Chapter 25
the twenty fifth chapter
AMOS
It’s the way Marco is moving his foot under the sheet.
That's how I know he must still be awake.
He often draws lines or circles with his big toe when he’s feeling anxious.
Across the darkened mattress, I reach for his hand.
Neither of us speak.
It isn't hard to guess what’s on his mind. Or who.
But instead of words, we simply lay there hand in hand.
And soon his breath grows deep and steady, his body calm.
Dawn softens the darkness, evaporating the night.
First, a gentle stretch on the yoga mat.
A chia smoothie to go.
Then we load the truck with comforts from home.
Everything a city boy might possibly need in the middle of nowhere.
I check my messages.
“Talia’s got an air mattress we can borrow. Self-inflating. I’ll swing by and pick it up while you’re with Josie.”
Marco nods, but his mind is elsewhere.
The morning air is still crisp as I let the engine idle.
“See you soon,” I wave.
He's booked the first available trim as soon as the doors open.
He wants to look his best for his Mama.
“Even though she probably won't recognise me,” he says. “Eleven years is a long time.”
“I reckon she will,” I assure him. “How could anyone forget that handsome face?”
Exiting the parking lot, I turn left onto Merthyr and head for Abbott Street.
◆◆◆
Vonnie answers her phone after my second attempt.
“You’re taking the week off,” she grumbles. “That means I get extra beauty sleep.”
“I know, Von. I’m sorry.”
“This better be good.”
“How much do you love me?”
There’s a long pause.
Should I be offended that she has to think about it?
“Are you on the run from the cops?” she laughs.
“Not that I know of.”
“That’s disappointing,” she yawns.
Vonnie loves a little drama.
“Maybe next time,” I offer. “Hey, uh… I need to borrow your tent.”
I hear a dramatic sigh through the speaker.
“My what?”
“You know that mountain tent with the removable cover? The one you bought to impress the guy who moved to Perth?”
I struggle to remember his name.
Darren? Aaron?
Vonnie groans.
“You woke me up so you can steal my camping equipment?”
“Borrow.”
I hear the shuffle of curtains.
“Cheeky shit,” she mutters under her breath. “I’m guessing that’s your Ford Ranger parked across the street?”
I wave.
She’s not impressed.
“Come back with coffee. And a…”
“Boston cream donut. I'm on it. See you in ten.”
◆◆◆
Her front door swings open before I even touch it.
She greets me wearing stripey satin shorts and a faded Care Bear shirt.
A large green bag with a zipper sits behind her in the hallway.
She leans against the door frame, snatching her caffeine fix from me.
“Can't afford your apartment anymore, so you're gonna live in a tent?”
“Nah. Just trekking out to the boonies for a few days.”
She rubs the sleep from her eyes, not quite sure if she's misheard me.
“Mr Double Shot Flat White is going where?”
I give her shoulder an affectionate squeeze.
“Heading out west to meet Marco's mum. But his dad's an asshole, so we need somewhere to sleep.”
“If this is the alternative accommodation, I'm guessing you mean way way out west?”
“Couple of days drive, yeah. No phone signal. No footpaths for two hundred k’s.”
“Shit.”
“Uh huh. Worth it though.”
Vonnie disappears for a moment.
She drags the heavy tent bag slowly across the floor.
I lift it with ease and sling it over my shoulder.
“Show off,” she grins. “Take a selfie when you get there, will ya? I've never seen you out in the wild.”
Carrying the bag toward my truck, I load it into the tray.
She follows me barefoot, squinting in the bright morning sun.
“You must love the fuck out of that man.”
Her tone is sincere.
For once she’s not mocking me.
“More every day,” I confess.
A gentle smile forms on my lips.
“And have you told him that?”
I fidget with the zipper on the bag, avoiding her stare.
“I whisper it to him when he's asleep most nights.”
She melts.
“But... are you gonna tell him, for real?”
“Of course I will.”
It’s only a matter of time.
“When?” she demands.
I shoot her a look.
“It’s not something to be rushed.”
Marco scares easily.
He’s been through a tonne.
And I can’t lose him.
Not over a few simple words.
“Don’t be a fucking wuss,” she says. “Tell him.”
“Who are you, the I Love You police?”
“Might be,” she grumbled.
“I don't know. Maybe I'll tell him this weekend.”
“How long have you known?”
Half a year, I muse.
Since I walked him back to his car after the pool that night.
“For a while,” I say.
Closing the tailgate I hook my arm around her shoulders.
“Thank you, Veronika.”
“Eww,” she recoils. “Never call me that.”
“Noted.”
Climbing back into the driver’s seat, I start the engine.
“Don't get cum all over my tent,” she warns.
“We'll leave the door unzipped,” I tease.
Driving away, I blow her a kiss.
She flips a middle finger in my rearview mirror.
But her smile is forgiving.
