Chapter 21
Mila.
I want to sit here sharing memories, reliving happy times, but I don’t have any. She left me before I could even remember her ever being present, then when I got her back, she was gone. The person she’d once been, the bright, beautiful, vivacious Sofia Kovalenko people told me about no longer existed.
The tears I’ve cried are as much for myself as they are for my mum. For the relationship I never had with her. The relationship we never got to have. I’m sad that her life went the way it did, that it ended the way it has, and I’m mourning something that never existed.
My sister has always told me I’m a lot like her, not just physically, but with my love of music, the joy I get from dancing, and I wonder if, like me, she listened to music to drown out the sadness inside her like I do. If she danced to forget, the way I do. Don’t get me wrong, they both bring me happiness, but they also serve a purpose.
I brush my fingertips over the soft skin of her face and study it. Taking her hand in mine, I attempt to take in every minute detail.
When you watch a film or anything on the telly that shows the face of someone who’s supposed to be dead, the thing they get wrong is the mouth. This is what’s running through my mind as I hold on to my mum’s cold, limp hand and stare down at her face. Apart from her mouth, she doesn’t look any different to the countless times I’ve sat in this place and watched her sleeping.
Her mouth is slack now, drooping downwards in an unnatural manner, and this is where actors go wrong. They don’t relax their face enough and let that tension go.
I realise I’m pulling faces, attempting my best ‘dead’ face as I’m thinking all this, when the door opens to the room we’re in.
“I’m so sorry to interrupt, Mila, but I thought you might like to go through this while you’re having some quiet time with your mum.” Amanda, one of the staff members, comes in carrying a small box. Placing it on the table next to the bed, she looks from me to Mum. “She was beautiful, your mum. You and your sister look a lot like her.”
I smile my alive, not ‘dead person’ smile but don’t say anything. It’s almost five in the morning. I’m out of words. Out of words and tears, but not pulling strange faces, apparently. I have an overwhelming urge to giggle and wish the boys were here to deflect. They get my weird sense of humour, especially Frankie, but, not wanting to cause a disturbance in the middle of the night if Logan turned up, I asked them to wait outside.
“I’m not sure what’s in that, but it was about the only possession she had. It was missed when she was transferred from the hospital but sent over a couple of weeks later. That’s probably why it was never handed over to you or your sister.” Amanda stares between us again before tapping the top of the box. “Well, you’ve got it now.” Another small smile, then she leaves.
I place my mum’s hand back on top of her other one that’s resting on her chest. Reaching for the box, I note that it’s made of some kind of metal, and not cardboard as I’d first thought due to the amount of dents in it. It’s white, with tiny blue flowers printed on it, and about thirty centimetres long, twenty wide, and fifteen deep. I stare at the box and wonder why I’m calculating the measurements rather than opening the fucking thing.
Is this grief, I wonder? Is this what grief does to your brain and your thought process, or am I just traumatically delirious? Or would that be deliriously traumatised by tonight’s, this week’s, my life’s events, so much so that I’m having some kind of breakdown?
I’m about to attempt taking off the bent and buckled lid when my phone vibrates inside the pocket of my hoodie I changed into when the boys took me home before we came here.
Logan has called me six times, so I’m expecting it to be him. Once I’d been home, changed, and we’d driven here, Frankie had given Bec permission to deliver the message to Logan that he needed to call his dad urgently.
That was four hours ago.
His first call to me was just an hour ago, so finishing his fuck fest at the club had obviously been a greater priority than comforting his wife on the loss of her mother. Not that I care for his comfort. I’m actually dreading him getting here.
I won’t cause a scene and ask him for a divorce at my mother’s death bed, but I don’t think I’m capable right now of hiding the fact we’re done.
He’s going to wonder why I didn’t call him, why I haven’t answered his calls, and how I got here, because no doubt, he’s called, and the staff would’ve told him I’m here. Either that or he likely tracked my phone. He would’ve checked the Uber account, seen that I didn’t get here that way, checked the banking app, and checked for a payment to a taxi firm. He’ll be going out of his fucking mind not knowing, and I’m glad. I think.
Or maybe I just don’t care. I can’t decide.
My head hurts, my heart hurts, and my life’s a fucking mess is what I’m thinking when I read the message from Sam.
Sam: Logan’s just rocked up. You want us to come in? x
Me: No, I’ll be fine.
