Chapter 2
Brendan
Now
With a shuddering breath, I grab the steering wheel to steady myself, my knuckles turning white.
I never thought I’d see Kyle again. Last I heard he was living the high life in the city.
Yet there he was, standing in front of me not two minutes ago.
Calm and composed and wanting to talk and… What the fuck?
Panic coils in my throat. Jesus, was it really him?
Ky. Kyle Davies. No, not Davies, he’s Johnson now.
God, I really need to get my shit together. Sniffing, I realise I’m crying like a baby. “Fuck!” I yell, punching the car door.
Just how many years has it been? I try to count. Nineteen, twenty? I can’t fucking think straight.
I flick away the tears and force my breathing to slow, then slump back against the headrest, trying to make sense of this pathetic reaction to him! I thought I was over all my bullshit from the past. Thought I’d made peace with it, let him go and moved on.
I have, haven’t I? With shaking hands, I pull a cigarette from the pack and light up, inhaling deeply. The nicotine hits in seconds, the dopamine taking the edge off immediately. My thoughts begin to slow and I try to reason with myself.
I have a husband—Chris—and I love him. We’re happy together and we have a damn good life.
I served seven years of a ten-year prison sentence—out three years early with good behaviour.
Then, against all odds, I’d gotten my life back on track.
Meeting Chris brought me the peace I’d always craved.
He provides security, and I know without question that I’m loved in return. Everything is stable. Safe.
I can handle this. I know I can. There’s no need for me to be at Kyle’s house for the reno job. My team can manage it while I oversee it from the office. It’ll be alright.
Knowing I can’t sit outside Kyle’s house all morning, I turn the key in the ignition and throw my Ute into first gear.
But images of this new, mature version of Kyle remain.
Persistent and unwanted. He’s aged like fine wine, with broad shoulders and long, lean muscles, his wavy blonde hair a little wild.
He has a beard too, something he’d been too young to grow when I last knew him.
It suits him, trimmed short and neat, accentuating his sharp, chiselled bone structure.
Kyle is undeniably both beautiful and handsome. And I hate that I noticed it.
I need to stop this insanity. Blinking, I try to rid myself of him, but all I can see are magnetic blue eyes drawing me in. Eyes that are either bursting with life or drowning in sorrow and never anything in between.
I throw the cigarette butt out the window and pull onto the road, my body still trembling.
Back in the safety of Beautiful Bathrooms, I stride across the showroom floor with my head down, ignoring all my staff, and shut the office door behind me.
It takes the better part of an hour to pull myself together and come up with a plan.
Business is good, but it isn’t so good that I can knock back a job worth thirty thousand bucks.
I have no fucking clue what Kyle will tell his husband about this morning’s meeting or if he will even reveal that we know each other.
But I suspect Kyle will lie—I’ve certainly seen him do it once or twice to get what he wants.
And he clearly wants me to stick around, although for what reason, I don’t know.
What could we have to say to each other after all these years?
I try counting again and realise it’s been twenty years since that godforsaken day when Kyle walked out of my life for good. Back then, I was only twenty and Kyle a year younger, meaning we’re both too old for this shit.
Taking a deep, calming breath, I call James Johnson. I’m about to hang up when the man finally answers on the seventh ring.
“James Johnson speaking.”
“Hey, yeah, hello Mr. Johnson. This is Brendan Walker from Beautiful Bathrooms calling. How are you goin’ today, mate?”
“Great, thank you Brendan. Is Kyle asking for something that blows the budget?” James chuckles on the other end of the line.
I already thought this guy was a fucking douche, but my anger sparks at the condescending tone he uses when speaking about Kyle. I shouldn’t give a shit, but it sounds like James is a first-class dick.
“No, he’s not. It’s just that, when I arrived this morning, I had a family emergency and had to leave. I wondered if I could set up another meeting for tomorrow or any other time that would suit. My apologies for the inconvenience.”
