Outback Secrets by Rachael Johns

Chapter Thirty-one

Henri blinked back tears as the door slammed behind Liam and Sheila, who’d scuttled off the bed after him as he’d fled the room.

What the hell just happened? One minute she’d been content in his arms after one of the best nights she’d had in forever, the next he’d been shoving her off as if she had some kind of contagious disease. All because she’d mentioned Christmas.

The tears broke forth and she swiped at them madly. Henri Forward did not cry over men. Not anymore, and especially not ones who were acting like wankers!

And Liam definitely had. Talk about overreacting. If he didn’t want to be her plus-one for lunch, so be it. He didn’t have to storm out like a toddler!

Sure, she’d been surprised at first, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t have come round if he’d given her a few moments to digest the news. She wasn’t unreasonable, she was simply tired, not to mention shocked by his aggressive reaction.

As she lay there wondering when he might come back, she tried to make sense of the way he’d behaved. Was he having second thoughts about their fling? Maybe he’d simply had enough of her and no longer wanted her in his space? Or maybe there was something deeper going on. Everything had been fine until she’d mentioned Christmas.

Oh my God. Of course.

She sat up quickly as everything clicked into place. Liam never put up Christmas decorations in the pub or played festive music. It was a local joke that he was a bit of a Grinch. She’d even heard people calling The Palace ‘Bar Humbug’.

The town didn’t know why he was like this, but maybe she did. Her heart felt heavy. What an insensitive fool she’d been.

Of course he wouldn’t want to spend Christmas Day with her family when he’d never see any of his own ever again. As much as the idea of anyone being alone at Christmas didn’t sit right with Henri, she did understand and the tears scrolling down her cheeks morphed from angry to melancholic.

She needed to talk to him. She needed to tell him she understood and that it was okay. If he didn’t want to do Christmas with her family, that was fine. If he wanted to be alone she’d respect that, but maybe she could suggest the two of them spend the day together instead? They could go for a drive and do some more geocaching. There were still four days until Christmas; surely her ankle would be better by then.

Her mother wouldn’t be pleased, but right now she was more concerned about Liam than anything else.

Already feeling a little better, she switched on the bedside lamp, threw back the sheet and swung into a sitting position, only to realise her problem.

Her crutches were still downstairs in the office.

She glanced around for something to use in lieu of them but found nothing. Using the bed for support, she pushed herself to a stand and then, slowly lifting her good foot off the ground, tested her weight on the bad one.

Pain shot from her ankle right up to her hip. Swear words spewing from her mouth, she flopped back onto the bed. She couldn’t help thinking that if her ankle was still this bad, maybe it wouldn’t be better by the time she had to leave the day after Boxing Day.

But she’d worry about that later. Right now, her only concern was checking on Liam. Making things right between them again.

Absentmindedly rubbing at her ankle, she eyed her mobile sitting on the bedside table. This wasn’t the kind of conversation she wanted to have over the phone, but what choice did she have? She could hardly hop all the way downstairs, and what if he wasn’t there? For all she knew, he could have gone into the studio or further afield.

She sighed and reached for the phone, her finger only hovering a few moments over his name before she pressed call.

Moments later, a ringing sounded from the floor on the other side of the bed.

‘Dammit!’ She threw her mobile down.

Of course he hadn’t taken his; people in a state like he’d been in didn’t think about stuff like that, but hopefully that meant he hadn’t gone far.

And, he’d have to come back eventually.

Predicting she wouldn’t be able to sleep until he did, Henri picked up her book and once again attempted to immerse herself in the pages.

* * *

Whiskey burning his mouth, Liam slammed his glass down onto the bar and stared into it as if it might have the answers to the mysteries of the universe. It didn’t. He knew that from experience, yet still he lifted it back up and took another sip.

Just in case.

Seconds later, repulsion washed through him as the liquid slithered down his throat. What a total asshole he’d been to Henri. She didn’t deserve the way he’d stormed out like a spoilt brat, simply because she’d made an assumption he’d join her family on Christmas Day. And it wasn’t a crazy assumption either. They were, after all, trying to fool her mother into thinking they had a future together. They’d come this far; would it have killed him to help her out one more day?

It was just a day after all. It might be the only day of the year he blocked out the rest of the world and let himself properly mourn his family, but did it have to be that day? He could always close the pub for two days in a row instead of the usual one and make Boxing Day the day in which he drank himself into a stupor.

He could also use it to mourn Henri’s departure, to mourn what had turned out to be an unexpected couple of weeks and undoubtedly the best sex of his life.