Sam: I’m not comfortable with you being alone with him.
I’ve barely read the message when my phone rings with a call from Frankie.
“Don’t hang up,” he orders. “Put your phone down somewhere and let us listen. I’m not having you alone with him and us sitting out here not knowing what the fuck is going on. We love you.”
“Love you, too,” I almost sob out the words. Never in my life have I felt so cared for, so cherished. I want to wallow in the feeling, wrap it around me, but now’s not the time, so I take what I’m feeling, and I tuck it away with everything else I need to process, only allowing the comfort and strength of knowing I have it to remain at surface level.
Knowing I’m loved by Frankie and Sam gives me the strength I need to face my husband.
While waitingfor Logan to arrive, my eyes land on the box Amanda brought in earlier, and I’m about to put my phone underneath it when my mum’s hand slides from her chest and lands on my bag I’d placed beside her on the bed when I came in.
I look between my mum’s hand on my bag, and my hands holding the box as my scalp prickles and goosebumps rush across my skin.
I cover my mouth with my free hand, and with my heart beating violently against the walls of my chest, I move my mum’s hand back to her chest, and put the box in my bag. I then turn my phone face down on the table and slide the box of tissues sitting on the corner next to it.
The door opens.
I turn my head and watch my husband walk in.
His hair is damp and curling at the ends. At least he’s had the decency to shower.
I’m suddenly too hot. The prickles I had on my scalp have spread to my entire body, replacing the goosebumps.
My eyes meet his, and then I do something I haven’t been brave enough to do in all our years of marriage. I slowly close my eyes, give a small shake of my head, and hope the contempt I feel for him is apparent as I look away.
“Why didn’t you call?” is the first thing he asks. He doesn’t tell me he’s sorry for my loss, doesn’t ask how I’m doing. He asks why I didn’t call.
“What would be the point?” I question without looking at him.
“I could’ve been here for you, come herewith you.”
“I thought you were in Queensland.”
He pauses beside my chair, but I don’t look up.
“I was… I mean, I got home today. I was going to drive down to see you this morning and bring you home.”
I don’t respond. What’s the point of responding to one lie with another?
“She went peacefully, then.” It’s a statement, not a question, so again I don’t reply. “You doing okay?”
“Great. My mum just died. Of course I’m doing great.”
“Mila, I know this must be a shock?—”
“Why are you here?” I cut in.
“What?”
“Why are you here?”
“I’m… I’m your husband. I thought… What the fuck has gotten into you?”
I think of the ways I could answer that: Sam, Frankie, their cocks, their come.
“I don’t need you here. I don’t want you here, so if there’s somewhere else you need to be, feel free to go. Oh, and I…”
I don’t get to finish telling him I won’t be coming home, because he grabs the hair at the back of my head roughly and pulls my head back till I’m looking up at him.
“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?”
My nose tingles from the pain, but I don’t back down. “You. I’m talking to you. Now, let go of my fucking hair before I scream so loud it’ll wake the dead, the dying, and every other fucker in this place.”
He gives another hard yank on my hair before letting go.
“I’m going to put your behaviour down to grief.”
“Oh, I’m not grieving. I’m fucking celebrating. Her death has set me free.”
He laughs. “Oh, I should’ve known this was coming. You think because you no longer have to worry about her care, you can just walk away? Well, think the fuck on, because I have a signed contract that says if you ever leave our marriage, you’ll be liable to repay me the cost of her care. Which, the last time I checked, was around two million. Do you have that to pay me back?”
Ice creeps through my veins, but it’s caused by rage, not shock. I fucking knew he’d have something up his sleeve,
“I never signed a contract. What contract?”
I don’t know why I’m arguing with him. I’m more than aware of what him and his family are capable of, and I’m in no doubt there is, or he will somehow produce, a contract signed by me, stating whatever it is he wants it to say.
“But you did, Mila. Maybe your memory’s going. Perhaps you’ve got whatever it was she had going on, which wasn’t a lot from what I’ve been told. Dementia can run in families, you know.”
“Fuck you.”
“Yep, that’s the plan. We’ll get the funeral out the way, then you’ll come back to Yira, and I’ll be fucking you every day until you’re pregnant and you give me the son and heir you should’ve given me already. Once that’s done, you can fuck off and do what you like, go where you like, because your job will be done.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Mila, come on now. Do you really think you have a choice?”
