Page 35 of The Winning Ticket

I leave Dylan to get the tools sorted in the ute and search for my father. He recently signed a contract with a local builder, and we’re now working on a bunch of new builds in town, which would be great if I didn’t have to keep driving Dylan to and from his parent’s house out of town. I can almost see my house from here.

I find him in the kitchen, getting a new cooktop set up.

“Hey. Can we please discuss the situation with Dylan?” I ask, not even waiting for Dad to turn around.

“He giving you grief again?” Dad doesn’t look up while he continues what he’s doing.

“Of course he is. He’s a pain in the ass, and I’m sick of having to get up two hours early to deal with his ungrateful attitude.”

“What’s up with you?” He finally looks up and squints at me.

“Nothing. I’m just tired.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t be spending your weekends driving to and from the city then.”

“Not you, too,” I grumble, and Dad chuckles.

“Ah, so that’s part of the argument, is it? Well, he’s got a point.”

“He still needs to sort out his lift situation.”

Dad straightens up, continuing to look at me while he wipes his hands on a cloth.

“I’ll chat to John about it. You’re right. Getting him to and from work shouldn’t be up to us. But maybe you should think about spending a few more weekends at home rather than driving three hours to and from the city,” he says with a pointed look.

“Maybe,” I mutter.

That’s all I’m willing to say, and my father considers the conversation over. We get to work, finishing up wiring the house throughout the day.

Dad offers to take Dylan home and says he’ll chat with John, so I gratefully head home that afternoon, grabbing myself a beer from the fridge as soon as I walk in the door.

I hate working during summer; the heat is stifling, and I’m exhausted and grumpy after spending the day in forty-degree heat.

Once I’ve downed my beer, I have a quick shower to try and feel more human before settling on the couch with my guitar. It has long been my favourite way to unwind. Music has always been my escape, even though these days, it’s purely for my own enjoyment. When I moved out here, I’d given up on the dream of playing in front of a crowd, leaving the band I’d helped form in high school for an apprenticeship that would mean a stable income.

As I start working through my favourite songs, my phone chirps loudly, and I fish it out of my pocket.

Little B

Hey, hey. How was your day? I saw it was meant to be a scorcher out there today, so I just thought I’d make sure you’re alive.

Despite my shitty mood, I smile at my phone. A selfie of her and Maddie accompanies her message while she’s sitting on the side of the spa, and I feel a pang in my chest, wishing I was there with her.

Jake

Yeah, it was pretty brutal. I had to be up at 5 to get the apprentice from out of town, too, so I was hot and tired. It’s not the best mix. I was snapping at people all day. You look like you’re having a good time, though.

Little B

That sucks, I’m sorry you had a shitty day. If it makes you feel any better, Maddie misses you terribly. She kept walking to your bedroom to look for you after you left.

The pang in my chest has grown to a full-blown ache now. I look around my lounge room and wish I was there right now rather than sitting here alone.

Sometimes, I wonder if winning the apartment was more of a curse than a blessing. I’d slowly settled down in Stanthorpe and even attempted to strike up friendships, but now all I want to do is stay in Brisbane. And I would be lying to myself if I didn’t admit that a large part of that was because of a certain blonde woman and her little ball of fluff currently sitting in that apartment, apparently missing me… well, at least the fluff ball was missing me.

Jake

That does make me feel better. How was your day?

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