Chapter 30
Byron
An odd silence ran through the house when Byron slid open the back door. He froze, half inside, waiting.
“Get in, it stinks out here.” Tucker shoved him from behind.
Still, Byron hesitated. Something was missing.
Stepping in, he moved to the side, trying to catalogue what had changed since he left to work on the farm that morning.
Nursery rhymes still chimed from the TV, granted, they were far more upbeat at this time of the afternoon.
But even so, the space was too quiet. Clayton wasn’t singing along or banging toys together like makeshift cymbals.
Emory wasn’t shuffling about, tidying after her son, or tapping away on her keyboard and humming from the study.
And neither of them had greeted him at the door.
He hadn’t realised just how used to their presence he had gotten. It worried him, but not as much as their absence did. A sour taste lined his tongue that had nothing to do with the stench of the flood outside. He tried to swallow it away, but it came back ten times stronger with each dry gulp.
Where were they? Wasn’t Mya supposed to be here too?
He didn’t dare call out in case Clayton was sleeping. That would explain the young boy’s absence, at least.
Tucker stood in the kitchen, one eye on Byron as he pulled two beers from the fridge and popped open both bottles.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he swore under his breath. “How fucking gone are you?”
Byron forced himself to stand a little taller. He raised an eyebrow, silently daring his son to make another remark.
As expected, Tucker took the bait. Although as he spoke, Byron realised he wasn’t winning this bet.
“Seriously,” Tucker said, “that’s why you look like Miff when she sniffs out a rabbit. You’re trying to figure out where they are.”
Ignoring the truth in Tucker’s words, Byron stormed over and grabbed his beer.
He’d had enough of Tucker’s wisdom for the day.
For a while yet, actually. On light feet, he paced through the house, towards the hall.
The gentle hum of Clayton’s lullaby floated through the front of the house, and a little of the weight that had been sitting on Byron’s shoulders began to ease.
Emory was still missing, though. And Mya, he supposed, which gave him a little comfort.
Emory was just entertaining her friend, surely, but Byron didn’t understand where they were.
Well, the further into the house he got, the more he realised where they must have been.
The den. Emory had never gone into the room without Byron there, at least not that he knew.
But they weren’t anywhere else, and he knew her enough to know she wouldn’t have left the house while Clayton was asleep.
Not when the monitor had still been on its charger in the kitchen.
He inched past Clayton’s room, pausing at the door to peek in at his grandson.
Something warm filled Byron’s chest at the sight of the little boy all curled in his bed.
Yeah, Byron had gotten used to them being around.
And Tucker was right; Byron was so far gone that any memory of his life before Emory and Clayton came to stay was a mere speck on the once dusty horizon.
Clayton shifted in his sleep, his tiny mouth falling open with a sigh as he curled around his teddy.
The kid deserved so much more than what he had.
He deserved a loving father, and sure, Byron knew he’d never be exactly that, but he was determined to be the next possible thing.
Years ago, he’d worried he was overstepping, but as time went on and Jaxon remained out of the picture, Byron found comfort in becoming the fatherly figure in Clayton’s life.
Those same fears of overstepping washed over him now.
If, and it was a big if, Byron and Emory settled into something more than what they already had, what would that mean for Clayton?
Byron doubted the boy knew who Jaxon was, but as time went on, he was surely going to ask questions.
It wouldn’t be fair to try to hide the truth from him.
Byron had to believe that there would come a time when Jaxon would come to his senses and want to be a part of his son’s life.
If Byron were also in the picture, it would only make things more difficult.
But that did nothing to stop the longing behind Byron’s eyes.
He was going to be there for Clayton, always and in every way possible.
He had to trust the universe on this one, even though he’d never been one for that sort of thing.
Life had worked out the way it did because he and Emory were destined to be together.
Maybe, after all, love did conquer everything else.
Maybe, when you found a love like he shared with Emory, it was worth all the crap.
Sneaking back out of the room, Byron pulled the door shut but didn’t let the handle click.
He turned back up the hall, but Tucker hadn’t followed him.
The bottle in his hand grew wet, condensation beading along the glass.
He took a swig and let the neck of the beer dangle between his fingers before creeping further along the hall.
The women’s hushed voices caught him as he approached the den. He found it odd that Emory would take Mya into this room, of all of them. His brow furrowed, and he ran his tongue along his teeth, but the clattering of pool balls chipped away his suspicions.
Emory had expressed her complete disinterest in pool, and Byron hadn’t really cared.
It wasn’t like he played much anymore. The table was a mere leftover from his younger, more social years.
One that, like most of the other things in the den, he hadn’t bothered to get rid of.
It got a little use when Tucker came to visit, usually, but otherwise it was used more for puzzles than pool.
Byron had always figured that one day Tucker would come take over the farmhouse, and find use for it again.
Mya must enjoy playing. He heard her voice from deep in the room.
“You sure you don’t want a turn?”
Emory laughed her off. “Even if I liked pool, I don’t think I could concentrate.”
Byron heard the clicking of laptop keys and another clack as the pool cue hit a ball. Emory took a loud, very satisfied-sounding intake of breath. “Sydscape works with the Hemsworths. Like, okay, his parents, but oh my God.”