At some stage during our exchange, I’ve stood up, and I’m now facing him. I stare, wondering what the fuck he’s on about. “I have a choice.”
“No, silly girl, you don’t. You’re my wife. There’s no fucking walking away from that until I say so.”
“So, what are you going to do? Kidnap me and take me back to Yira? Keep me locked in the house?” I think of Ella, and I know that’s exactly what he’ll do.
“Yep. If I have to, I’ll do all those things.”
“You’re fucking delusional. You really think I’m just going to let that happen?”
“How you going to stop me?”
“I just won’t go.”
He laughs again. “Then I’ll drug you.”
I fold my arms across my chest, shake my head, and take a step back. “Why? Why me? You could have a baby with anyone. You don’t love me. You don’t even like me…”
“Because…” His phone rings. He pulls it from the pocket of his jeans and looks at the screen, then swipes to answer. “Dad? What? How bad? Yeah… Okay. I’ll be there as quick as I can.” He ends the call and looks at me. “There’s been a fire. I need to get back to Yira.”
I’m hit with a wave of panic. Is he going to drug me right now?
“I have to meet my sister in the morning and plan the funeral. I need?—”
“You can stay. Stefan is waiting outside. He’ll take you to the funeral home tomorrow, then he’ll bring you back to Yira once everything’s arranged.”
“Who’s Stefan?”
“He’s your new best friend. Unless you’re with me, Stefan will accompany you everywhere from now on.”
Once again, I want to laugh. I want to tell him everything, that none of what he has planned is going to work because I have a pair of sex god superheroes waiting out in the carpark, listening in on this conversation, no doubt already making plans to get me out of here.
But because I don’t know for sure what those plans are, I stay quiet. I keep my mouth shut and instead gloat on the inside knowing at some stage, I’m going to bring him and his entire family down.
I waita few moments after Logan leaves before picking up my phone.
“Did you guys?—”
“He’s un-fucking-real,” Frankie says. “How the fuck does he actually think he’ll get away with what he has planned?”
“Because for years and years, in Yira, he and his family have done exactly what they liked and gotten away with it.”
“Yeah, well, not this time. Listen, Logan’s just pulled off but there’s another bloke out here in a Cruiser he just spoke to. I’m assuming that’s Stefan. Sammie’s on his way in. The plan is, he’s going to tell the staff he’s your brother. He’s going to find another way out without us having to punch on with old mate out here.”
“Great plan,” I tell him with the hint of a smile.
“You taking the piss out of my planning addiction?”
“Absolutely.”
“Fucker, I love you.”
“Love you, too. Listen, Logan had to rush off because of a fire. You don’t happen to know anything about that, do you?”
“May…be.” He drags out the word.
“Oops. Hope it’s nothing too serious.”
“Oops, not serious. Just very, very, expensive.”
“Oops,” I add again. “Hit them where it hurts.”
“That’s the plan, beautiful. That’s the fucking plan.”
“I’m starting to love your plans.”
“Knew you would.”
There’s a knock at the door.
“Sam’s here. We’ll call you back once we’ve worked something out. Love you. Bye.”
Amanda opens the door. “Sorry for disturbing you again, Mila. Your brother’s here. He’s never been on the visitors’ list, so I’m just…”
“Yeah, yeah, sorry. He messaged to tell me he was on his way. I forgot to come out and tell you.”
“Okay.” She hesitates at the door for a second before turning and asking, “Is everyone in your family gorgeous?”
That brings a genuine smile to my lips. Gesturing with a nod towards my mum, I say, “She blessed us all with good genes.”
“I’d say,” she agrees before leaving.
Sam comes through the door a few seconds later. His eyes move over my face and the length of my body. “What did he do? Did he hurt you?”
“He pulled my hair. It’s fine. I’m fine.”
His eyes slice from me to my mum. “This is…”
“Weird, yeah. Frankie told me his plan. Did you find another way out?”
“Yeah, there’s literally an emergency exit at the end of this hallway. It’ll cause chaos when we open it. It’ll set off alarms, but if we tell Frankie to wait outside, we’ll be gone before your new bestie Stefan works out what the fuck’s going on.”
We stare at each other for a beat. “I really want to kiss you,” Sam finally says. “But…” He nods towards my mum.
