Page 8 of No Strings
That’s right, he has to get home because he’s the only decent cop there that isn’t being bullied by the Ridge Riders or the Chief.
“Davis and Beau are out checking and setting up yards; you’ll meet them later.” Shane adds.
I don’t answer. I don’t care. I just want to serve my sentence.
Rhys walks through pointing out the rooms, as if the appliances and furniture couldn’t tell us what was what.
Then we get to what will be my room for the foreseeable future. I set my sketchpad and pencil down on the desk and sit on the double bed, reminding myself that this is for my safety. It doesn’t matter how much I told Shane I’d be fine, and that I’m not running away; he packed my bag and drove me to the airport. Mum looked, well like Mum, when Shane told her, and Dad just cracked open a fresh beer.
“Mo, I’m going to help Rhys unload the car.”
“Okay.” I lay back on the bed and look up at the ceiling. At least there’s a fan in here.
RHYS
That motherfucker. That. Mother. Fucker.
Morgan and I have a love-to-piss-each other-off sort of relationship. But when I saw those bruises marring her body, I wanted to fly back home and kill the guy. I’m surprised Shane didn’t.
He explained what happened and how the guy got away, and that his next and only thought was getting Morgan somewhere safe.
I laugh to myself. Me; somewhere safe. I’m sure Morgan would disagree. Hell, I disagree. But here we are.
She has caught me looking at her a few times. I know she thinks she sees pity, and maybe she did, but I was also formulating a plan.
I’ll let her get used to being this far away from civilisation, let her lick her wounds. Then I’ll have her help out on the station. I’ll teach her self-defence and get her back to drawing. Something she loved, but from what Shane told me on the drive out, she has stopped. It was good to see her with a sketchpad and pencil in her hand, even if she didn’t draw anything.
Not that I would ever tell Shane, or Morgan for that matter, but I did like to watch her draw. She looked so relaxed and content. At peace.
I’m angrily taking things out of the car when Shane rounds the back, “You look pissed.”
“You didn’t tell me it was that bad.” I shove a block of beer into his hand.
“I did.”
“She’s been abused and needs to hide," is not telling me how bad it was. Those are the fucking highlights.”
Shane shrugs. “That’s all you needed to know.” I don’t say anything, just reach back into the cruiser to grab the last block. “Why are you this angry? She’s my sister.”
He may have a point there. “Because, fuck Shane, she, she isn’t the same.”
He looks down, “I know.”
Of course he knows. He would have seen the change firsthand. He would have watched as she slowly changed and not been able to do anything. I haven’t seen her in years, so it’s a shock to the system.
“I’ll help her be who she was always meant to be.”
“Thank you, Rhys.” Shane nods and gives me his tight-lipped smile.
We get the rest of the things out of the car and by the time we’re finished, it is right on dusk.
Brent came over and said Cook has prepared a meal for all of us, to welcome Morgan. But I haven’t seen her since we first arrived.
Deciding to be brave, I take her duffel bag to her. I knock on the door and slowly push it open. She’s curled up on the bed, sleeping. Placing the bag by the desk I notice her sketchpad is open, but the page is blank. I really would like to see her draw again. She’s got real talent. Closing it, I walk over to the bed and try to wake her.
“Hey Morgana, dinner.” I gently shake her shoulder. I use the nickname I know she hates hoping it’ll get a rise out of her. “Oi, Morgan.” I shake her a little harder.
And that’s where I fuck up, because she lets out an ear-piercing scream and scrambles to the corner of the bed. Her eyes look lost, as they frantically search the room.
