‘I’ll lend you some money.’
‘Over my dead body.’ She tucked close against him as they walked, melting into him though her tone still revealed a touch of hesitation. ‘It’s kind of you to offer but I don’t take loans—especially when I’m unsure how long it will take me to pay it back.’
‘I know you’re good for it.’
‘Doesn’t matter. I’ll finish out this contract, see where I am, and figure out my next move.’
‘Why are you so against asking for help?’ he asked drily.
‘I don’t need charity.’
They walked through the yacht club and down to where his boat was docked. On board, they sat on the cosy leather-lined seat that curved around the deck. Chantal found a spot next to him, sitting with her head and shoulders resting against his chest. He draped his arm over her and skimmed his fingers along her stomach. It was frighteningly intimate and comfortable. Familiar.
‘Haven’t you heard the saying Many hands make light work?’
‘Some of those hands get burned,’ she said. ‘I prefer doing things on my own. That’s how it was growing up and I like my independence. Nothing wrong with that.’
‘There’s a difference between being independent and being stubborn to the point of self-detriment.’
‘Asking for help hasn’t ever got me anywhere to date. I trust the wrong people.’
‘Do you think it’s wrong to trust me?’
‘I trust you as much as I’ll ever trust anyone, but I’m still my own person. I do my own thing. That’s why this isn’t anything but two friends enjoying one another while it lasts.’
‘Right.’
Raucous laughter floated on the breeze from a neighbouring boat. Chantal shifted against him, stroking his knuckles with her fingertips. It was a light touch, casual in its intimacy, and yet it flooded him with awareness. She was far from being out of his system. If anything, she’d burrowed herself deep without even trying. Without wanting to.
He couldn’t be falling for her—not when he had a life and a family in Queensland to get back to and she had a dream to follow. Different worlds. Disconnected goals. They were wrong, wrong, wrong.
‘Was everything really okay with your family today?’
A lump lodged in his throat. He didn’t want to talk about that now—not when Chantal had made it clear that there was nothing real between them. But then he would be a hypocrite, wouldn’t he? He couldn’t berate her for not accepting help if she was willing to lend an ear and he didn’t take it.
‘Nothing major. Lydia was having a bad day. It happens every so often.’ He rested his cheek against the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her faded flowery perfume and his coconut shampoo in her hair. ‘Ellen was on her own, trying to deal with it. But she’s only a kid herself—she needed help.’
‘Ellen’s the youngest, right?’
‘Yeah. She’s a good kid—they all are.’ He swallowed against the lump in his throat. ‘After the accident I was the one who looked after Lydia on a day-to-day basis. She listens to me. Whereas she’s big sister to the other girls and yet feels like she can’t do anything for them because of her paraplegia.’
‘I bet she’s grateful she had a big brother to take care of her.’
‘She would have preferred to have Dad around. If that didn’t make him come home nothing would. But the world didn’t stop turning because she couldn’t walk any more.’ He sighed. ‘Mum still had to bring home the bacon… the girls still had to get to school. I was the one who made sure she got to her appointments, made sure she did her exercises, helped her while she was still adjusting to her wheelchair.’
‘That must have been tough.’ Her hand curled into his and she snuggled farther down against him.
‘It’s hard to be away from them. Mum’s always working, and Dad just…’ He shook his head. ‘The guy can barely manage a call on their birthdays. He’ll disappear for months at a time, then show up out of the blue—usually because he needs money.’
‘Where does he disappear to?’
‘Who knows? He’s a painter, the creative type, and he always seems to be off somewhere unreachable. Then he comes back, tries to make amends with Mum, and it goes well for a while until he asks for money.’ Brodie cursed under his breath. ‘Every time it happens he breaks the girls’ hearts all over again… Mum’s included.’
‘And your mum’s okay with him coming and going?’
‘Not really—she did divorce him after all. But she puts her feelings for him before the girls.’ Brodie laughed, the sound sharp and hollow. ‘See? I told you my family wasn’t picture perfect.’
‘You don’t have to be the parent. You do know that, right?’
But he did have to. Whether he liked it or not, he was responsible for looking after those girls. They relied on him—on his advice, on his life experience, on his care. Especially Lydia.
‘You shouldn’t feel guilty for taking a little time away,’ she continued. ‘You have to live your own life.’
‘I am living my own life. I’m here, away from home, seeing my friends and spending time with you.’
‘And you feel guilty as all hell, don’t you?’
How could she read him like that? Silky hair brushed against his cheek. Her body was warm beneath his hands. How could she read him as though they were far more than friends who happened to be having very casual, very temporary sex?
‘I have a sense of obligation to my family. What kind of person would I be if I didn’t care?’
‘I’m not saying you should stop caring. But there are varying levels—it’s not all or nothing.’ She pushed up, leaning out of his grip. ‘Your dad is the one who needs to step up, here—he needs to commit to being a father.’
‘Only when hell freezes over.’
‘Have you ever talked to him about it?’
‘No point.’ He shook his head, tightening his grip on her.
In that moment she anchored him. Her questions were digging deep within him. Unlocking the emotion he’d tried to keep buried, allowing him to feel angry about his father. To see that he’d been suppressing the hurt in order to be a rock for his sisters and his mother.
‘Why? Do you think he deserves to shirk his responsibilities and have you pick up the pieces?’
‘Of course not. But that doesn’t mean I can let the girls go without.’
‘No, but maybe you’re in a position to try and push your father in the right direction.’ She sighed. ‘It might allow you to have a little more breathing room… to have the life that you want.’
‘I have everything I want.’ He gestured to the air. ‘Got my boat, got my business. I don’t want anything else.’
‘Don’t you?’
Pink flashed in front of his eyes as her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. She played with the ends of her hair, twirling the strands into a bun and then letting them spiral out around her shoulders.
‘Is that all you want out of life?’
Wrapping her arms around herself, she shivered. Tiny ridges of goosebumps patterned her skin.
‘Let’s go inside. I don’t want