“Yeah. Nah. Weird. Call Frankie; tell him the plan.” I use air quotes when I say the last word, then turn, grab my bag, kiss my mum’s cheek, and follow Sam out the door.
I waketo the sound of voices, and it takes me a long moment to get my bearings.
After our swift getaway from the care home, we drove to Sam’s place on the peninsula this morning. I don’t remember arriving or coming to bed, but here I am. Panic hits me as I search for my phone, wondering what the time is.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I hiss as I climb out of bed, run to use the bathroom, then out of the bedroom, and up the stairs to the kitchen.
Frankie’s sitting on a stool at the island bench. Sam has his back to me and looks to be cooking something.
“What’s the time?” I ask in a rush.
“Afternoon,” the boys say in unison, more casual than ever.
“Afternoon? What’s the time? Where’s my phone? I was supposed to meet my sister at the funeral home.” I feel tingly everywhere as I try not to panic about letting my sister down and leaving her to deal with the funeral arrangements on her own.
“Phone’s here.” Frankie holds it up. “We spoke to your sister. Rearranged the funeral home for Monday.”
I draw in as much oxygen as I can. “Thank fuck,” I say on an exhale, my hand pressing into my chest as I attempt to slow my racing heart. “I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck,” I admit when I turn to face them fully.
“Come and eat, then you can shower. After that, we’ll tell you our plan, and hopefully you’ll feel better,” Sam says before opening the oven and pulling out a stack of toast.
I move to the island, pull out a stool, and sit. “Another plan?” I ask him wearily.
“The final plan, and I promise, you’re gonna love it,” Frankie tells me as he slides his coffee mug my way and I take a mouthful.
Sam sets down plates, cutlery, a French butter crock, the toast, and a pan full of scrambled eggs next to the salt, pepper, and hot sauce already sitting there.
“Well… most of it,” Frankie adds.
I pause, midway through buttering my second slice of toast. “That doesn’t sound convincing.”
“Eat, shower, then, if you’re feeling up to it, we’ll talk,” he continues, his tone now gentle.
He’s worried about me and instead of my walls going up, I embrace the way that makes me feel.
“I know it’s probably a really stupid question given the circumstances, but are you feeling okay?” Sam asks as he slides me my own cup of coffee and returns Frankie’s.
I take a moment to once again allow the knowledge these two genuinely care to fill my chest to the point I can barely breathe. But it’s good. It feels good.
Scary!
But good.
“I don’t know,” I tell him honestly once I get my emotions in check. “I’ve barely had time to process.” I look up from the food in front of me and meet both their gazes. “I’m not sure yet what I’m grieving for. It hurts that I didn’t know her. It hurts that I never will now.”
I don’t cry as I admit my feelings, yet tears roll down my cheeks anyway. Is that still crying, I wonder?
Sam reaches across the island and laces his fingers through mine. Frankie wraps his arm around my shoulder, pulls me into him, and kisses the top of my head.
“Whatever you need, Mils. Whatever is going to make this easier for you and your sister, we’ve got you. You know that right?” Frankie says against my hair.
That’s when my free hand covers my mouth and I finally let out a sob.
It’s too much. Too many feelings, and the only way I can deal with them right now is to cry.
“I know, I know, and I can’t thank you enough. I honestly don’t know what?—”
“You don’t have to know. You don’t have to contemplate the what ifs. We’re here, and we’ve got you,” Sam interrupts, offering a hand squeeze.
I nod just as my phone vibrates. Sam quickly swipes it away from in front of Frankie.
“Excuse me.” I hold my hand out for my phone while staring at Sam. “Rude.”
“It’s Logan throwing an absolute tanty,” Sam tells me. “But you don’t need to worry about that right now.”
“I don’t? But I want to talk to him. I want to hear his melt down. I’m actually sad I can’t see it.”
“You can later,” Frankie says with a small smile.
“What? I can? How? Where?”
“We’ve arranged a meeting. Our legal team has put together a team of divorce lawyers, and we’ve paid them an exorbitant amount of money to meet with you and Logan in about…”—he looks at his watch for effect—“two hours. So, eat your breakfast, lunch, brunch, whatever, then shower and get dressed. We’ll explain everything in the car on the way over.”
Being the girl that I am, my first response is, “I’ve got nothing to wear.”
