Page 70 of Sugarloaf Ridge Lies

I sigh and search his face where swelling is surfacing around his left eye. “Jerry,” I whisper. The sound of his name on my lips is both a blessing and a curse. We can’t be together. Things are different now.

“Just please, tell me what went wrong.” His gaze meets the floor, his long lashes dusting his cheeks. He breathes in and out as if trying to calm himself. When he looks up, his eyes are soft, almost pleading. “I need to know.”

With a huff I put down the bloodied gauze and busy myself, searching for the butterfly wound strips which were within reach a moment ago.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve dated,” he says and hands me the strips. A smile tugs at his mouth.

I’ve never met anyone like Jerry before, who made me want to try, to open up. But this can’t happen. “It wasn’t working.” I’m grasping at straws. It was headed somewhere special, and I ruined it.

His dark brows pull tight as I secure an adhesive strip. “You really believe that?”

He sits straighter and gently places his hands to either side of my hip. Electricity crackles between us as the warmth of his touch sends a flood of tingles through me. A soft sigh leaves my lips as he smooths his thumbs over the curve of my hip.

I try to ignore the effect his simple touch has, shifting focus to securing another strip. “Do you think getting into a bar fight is going to win me over?”

He huffs, frustration evident in the tremble of his hands. “I didn’t mean for shit to go that way. It’s just, when I saw his hands on you, and you had this look in your eyes... I couldn’t stand back.”

I turn in his grasp. His hands drop with a humph. In silence, I gather up the rubbish and dispose it in a nearby bin.

Jerry stands and rakes his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry.”

I scan over him, dishevelled, bloodied, and likely drunk. Regardless of the state he’s in, Jerry continues to tangle up my insides as no man has before. “Let’s go outside.” I don’t know why I’m drawing this out, but maybe if he knows the truth, he’ll let me go. He’ll understand it’s for the best that we go our separate ways.

As we exit the office, I give the bartender a wave. Stepping out into the cool night towards the willow tree, I don’t miss the irony in having this conversation where we danced that night.What a beautiful moment that was.

“I miss you,” he says, his voice thick while he regards me as if I’m the most precious thing in his world, as if I hung the moon.

He misses me? Even after what I did to him?Jerry, please don’t make this harder than it already is.

“We can’t be together.” As the words leave my mouth, bitterness coats my tongue.

Jerry smooths his hands over my shoulders, his grip gentle. “I didn’t imagine the feelings between us, did I? I still sense it, that spark. I know you do too.”

My heart booms.

Jerry squeezes my upper arms, his fingers twitching as if he wants to hold me close but is struggling to hold back. “Why can’t we be together?”

I explore his warm brown eyes and draw in a deep breath before delivering the blow that will set him free. “I’m pregnant.”

His arms drop to his sides with a slap. His dark eyes grow wide. “You’re—”

“Pregnant. With child. I’m about nine weeks.”

He stands there, mouth agape.

“I get it. It’s fine.” I shake my head. “I’d rather you find out from me than hear it from elsewhere. If you could keep it to yourself, I’d appreciate it.”

It’s not common knowledge, yet I can share it with him?

He deserved to know.

His eyes flit over my face as if searching for answers.

This is my life. My situation. He didn’t play a part in it. He doesn’t owe me anything.

“Goodbye, Jerry. Be well.” I make my way back inside.

“Liv, wait,” he calls out after a beat.

I pause at the entrance door and refuse to turn back. There’s nothing he can say that’ll change this situation. It’s best for the both of us we go our separate ways. As I enter the pub, tears spill down my face.

I will miss you, Jerry.

I have a responsibility now. Someone else to look out for. What I could have had with Jerry, what I wanted, is irrelevant.

As I approach the tables to find Nat, two police officers approach. “Ma’am, we’d like to have a chat to you about the incident at the bar earlier,” the young officer says.

I nod as the other man in uniform opens the exit door to the carpark. “McAllister,” he calls out into the dark. “A word.”

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