Page 56 of Prove You Wrong

More respect.

Chapter 17

Nate

Of all the fucking days. Of every single fucking date Ella could have gone for, she somehow chose the one I absolutely couldn’t do.

I was so excited when I saw her reply, like a kid at Christmas, and then I realised I’d swapped my on call with Tony for that day. And Tony had begged me to do it for him, he’d struggled so hard to find cover, he’d offered to do two of my dates. Not that I’d hold him to that. Hoping for a miracle, I knew, even as I called up Control, there wouldn’t be anyone else to cover. No one else to ask. They needed me.

Now, the ball was back in Ella’s court. Would she go for a different day or was that it? No more chances?

Chunk drives us over to The Wreck in his Ranger, indulging my silence by turning up the banal morning radio show. I check if I’ve received a reply from Ella so often it might develop into a nervous tic.

Nothing since midday yesterday, when I rejected her. Again.

Fuck, I hope I haven’t blown it.

When I get out of the vehicle, fresh air hits me in the face. Being outside, unrestricted, helps me feel freer than I have all morning. I silently appreciate the winter sun filtering through the trees.

Slamming the door shut sends a flock of pigeons bolting from the canopy.

‘Whatcha got for me?’ I hope Chunk will find me something strenuous to absorb all of my attention. Save my phone battery. And my dignity.

‘Sorting out the old barn. I’ve got new plans for it.’

My eyes glide over the thicket of brambles and weeds that lead to the partially obscured entrance of Chunk’s storage shack. ‘Big job. I’d better get stuck in.’

I wonder if Chunk realised how much I need this. Thoughtful prick.

I check my phone is in my jeans pocket, then pull off my jacket, leaving it in the back of the SUV. Chunk tosses some heavy-duty gloves at me and I help myself to a machete.

We hack away in silence, my arms eventually burning with the effort. My tee-shirt clings to me. The weak sun high in the sky, I’ve managed to go without checking if Ella’s replied for a respectable amount of time. Scrubbing my arm over my eyes to wipe the sweat away, I pull my phone out. Still nothing.

I throw the machete down, embedding it in the dirt.

‘How’s things with your girl?’ Chunk calls over to me.

‘She’s not a girl. And she’s not mine,’ I shout back.

‘That good, huh?’ He braces his hands on his hips, and looks around at our progress. ‘You want to talk about it?’

I grunt as I pull the machete back up again.

‘Nate?’

I swipe at some thick, woody brambles, decimating them with the blade.

‘Fuck,’ Chunk barks out a laugh, walking closer. ‘You’re killing me here. At the risk of sounding like a fucking teenage girl, what’s happened now?’

‘Nothing. I was at The Bull last night; Scott told me to play it cool.’ I take my frustration out on a dense patch of bracken. ‘I’m not very good at being patient.’

‘What are you waiting on?’

Ella to trust me. Ella to take me seriously. ‘Just a message.’ I continue to hack away. ‘Trying to arrange that second date but it’s gone silent her end.’

‘Maybe she’s checking her diary.’

‘Since yesterday lunchtime?’

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