“No problem at all. I hope your emergency isn’t too serious. How about we reschedule for tomorrow at 9:00 AM?”
“That sounds great, Mr Johnson. Would you like to check with Kyle first?” I silently curse myself for using his first name.
James laughs. “No no, that’s not necessary. He’s a househusband. He can fit it in around his gym session and whatever else he fills his days with.”
I clamp my mouth shut before I say something that will lose me this job. How the hell did Kyle end up with this prissy, arrogant bitch? While I haven’t met James in person, if I had to hazard a guess, I’d say he’s significantly older than Kyle.
“Thanks for understandin’, Mr. Johnson. I’ll send Jeff to the appointment tomorrow. He’s my second-in-command and he’ll head up the project while I oversee it.”
“Great, Brendan. I’ll leave it in your capable hands.”
I open my mouth to thank him, but he’s already ended the call.
Setting my phone down on the desk, I breathe a sigh of relief.
For the rest of the day, I try not to think of Kyle—not this new, mature Kyle, nor the one from my youth. Over the years, my thoughts of him have decreased from being so frequent and painful while in prison to every-now-and-then after I met Chris.
Still, I have always wished the best for him.
If I’d wanted to find out where he was, I could’ve—Krystal, Kyle’s youngest sister, still lives in the old Davies house in the Pines—but I’ve never wanted to.
I let go of Kyle somewhere between year four and five of my prison term, and it has served me well.
My life has turned out better than I ever expected, and I intend to keep it that way.
By the time 5:30 rolls around, my thoughts are finally under control and I feel ready to head home. Yelling out goodbye to Kate, my floor manager, I grab my phone and car keys, then switch off the office light. As I head across the showroom floor, my phone pings with a text.
Unknown number: It was great seeing you today, Bren. Can we pls talk? It’s Kyle, by the way.
My feet slow, then I come to a complete stop, dread wrapping tightly around my chest. Of course, Kyle would have my number.
He undoubtably has the showroom address too—it’s all on the business card I sent to James Johnson with the initial quote.
This really fucks up my plan to pretend this morning never happened.
I delete the text, lock up the building, then slip into the front seat of my Ute. And sit. And smoke. And sit. And smoke.
There’s absolutely no doubt in my mind that I should tell Chris that I’ve seen Kyle.
Especially since Chris has heard the whole damn saga in graphic detail over the years and knows how deeply it affected me.
Well, that’s not entirely true. Chris doesn’t know about Tiffany, or about Ethan’s existence, let alone how he came to be.
That’s something that remains between me, Kyle, and Tiffany, and always will.
Besides, I don’t want to cause any unnecessary friction in our marriage.
We’ve been together for nine years, married six, and things are as close to perfect as a relationship can be. So why risk upsetting Chris if I’m never going to see Kyle Davies—I mean Johnson—again? I have this under control and the best thing is to keep this morning’s events to myself.
When I walk into the kitchen fifteen minutes later to the delicious smell of dinner and my husband’s smiling face, I know I’ve made the right decision.
“Hey sweetheart, how was your day?” Chris asks.
I plant a kiss on his cheek. “Yeah, it was good,” I reply, leaning back against the kitchen bench. “You remember that lady Leanne Radcliffe? I did her bathroom reno last month. Well, she recommended us to a friend, and they wanna main bathroom and an ensuite.”
“Nothing like word-of-mouth advertising. How did your meeting go this morning with the luxury job?”
My heart quickens at the prospect of lying. It doesn’t sit well with me. “Yeah, it was great. But I’m gonna give it to Jeff to head up. I think he deserves a shot. He’s been workin’ real hard lately.”
“That’s a great idea.” Chris squeezes my bicep before turning back to the stove. “Dinner will be ready in five if you want to go wash up.”
“Smells great, and I’m starved,” I say, backing out of the kitchen.
