Page 71 of In Step

I barely madeit up the stairs and into the bathroom before losing the contents of my stomach down the toilet, and then again, and once more, just because. Empty but still dry heaving, I slid to the floor with my arms wrapped around the bowl, the strain as good an excuse as any for the tears coursing down my face.

How long I sat there, I had no idea. Long enough to check an incoming text from my father who’d clearly heard from his solicitor.You cock-sucking piece of shit. I’m not selling and you’re not getting a penny from this farm. Your mother would be ashamed of you. You’re not throwing me off what’s rightfully mine, what she and I worked hard for. You better be careful what you start. Someone’s gonna finish it.

I’d ignored the implied threat—I’d heard way too many of those over the years—and replied.I don’t care what you do with the farm but I’m taking my share. Buy me out or sell up. It’s up to you. And calling me names isn’t winning you any favours just so you know.

He didn’t text back, and I sagged against the bathroom wall and wondered just how ashamed my mother would be. I’d only known her from the perspective of a child. I was fucking guessing. Flying by the seat of my pants. Hoping to hell that she’d left it to me so I could do exactly what I was. Get out once I’d grown enough to know what I wanted and make a life for myself and my sister.

It was the best I could do.

Then Abe’s text arrived, and with it more unwanted tears. I didn’t reply, not sure quite what to say. And finally, convinced I had nothing more left in my stomach, I took my pills, chasing them with a swallow of milk to calm the bile that was still churning. And then without bothering to undress, I crawled into bed, pulled the covers over my head, and tried to sleep.

Fail.

By morning I looked just as bad as I felt after a tangled night of regret and self-recrimination. Not about Abe and me together or what I’d said to Judah. I did have a right to a life and to some happiness, as squeaky new as those feelings were.

But I regretted landing Abe in trouble with his friend, and if my not being out had cost Abe and Judah their friendship,I’d regret that forever. Fourteen years on and I was still making fuck-awful decisions about my life. I should’ve come out to Leroy, maybe even Judah, before I’d contemplated anything with Abe.

Abe.

I blinked back the well of emotion and opened the bathroom window to clear the steam. The blast of cool air ripe with the tang of salt and seaweed did a good job of waking me up, and I breathed deeply before hanging my head outside. Another calm winter’s morning cradled the bay, the fading sunrise throwing a subtle wash of pink over the teal-green sea, a few ripples riding the swell to rush across the sand.

I was going to miss this place. The ache was sudden and surprising.

I’d miss Leroy and Fox and Patrick, and even the mussel farm. Hardly my first choice for a job, but it had been unexpectedly fun, and I’d rediscovered a happier me, a me I’d almost forgotten. I’d miss Judah too. We might not have been friends or even friendly, but his energy, grace, and force of will were stamped on this town and on my heart. My life and his were inextricably linked, whether we liked it or not.

My gaze swept Painted Bay, the stain of pink over the ocean already fading in the light. I’d miss this place, this view, this tiny bedsit, a refuge when I needed it most. I’d miss its secret deck—a safe corner of the world to watch the rolling tides and risk a dream or two.

And it suddenly struck me how much I’d changed. I wasn’t the man who’d moved in here six months before. And I wasn’t the man I’d been only weeks before, either. The Maddens had changed me. Painted Bay had changed me.Abehad changed me.

I’d spent months stuck in a mental loop with blinkers on—feeling trapped, marking time, planning for a life beyond this tiny fucking town, a place where I could come out and be myself. Holding off living for some make-believe future when things would finally be okay. And now that I was leaving, I was shocked to find an unexpected gaping hole in my heart with a half-moon shape that looked remarkably like Painted Bay.

Abe’s voice rang in my ear from that first night we’d danced together, his guidance achingly on point.

“The tango is about passion. Stop watching your feet. Stop trying so hard to get the steps right and just feel the music. Lift your head, step out bravely, and trust. You’ll make mistakes. It’s not about perfection, it’s about connection.”

I just hadn’t expected his words to be about more than the dance.

My gaze jerked to the right as a loud quarrel ignited in the group of seagulls perched on the ridgeline of Judah and Morgan’s boatshed. I pictured Judah swearing at them from their bed directly underneath and almost smiled until I remembered.

I suspected they’d slept no better than me.

I sighed and turned my back on the crisp blue sky. Bossy followed, ever hopeful for a cuddle down my jersey, while Tank sat staring at his food bowl willing for a miracle. A half kilo down in weight after two weeks, Tank’s energy level had definitely seen an upswing, something that pleased Bossy to no end.

I gave him a passing stroke. “Never gonna happen, but you do you.”

When I reached the kitchen, I paused and took a moment to scan the cosy space that had come to mean so much to me, the first real space of my own, a safe space, and more recently a space that had known dance and laughter and tenderness I’d only dreamed about. I smiled at the mismatched rugs and furniture, the generic seascapes on the wall, the faded curtains, the persistent cool draught that defied all attempts to determine its source, and the endless piles of books that sat like cairns on the floor. One by one they’d miraculously materialised on my front doorstep over the months from Cora and Martha, Terry, and even Jam, a balm to my soul, an escape, just as they’d always been.

Jesus Christ. I shook my head. I really was losing my shit. This was way too fucking maudlin.

Enough.

I switched on the coffee maker and stripped my bed for a load of laundry, taking a few minutes to play with Bossy and Tank who decided the remaking of the bed was an opportunity for a game. I’d have to pull the plug on Tank’s spa holiday a week early, which set me thinking about Bossy and another round of self-recrimination. Maybe Leroy would take him for a bit until I got settled somewhere.

With the bed made, I poured a coffee and grabbed a pen and paper to start my to-do list. I’d barely got past the first item when a quiet knock on my front door sent my heart into my throat.Shit.I was nowhere ready for that conversation with Abe I knew was coming, but maybe it was best to get it over with.

I wiped my palms down the front of my jeans and took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly. You can do this.

I swung the door open and he turned from staring at the view across the bay.

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