Chapter 11
Emory
The house was empty as Emory trudged all the groceries inside.
For a moment, she had wondered where Byron and Clayton were, but after lighting her new candle she’d found the box of condoms deep in one of the shopping bags and her neck had rolled with relief.
At least Byron wouldn’t have to see them.
She could still feel the embarrassment on her cheeks.
She hadn’t exactly said where she was staying, but there was only one house within a two-hour radius she could have been referring to.
The town might have sat along the banks of a creek, but it and the main road were spread on one side of the waterway.
The only bridge in Gardner Creek led to one place: Byron’s farm.
Jaxon had to have known where she was going.
And thanks to his outburst, everyone in the supermarket knew too.
And they knew that she was buying condoms. It was only a matter of time before that juicy bit of gossip was spread down the phone tree.
Emory supposed that she should tell Byron. That his son was back in town, sure, but also that the whole town knew she was staying at Gardner Farm, and she thought she would need condoms.
Leaving the food and art supplies and books and toys spread over the kitchen bench, she held the condom box under the hem of her jumper.
If she just raced it to the bedroom, she could try to explain the whole situation to Byron before he saw them.
She side-stepped around the bench, holding the box hidden.
Byron and Clayton weren’t in the house, but Miff and the quad bikes were also missing.
And despite his oversized ute in the driveway, Tucker was also not around.
No doubt the men were taking the last chance to check the farm before the water rose.
As Emory traipsed awkwardly toward the hall, she wondered how high it would get, how much of the hill surrounding the farmhouse would be left uncovered.
“Mummy!”
Shit.
She was too far from the hallway to make a mad dash, but she couldn’t exactly pull the box out now.
Clayton would probably be fascinated with the almost secret box.
His little mind might assume its a packet of lollies.
Thinking quickly, Emory tucked the box into the waistband of her leggings.
The sharp edges dug into her hip bone, but the baggy hoodie she wore hid its harsh square shape.
She threw her arms in front of her just in time, catching Clayton before he rammed into her legs. His muddy boots left brown footprints across the tiles, and as he jumped in front of her, dirt splattered off the soles and onto the flooring.
“Clayton, shoes.”
Rolling her eyes, she bent down and carefully peeled the gumboots off his feet. The condom box poked her, sliding lower in her leggings. She wasn’t sure how long it would hold. With the boots at arm’s length, she tried to stand, but Clayton clung to her leg, and she wobbled on her feet.
“Here, I’ll take them.” Byron surprised her, although she wasn’t entirely sure why.
Logic told her that he would have entered the house with Clayton, but she hadn’t exactly thought that through.
She jumped at the sound of his gravelly voice, making Clayton giggle against her crouched legs.
He cheered and clapped, bouncing himself as though this were a game.
Emory lost her balance. She dropped the gumboots in a desperate attempt to stay upright, but it was no use.
She toppled backward until she landed on the floor with a thud. Pain shot through her back.
Before she could stop him, Clayton leapt onto her, worming his way up her body until he could throw his arms around her neck.
Relaxing her head back against the cold tiles, Emory hugged him tight until he stilled, and the piercing pain in her butt began to ease.
There was no stopping the burn of horror at the fact she’d fallen on her ass twice now.
For a second, and only a second, she forgot what she was trying to keep hidden under her jumper.
She didn’t think about it as Clayton’s wriggling made the hem ride up.
It wasn’t until she heard Byron’s little chuckle that she remembered.
She scrambled to get Clayton off her chest so she could pull the grey hoodie back down, but it was too late. Byron had seen.
“Clayton, you want to get the cars out? We’ll race ‘em once I help Mummy, okay?”
Clayton pushed off Emory as he stood. She coughed as his weight dropped onto her chest, but he ran away into the living room.
Toys crashed as he tipped out the tub in search of the small die-cut cars.
Emory made no such move to get up. She’d stay there, on the floor, thanks.
Maybe if she was still enough, the faded black of her leggings and deep grey of her hoodie would camouflage into the colour of the tiles, and Byron wouldn’t see her. Again, obviously.
