Page 79 of Chasing Blue
Scarlett.
I heldmy shit together for the entire flight. Despite having no sleep, no food inside me, and feeling like I was about to vomit, I knocked back a large gin and tonic before boarding and had another on the plane.
If I thought too hard about anything, my eyes stung, and my jaw trembled, so I put my noise-cancelling headphones on and listened to the next book in my current favourite series about big, strong, alpha mountain men.
I must have managed to fall asleep at some stage because I was dragged back to my reality when I sensed movement around me and opened my eyes to the other passengers standing and pulling their luggage from the overhead lockers.
My head pounding, I waited till it was my row’s turn to exit before standing. I have no carry-on, just my oversized Michael Kors containing my laptop and other essentials. Everything else, Zoe had just thrown into a large suitcase for me.
I’m one of the last off the plane, and after thanking the crew, I head down the stairs and take the few steps required into the airport.
I spot my brother immediately. He looks nothing like me, tall like my dad, blond and blue-eyed like my mum. Our eyes, they’re the only thing we have in common, the blue we got from our mum.
Our mum who’s now dead.
Setting aside the anger I feel over his betrayal, I don’t even make it to Asher’s open arms before I completely lose it and start running towards him while heaving out a sob.
“Hey, it’s okay. You’re here now, I’ve got you,” he says against my ear while swaying us from side to side with his arms wrapped tightly around me.
I’m not sure how long we stand there, but when I can finally control my trembling jaw, and the sobs clogging my throat, I pull away and look up at him.
“What happened?” I ask.
His eyes slide from mine to look over my shoulder. “That your case?” he asks, and I look past him to see mine’s the only case going around on the belt.
This isn’t a big airport, and it usually only has one flight landing every hour at peak times, so your luggage is off the plane and ready to be collected within minutes.
Asher holds on to my hand as he steers us towards the carousel, not letting go as he collects my case and starts heading for the exit.
“Let’s get out of here. We’ll talk in the car.”
We stop to prepay the parking fee, then head out to Asher’s battered-up old Landcruiser that he’s driven since forever.
Despite the cloud covering the late afternoon sun, the stark contrast in temperature hits me instantly.
It’s a different kind of heat up here, even in winter. Where Melbourne can have four seasons in one day, the North switches from unbearable heat, rain, and humidity in summer, to a little less heat, rain, and humidity in winter. It’s that ever-prevailing humidity that will always remind me of home.
As I climb into the Cruiser, I pull out my phone to check exactly what the temperature is and realise it’s still in flight mode. As Ash climbs into the driver’s side, it vibrates in my hand as a string of messages come through. Seeing Jack’s name on my screen, I set it to silent and throw it back in my bag.
* * *
Despite promising to talk,the half-hour drive to Asher’s place is mostly silent. He moved away from Palmers while I was at Uni, but after splitting up with Sloan, he’d moved back and bought back the bar he’d leased years ago. Since owning, and not just renting the place, he’d given it a major makeover, and now offers all-day dining as well as live music in the afternoons and evenings of a weekend.
He’s managed to wangle planning permission to turn the bungalow behind the bar into a two-bedroomed unit, and I’d helped him decorate the place once the work was done. This is where Asher lives, and where I’ll be staying for however long it takes to get shit sorted here.
Shit sorted? Does that sound cold I wonder as we pull up outside the unit? What’s the correct term for what needs to be dealt with after the death of a parent, I wonder?
Ash pulls my case from the back of the car, and we head inside. I’m still wearing my trackies, hoodie, and UGGs I’ve had on since yesterday. My hair’s still up in a messy bun, my face without a scrap of makeup, and I’m in desperate need of a shower.
I follow Ash into the guest bedroom and watch as he sets my case on the bed.
“You want a drink or something to eat?” he asks as he looks around the room.
“Yes, to both, but I need a shower and a change of clothes more than anything.”
Because I’d had input into the layout of the remodel, and knowing I’d likely be using it, I’d insisted the guest bedroom had a full ensuite, advice I was grateful my brother had listened to right now.
“There are clean towels in there. Tell me what you want to eat, and I’ll go over to the bar and order us something.”