But no, aside from the fact he wouldn’t be able to avoid decorations and carols and other Christmas traditions that always brought the worst possible memories, spending such a monumental day with a woman’s family was all kinds of serious. And after their deep-and-meaningful conversation upstairs less than an hour ago, things already felt far too serious for his liking. They were supposed to be having meaningless sex, but the problem was it felt anything but meaningless. In their short time together, she’d rocked his world in a way that a fuck buddy was not supposed to do.

He lost his head around her. Take tonight for instance—the last time he’d had sex without protection was his very first time. He’d been a fumbling teenager, believing that risking pregnancy was better than the mortification of having to buy condoms.

But it wasn’t just the sex. He thought of the last couple of nights when he’d slept all the while holding Henri close. Not only had he not been visited by horrible flashbacks from his past, but he’d also had the best sleep he’d had since the shooting. Maybe he was just exhausted; it had only been a few nights. Didn’t necessarily mean anything.

Perhaps he was all over the place simply because this time of year messed with his head. Everything always felt worse in December. He’d been insane to embark on an affair this close to the anniversary of his family’s death.

Liam picked up the glass again, and only when he tried to lift it to his lips did he realise his hands were trembling. No, trembling didn’t even come close—they were honest-to-God convulsing. As if he were a junkie coming down from a high. And in a way that’s how he felt. He wanted Henri like an addict wanted their next hit.

This was not good.

It was too much. He had too much feeling pumping through his veins. He should go upstairs and apologise, but he didn’t want her to see him like this.

Still, sitting down here in the dark, trying to numb his emotions with booze wasn’t a good idea either. He’d spent years working hard not to become that person and he didn’t want to throw it all away.

Slamming the glass down, he whistled to Sheila, who’d curled into a ball in her usual spot behind the bar, and then he headed outside. Usually the warm, salty evening air in Bunyip Bay was like a balm to his soul, but tonight even being in the open air felt claustrophobic.

He picked up his pace as he headed towards the beach so that by the time he got there, he was running. He didn’t stop as his feet hit the cool sand; he wanted to run until his calves and lungs burned so hard that he couldn’t think about anything but the physical pain.

Although mostly dark on the beach, there was already the hint of dawn lighting his way just enough to see where he was going. Sheila ran alongside him, tiny crabs scuttling away into the ocean as they approached. He must have gone a couple of kilometres before she collapsed in exhaustion. Liam didn’t notice straight away, and by the time he sensed he was alone and turned to look, the dog was a good hundred metres behind him lying in the sand.

‘Fuck.’

He sprinted back towards her, almost tripping over his own feet in his desperation to get to her. He’d never forgive himself if the old girl had a heart attack or something because he’d pushed her too hard.

The hundred metres felt like a hundred kilometres, but finally he dropped to his knees and put his hand against Sheila’s thankfully heaving side. She lifted her head slightly to look up at him, before flopping it back down onto the sand.

‘Thank God,’ he breathed, burying his head in her speckled fur as tears spilled down his cheeks.

What a night. Yet, although his calves were burning and his heart still racing, his mind had not switched off. His head was still full of Henri and how right it felt having her around, having her in his bed of course, but also in his heart. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he suddenly knew with absolute certainty that he hadn’t felt this intensely about someone since Katie.

But he and Katie had been kids—practically babies. Two friends learning about sex and intimacy and what it meant to be a couple. Two innocents who perhaps didn’t even know the meaning of the word love.

Love?

Blood rushed to his head, and he saw spots in front of his eyes. Is that what he felt for Henri?

No, he couldn’t. They’d known each other such a short time and he didn’t allow himself to get to know the women he slept with.

But that there was the problem. Henri had snuck under his defences when they were merely pretending to be together. The difference between her and other women he’d slept with was that they’d become friends. Almost without him realising. One soul-baring conversation at a time, she’d succeeded in knocking down almost every one of his walls.

And this realisation scared the living hell out of him. Because love hurt. Love meant opening your heart to the possibility of loss. Losing his family and then Katie had almost destroyed him, and—thanks to her career—Henri would have to be one of the worst people in the world to fall in love with. Even though he’d tried to help her overcome her trauma, he hadn’t forgotten the statistics her mom had parroted at him.

The incidence of death and injury among ag pilots is over one hundred times Australia’s national average for all other work-related injuries.

Henri was one hundred times more likely to die than everyone else he knew. That may not be a rational thought, but it still felt like a punch to the guts.

