Chapter 1 #2
After dropping Lu at school, I head home to meet the guy from the renovation company. I’ve decided that whatever James has asked for, I’ll do the complete opposite. Just because I can. Did I mention I can be a petty bitch sometimes?
Picking up the information from the bench, I read through what James has requested, which includes a black and gold colour scheme with double rain showerheads. I screw my face up in disgust; it sounds cheap and sleazy. I contemplate what I might like instead.
According to the business card, the owner of Beautiful Bathrooms is a man named Brendan Walker.
I groan. It’s the exact fucking kick in the teeth I don’t need right now. Over the years, I haven’t run into too many Brendans, but, when I do, it never fails to unnerve me.
Noting that the company is in Frankston North sends a wave of nostalgia through me, followed by a heavy dose of guilt. I really should call my brother, Nathan, and my sisters too.
The doorbell rings at 9:01 and I’m mildly impressed that a tradie is on time. As I approach the front door, I glance at the security screen to see a man standing with his back to the door. For a visitor to cast their eyes toward the bay is not unusual, so I open the door without further scrutiny.
I immediately still, the words of my intended greeting dying on my tongue. My body floods with adrenaline, rendering me immobile, just like that moment before a car crash, when there’s not a damn thing you can do to stop it, your fate already sealed.
The man on my front porch is still facing towards the bay, but I’d recognise him anywhere. My muscles seem to dissolve, all my strength draining away and pooling at my feet.
He turns as he speaks. “Mornin’, Mr. —” He stops. And stares. His mouth goes slack and his eyes widen. “Johnson?” The word comes out as a whispered question, a crease appearing between his brows.
My chest heaves, oxygen unable to reach my lungs, and my eyes fill with tears.
I always thought my body would ignite with blistering heat if I ever laid eyes on him again, but it’s the complete opposite—I feel bitterly, frightfully cold.
Standing before Brendan, I tremble, goosebumps rippling up my arms like an unstoppable tide.
If I ever doubted that I still love him, that doubt is now completely obliterated.
Brendan steps back, and I know he’s about to run. How many times did I see that look in his eyes when we were boys?
I desperately want him to stay. But, even if he doesn’t, I know I’ll chase him a thousand times over a thousand lifetimes for a chance to have him back.
“Bren,” I say softly, taking a tentative step forward and reaching for him.
“Kyle…I—I can’t.” He takes another step backwards. “I didn’t know—your husband—James? He said I was meeting with Kyle Johnson.”
“I changed my name when I got married.” I ease myself out onto the front step. “You look good.”
Bren’s eyes roam all over my face, then up and down the length of my body. I’m doing the same thing, trying to take in what has changed and what remains of the boy that once consumed my every thought.
My eyes settle on his full lips and flashes of a life we could’ve had, should’ve had, flit through my mind… Lazy Sunday mornings in bed, warm summer nights at the beach, heated kisses and loving smiles.
I briefly close my eyes, trying to hold onto the fantasy, or perhaps, stop it. Pain and pleasure tangle together, regret threatening to swallow me whole.
“I changed mine too,” Bren says, as if that might explain everything.
I frown. Brendan Walker. So Bren is somebody else’s husband?
Bren should be a Davies.
I should still be a Davies.
“You’ve done well for yourself,” I gush, frantic to keep him talking. “Your own company. I’m happy for you, Bren.” I smile, my fingers fidgeting at my sides, battling the desire to caress the sharp angle of his jaw.
“Kyle…Johnson?” Bren says, still caught on my name.
But his guard is up now, and his face composed. His eyes turn cold, and I know I’m losing him.
“Hey, this isn’t gonna work for me. I’ll send over my second-in-command—Jeff—he’s great.”
Bren begins backing down the path and I have no choice but to let him go for now.
“I’ll cue up a time with your husband. James, right?” The way he says James, clipped and harsh, makes me recoil. Bren turns and strides urgently towards the front gate.
“Bren,” I call out, but I know it’s futile.
“Not doin’ this, Davies!” he yells without even a backwards glance.
And then he’s throwing himself into the driver’s side of his black Ute.
Back inside, I stare out my front window, watching Bren sitting in his vehicle. I can’t stop shaking, my emotions so heightened that I feel almost manic.
Five minutes pass, and he still doesn’t drive away. Instead, he collapses over the steering wheel, then, just as suddenly, throws himself back against the headrest, bringing his hands up to cover his face. Is he furious or upset? I can’t make it out from this distance.
I want nothing more than to run out there and take him into my arms, tell him everything will be okay and that I never stopped loving him.
Tell him how eternally sorry I am for what I did.
But I’m not stupid enough to think that it would work.
I’ll need to start from scratch and peel back the layers like I did once before.
Bren was always guarded. Always fearful behind the mask he wore for the world.
When he finally drives away, I sink down onto the floor, exhausted, and let myself cry.
It pours out of me, an endless well of grief.
I’m relieved Bren is out of prison, safe and successful, but I’m also devastated, knowing that he is most likely married.
It never entered my head that he would marry anyone but me.
It’s a wake-up call that gets me off the floor and wiping my cheeks.
In the kitchen, I find Bren’s business card and enter the number into my phone, along with the address for Beautiful Bathrooms. I make a coffee and sit on the sofa, trying to collect my messy thoughts.
The youthful, boyish version of Bren I once knew so well is long gone, replaced with a mature, ruggedly handsome man.
He is more muscular and toned, with silver strands of hair peppered through the dark brown.
The fine lines around his eyes and on his forehead only add to his appeal.
Bren’s eyes are still the warmest brown I’ve ever seen, and I long to press my mouth to his full lips.
He’s undeniably attractive, even more so than in his youth.
My temperature rises, heat flushing my cheeks, and warmth pools low in my gut. Eyes fluttering closed, I fantasise about having him once again. It ignites something inside of me that has laid dormant for far too many years. A spark, a fire, a reason. Something I’ve only ever felt with Bren.