Page 5 of In Step

I sighed and shook my head. “What the hell were you thinking, Mum?” Then I raised my middle finger to the phone. “And fuck you for getting in my head again.” I threw a pillow on top of the phone for good measure and headed back into the kitchen.

The lasagne oozed tomatoey, cheesy goodness all over my plate as I settled on the couch to watch some television before choosing a book from the latest pile Cora had dropped off for me a few days before. Go me. My social life knew no bounds. Bossy crawled onto my lap and I lifted my plate out of reach of his twitching nose.

“Use those claws and you’re history.” I scratched his head and he curled into a tight ball and his eyelids drifted shut. I took in the moment, and my brain snapped a picture of my life now and fifty years down the track where nothing had changed.Fuck. Me.I’m a sad sack tonight.

By the time I finished dinner and tidied up, the thunder rumbled softly in the distance and the beating rain had notched down to a soft shower. I thought of the dog food in my car and grabbed my rain jacket from beside the door. But before I could leave, headlights played on the bedsit wall.

Shit. No prizes for guessing who’d arrived.

I crept to the large picture window that overlooked the driveway in time to see Morgan and Judah’s SUV pull in front of the house. I shrugged out of my coat and threw it aside. I had zero energy for another awkward interaction with Judah. Keeping out of his way was a strategy that worked for both of us. The dog food could wait.

The truth was, I admired the hell out of Judah. He’d really done something with his life, and the fact his ballet had been stolen from him by Meniere’s disease was a fucking tragedy. I’d witnessed more than one of his mind-boggling drop attacks, and I had no idea how he coped or how he’d turned his life around, but he had. He was a better man than me any day of the week.

The porch lit up and Leroy and Fox appeared on the veranda to greet the arrivals, huddling together against the still gusty wind. A pang of envy caught at my heart seeing them wrapped in each other’s arms and I shoved it aside.

Six months of working for Leroy and he and I were almostfriendly. However, Judah and I were a much more complicated beast. There was no excuse for my total fuck-up there. In Judah’s eyes I was still the teenage arsehole who’d once kicked him hard enough to make him piss blood, and ifIwas Judah, I wouldn’t be interested in anything I had to say, either. I sure as hell didn’t deserve his forgiveness. I certainly didn’t deserve the job and roof over my head they’d given me.

I hadn’t a clue how to fix any of it, but I was determined to spend the rest of my damn life trying to make up for it.

Leroy’s gaze swept the bleak darkness and then unexpectedly up to my window. I jerked back, cursing myself for not hitting the dimmer or at least drawing the curtains before creeping on them. The bedsit sat above the garage, only metres from the homestead, and their porch light illuminated my window like a freaking spotlight.

All of which only went to show how deeply pathetic my life had become—getting my jollies by spying on the neighbours. It should’ve been a cautionary tale to my embarrassed psyche, but instead, after what I figured was a safe amount of time, I slunk back into position for another look.

Morgan and Judah were pulling bags from the back of the SUV, while a third man shook hands with Leroy and Fox. Abe, no doubt: the well-known—in ballet circles—choreographer dude who also happened to be Judah’s friend.

I studied what I could see of the guy as he ran through the rain to fetch his last bag, his graceful movements so much like Judah’s it made me swallow hard. At any given moment, Judah always seemed two seconds away from a pirouette, and it was the same with this man—like their bodies heard something in the universe none of the rest of us were privy to.

Abe was older than I’d expected, maybe early forties, the silver threads in his mass of dark waves dancing in the light as he hauled the final bag under the shelter of the veranda. He then shrugged off his coat and shook it in a spray of water that sparkled in the light, catching Judah, who bounced out of the way, then shoved the man playfully.

The gesture spoke of friendship and warmth, and as I watched the five of them laugh and talk, it was all I could do not to wallow in another splurge of self-pity.What the hell is wrong with me tonight?

Introductions done, Fox held the door open and hustled everyone inside, but not before looking up and giving me a wave.Fuck.Mata Hari, I wasn’t. I held up a hand and waggled my fingers in return, hoping against hope that the raging blush on my cheeks wasn’t too obvious. Unfortunately for me, Abe followed Fox’s wave and caught me illuminated in all my mortified glory.Oh God. Busted.

Kill. Me. Fucking. Now.

Abe frowned, clearly wondering who the idiot in the window was—join the club—and I fought the urge to leap back from sight and make an even bigger fool of myself. I didn’t, helped by the fact the man was totally fucking gorgeous, and you couldn’t have dragged my gaze away with a monster truck.

Fox said something, and under the porch lighting the man’s frown eased to a curious expression that highlighted bright eyes with a web of laughter lines that almost made me grin in response. It was a kind face, strong, determined even, and with a sexy dark stubble so heavy it bordered on a short beard, which usually wasn’t my thing, but yeah, I’d be revisiting that notion.

Abe held his hand up to me in a tentative hello, and I wiggled my fingers... again.Good god.I bolted from view to the safety of the unlit bathroom to grab one final peek, because that’s how I rolled, and also, the guy was fucking hot.

I immediately wished I hadn’t when I caught sight of Fox and the new guy with their heads together, laughing—no doubt at me. They stepped into the house and closed the door, and I slid down the wall and dropped my face into my hands.

Could I be more ridiculous?

Not a fucking chance.

CHAPTERTHREE

Abe

Early morning murmuringsand the muffled sounds of breakfast permeated the old homestead like a warm welcome. I reached out a hand and checked my phone, groaning at the arse-crack-of-dawn time that glowed back at me. Six.Ugh. I rolled onto my back under the thick feather duvet to soak up the sounds of the wakening house. A restless mind had kept any decent sleep elusive, but nothing beat stretching out in a bed on my own, far away from the intense family discussions of the last two weeks.

My time in Wellington with my brother and his family, staying in their tiny guest room, had been nice, but my mind was still reeling. Originally this was only ever meant to be a long-overdue but relatively quick visit home—a break from my nomadic life as a freelance choreographer where ten months out of each of the last ten years had been spent on the road, in motels, hotels, and rental apartments.

I’d originally planned to spend just a few days with my family in Wellington. I got on well with Con and his family, but too much time spent with my mother and old wounds tended to surface, on both sides. Then I’d intended to fly to Painted Bay to work with Judah for six weeks—about as close to a holiday as I’d had in a long time. But when Con called with concerns about our mother’s health, I changed plans and cancelled a contract so I could get more time with my family.

I wriggled my toes under the duvet and sighed, my breath fogging in the chilly room. I loved my life, but once in a while it was nice to get an injection of the domesticity I’d chosen to leave behind, not least of all because, after the initial nostalgia wore off, the experience was usually enough to remind me exactly why I’d made that decision in the first place. The idea of staying in one place, in one house, with one person, was about as suffocating as it got.

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