“Yes, you do. I’ve had everything you bought Friday brought here.”
“Shall I wear the dress?” I grin, feeling positively evil. “Will you be with me? Do you have a tux you can wear?” I look between them both as I fork mouthfuls of scrambled egg into my mouth. “Let’s go out of our way and really piss him off.”
I countsixteen jaws drop as we walk into the large office on the fifty-second floor of the most prestigious building on Collins Street. One belongs to Logan, one, his dad. Four more are from the team he has sitting with him, and the final ten are the three men and seven women sitting on the other side of the large, boardroom-style table, who I hope are members of my new legal team.
I’d taken as much care with my hair and makeup as I possibly could while wearing my cast this morning, but I also went to great lengths not to cover up the now-yellow bruising to the side of my face, eye, and temple. Though none of that was jaw dropping. It was the fact I walked in wearing my brand new, beautifully beaded evening dress we bought last Friday, while holding onto the arms of Sam and Frankie, who, as we so meticulously planned earlier, were each wearing a black tux.
Both Logan and Scott’s chairs fall to the engineered timber hardwood flooring with a thud the moment we enter. The sight of them makes me smile.
“Oops,” I say with a shrug.
“You whore. You fucking whore. And you! I knew I never should’ve trusted you, you fucking dog,” Logan spits out.
“Mr Walsh!” one of the women, who I note has very big, very obviously unnaturally dark hair, and very red lips, stands and barks. “May I remind you that the minutes of this meeting are being recorded and will be presented to a judge in a court of law if matters are not resolved to our clients liking today.”
I give them another sickly-sweet grin, a shrug, then let Sam and Frankie lead me to a chair, which Frankie makes a show of pulling out for me, before making a sweeping gesture with his arm for me to sit as he and Sam bend at the waist.
I want to cackle with laughter. Instead, I avoid making eye contact with my escorts and get comfortable.
The dark-haired woman speaks again. “For the record, my name is Giulia Conti, and I’ll be chairing this mediation. Mr Jaimeson, would you like to start?”
Mr Jaimeson then stands from where he was sitting next to Scott and bangs on about the prenup and contract I signed, agreeing to pay back Walsh Holdings the costs, in full, of my mum’s care.
At the end of his spiel, Giulia leans back in her chair, taps her pen on the table, and stares between Logan and Scott before letting out a long and somehow loaded sigh.
“Ms Barton, would you please show in Mr Porter?” she says to the younger woman sitting at the end of the table, who’s been tapping furiously on her laptop since we walked in.
Frankie and Sam reach for my hands. I grip them so tightly, it’s painful. Sam rests his free hand on my bouncing knee, so I switch to bouncing the other, then both as my stomach knots, and my heart beats so loudly, I swear the entire room can hear it.
I don’t know where to look. I want to catch my first glimpse of Zachary Porter, but I also want to see Logan and Scott’s reactions. I stare at the door Ms Barton left through, then my eyes are on him. He’s tall and blond. His eyes dart around the room until they land on me, then he smiles, and my eyes instantly fill with tears.
“Mr Walsh… Logan,” Giulia says, “Mila, I’d like you to meet your brother Zach.”
Logan frowns.
Scott slumps back in his seat.
“Whose brother?” Logan demands, his eyes wide with panic as he starts to work things out. “Whose fucking brother? I don’t have a brother. What has this got to do with…?”
“Mr Walsh… Scott, would you like to explain?”
“Shut up. Shut the fuck up. You cunt! How fucking dare you? I will make sure you never fucking work in this city again,” Scott roars.
Ms Barton re-enters the room, and obviously anticipating Scott’s reaction, she’s followed by four security guards.
“I think it’s in everyone’s interest that you wait outside for the rest of these proceedings, Mr Walsh, don’t you?”
Scott stands, and flanked by the four guards, leaves the room.
“Mr Walsh, as your father is no longer available to explain, I will. Zachary Porter is your brother.”
Logan’s frown deepens.
I hold my breath and wait for the blow.
“He’s also Mila Grace’s brother.”
Logan’s face does this weird, scrunched up thing. His frown draws in lower, his nose crinkles, and his lips twist up. It’s as if his features are folding in on themselves, trying to escape what’s being presented before them.
“I don’t… How? I’m not related to Mila. How? This doesn’t make sense.” Logan’s face and neck turn from pink to red to purple as he demands answers.
