Page 22 of Out of Luck in the Outback

Maddox clutches his chest like I just pulled his heart out and showed it to him. His face wrinkles in the way Ryan used to do as a kid when he was trying not to cry. “You were falling for me?”

“What did you think was happening?” I ask, the anguish in my voice palpable. I don’t even try to hide it. I want him to see what he does to real people that care for him. Does he even care for anyone but himself? “But I was obviously wrong about you.”

I turn and walk. I have zero ideas on where I’m going, but I can’t be around him. I notice the sign for the bus station a couple blocks away, and I pick up speed for it. I’ll worry about how to pay for it later. Maybe I just won’t expense it. Fuck Mr. Gosnell and his budget.

Thankfully, my luggage wheels don’t stick or cause the luggage to tip over, but I hear him at my heels, panting as he walks behind me. “Ava, wait,” he pleads behind me. “Let’s talk about this. Don’t leave.”

“Goodbye, Maddox. I hope you’re happy swimming in your millions or rolling naked in it. Whatever billionaires do.”

The Lonely Hostel

Well,thisisironic.I was worried I’d end up in a hostel with nothing to eat but ramen, and here I am. Thankfully, an Indonesian woman assigned to the four-share room with me has some tips on doctoring up the noodles to make them more interesting. A fried egg on top. Some extra spices we found next door at the discount store. At thirty-six bucks a night for the bed, ramen is all I can afford. Most of these spices can be found in a Dollar Tree, so maybe I’ll do this when I get home.

Home. I want to go home so bad that bile rises to my throat. I’m not even thinking of Chicago. I want to go back to Alton, curl up on my mom’s lap and cry. I want to climb into bed with Lila or Lily like I used to when we were kids and let them tell me their crazy made-up ghost stories so I don’t have to think about him.

I should have left when I got to the bus station. I didn’t, though. I couldn’t do it. I went straight to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face, trying to wash away the tear streaks. When I came out, I chickened out. My mother always told me that when in doubt, be still.

I was still and didn’t get on a bus. Instead, I walked to the nearest hostel, and there was a shared room available.

Mr. Gosnell sent me on an adventure, and God damn that adventure to hell. I want to quit my job, throw my laptop against the wall, and give everyone that’s happily in love after meeting someone on vacation the middle finger, my annoyingly happy sisters included.

Maddox was going to be my story. I was going to write about sharing a train compartment with twins from Vancouver and a fisherman from Alaska, enjoying Australian craft beer cross country, and camping in the Australian bush. I was going to write about meeting a man that supposedly won a raffle to earn a helicopter ride over Uluru.

All of it was a lie, and how can I write any of those things without including Maddox in the story? Ireallydon’t want to include Maddox and his lies in anything I write from here until the day I die. I just wanted a fucking story. I should have stayed a day or so out of Sydney, maybe worked on a farm stay for a few days, and written about chasing off the wallabies from the crops and slinging manure.

I thought he liked me, but he didn’t like me enough to tell me the truth. I thought Maddox was right for me. I could bang my head against the wall and punish myself for believing it, but he lied to me. He lied about what he does for a living. Sure, it technically involved fish, but he doesn’t exactly go out and catch it himself like he let on.

A quick Google search tells me Maddox’s family owns an entire fleet of fishing boats around the world. It’s not even limited to Alaska or the country. His family owns hundreds of boats and employs thousands of fishermen on every continent except Antarctica. The owner of the company, Maddox’s father, has four yachts. Four. The company has three sales and distribution offices that are all overseen by the son of the founder, one Maddox Brewster. One sales office is in Chicago. One is in London.

One is in fucking Sydney.

He wasn’t in Australia for fun or relaxation after a breakup.

I feel duped, and my stomach rolls. Stupid Ava. My sisters aside, maybe you shouldn’t trust a guy you meet on vacation, even if he does read your romance books to you, takes you hiking, and even agrees to camp outside with you in rented equipment.

Then again, he didn’t have to do any of those things. He didn’t have to offer me a spot on the train. He didn’t have to hike when he can afford people to hike for him if he chooses. Is that a thing? Can rich people ask people to hike for them and post the pictures on Instagram to make it look like they did it? He didn’t have to stay in the middle of the bush under the open sky. He could have been in a five-star hotel getting his dick washed by a spa attendant.

Instead, I washed and polished it with my spit, and he was the best fucking sex I’ve ever had.

Maybe I’m blowing this out of proportion.

“Have you ever turned down a great guy because he told you a small lie?” I ask my hostel roommate, Dian, as she stirs her noodles and sets a small bowl in front of me. Steam wafts from the bowl as I pick the fried egg off the top and close my eyes as soon as the taste hits my tongue. A few other hostel tenants are nearby, buttering bread and looking in our direction, probably jealous of the smell from Dian’s hotpot.

“Yes,” she says, her voice calm. “I turned down a man for marriage right before I set out to travel the world. He was a liar.”

“What did he lie about?”

“He told me he was wealthy and would take care of me. He told me he had never been in love before. I found out both were lies. He lost all his money gambling, and he had been married twice. One of the marriages resulted in children he never saw.”

My stomach sinks. Here’s Dian, who had a man lead her on that he was wealthy, while I had a wealthy man tell me he wasn’t wealthy because he wanted a chance to get to know me for me. He wanted me to know him for him. Not his money.

“What happened when you found out his lies?” I ask.

“He hit me, and I left.”

My stomach heaves, and thoughts of how much worse Maddox could be fill my mind. He would never hit me. He’d never hit anyone, for that matter. Well, I could see him hitting someone to defend someone he loved, maybe to protect me. But he doesn’t gamble. He doesn’t say he has something when he doesn’t, and he’s not been married to anyone, at least according to my earlier Google search.

He’s kind, smart, and he’s the hottest man I’ve ever read a romance book with or even been in the same room with. He’s also the best lay I’ve ever had.

---