Page 92 of Muddy Messy Love

“Not so fast, Mister. Tell me how you know about Bernie.” A rosy blush blossoms across Cole’s jaw, and I narrow my eyes, calculating possibilities. “Do you watch me on the surveillance cameras like a creepy stalker?”

He grins. “I’m afraid I can’t answer any further questions without my lawyer present.”

I throw my head back and laugh. “That tells me everything I need to know.” With a crooked grin, I shrug. “I guess that shouldn’t surprise me. You do have somewhat of a history.” Closing in on his lips, I wind my fingers through his hair. “Should I do a show for you tomorrow morning? Flash a little flesh and brighten your day?”

He bites my bottom lip, sending shivers south. “You should. I’m sure Joe in the security office would love it.”

I feign sincerity. “Well, in that case, I’ll do it.”

Cole growls against my mouth and squeezes my bum cheek. “You do and I’ll spank this pretty arse.”

“Is that meant to deter or encourage me?”

Cole laughs under his breath, but then his gaze turns molten, and he rests his forehead against mine. “The only eyes I want on you are mine. Are we clear?”

“Crystal.” I wink with a grin. I love being wanted. Protected. Desired.Owned.

After a final scorching kiss filled with everything from last night, Cole bops me on the nose with his index finger and opens the front door. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Good luck.”

My heart twists. Tomorrow feels like a week away. “See you then.”

I lock the door behind him and slump against its back, listening as his car fades into the distance. I’d give anything to snuggle up in front of his fireplace tonight rather than be here. I don’t want to go back into that room, but what choice do I have?

“I must say, I was appalled to hear you lost the apartment. I went to great lengths to get that for you,” Mum says as I slump to the sofa.

Staring at my knees, I pluck at the stretchy fabric of my yoga pants. “I know. I had trouble paying the rent after Mia left.”

Mum arches a brow. “She seemed a nice young girl. Why did she leave?”

I don’t bother to explain Mia bailed the minute the quarterly bills arrived. Or that getting her share of the rent was harder than quantum physics. Mum would insist I act, then possibly discover the action I took. “She missed her family,” I lie.

“Well, you should have found another housemate, then. I mean, really, to let it get to the point of eviction.” Mum shakes her head, then takes another sip of well-brewed tea. “Although, Ican’t say I’m surprised. Supporting yourself is hard. Much easier to freeload off Bethany, I suppose.”

Shame emerges from its shallow grave, but I bite the inside of my cheek and find solace in the metallic tang of blood. “I pay my way here,” I say. Well, at least, I try. Glen Iris is out of reach for many.

“But you must realise what an inconvenience it is for Bethany. She worked hard to build this house for herself—not you.”

The magical mirage of being wanted here wavers, and nausea swirls up my throat. “Beth said I can stay until I find my feet. We get along great. And I’m house-sitting now.”

“I’m sure she did. Her saviour complex well in action—forever pitying the weak. She has a big heart, your sister. Sometimes, to her detriment.”

If Mum loathed Beth as much as she loathes me, I’d know it’s just the way she is. But she doesn’t, and that fact leaves one terrifying question dangling in the air like a giant Filipino fruit bat. Is it my fault or hers?

With a pained smile, I resolve not to take Mum’s bait. “Beth is the best.”

Silence falls, and Mum eyes me with cool curiosity. She isn’t used to my composure and doesn’t quite know what to make of it. She’d rather I lose my shit. She craves it—needs it—like a junkie needs their fix. Because at the point when I scream and cry, it’s clearly me who’s rotten—not her.

See! Avery Lee is awful. Avery Lee treats me terribly. The disrespect after everything I’ve done for the child. What did I do to deserve such horror?

I shudder as I remember all the phone calls I overheard saying as much and worse.

In classic form, Mum would turn up the heat, wait for the boiling point, then twist and turn every fact on its head until the truth lay shredded and veiled by a noxious fog. It was in theresomewhere…I think…but beyond rescue. Or maybe it wasn’t, and Mum was right.

She was the victim, and I the monster.

The breathy laugh returns like puffs of toxic gas, and the teacup chinks against the saucer as they meet the side table.

God, I hate tea.

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