Page 30 of Ace My Heart

“I’m eating fine, I haven’t had time to go to confession, and unless Father Shannon needs to tell me that Christ’s second coming is upon us, he can wait.”

Mum turned and gave Joel an unimpressed once-over before turning back to me. “What’shedoing here?” she whispered sourly.

“Mum, his name is Joel, you’ve known him for years, and he can hear everything you’re saying.” I leaned closer to her. “Maybe you might want to express your sympathy?”

Mum threw a glance at Joel. “He’s in the Lord’s arms now,” shesaid. Joel nodded once, lips still tight. Sometimes it was best not to speak to my mother. I wished I didn’t have to.

“Mum, I have a lot to do today. I’ve got to get my stuff over to Sandra’s. I’ll see you later.”

I thought she might argue, but she just sniffed and stormed back down the stairs, slamming the door behind her.

“Sorry about that,” I muttered, turning to Joel.

A tear tracked its way from under his sunglasses, down his cheek until it came to a stop at the corner of his lip.

Oh shit. My eyes started prickling too. I reached a hand up, brushing that tear away with two fingers. Joel huffed out a big breath, turning away and taking the stairs two at a time. I followed more tentatively, blinking furiously so my own tears subsided.

“What do you need me to do?” Joel asked brusquely as I unlocked the apartment door. He was all business now.

“Um, I’ll just grab some clothes and stuff, and then you can take that down to the car while I get Connor sorted.”

Joel seemed happy with that. He flung himself onto my lounge and switched on the TV while I went into the bedroom and sorted through the clothes still sitting in my suitcase from Melbourne. I’d only unpacked the dirty stuff, so I shoved in a few fresh items.

In the bathroom I chucked my essentials into my toiletries bag and stuffed it into the front section of my suitcase, wheeling the whole lot back out to the living room.

“Okay, I’m all packed, bet you didn’t think I could –”

My words were cut short as I saw what was playing on the TV.

“After spending the night of his Australian Open semi-final loss answering questions for police, tennis star Pete Levine has been given leave to return home to the United States.”

Some footage flashed up of Pete leaving Melbourne Police Station, a lawyer between him and the camera.

“Levine, a person of interest in the murder of tennis legend Steve Herbert, was released from police custody late yesterday evening. Levine was staying at the Savoy Tower Apartments in Southbank, where Herbert was found stabbed to death on the morning of January 28th.

“Levine was the main lead in this case, so it looks like police are back tosquare one, Karl,”the reporter said, and the vision flickered back to Karl Franks, host of Early Mornings.

Joel flicked the TV off, dropping the remote onto the lounge beside him. I collapsed down on his other side, feeling like I would puke. Finally, the gravity of the situation hit me like a tonne of bricks. Joel turned to look at me, his face tight.

“Well, one good thing came out of that – if Pete came clean, the police won’t harass you anymore.”

I couldn’t find the energy to even shrug. I couldn’t care a scrap about whether the police thought I was a murderer or not. Steve was gone and he wasn’t coming back. Hearing people who’d never known him talk about his death in such an emotionless way triggered something inside of me.

The sobs rattled out of me and my eyes quickly became so filled with tears that the room was just a watery blur. Once they started, they wouldn’t stop. My stomach ached, my eyes ached. My heart ached.

An eternity later, as the last hiccups started to subside, I wiped my red, swollen eyes, and took a shuddery breath.

Joel’s warm side was pressed against me, his strong arm around my shoulders, squeezing gently.

I looked up at him, my sight still bleary. His lips were pressed into a tight line, his jaw clenched. It must’ve been so hard for him to keep his cool. I wondered if he cried alone in his bedroom where no one could see how much he was hurting.

And here he was, comforting me as I fell apart over the death of his father.

I reached out a hand and gently massaged the tense muscles of his jaw. He opened his mouth, sucked in a little breath, and stood.

“Let’s get this stuff back to my place, hey?” he murmured, dragging my suitcase out the door. I heard it clatter down the stairs.

“Connor!” I called shakily. His little grey and white head popped out around the hallway door, and he galloped over to the kitchen. I scooped him up and limped into my spare room, dragging down his cat box. His little body tensed, pinpricks of pain shooting through my arm from his claws.

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