Page 38 of Because of Them

My brain is stuck on his first few words.Retiring. End of next year. That’s only—I count the months on my hand—fourteen months. Shit. He’s not that old. Is he? I try to remember how old he was at his last birthday, but the man has been adamant he is ‘only twenty-five’ for the past however many years. I’ve lost track.

“Why?” I cringe at myself, hating the way that was the best question I could come up with.

Shoving his hands into the pocket of his polar fleece jacket, he shuffles his feet, stirring up the mud under his boots. I watch as Baxter plays between his legs, slowly coming to terms with just how soon my father’s planned retirement is.

“Your mother and I want to travel. Not just up the coast, but really travel. Buy a caravan, explore the country. See Uluru. And we want to do it while we are young enough to get around.”

“You want to become grey nomads?” Dad and I used to laugh at the older couples whenever we would pull into a campground when I was younger. My mind races, trying to find the moment he decided he wanted to be one.

“It’s always been a dream. And besides, I’m done here. I’m proud of this company, but I’m ready to move on. I won’t sell it off, though.Can’tsell it off. There’s too much of me in every qualified builder that worked their apprenticeship by my side. Too much of my life in every contract the business holds. Which is why I need you to run it.” His features slacken as he drops his gaze to the ground, shaking his head. “Please,” he adds.

The back of my neck itches. Gnawing at the inside of my cheek, I swallow down the lump in my throat. Sure, I’ve known he wanted me to run the business, but he never really explained why before. At least not like this. It doesn’t matter when he decided he wanted to be a grey nomad. It doesn’t matter how soon he wants that to happen. He won’t do it if I don’t step up. For how many years did he push back his plans, waiting until I thought I was ready?

I still don’t think I am, but guilt runs my veins dry. It’s time for me to start trying.

A quick puff of air escapes my lips.

“Shouldn’t I start with something smaller? The next town home, maybe? Something cookie cutter.”

Dad stretches his arms out, gesturing around the site, towards the near-finished frame. “This? Whether you believe it or not, you could put this puzzle together in your sleep. You need to challenge yourself, and it’s best to do that while I’m still around to help you if you really do get as stuck as you think you will.”

“But—” I stammer, trying to come up with another excuse. I’m ready to start trying, but Noah’s job isfull on. The architects and engineers are drawing up custom plans, the framing will have to be done piece by piece, on the job site. No prefabricated walls ready to be propped up and nailed down. It’s a big job. Too big to be mine. “But Noah is a friend,” I stammer out. A stretch,calling Noah a friend, but maybe the excuse will work. “It would be a conflict of interest.”

“You are not a bloody defence lawyer. We do jobs for mates all the time.”

“But—”

He closes the gap between us, squaring me in when he places both hands on my shoulders. He squeezes firmly but with an unexpected kindness that throws me off guard. My spine relaxes.

“No more buts, Michael.”

AUDREY

My stomach aches. Not in an ‘I’m pregnant and I’m worried something is wrong kind of way’, but in a dull, exhausted kind of way. In the way that it has since the day I found out there are two babies growing inside me, pushing against my organs and stretching my skin.

Annoyingly, it feels like my whole body has swollen with the news. I assume it’s normal for my belly to be larger with this pregnancy than it was with Maisie, what with there being two babies in there and all. The midwives assure me that my weight gain—across my middle and everywhere else—is well within the expected range. Still, knowing it’s ‘normal’ doesn’t make me feel any better about how my bracelet doesn’t swim around my wrist like it used to, or how I haven’t been able to wear my grandmother’s ring in weeks.

My feet hurt, too. Swollen and pressing against the usually comfortable fabric of my sneakers. Although that’s to be expected.

“Can we sit?” I grab at Michael’s arm, steering him towards the empty bench in the middle of the crowded shopping centre.

His forearm is tense from supporting our shopping bags. My fingers twitch against the corded muscle as I use him to hold my balance while I lower myself down to sit. Our bodies were always starkly different, but now, with my growing pregnant belly and the roundness somehow added to my face, the difference is startling. He’s so … fit. But more. Toned, muscle on muscle in a way I never thought I would find attractive. But God, I do. I did. I shouldn’t.

“I’ll be back,” he says before rushing off to the juice stand opposite us.

The very first time we met, long before we got ourselves into this …delightful… scenario, I thought Michael’s physique was intimidating. I was overwhelmed by the strength in his size, taken aback by how small my hand felt in his. Those unsteady feelings were swiftly forgotten when he pressed a hand against my lower back and lent down to whisper in my ear. My heart raced; my core throbbed with anticipation at what he might be able to do with his body.

I was right, and the pure sexual chemistry was, at first, the only reason I kept going back for more. I craved a connection, and the physical one between us was something nothing, or no one, could measure up to. I knew it wasn’t going to last forever, but I didn’t care. I let the immature moments slide, I didn’t let myself worry about how he had no ambition or how he still preferred being out all night to rest filled weekends. He’s young, he has a right to those feelings. And it was just a fling.

Slowly, he started to show me that maybe we could be more than that. He traded a boys weekend with a winery lunch withme. He met Maisie. And sure, looking back I can see I was wrong to introduce him into her life when I did, but hewantedto be involved. Until he didn’t.

I have to remember how much it hurt when he showed me that we were never more than casual to him. Something that could be so easily thrown to the side when the reality of my life became too much.

Fun. That’s all I am. That’s what we said after Callum’s housewarming.

Even so, I can’t help but slink down in the chair to rest my head against his chest when he comes back and sits next to me. His heart stammers, so much so I wonder if maybe he feels this new connection between us, too.

“Here,” he says, placing a small cup of chopped mango in my hands. “They didn’t have any forks.”

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