Chapter 12
Day Five
It’s not what they show of the Episode 5 debacle that provokes a surge of blinding white heat in me. Although it should.
They make a big deal of the part where I have the director’s shirt front twisted in my fist, with the other clenched like I want to hit him. I thought I showed amazing restraint, because I did want to hit the prick. But I didn’t—because I’m not the thug they’ve made me appear here.
And I can still feel the humiliating pressure of that security guy’s hand on my head as he pushed me down into the back seat of the car. Like a cop forcing a criminal under arrest into a squad car. I watch myself shrug the bastard off, pissed they’re making me look like the bad guy; as if I wasn’t going willingly. By that stage, I was more than happy to leave, even if it meant walking to the coast and swimming back to the mainland.
But no, it’s what they don’t show that unleashes a hot rush of fury, causing my nostrils to flare, turning my knuckles white from tension and my mouth thick with disbelief. And, because of what they’ve relegated to behind the scenes, the viewing public will be as confused as Haley. She turns to me, eyes doubled in size, mouth dropped open, as on screen the car speeds down the metal driveway, whisking me away from the nightmare that was Wild For the Win .
Then, in unison, our eyes turn back to watch the aftermath, as the stream of misinformation flows from the sickening pair of morons fronting this whole disaster.
“Well Bernard, it seems some people just aren’t cut out for this show,” Lisa Mayberry croons with a rueful smile and a toss of her blonde mane. Bitch. She’s only sickly sweet when the cameras are rolling.
Back in the studio, Bernard tuts and shakes his head, before stepping into the audience and asking for comments. They aren’t complimentary, but at least I take some consolation when most people express disappointment. Many admit, up until that point, they really liked me; they wanted me to win.
They still would, if only they knew what triggered this whole thing. They’d realise it wasn’t just some aggressive male provoked into finally revealing his true colours by a simple request. They’d know those bastards asked me, and everyone else there, to do something horrific. And Loreena and I were the ones who stood alone against it.
I snatch at the remote, stabbing my finger on the button. I don’t need to see any more of this crap .
“What happened, Christian?”
Haley’s voice is gentle, her brows narrowed in a concerned frown as she angles her body towards me. She’s not stupid, and now she knows me better, she can see there’s more to this.
“Tell me what happened. Your secret’s safe with me. I won’t tell. Even under oath.” Her mouth tugs up at one corner, and I’m flooded with tenderness for this sweet girl.
She doesn’t need to offer me a guarantee. She’s trusted me with her most precious possessions, her dogs, and I can trust her with the truth. I drag in a breath and begin.
“So, you saw them announce the challenge? The ‘hunter gatherer’?”
“Yeah, so you were meant to find your food—catch fish or something? Find some edible plants?”
“That’s right. They provide fishing rods, even some bait. And a book on plants—which ones will kill you, those which will give you a guts ache, and those that are safe. But there was something else in that kit you didn’t see. I know they have footage showing it. The cameras were rolling all the time, but they’ve cut it. At least my tantrum might have had some effect.”
The amount they edited out was huge, including every glimpse of the item that sent me over the edge.
“What?” She inclines her head, a deepening frown. Maybe she expects it’s a hunting bow; perhaps a gun. Both kill swiftly. Either would have been preferable to the cruel invention lurking in that box. I tell her.
“A snare. A loop of wire. When an animal steps into it, the wire closes around it. Traps it there. Until someone turns up to finish it off by whatever method they choose. ”
“Ugh,” she shudders, her nose crinkling, making her faint freckles dance. “That’s awful. I know I shouldn’t be so squeamish about the thought of killing animals for food, not when I enjoy a good steak, but I can’t imagine having to do it myself. A bit hypocritical, really.”
“No,” I reassure. “You’re no different from most people who grow up in the city. When you’re from a farm, you’re closer to the reality of how meat gets from the field to the table. So I can live with the killing, as long as it’s done humanely. But there’s no such thing as a humane snare.”
“Are they even legal, then?” she asks. “Shouldn’t they ban them?”
“They are banned in some places, or at least strictly regulated. Not in Scotland. The rules there are more lenient than anywhere else. For now, anyway.” I’ve never felt the need to be a crusader, however, this time, it’s personal. “But I intend to do something about that.”
“So that’s what got you kicked out?”
“Yep. When I found it, I just saw red. Especially when I heard some of the other teams actually planning to try it out. If they could imagine the terror an animal must feel caught like that. If they could see the damage it can do…”
My voice cracks. It was years ago, but still a tidal wave of emotions rises up, crushing me with memories as vivid as if they were yesterday.
“And you have.” She’s looking at me with those big green eyes, mossy and soft with empathy.
“Yeah, my dog. Jet. He went missing one day. Dad kept saying not to worry, dogs roam, he’d come back. But he didn’t. After three days, I went out searching for him. Found him miles away, in the forest bordering the farm. And when I found him…”
“That’s how he lost his leg. ”
With a bob of my head, I confirm it. Although, I don’t recall telling Haley that Jet only had three legs, but I must have. I sure enjoyed talking about him with her the other day. It’s something we share; this deep love of dogs that’s impossible to explain to someone who doesn’t have it.
“He’d tried to get out. Mangled his leg beyond saving. He was dehydrated. Hungry. And the look in his eyes, like he’d given up, lost all hope. It took a while for him to even register it was me and I could help him.”
My eyes well up, and I blink furiously. Haley’s small hand reaches up to cup my cheek. Delicate fingers smooth away the tear that has spilled over. Slender arms lace behind my neck and she nuzzles into my shoulder. It’s still sore from the attack of the ninja nurse, but I don’t flinch. One hand smooths my hair, offering soothing strokes.