I draw in a deep breath through my nose and let it out slowly through my mouth as I enjoy every single moment of his discomfort.
“Thirty-four years ago,” Giulia explains, “Sofia Grace was working as a cleaner at your family home. On the evening of May seventh, she presented herself at the Yirabang community hospital in a state of shock, bleeding, her clothes torn. Police were called, a rape kit presented, and tests carried out, as well as a statement taken. That night, Sofia was released from the hospital and not seen in Yirabang again, leaving behind her four young children—Mila being the youngest at just three months old. All evidence of the rape allegation oddly disappeared… until a recent investigation uncovered evidence of serious misconduct, failure to investigate properly, failure to record evidence, and failure to interview witnesses. Thankfully, the evidence gathered from Sofia Grace’s rape kit analysis was recorded, even if there was no follow up investigation. We’ve compared that analysis with Mr Zachary Porter’s DNA, the statement given by Sofia that night, which has also been found buried amongst many others, and samples of both yours and Mila’s DNA. Everything points to Zach being the biological child of Scott Walsh and Sofia Grace. A result of the rape of Sofia by Scott. It’s also recently come to light that Sofia left a letter for her children explaining all of this, and the fact she was collected from the hospital by Scott, driven to Melbourne, and threatened with the painful death of each of her children if she were to ever return to Yirabang.”
That’s when I cry. My poor mum. What this family has put mine through is unforgivable: the unimaginable grief and trauma my mum must have felt, how helpless and vulnerable she’d have been when she found out she was pregnant, and how fucking brave she was to continue the pregnancy.
In the space of two hours this morning, everything I thought I knew about my beautiful mum has been flipped on its head. First, Sam and Frankie explained what Frankie’s investigators had discovered, that I shared a brother with Logan, and how that came about. Then I opened the tin my mum had left, and there was a letter inside, explaining everything in more detail, along with a lock of Zach’s hair, and the name of the social worker who handled the adoption.
Of course, Frankie’s team had already found him, and thankfully discovered he always knew he was adopted. Despite already knowing the details surrounding the circumstances of his conception, he was still happy to come here to take part in the investigation into his biological mum’s rape.
Logan’s hand is covering his mouth as he looks from me to Zach and Giulia, who are now seated next to each other.
“Ms Conti,” Jaimeson starts to speak, but Logan cuts him off.
“So, what? What is it exactly you want from me? What are you planning to do with this evidence? You want money, boy? Because that ain’t fucking happening, I’ll give it away before I give one of my father’s bastards what’s rightfully mine.”
Typical Logan. All he’s worried about right now is the family’s name and reputation, and how much all of this is going to cost him.
“Mr Walsh, what Mr Porter is or isn’t entitled to is for the courts to decide, not you, and right now, him, your family, and your business are all in a very precarious position. Currently, the investigations into your father and the Yira Police Department have all been carried out by a private investigations company.”
“You.” Logan interrupts and snarls in Frankie’s direction. “You’ve paid for all of this—the investigation. This is all your work.” Logan thrusts his pointer finger through the air towards the legal team.
Frankie shrugs.
I turn towards him, give my own shrug, and say, “Oops.”
“Big oops,” Frankie replies with a grin.
“You’ll pay. You fucking dog. Mark my words. You. Will. Fucking…”
“Mr Walsh, are you threatening my client?” Giulia asks.
Logan throws himself back into his chair.
“And you…” His eyes narrow on me. “So, what? You’re with him now?” He sneers and shakes his head as he lets out a loud snort.
Taking a moment to enjoy his rage and discomfort, I draw in a long breath through my nose before letting it out slowly. “No,” I say with a shake of my head. “I’m with both of them.”
Logan’s head jerks back, and he frowns. “What?”
“I’m with both of them. The three of us. Together. You’re not the only one who likes group sex.”
Logan’s up and sliding across the table towards me. Sam catches him by the hair and smashes his head into the table. Chairs tip back as everyone scrambles to stand and get out of the way.
“In your fucking seat, country boy,” Sam grits out with a yank on Logan’s hair as blood drips from his nose and a cut on his lip.
Giving it one last tug, Sam lets him go. Logan’s team help him back across the table into his seat and hand him a tissue as Sam takes his seat next to me.
