Page 6 of Secrets of Riverside

It shook Jarrah to his very core – history could not repeat itself. ‘Tommy, talk to me.’

‘It’s all right for you, inheriting money from a grandfather you’d never even met.’ Tommy shrugged Jarrah’s hand off his shoulder. ‘But some of us have to carve our own way in this world, and I’m honestly getting sick and tired of living here.’ His face grew redder, his expression angrier. ‘I want my own life and my own place, and my manager’s wage isn’t going to make that possible anytime soon.’

‘You’ve got a pretty good deal going here, Tommy, with a decent wage, and now your own studio room seeing as you don’t want to live in the homestead any longer.’ The arrow Tommy had fired was lodged straight through the centre of Jarrah’s heart, but he couldn’t let it destroy him, or their relationship. ‘And just so you know, I’m not apologising for my inheritance, not now, not ever.’

Tommy puffed out his chest, eyeing Jarrah like he was an enemy. ‘I didn’t ask you to say sorry.’

‘Good, I’m glad that’s sorted.’ Put on the spot, Jarrah didn’t know what else to say. He’d never seen Tommy like this.

‘Good, fine, whatever, I need the loo.’ And with that, Tommy stormed away, leaving Jarrah standing there, angry, hurt and confused, wondering what in the hell had just taken place, and where this new version of Tommy had come from.

Catching sight of Ken out the window, climbing behind the wheel of his four-wheel drive, it took every bit of resolve not to race after the scumbag, grab him by the collar, and teach him some good old-fashioned manners. His fists clenched at his sides; it was all he could do to remain glued to the spot. Jail had been tough. He’d had to fight to survive way too many times. And old habits didn’t die easily. Ken didn’t know who he was playing games with. And although he was a changed man in many ways, Jarrah still didn’t play well with thugs or bullies – they were the scum of society. And Tommy had another think coming, if he thought associating with men like Ken Buller was okay. He simply wouldn’t stand for it. Although he was of his father’s blood, Tommy was not going to turn into Joey, God rest his soul.

CHAPTER

3

Millie’s mobile phone bleeped annoyingly, waking her. The glow of her clock told her it was 2.35 am. Rolling over, she grabbed the phone from the bedside table, knocking the empty bottle of red wine to the floor, and quickly shut down the Facebook Messenger tone. Whoever it was, it wouldn’t be important – she’d get back to them come daylight hours. Then she buried her face in the pillow and screamed. But before she succeeded in suffocating herself, she turned on her lamp, rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. The chipped, yellowing paint aggravated her, as did the broken wardrobe door she kept having to lift up to slide along the argumentative runners. She wanted, needed, to focus on the few good things in her life: like Ebony, and being able to stay here, and Felix the second, and … ah, um, there wasn’t much else. Go figure! She huffed at her pessimism. It was time to face another day of feeling as if she was falling short of everything. Something had to eventually give, didn’t it? Groaning, she tried to rub the hangover from her face. She shouldn’t have drunk two entire bottles of cheap red wine, although it had seemed like a good idea at the time.

Hindsight was a royal pain in the you know what.

She heaved another heavy sigh. Was she just being too hard on herself, like Ebony told her all the time? Maybe. Maybe not. Groaning, she buried her face back into the pillow to stifle another scream. It usually helped a little bit, but today it wasn’t doing a damn thing. After using one bottle of wine to numb the pain of her miscarriage, and then another to lure herself into something resembling sleep, she felt like death warmed up, and then some. The pounding in her head intensified as she tried to sit up. Looking to the offending bottle, now lying on the rug, she gave it the finger. Oh, how she wished she could quit using alcohol to anaesthetise her heartache.

Argh, she needed to stop obsessing and try and go back to sleep.

One sheep, two sheep, three sheep, four sheep …

She realised she must have drifted off when she woke to her text tone with her heart pounding. It was still dark, with not even a sliver of sunlight peeking through her curtains. At the foot of the bed, Felix stirred. Looking to her digital bedside clock, she grumbled beneath her breath. It was only 5.48 am. Who in the hell was texting at this time of the goddamn morning? Faceplanting in her bed at midnight, she’d now only succeeded in having five hours of fitful sleep. Her text tone resounded, and echoed around the bedroom. Snatching her phone from the bedside table, she glared at the glowing text.

Rise and shine, Millie! I’ll be home from work in about fifteen minutes … I bet you went and forgot about our running rendezvous, didn’t you? Eb xx

Oops. Damn it. Sorry. Yes, I did. Raincheck? She was hopeful Ebony would say yes.

No way! Get your sorry arse up! We’re doing this whether you like it or not! Love you xx

Groaning, Millie almost dug her heels into her tousled bed and bluntly refused, but then she remembered she was the one that had come up with the crazy idea of joining Ebony on her exercise routine in the first place.

Okay, bossy boots, see you soon, she stabbed back.

That’s the spirit, my dear friend!

For goodness sake, where on earth did Ebony get her stamina?

Tossing her phone beside her, she flopped back onto her pillow. She needed a few more moments tucked up in bed before braving a brisk morning jog. She seriously couldn’t remember the last time she’d tried to do anything so stupid. Running her hands through her chaotic bed hair, she considered having a quick shower, but then questioned why she should bother when she was going to get sweaty. So, commando rolling from the bed before she went back to sleep, she pulled on the activewear Ebony had loaned her the day before, then traipsed towards the bathroom, where she dragged her shock of blonde hair into a messy bun. Returning to the bedroom, she rifled through her drawers, grabbed a pair of socks and a jacket, and then made her way into the kitchen, where she downed a can of Red Bull. There was no time for her habitual cup of coffee today.

The front door opened and Ebony waltzed in.

‘Morning, Ebs,’ she said as brightly as she could muster.

Ebony greeted her with a smile so big it should have been illegal at that time of the morning. ‘Morning, Millie.’

‘You’re full of beans, aren’t you?’ Millie’s voice was so croaky she imagined she’d be attracting frogs for miles.

‘I always try to be.’ Ebony plonked her handbag onto the dining table. ‘Once I get changed, are you ready to hit it?’

I’m ready to hit something, she thought. ‘Uh-huh, ready as I’ll ever be.’

Ten minutes later they were stepping onto the footpath.

---