Sydscape?
The very last thing Byron expected to find himself doing in his own home was eavesdropping.
And he hated that he was, even if it had started by accident.
But now that he had started, he wanted to find out exactly why Emory was looking into whatever this Sydscape was and why they were connected to the Hemsworth family.
He held his breath. A sip of his beer would have been nice, but he didn’t dare in case they heard. The only thing worse than the eavesdropping would be if he got caught.
“You know you have to do it, right?” Mya said before taking another shot on the pool table.
It sounded like whatever ball she hit found the pocket, and her soft whoop confirmed Byron’s thoughts.
“Like, you said you were going to research and make a decision about the interview, but all you’ve done is tell me wonderful things about the position and the company.
I think you knew all along that you would give it your best shot. ”
“I did,” Emory admitted. Byron hated the hint of sadness in her voice.
The way the words dragged and the subtle rustle as she sank back against the couch.
“There was just a tiny piece of me that hoped I’d find something terrible about them so I would have an excuse to cancel the interview.
If the company reviews were shit or the position didn’t pay enough to cover rent on an apartment for me and Clayton or they donated money to some shitty cause.
Because I know that I have to do this, no matter how much leaving is going to hurt. ”
Hold the fuck on. Leaving?
It didn’t matter how glaring the signs had been or how often he’d tried to come to terms with it. None of those moments had felt as final as this. Emory had an interview. With Sydscape, which he now realised must be a big marketing firm in the city. She was actively trying to find her way out.
Every hair on Byron’s neck stood on end.
His temple throbbed, pain spreading across his forehead.
He rolled the beer bottle over his face, the condensation cooling a little of the heat he felt rising through him.
Closing his eyes, he tilted his head back to stretch his neck, bringing the bottle back down.
But it was wet, and the glue on the paper label had been thinned by the condensation so much that it wasn’t sticky anymore.
It slid through his fingers. Byron fumbled with the bottle, but it fell to the ground, shattering on the hard slate floor.
“Shit,” he muttered, doing his best to keep his voice down. It was useless, though.
Both girls appeared in the doorway to the den. Emory’s eyes were wide, her mouth dropped open a little. Mya probably looked the same, but Byron couldn’t see her. Not really. Emory was, as always, the sun that filled the dim hallway with the brightest light.
“You’re leaving?” The words choked him. He cleared his throat, determined to hold back against the stinging in his eyes.
Mya shoved past Byron, tiptoeing over the broken glass and splashed beer. Her hands pressed against Byron’s back as she pushed him into Emory. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her steady as Mya continued to shove him from behind.
“I’m going to clean this up,” she grunted as she forced Byron and Emory into the den. As soon as they were down the small step that led into the room, Mya reached past Byron’s shoulder to grab the door and swing it shut.
He didn’t let go. Even when Emory planted her feet firmly on the floor. She stepped away from him, but he held her close, nuzzling into her. He backed her right into the pool table and sank his lips against the softest part of her neck, right below her ear. Right where he knew she loved it.
She didn’t tilt her head to make room for him, though. Or turn towards his kiss or whimper into his ear. She held her ground. Her hands were flat against his chest, holding him back as much as she could.
“You knew, Byron. You knew I was studying, and you knew I wanted to get a job in the city.”
“Not the city. I didn’t think you would go that far,” he admitted. He retreated from her neck, dropping his hands to rest on the pool table on either side of her legs.
Her hands still planted on his chest, Emory let her fingers curl against him a little.
“I have to, Byron, even though I don’t want to.
Because all of this between us … it’s just us.
I still hate this town as much as most of the folks who live here hate me.
” She sighed, a fraction of her composure dropping as she sank her weight against the table and dropped her hands from Byron’s front.
“All my life, I’ve followed other people around.
My parents when they first came to Australia when I was young.
Then to every major city as I grew up, as they hopped about, trying to find their place.
I thought not following them back to New Zealand was me finally finding some power of where I ended up, but I just followed Jaxon here.
I need to get a job in the city because, for the first time in my life, it’s my chance to lead, not follow.
I hate, hate, that it’s costing me my heart, Byron. But I can’t stay.”
Her voice began to shake, but Emory held her breath and forced her lips together.
Byron could see the glisten in her eyes as tears began to swell.
His own vision started to blur, but he made no effort to hold back his tears.
He let them trickle down his cheek until he could taste the saltiness in the corner of his mouth.
“I’m sorry,” he choked out. This was all his fault. Giving in to temptation had been his idea. If he hadn’t encouraged her, neither of them would be in this mess. Their hearts would still be fine.
Emory shook her head, dropping her hand beside her to grab Byron’s. She squeezed his fingers and traced her thumb along his knuckles.
“This is as much my fault as it is yours. I’m sorry, too.”
Reaching up, Byron wiped her cheeks with his thumb and cupped her face.
He leant in, pressing their foreheads together first, then kissing her.
His lips lingered over hers, waiting to see what she would do.
Emory kissed him back, but kept her mouth closed.
She gulped, turning her face away from him.
“Please don’t make this harder,” she said.
He didn’t plan to. He planned on making it easier, he just thought he’d have more time to figure it all out. And until everything was settled, he didn’t want to get either of their hopes up.