“What’s all this?” From across the room, Byron’s voice was the perfect mix of light-hearted and guttural. It stirred just about everything in Emory, and she pressed her hands into the tiles to get away. The floor was cold against her skin, the chill seeping through the thin fabric of her leggings.
When she opened her eyes, she saw that Byron had dropped Clayton’s shoes in the basket by the back door and was now returning to the kitchen.
The corner of his mouth was pressed into his cheek, and he walked with his hands in the pockets of his jeans and his head high.
He didn’t look at her, still lying prone on the floor.
Sighing, Emory got up. She tugged at her hoodie.
“I already saw them,” Byron said, clearing his throat. So maybe he could see her through the corner of his eyes. “Can’t imagine the box is particularly comfortable shoved down your pants.”
Emory could think of things she did want shoved down her pants.
None of them were box-shaped. But also, stop.
Why was she like this? Why couldn’t she keep her cool around this man?
She’d spent three years pining over him from afar, so why was it that the second she had to live in the same house as Byron, all her cool went out the window?
No, further. It was all the way down the creek with yesterday’s rain.
She kept her eyes down as she pulled the box from under her clothes and dropped it onto the counter. It bounced, landing next to the cheap watercolour palette she’d bought for Clayton.
“For what it’s worth,” Byron added. His voice dropped an octave, and the grovelling tone made Emory whimper. “I don’t think it was a bad idea.” He knocked his knuckles on the bench.
Sweeping up the books she’d collected from the library, Emory added the box of condoms to the stack. It teetered in her hands, but she steadied the pile with her chin. “I’ll get these out of the way, then come back to help with the groceries.”
“Where are you taking them?”
Emory scrunched her nose. “Ahh, my room? You don’t need all my books taking over the house. Clayton’s toys are bad enough.”
“I wasn’t talking about the books, Emory.”
Her cheeks burned. Of course he wasn’t.
Turning on her heel, she steadied the books again and raced away.
This was going terribly. First, she’d been caught buying the condoms, then she’d been caught trying to hide them like some teenage kid.
She wouldn’t have blamed Byron if they never got used.
The whole thing was probably a giant red flag to him.
A blinding reminder of their differences.
He always seemed so sure of himself, so steady even when things went awry.
Emory was nothing like that. She flinched away the second things got awkward or uneasy.
It was probably an age thing, she mused.
And that should have turned her away, but it didn’t. It only made her want it more.
Byron was twenty years older than her, for heaven’s sake.
And sure, all the moral parts of her could see why that meant she shouldn’t feel this way about him, but the immoral parts?
The part that enjoyed romance books that took morally grey a little over the line, or had heroes a little too broody?
That part was positively giddy at the thought of her and Byron giving in.
It was forbidden in all the best ways, and that’s what made it so alluring.
Dropping all the books and the box of condoms on her bed, she hesitated. She figured she had two choices here, only she wasn’t certain she was capable of pulling either of them off.
She could, if she could manage it, walk out there with her head high, her shoulders back, and her breasts out.
She could sway her hips and lean right into the seduction and let Byron know exactly what she had been thinking when she bought the condoms. She could knock him off his feet, leave him speechless, and make the evening drag as they waited for Clayton’s bedtime.
Or—and this was the more likely scenario—she could walk out there with her usual slightly hunched posture and act as though nothing had happened.
She could put away groceries without giving Byron a second glance, then head into the living room to play with Clayton as though it were any other day.
As though nothing out of the ordinary had been bought at the shops.
She’d just have to control the constant lump in her throat and ignore the tingle that was still creeping down her spine.
She hadn’t made her mind up yet about which option she would attempt when a loud clap of thunder shook the house.
Her heart froze, and adrenaline raced through her at the shock.
Clayton’s cries followed almost immediately after, and she raced out of the room.
All thoughts of Byron and how she should act had evaporated.
Byron arrived in the living room at the same time she did.