Upstairs in our bedroom, I change into some trackpants and a t-shirt, then take a piss. While washing my hands, my phone pings on the bed. I briefly consider leaving it until after dinner, but then grab it on my way out, freezing when I see the same number from earlier.
Unknown number: Bren do you have time to grab a coffee this week?
Slowly lowering myself onto the bed, I consider my options.
One, I could keep ignoring Kyle’s texts until he gives up.
Two, I could answer him and tell him to fuck off.
Or three, block the number. Honestly, I’m not surprised Kyle thinks it’s okay for two exes, both now married, to meet up for coffee.
Hesitating, I wonder if he thinks I changed my name to escape my prison record, rather than because I got married. Not that it would make a difference, because Kyle is married. On the odd chance that’s what he’s thinking, I give him the benefit of the doubt and reply.
Me: Appreciate the offer man, but we’re both married. Jeff will be handling your bathroom reno. Best lose my number.
I press send, then immediately read it back, worried I’m being too polite. Not ten seconds later, there’s another text.
Kyle: I wasn’t asking you on a date. Just thought it would be nice for two old friends to catch up.
Is he fucking serious? Two old friends! Feeling unbelievably insulted, I delete the message thread then switch off my phone.
After dinner, Chris and I settle on the sofa to watch a few episodes of The Office.
It’s his favourite show because it reminds him of the people he works with.
Taking my eyes off the screen, I watch Chris’s face light up with a smile, then he bursts into laughter, throwing his head back at Dwight making a fool of himself.
There’s a lightness to Chris that I can never truly know or understand, but, when I’m with him, it’s like I get to borrow it for a while.
When we were first dating, I was scared of fucking everything up; I was wound up too tight and on constant alert.
Chris had this way of lifting the darkness and allowing me to forget.
Around him, I began to feel like a different person.
Someone who could bury the past and start anew. And that’s what I did.
I’m so damn thankful for him. I lean over and kiss his cheek.
“What’s that for?” he asks, squeezing my thigh.
“Because I love you and I know how damn lucky I am to have you as my husband.”
“Aw, Dan, you’re such a sweetheart. I love you, too.” Chris cups my face and kisses me before returning his gaze to the screen.
Our life is one of routine and that’s the way I like it. We go to work Monday through Friday and spend the weekends together, mostly hanging out at home. Sometimes we catch up with a few friends at a local pub or restaurant, but mostly we prefer each other’s company.
Chris is truly my best friend. We rarely argue, and he knows when to stop talking and give me some space, something I’ve needed since getting out of prison.
We enjoy a beer or two at night and take an annual holiday somewhere quiet, away from the stress of suburbia.
It’s a simple life with no drama, no violence, and no poverty, and that’s a hell of a lot more than I ever thought possible.
Our sex life is good—although a little vanilla—but I can’t complain because I get it on the regular and I know Chris would never cheat, which ranks pretty high on the dealbreaker list. I’ll take faithful over fireworks any day.
Swinging my legs up onto Chris’s lap, I’m rewarded with a foot rub. My feet ache from standing most of the afternoon and I moan appreciatively as my muscles relax.
“Sounds like you’re enjoying that, sweetheart?” Chris says with a wink.
“Maybe you can massage me with your mouth?” I reply, raising my eyebrows. I sound completely lame but who gives a shit.
Chris laughs. “In that case, I really hope you’re talking about your dick and not your feet.”
“Well, since you mentioned my dick…”
Chris crawls up my body, kissing me deeply before making his way back, dragging my trackies down to my thighs and releasing my already thickening shaft.
My eyes close as he takes me into his mouth.
It’s warm and wet, and I find the familiarity comforting.
I build slowly towards my orgasm, pushing my hips up as Chris sucks harder.
Seconds before I’m about to come, an image of Kyle on his knees, lips wrapped around my cock, flashes before my eyes. I gasp. Then I’m coming in Chris’s mouth, feeling pleasure and guilt in equal measure.