Page 98 of Love, Just In

I roll onto my side, clutching the pillow like it might relieve some of the ache growing in my chest.

I can’t stay in Newcastle forever. Sydney is where my life is, all my plans. But when my fingers trace over the lump in my breast and my face crumples in the dark, I know that moving to Sydney isn’t really the biggest issue.

I might actually have breast cancer—a disease that’s already snatched away two women in my family.

What on earth would I do if I was diagnosed with an illness that became terminal, and Zac had to watch someone else he loves die?My god, it’s unthinkable.

The hole in my stomach expands as I lie in the dark and attempt to make bargain after bargain with fate.

If I could just get rid of this lump, Zac and I could talk about Sydney and see what happens, like a normal couple.

If I could just go back to that wedding and resist the urge to kiss him, putting our friendship before everything else, then at least if I do have cancer, there’s still some safe emotional distance there.

If I could just be a normal, healthy person instead of an anxious bundle of misery who can’t even do a live interview on air without screwing up, then maybe I could be with Zac without worrying about destroying him.

If I could.

If I could.

I frantically feel my breast again, the firm lump rolling against my fingers like a physical barrier sitting between me and everything I want. My jaw clamps up with anger, and I twist to bury my face in the pillow and scream at the top of my lungs.

Then, I shudder silent sobs into the sheets belonging to the man I couldn’t ever imagine hurting and cry until my tears run out.

CHAPTER 35

Four years ago

‘Their faces are too cute,’ Tara coos, one of her arms draped around my shoulder as we face the new sloth exhibit at Sydney’s Taronga Zoo.

‘Are you kidding? They’re creepy as fuck,’ Zac comments on Tara’s other side. I instantly turn to them and impersonate the sloth, curving my closed lips into a tight, dead-eyed smile. Tara chuckles, but I get a bigger laugh from Zac.

‘By the way, I’m pretty sure they’re not actually smiling,’ I say. ‘That’s just the way their faces look. They’re quite unfriendly and hate being touched. They can also turn their heads almost all the way around.’

Zac grimaces at the coarse-haired mammal hanging from a tree by its king-size claws.

‘How do you know so much about sloths?’ Tara asks me, turning to rest her back against Zac’s chest. He slides his arms around her waist and drifts his nose overher sheen of ebony hair. I don’t blame him; Tara always looks and smells like she just wrapped up a photo shoot for a hair commercial.

‘I did a story on them for our web channel’s misunderstood animals series,’ I explain.

‘Sounds riveting,’ Zac replies, smiling coyly as he rests his chin on Tara’s shoulder. ‘How many sloth action shots did you get?’

I make a face at him. ‘They’re amazing animals. Their species dates back to prehistoric times. And did you know it’s the female who decides when it’s time for sex? When she’s feeling randy, she does this really loud scream, and the males hear it and run towards it.’

Zac snort-laughs. ‘But by the time they arrive, she’s died of old age. Or at least, she’s definitely not in the mood anymore.’

Tara elbows him. ‘They should do a doco series about all the ways different animals have sex,’ she says to me. ‘You should pitch that to your boss.’

‘Ooh, I’d watch that,’ Zac chimes in racy tone.

I shoot him a brow-raised look ofewwhile Tara skates a hand up the back of his neck and tilts her face around, her lips seeking his.

Feeling like I’m already watching a mating process, I turn to give the lovebirds a moment of privacy and amble over to the wooden platform leading out of the exhibit.

I hear Zac call out, ‘So why are sloths so damn slow, David Attenborough? Are they all high as kites like koalas?’

‘There’s no way a science nerd like you believes that about koalas,’ I reply over my shoulder as he and Tara catch up to me. ‘And sloths just have an extremely slow metabolism. They only go to the toilet once a week.’ Zac and Tara burst out laughing. ‘Actually, the “poo dance” was what made them my favourite animal,’ I add. ‘They do this cute twerking move at the base of a tree before they poo.’

The platform reaches a crossroads sign leading to different exhibits. But instead of studying the sign, Zac’s eyes make a quick slide down and up my body. ‘Go on then, sunbeam. Show us your best twerking impersonation.’

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