure. I don’t want to be a burden.’ I can hear Dad’s worry.

‘Dad. Stop. I’m coming. Plus, I want to get started on that investment property I want you and Uncle Jacob to design and build for me.’ I was always going to be into architecture. It comes with the territory, growing up around them.

An audible, pained groan slips from Dad’s lips. ‘There’s something I have to tell you.’ He hesitates before continuing. ‘Linc works at the company now.’ My stomach lurches at the mention of this new information.

Stopping dead in my tracks and standing in the middle of my balcony, I register what this really means. Logically, this was always the plan. He wanted to follow in the footsteps of his dad. Realistically, I refused to think about it becoming a possibility.

He takes a deep breath on the other end of the line. ‘Honey? Are you there?’ Dad asks when I’ve been mute for too long.

‘Hm? Oh, uh-huh. Totally fine. I mean, it’s not like I didn’t know he still lives there. So I might see him around. Big deal. I’ve moved on, remember?’ I don’t think I’m very convincing in playing off my panic.

‘There’s more,’ he mutters.

Jesus Christ, seriously?

‘Well, you know how Marsha went off on maternity leave?’ Marsha being the receptionist. ‘Well, an agency sent us a temp.’ His deafening silence tells me I’m not going to be very pleased with what he says next. ‘It’s Billie.’

It’s who now?

What. The. Fuck?

Trying to talk myself off the metaphorical ledge I’m on right now, I need to remind myself that my self-worth isn’t tied to them or their actions. Years ago, I made the mistake of putting them at the centre, signalling my downward spiral, but I’m healed now. I won’t let them be a trigger for me anymore.

The salty sea air evokes a wave of calmness to wash over my body. Being near the water always stills me, and right now is no different.

I look down at my wrist, where a semicolon is inked deep into my skin. I got it after. It’s meant to represent hope and resilience for people who have struggled with mental health issues. The very definition of the semicolon reflects sentences that could have ended, but didn’t, just like a person’s life. Even now, it anchors me. It reminds me that I’m alive. The sweetest part of all of this is that everyone who has been with me on this journey—Dad, Mum, Lily, Rome and Jagger— has a matching one.

‘That’s fine, Dad.’ I reside myself to the fact that I’ll be bumping into my past. It will be freeing to get complete closure on a very dark chapter in my life. ‘I can’t wait to see you. I’ll text you my flights,’ I say, changing the subject.

‘Will Jagger be joining you?’ What a nosy parker. Rolling my eyes, I inwardly laugh at how Dad’s as subtle as sledgehammer when it comes to prying into my love life.

Jagger is one of America’s most prestigious NFL players. He’s also one of the hottest. We hit it off when I did an interview with his team at the very beginning of my career. Since then, he’s been my big, bad protector.

‘No, Dad, he’s not.’ I leave him in suspense over who Jagger really is to me. The tabloids paint us as a couple because we’re always together, but sincerely, he is more like my guardian angel. He was one of the first people in the industry to notice I was drowning. If it wasn’t for his intervention, I don’t know where I would be. Sure, we fuck from time to time, but it’s just a horny release for both of us. We are the definition of best friends with benefits and zero feelings.

‘You two seem awfully close at the after party the other night. Sitting on his lap and everything…’

‘What can I say? There were no chairs.’

‘Uh-huh.’ He doesn’t believe me, and that’s fine. I’d rather him believe I’m head over heels for a hotshot NFL player than have him know the truth: I’m too damaged to ever love another guy again, after Linc.

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