“Damn, baby. That was fucking hot. Wasn’t that hot, Frankie?” I say, my voice a loud whisper.
“Fire,” Frankie says beside me.
“Thanks, guys,” Sam responds with a wink.
After everyone settles, I speak. “Twenty-five percent.”
Logan frowns.
“You can keep the family home. I never want to go near that place again. I want twenty-five percent of everything, and I want another twenty-five percent for Zach. I also want to know where Ella is, and I”
“Erm, Mils?” Sam interrupts. “That was another ‘oops’ we forgot to tell you about. Ella and Marcie are at Frankie’s apartment. We planned on surprising you this morning, but then everything happened the way it did last night, and?—”
“Oops?” I ask.
“Pretty much,” he replies with a nod.
My head spins with relief at the knowledge Ella and Marcie are safe. I close my eyes, not knowing how I’m ever going to be able to thank the boys for all they’ve done but knowing I’ll be eternally grateful they came into my life.
We spendan hour negotiating back and forth, with Logan refusing to settle on anything. It’s Saturday evening. We’ve all had enough, so we decide to leave it to the lawyers to work things out between them over the coming weeks.
I feel wired but exhausted, numb, but like every single one of my nerve endings is raw and exposed. As we leave the office, I stop next to where Logan sits and ask, “Why’d you marry me? If you like the things you like, and you like doing them with Alice, why’d you marry me?”
Leaning back in his chair, with his legs spread wide, and elbows resting on the arms, he looks up at me with narrowed eyes. “You were our guarantee,” he sneers.
“What?” I scowl.
“The rest moved away. Your sister and your brothers weren’t even worth worrying about, but you… In case she ever came back, ever made threats, or ever asked for more, you were our guarantee. We thought you’d be pregnant by now. Thought we’d have extra security.”
The reality of it all hits me at the same time it must hit Sam and Frankie, because I feel them shift beside me.
“Fuck me,” Frankie almost growls.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Sam hisses.
“You knew?” I whisper. “You knew what he did to my mum?”
“Yep,” Logan replies with a grin. “Didn’t know she had a bastard kid but knew about her lies.”
I take a step back. “Her lies?” I question.
“Yeah, her fucking lies. The old man went mad when I first told him I wanted to marry you. Then he told me about your mum throwing herself at him and making up a lie about him raping her. He said he paid her off and she left town. Eventually, he decided you’d be good insurance in case she ever came back demanding more.”
“But she’s had dementia for years. She couldn’t tell anyone anything.”
“But before she did, she contacted Dad and told him she’d left a letter explaining everything. Upon her death, it’d be presented to you kids.”
“But you never found it,” I state, remembering what Amanda told me about the tin going missing between the hospital and the care home for a couple of weeks.
Logan shakes his head. “We put a private investigation company on to it. There was nothing in her possessions, and no trace of anything being recorded with a law firm, so we assumed she’d lied.”
“And they never found the letter? They never found out about Zach?”
“Nope. I’m wondering now if she had help hiding both.” His eyes slide to Frankie.
“Don’t look at me. I only found out about Zach this week and knew nothing about the letter?—”
“Your mother,” Logan cuts him off. “Your fucking mother.”
I look between Logan and Frankie but have no idea what to think. I still haven’t moved past the fact Logan has known for years what his father did to my mother. Well, Scott’s version of it, anyway. Everything… every single aspect of my marriage has been a lie.
I have no words.
Nothing.
I can’t even look at him. With Frankie and Sam on either side of me, I turn and start to walk away.
“Mila!” Logan calls my name, but I don’t turn back. “I never loved you. You’re nothing but an unlovable whore who comes from a long fucking line of unlovable whores.”
I don’t have time to react. It takes just a second before Frankie’s back in the room, and punching Logan so hard in the mouth, his chair goes back, and he hits the floor.
Shaking his hand as he reaches us, Frankie throws his arm over my shoulder and whispers into my ear, “Oops.”
As we pass Scott, now sitting in a chair in the large reception area, the four security guards still surrounding him, I pause, debating whether it’s worth my while saying anything, and then suddenly, it just erupts, and I have no choice.
“You took my childhood from me. From me and my brothers and sister. You took our mum, and you took my dad’s wife, so even though I don’t want your money, I’m going to take it. I’m going to go to court and I’m going to fight you for everything, and if Zach doesn’t have the money, then I’m going to give him the funds to fight for what’s rightfully his.”