◆◆◆
Soon after I return from Talia’s, my phone buzzes on the dashboard.
Almost done xx
Marco emerges from the salon looking fine as fuck.
How on earth is he mine?
And how am I meant to behave, driving in close proximity for an entire week?
I wolf whistle from the window.
“Hey hottie, can I get your number?”
He opens the passenger door.
A musky aroma drifts on the breeze.
“That depends. Do your kisses leave a man weak at the knees?”
“Try me,” I dare.
The warmth of his mouth is soft and inviting.
Marco’s lips quiver, yielding to my touch.
And without words we say what needs to be said.
Every contour, every layer of him, provokes curious exploration.
My hand curls into his jacket, claiming him, in case there was any doubt.
We forget the world, letting desire consume us.
Sweet surrender to the rhythm of need.
Fire threads through my body, between my legs.
Pausing right on the cusp, I leave Marco to unravel there.
A casual tease of my hand confirms the swell down under.
“Knees weak?” I whisper.
He leans back against the headrest.
Eyes closed, breath faltering, he gives a subtle nod.
“To be continued?”
“To be continued.”
◆◆◆
The city loosens its grip as we drive closer to the A2.
Buildings shrink in height.
Industrial warehouses replace them.
Suburbs scatter further apart, separated by wide pockets of grass.
Tank full and tires checked, we reach Ipswich.
Nearing the overbridge, I pull over to the side.
“Remember what Sam was saying the other day?”
“Yeah.”
I hand him the keys.
“I think this should be your moment.”
Switching into the driver's seat, he adjusts the mirror half an inch.
His sandwich from earlier remains untouched.
Nervous is an understatement.
He takes a second to compose himself.
“What if I can't... what if I turn around again?”
His shoulders are tense and raised.
“Let's just go as far as Chinchilla,” I suggest. “Sweetest freshest heirloom melons in the Southern Hemisphere. Or so I read…”
“Watermelon?”
“Promised my crush I'd get him one for his birthday. Can't show up empty handed, can I?” Marco's nerves ease a little.
There it is. I’ve made him smile.
One hand on the wheel, he merges back onto the highway.
“Is your crush cute?” he asks.
My eyes burn into him in a way that answers the question.
“You’ve got it bad for this guy, don’t ya?” he teases.
“So much that I can't bear it,” I whisper.
◆◆◆
Just beyond noon, we’re scouting stacks of ripened fruit.
“It's only fair that we get a couple,” I say. “You scoffed the entire thing when you were seven, and now you’re a grown lad with an appetite.”
He spanks my ass.
But then we remember we’re not in the city anymore.
Perhaps it’s safer to tone the flirting down.
At least in public.
Carrying the melons back to the truck, we stash one in the chiller.
I wrap a second one in a towel on the back seat.
Grabbing a pizza to share, we satiate our hunger.
“Where to next?” I ask softly.
Marco tilts his head toward the highway.
“Charleville,” he announces. “They do a wicked steak and chips. And they have a planetarium.”
“Star nerd,” I laugh. “Want me to drive?”
“Nah. I like your truck too much to give it back.”
Marco is still on edge, but he tries to hide it with humour.
“Guess you’ll have to buy another.”
Fucking proud of you, I admit silently. I know part of you wants to turn around.
◆◆◆
The road unfolds beneath us.
He’s humming something familiar.
His elbow rests against the window frame.
I grab my sketchbook from the satchel.
An ink pen moves steadily across the page.
Wispy lines unfurl on paper.
I render a narrow strip slicing through endless land.
Wooden fences, pointing their fingers toward an endless open sky.
Power poles, fringing the side of the road.
Are these the same power lines my love followed years prior?
On the next page, I capture wedged paddocks in long geometric shapes.
Distant silhouettes of cattle.
The occasional farmhouse appears briefly before vanishing behind the trees.
Marco has grown quiet during the last half hour.
Deep in thought, no doubt.
For him, this landscape hits differently.
It represents the biggest decision he ever made.
The moment he escaped captivity.
For me, it feels expansive and beautiful.
A sense of freedom that allows you to breathe deeper.
A horizon that promises possibility.
The thing about Australia is, humanity flocks to the coastline in abundance.
Vibrant urban sprawls and beaches.
A colourful heartbeat along the rim.
But the middle is a melting pot of quiet solace.
No mighty inland cities to punctuate the drive.
This hollow echo commands stillness.
A desolate monotony, burned to a crisp.
And there’s so much beauty in that, if I allow myself to soak it in.
To slow down, to surrender.
But for my darling, it’s not just this stretch of road.
It's the direction we’re travelling in.
Toward the darkness, rather than away.
Toward takes twice as much courage.
This vast distance he fought so hard to put between him and his shadows is now decreasing, safe proximity shrinking.
And with that, a sense of powerless submission seeps in.