She raises her head from my shoulder, leaning in to press her forehead against mine. I breathe in the smell of her, like cinnamon and honey. With eyes closed, I’m revelling in her nearness. If I wanted to kiss her now—and it takes every ounce of self-control not to—it would be so easy. But I dare not.
“You did. You saved him,” she whispers.
“Yeah, me and a local vet who refused to put him down.”
My voice is hoarse at the memory of how, even though I found Jet, I still came so close to losing him. Even though I’d managed to carry him home, stumbling through the forest, my arms aching with the weight. Even though I convinced Dad not to put a bullet in him around the back of the barn. I fought for Jet. Like I’m going to fight to ban this barbaric invention, for him and for all those other animals .
“That’s what Dad said she should do. I’ve never forgotten that vet. She totally ignored him. She looked at me and said, ‘This is your dog. What do you want, Christian?’ Even though Dad was right there. God, he was pissed off with her. Insisted I pay the bill. He never knew she waived most of it.”
Haley slides back, releasing me from her embrace, but I’ll carry the warmth with me for a while.
“We’re going to fight them, Christian. For Jet.” There’s fire in her eyes.
“We are,” I say, my heart leaping at that little word ‘we’.
Me and Haley. In this together. And maybe from this, something more could grow. The possibility ignites a flutter of hope in my chest.
“Right now, I think we need a drink,” she announces. “Name your poison.”
She’s right. A little numbing solution would be welcome. Might help me sleep, given the anger that pulses inside me every time I think of the way those arseholes at Wild For The Win have stitched me up.
“I’m sure Ollie’s got a decent whisky stashed somewhere. How about that?” I suggest.
My friend, exposed to the good things in life, now considers himself a bit of a connoisseur. Haley’s already rummaging in an antique drinks cabinet, and who knows what expensive plonk she’s going to find.
“Good idea,” she says. “Payback for the radio silence, too. I haven’t even had a single text for days. Serves him right for ignoring us if we drink his whisky.”
“To be fair, Ollie did warn me he’d be off grid most of this trip. ”
“Me too.” There’s a sly grin on her face. “More fun if we pretend he didn’t and we’re drinking his whisky as punishment.”
While this should rank up there as one of the worst nights of my life—since millions of people have now seen me portrayed as an aggressive arsehole on national television—it doesn’t.
With a clink of glasses, we toast to fighting the bastards at Wild For The Win and settle back onto the couch. A good whisky in my hand, a beautiful girl leaning into me, the two of us flanked by dogs—it’s a perfect picture. I grab the remote and within minutes, the opening scenes of Home Alone are rolling across the screen. Haley grins up at me.
“Great choice. Thank you,” she says.
Now it’s a perfect picture.
By the time the movie ends, we’re both sleepy, lulled by the fire and the whisky. Reluctantly, I stand, immediately feeling regret at the loss of her warm body against me. I extend a hand and help her to her feet.
With the other, I grab at my phone and ram it into the back pocket of my jeans. It’s on silent and that’s how it’s going to stay after the steady stream of texts and calls lighting it up for the past three hours. I didn’t bother to read any, or even check who they’re from. I know who will have been hunting me, and I know what they’re going to say: you fucked up Christian. Big time. Tell me something I don’t know. Better still, tell someone who cares .
“Don’t worry about this.” I survey the rubble of empty glasses, a half-eaten packet of crisps, and the pieces of stray popcorn littering the couch.
Haley insisted we have an interval in the movie so she could make a bowl of popcorn, salty and dripping with a decadent helping of butter. We scoffed it down in handfuls, but as always, some escaped. Strangely, after leaping to vacuum it up, the dogs screwed up their noses and left it littering the rug. Fussy little shits.
“You’re sure?” she says, brows slanting in a small frown.
“Of course, and I’ll take the dogs to my room again, too. You have work tomorrow.”
“Yep, and that’s why I shouldn’t have had three whiskies,” she says, swaying a little.
I slip an arm around her waist and guide her down the hallway to her bedroom door, as the dogs make a beeline for the back door to the garden and sit there waiting expectantly for a toilet stop.
“You’ll be fine,” I say, smiling at her beautiful upturned face, the faint glow of the alcohol painting her cheeks a delicious shade of pink.
“So will you,” she says, stepping in and folding herself against me.
My arms come up to wrap her tight. It feels so damn good, and I stand there drinking in the comforting press of her small weight. It’s not lust that grips me—though god knows if we stand here like this much longer, my eager cock will decide to make its presence felt—but a deep need for this person, for everything she is and everything she could be.
Something has shifted between us tonight. And it’s not only the whisky. It happened before that. Somehow, these things Haley and I are going through together have brought us closer. We may be different in so many ways, but in the ways that really matter, we’re the same.
I sigh, wishing we hadn’t drunk that whisky. Because if we hadn’t, I would risk taking this further. But I’m not prepared to, not while there’s any doubt she’d be going into it fully aware. I’m not a guy who takes advantage of a girl, especially one whose guard is down after a few drinks. Especially not this girl. Ollie would have my balls.
And her guard is down. I know it when she rises up on tiptoes, murmurs, “Thanks for everything, Christian,” and places a feather-light kiss on my mouth.
I can’t help but respond, my lips finding a home against hers, then I pull back gently. We’ll go there again sometime. But not tonight.
“Thank you . For everything,” I say. “Goodnight, Haley.”
She peels away from me with a sweet smile and disappears to where I can’t follow—not yet.
I stand there in the hallway, stunned, watching the door close behind her, running my hand through my hair, still processing the events of the evening. Until the whimper of a dog draws my attention to the job at hand. I open the back door and Tully and Mularkey make a dive for the grass. I’m not worried that these two are probably going to be at me to go out half a dozen times before dawn. I doubt I’ll be sleeping much, anyway.