“How?” He directs a sneer my way that his son so very obviously inherited from him. “You don’t have the means to take me on.”
“But we do,” Frankie states. “For Mila, Zach, Sofia, and my mum, I’ll fund whatever she needs to break you, to leave you with nothing.”
Scott spits at my feet.
“You might wanna save that,” I lean in and tell him. “Where you’re going, you’re probably going to need that as lube.” His lunge towards me is quickly thwarted by the security guards, who hold him in place in his chair.
“But then,” I continue, because I’m not quite done with him yet, “I’ve heard you like it up the arse hard and rough, just like your son.” He attempts to lunge again but is held firm in his seat. I blow him a kiss, then turn and leave.
A couple of hours later,I’m sitting out on the balcony of Frankie’s apartment. I’m curled up on the outdoor sofa, sipping on a cup of manuka and ginger tea under a blanket. With the patio heater blasting warmth from above, and Sam and Frankie enveloping me on either side, I’m feeling toasty despite the temperature.
We left Zach with the legal team discussing what his options are with the evidence the investigators uncovered. As much as I’m happy to walk away from my marriage with nothing and instead bring a prosecution against Scott, I’ve left that decision with Zach. We’ll be meeting him again tomorrow, and I’ll also have to explain everything to my sister, the way we just had to with Ella and Marcie, who are sitting rugged up together on the opposite sofa.
On Friday, Frankie’s team ‘collected’ Ella from a conversion camp run by some kind of religious sect in a remote part of New South Wales. They’d taken her to Queensland, reunited her with Marcie, and flown them both down here to Melbourne.
I’ve had mixed emotions explaining things to Ella. Scott’s her father, after all, and despite the fact he’s an awful human being, he’s still her dad. She was more angry than sad but not the least bit surprised. Apparently, she’s looking forward to meeting our brother, though she’s looking at me now in a way that, knowing Ells like I do, I know she’s still got something on her mind.
“What?” I ask her over the top of my mug.
“What exactly is going on with you three? Because it’s pretty obvious something is most definitely going on.”
“We’re together,” I tell her honestly.
“Together, together? Like, the three of you together in a threesome, thruple, three-way situation?”
“Yep.”
“That’s so fucking hot,” Marcie sighs. “I mean, look at the three of you. You’re all beautiful. I’d pay to watch that.”
Ella gives her a dig in the ribs.
“Ow! What? Look at them. I would.”
“Yeah, but one of them’s my ex-sister-in-law, who I now share a brother with, and the other one’s my cousin. It’d just be weird to watch that.”
“I’m not related to any of them, so it won’t be weird for me,” Marcie says with a shrug.
“So, how’s it work? Are you two just into Mils, or are you into each other as well?” Ells continues, ignoring Marcie.
“I’m into both of them, while Sammie here”—Sam holds his beer bottle up in case there’s any doubt as to who Frankie’s talking about—“he’s into Mila, and when we’re all getting into it, he’ll occasionally be gay just for me.”
“Giver never a taker,” Sam clarifies.
Frankie’s phone vibrates from where it sits on the coffee table in front of us. He had a conversation with his mum on the phone earlier, and she’s promised to visit in the next few days and tell us everything she knows. I have a vague recollection of her from when I was a kid, and can’t wait to become reacquainted, and to thank her for helping my mum.
Frowning, I pull my phone out of the pocket of my hoodie just as Ella’s phone starts to vibrate, too.
Not wanting to talk over everyone, I stare down at the unknown number on my screen, then up at Frankie as he answers with a “H, what’s up? What? When? Shit, okay. Yeah, Mila and Ella are both here. I’ll let you know. Yeah, cheers, mate. Cheers.” He ends the call. “You haven’t been putting your engineering knowhow to any kind of nefarious use have you?” He asks, looking at Sam.
“Maybe,” Sam replies. “Or maybe someone I know has.” He shrugs. “Why?”
“The chopper Scott and Logan were flying back from the city in has gone down in a paddock about twenty K outside of Yira—no news yet on survivors.”
I know it’s inappropriate, but my dark and twisted soul just can’t help it. Looking between Frankie and Sam, I know there’s only one thing to say about the situation.
“Oops,” our warped minds say in unison.