Hudson’s stomach fell away, and he downed the orange and vodka in two gulps as Bluey continued. ‘I wanted you to hear it from me, not by a second-hand phone call after one of the geezers here rang to invite you to my funeral.’
Hudson wanted to say something, anything, to make this better. He remained silent, anger and regret roiling in his gut alongside the vodka.
‘And before you go getting all sentimental on me, stop.’ Bluey thumped his fist against the bar. ‘I’ve been around for sixty-one years and been lucky enough to run this place for most of it. So don’t feel sorry for me. I’ve had a good inning. And enjoyed sucking back on each and every one of those bloody cancer sticks that gave me this bugger of an illness.’ He thumped his chest. ‘So now you know. What’s happening with you?’
The ache of impending loss blossomed in Hudson’s chest. He’d experienced the same feeling before, the night he’d strode into Le Chat and seen Mak stripping on stage. In that moment he’d laid eyes on her, wearing a thong and little else, he’d known they were over.
And when she’d removed that thong...there’d been no coming back from that, and he grieved the loss of their friendship almost as much as he’d grieved the mother he’d never known.
This time he waited until the ache eased. Took his time formulating a response. If he’d done the same thing with Mak back then, maybe they would’ve had a chance.
When the lump in his throat finally subsided, Hudson said, ‘Thanks for telling me but damn, it’s fucked up.’
‘Yeah, Squirt, it is, but what’s a man to do?’ Bluey shrugged and blinked rapidly. ‘Tell me something to take my mind off it.’
‘Mak auditioned for me today.’ The words tripped out in haste and he instantly regretted them because if he’d cottoned on to Bluey’s crush on Julia the old guy definitely noticed his on Mak and had teased him endlessly about it.
‘How’s she doing?’
‘Good.’ Hudson ignored the knowing glint in Bluey’s astute gaze. ‘She’s got talent. I’m casting her as the lead dancer in the revue I’m producing at Embue.’
‘Well, well, well.’ Bluey folded his arms, his grin smug. ‘This should be interesting.’
‘We’ll be working together in a professional capacity,’ he said, sounding like a pompous ass and hoping he could keep it that way.
He needed to delineate clear boundaries from the start: he would be Mak’s boss, she’d need to follow his orders. He couldn’t afford to blur lines. Not when he had no frigging idea how he’d go seeing her dance for him every single day. Just because he’d coped at her audition didn’t mean he had a grip on his memories.
Seeing her dance for those few minutes already had him thinking about her way too much and imagining how their future interactions would go, professional or otherwise.
Bluey sniggered. ‘I have no idea why you two fell out and I haven’t seen that darling girl in years but you tell her I said hi. And if you’ve got half a brain in that big head of yours, you’ll treat her right this time.’
‘What do you mean, this time?’
Bluey rolled his eyes. ‘Because, numbskull, it’s always the man’s fault, and if you haven’t figured that out by now, you’re thicker than I thought.’
Hudson managed a wry grin. ‘I’m going to miss you.’
‘Right back at you, kid.’ Bluey’s eyes glistened before he turned away to cough, the harsh sound raising the hairs on the back of Hudson’s neck.
Life wasn’t fair. He’d figured that out pretty damn early when his mum did a runner and he was left in the custody of a mean drunk. But losing Bluey would hit hard and he knew it.
When Bluey’s cough petered out, he turned back around. ‘Now get the hell out so I can do some work.’
‘Propping up the bar, you mean?’ Hudson stood, moved around the bar, and enveloped him in another hug. ‘You call me, okay? Any time, day or night, if you need anything.’
‘Thanks, kid.’ Bluey shoved him away with half-hearted force. ‘You always were a soft touch.’
Not always. Hudson had taken a hard stand with Mak and look how that had turned out.
‘I’ll pop in next week,’ he said, and Bluey saluted in response, his mouth downturned and worry clouding his eyes.
Bluey had said he had months to live but with a death sentence hanging over him, Hudson understood the old guy would be living each day as his last.
The injustice of it all swamped him anew and he headed for the door, desperate for air before he bawled. He stumbled outside, and it took a while until his eyes adjusted to the sudden glare and he made for the nearby fountain, slumping onto a bench next to it.
Tourists streamed by, snapping pics with their phones or giggling excitedly about being in Australia’s most notorious suburb.
To him, Kings Cross would always be home in a way no one could understand unless they’d lived here. Unless they’d braved the back streets. Unless they’d used every ounce of savviness to survive.
Mak understood. And catching up with Bluey had clarified his situation with her in a way he could never have anticipated.
Life was too short to hold on to the past. Ironic, he’d strived so hard to become successful and put the past behind him yet here he was, back where it all started, feeling as lost and lonely as he had back then.
He’d come a long way. Mak probably had, too. He had no right to judge her. Not any more.
When she came in tonight, he’d keep an open mind. Be friendly. Try to forget the past and focus on the future.
They both deserved that.
MAK STRODE INTO Embue as if she owned the place, confident that she’d achieved the impression she’d aimed for and then some.
Smoky eyes. Siren-red lips. Sleek blow-dried hair. Killer heels. And a strapless, knee-length, figure-hugging emerald sheath that had got her more second dates than she could count.
Earlier today, auditioning for Hudson had rattled her. Tonight, she wanted to assert her dominance and show him who was boss.
A tad overdramatic, maybe, and in reality she’d have to be deferential and respectful because she really needed this job. But dressing like this ensured she felt good and the way her insides quivered with nerves she needed all the help she could get.
Her mum had taught her many life lessons, and dress to impress had been one of them. It didn’t matter whether she was doing a yoga class early on a Saturday morning or picking up groceries on her way home, she always wore lipstick and mascara. She felt naked without them. And while her budget might be verging on dire, she managed to find outfits at second-hand shops that garnered compliments.
As she caught sight of herself in one of the many mirrors lining the club, she squared her shoulders and stood tall. She could do this. Meet with Hudson. Convince him to hire her. Dance her ass off for however long this show ran. Definitely doable.
Until she caught sight of him striding towards her, and her tummy went into free fall, her confidence following suit.
This was Hudson.
The guy she’d secretly crushed on for years.
The guy she’d idolised.
The guy who’d been the best friend a girl could wish for.
The