From the kitchen, she presumed. Clayton stood, surrounded by cars, in the middle of the room with his hands over his ears.
Emory navigated her way around the furniture to reach him, but Byron wasted no such time.
He vaulted over the back of the couch and landed next to the coffee table.
His arm reached out, and Clayton fell into his Papa’s embrace.
“Shh,” Emory heard Byron whisper into Clayton’s ear. “Papa’s here. And Mummy. Everyone is safe. Thunder is scary when you aren’t ready for it. I know.”
All his calming reassurance was lost on Clayton’s whimpering, but it meant the world to Emory. He hadn’t told Clayton to stop crying, or that he was okay, or that it was nothing to be scared about. No. Byron had acknowledged Clayton’s feelings, just like Emory always tried to do.
She sat down on the floor next to them and placed her hand on Clayton’s back. Feeling her touch, Clayton climbed onto his mother’s lap, but he kept a tight hold of Byron’s arm. He forced the two together until they were sitting in an awkward three-way hug.
“Thank you,” Emory said after Clayton had settled in her lap.
Byron huffed. “I used to be terrified of the storms when I was younger. I would have been older than Clayton, but I remember hiding in my room, jumping at every crack of thunder. I’d lie awake all night listening to the rain, too nervous to fall asleep.”
He sank into himself a little then, curling his shoulders down.
Emory felt the movement beside her, it pressed Byron’s side into her own.
She didn’t know what made her rest her head against Byron, but she did.
The pounding in her head remained. Her ears still burned because of the whole condom situation, but the steady rise and fall of his chest calmed her a little.
The silence between them was broken by Clayton’s residual whimpers against her, but the whole thing felt comforting and … perfect.
“That must have been hard.”
“It sucked,” Byron scoffed. “But if I ever told my dad, he’d say a storm was nothing to be scared of and I needed to grow up. It wasn’t his fault; it was the generation. But I knew then I’d never let my boys feel that scared without helping them through it.”
“But Clayton …”
“Clayton’s my boy. Just as much as Tucker and Jaxon. It’s not his fault his real dad fucked off.”
Right. That changed things, Emory figured.
She just wasn’t sure how. Or what, exactly.
Her immediate thought was of how selfish she had been to think she could just leave town as soon as she finished her degree.
She still wanted to go, she still would go, she thought, but she’d have to come up with a better solution to letting Byron know.
He was the closest thing to a father Clayton had.
And clearly, her son meant more to Byron than she had realised.
It also made the pounding between her ears start up again. Could she really dive into a week-long fling with the man, knowing he considered Clayton his boy? It reminded her of all the messy details and excess baggage the two of them held.
“That’s making you think of the box, isn’t it?”
She held her breath. How did he know?
“As far as I can see, Em, we’re both adults. We both know whatever this is between us is just for now. I’m too old for you, and you have too much life ahead of you to get stuck living on a farm. If it comes to it, what’s the harm in letting off a little steam?”
If that was all it was to Byron, maybe it could be a fun idea after all.
Emory could ignore that itching part of her heart called hope.
She knew, for all the reasons Byron mentioned and all the ones he didn’t, that they couldn’t be anything more than a good time.
And it had been such a long time since she’d enjoyed herself.
They were stuck here, after all. Releasing the tension was probably a good idea. But then, if they did, what would happen to that little piece of her heart? Would it grow? Would she be setting herself up for heartbreak? She’d had enough of that to last her forever. She didn’t need any more.
Stuck in her own spiralling thoughts, Emory shook her head.
She bounced between thinking it was a good idea and knowing it was a bad one.
If they were going to do this—and it was a big if because she still wasn’t sure they should—she’d have to build a big, cushioned wall against her heart and hope for the best.
Rain pelted against the tin roof, breaking the silence but doing nothing to slice the tension between them.
Byron shuffled against her, clearing his throat.
Right, he was probably expecting an answer.
Some sort of recognition for his proposal.
Emory hummed, but still couldn’t find the right words to say.