Because he loved her. Whether or not he wanted to admit it, he was abso-fucking-lutely head over heels and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

But was the happiness he felt when he was with Henri—the lightness that had been absent from his life since the shooting—worth the risk? The thought of not being with her was almost as terrifying as the thought of being with her.

He would never be the guy that asked Henri to stop flying, so he’d always be on edge every time she was out of his sight. Every time she was up in the air, his heart would be up in his throat, wondering if he’d ever see her again. Ever hold her. Ever talk to her again.

He sighed and shoved his fingers through Sheila’s fur, looking for solace and maybe some kind of answers in her warmth.

But it wasn’t the dog that brought clarity; it was the realisation as he stared out at the vast, choppy ocean that he was almost in exactly the same spot, almost ten years to the day, that he’d decided to take his own life.

That couldn’t be a coincidence. It had to be a sign. A reminder.

When he’d stopped in Bunyip Bay after coming down the north coast of Western Australia, he’d been almost certain this idyllic spot would be his last. He’d been contemplating suicide for almost three years; travelling to Australia had been his last-ditch attempt to find meaning in his life. But as much as he’d enjoyed seeing all the amazing sights—the Great Barrier Reef, Uluru, the beautiful gorges of the Kimberleys—none of it gave him what he was looking for.

He was exhausted. He was tired of running. He couldn’t handle the pain any longer and the thought of facing yet another Christmas alone had finally pushed him over the edge.

His first couple of years in Australia, he’d stayed in youth hostels—not that he needed to, but it felt extravagant splashing out on fancy hotels or resorts just for him, and the shiny marble bathrooms and fluffy white towels always reminded him of his mom. It didn’t feel right to be enjoying such luxuries when she couldn’t, when none of his family could. Generally, he liked the people he met at hostels more than those he shared the elevators with in five-star hotels anyway.

But Christmas in hostels was unbearable.

Yes, there were lots of other single people without family to spend the day with, but for most of them that was simply because they were having an adventure far from home and they partied hard while making the most of it.

Liam never felt like partying anymore, least of all in December when every single decoration, Christmas carol and Santa hat reminded him of the worst day of his life.

So that year, he hadn’t booked anywhere to stay. He’d decided he wasn’t going to need it anyway. Unless he took his life in a hotel room, but that didn’t seem fair on whoever found him. He’d contemplated the best way to do it, always stumbling at the thought of the stranger who would discover him. What if a kid found him? He already felt enough guilt on earth; he didn’t want to take even more into the afterlife with him. Not that he believed in an afterlife, but that was beside the point.

He’d been thinking about exactly this as he swam in the bay and had come to the conclusion that swimming out as far as he could go, until he could swim no more, and letting the ocean take him would be the best option. It was unlikely anyone would ever notice him missing. Perhaps a shark would get him and if not, hopefully his body would drift somewhere far, far away where nobody would ever find him.

And what better place to say goodbye than in Bunyip Bay, which had to be one of the most beautiful beaches he’d seen across all of Australia?

Feeling calmer than he had in years, he’d gone to The Palace for his final meal and a few beers, planning to come back down to the beach that night and swim out to the horizon. If he hadn’t met Arthur McArthur, he felt certain he’d have followed through, but the old publican had seen something in his eyes.

When he’d brought him his dinner and a pint, he’d sat across the table from him and asked him questions that his therapist had asked him in the early days, but without the tone or the watching of the clock that had always made him feel like shit.

Arthur had listened. Really listened.

Liam couldn’t even explain it, but there’d been something about Arthur that had made all the difference to him. He suddenly saw an alternative option—a path where he could try and make a difference to others in the same way.

He hadn’t killed himself, obviously. Instead, he’d bought the pub and thrown his heart and soul into running it, but neither had he forgotten that dark, dark time. He’d made a life for himself here, but he worked hard every day to keep his demons at bay—he swam, he made things, he helped others, and he also took anti-depressants.

Hisdemons. Demons that had pushed Katie away.

Demons that could hurt Henri in the same way. The last week had been fun, but it couldn’t stay that way forever. If they got together properly, there would be days, weeks, when he struggled to get out of bed, and that was the kind of burden Henri didn’t need in her life. Possibly he was jumping the gun; he wasn’t even sure she felt the same way about him as he did about her, but he couldn’t take the risk.

Liam sat with Sheila, watching the sun come up, and then, his heart heavy, he did what he needed to do. This wasn’t just about self-preservation.

Most importantly, it was what was best for Henri.