Leave Me Breathless

‘Cry,’ I quip, coming to a stop.

‘Very funny.’ Unclipping her belt, she dives across the cab and lands a wet kiss on my cheek. ‘Be good.’

‘Yeah, yeah.’ I shove her away halfheartedly. ‘Clear off.’

I look up when I hear someone squeal my daughter’s name, seeing a young girl dancing out of the grand entrance. ‘Hazel!’ Cabbage shrieks in my ear, making me flinch, before scrambling out of the truck. She flies across the driveway and into the arms of her cousin, and they proceed to dance around in circles together.

‘Goodness gracious, look at the state of you.’ Darcy throws a glare my way and marches over to the truck, getting up close to make sure her words aren’t heard by the girls. ‘She looks like a homeless stray.’

‘She looks like a kid who’s had fun,’ I retort quietly. ‘There’s more to life than appearances.’

She looks me up and down on a curled lip. ‘Obviously.’

‘Oh, come on, Darcy,’ I coo, reaching out of my truck and cupping her check. She stills, and I know it’s because she’s remembering the last time I touched her. I bet amid this perfect life full of luxury there are a few things missing. ‘You hunted me down like a wolf eleven years ago.’ And she caught me. Okay, so I was under the influence of alcohol and my balls were blue after a particularly long drought, but I can’t deny, she’s a fine-looking woman on the outside. Even if she’s ugly as sin on the inside.

Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t remove herself from my touch. ‘It was a mistake. I . . . I . . .’

‘Loved every second,’ I finish for her confidently, because I’m right. She purred like a pussycat all night long. And then panicked in the morning because God forbid Lord and Lady Hampton found out that their precious daughter had bedded an animal like me. ‘Bet it’s missionary all the way with Casper, right? Does he shower straight after?’ I let a little gasp escape. ‘Does he make you shower before?’

‘Fuck you, Ryan.’

‘That’s really no way for a lady to speak, Darcy. What would Mummy and Daddy say if they heard such vulgar language coming from their precious daughter’s mouth?’

Her pink lips straighten. ‘You’re disgusting.’

‘And you, dear Darcy, need a good fucking to loosen you up. Good luck with that.’

‘Fuck y—’

‘Mum?’

I quickly remove my hand from Darcy’s face, giving her a cheeky wink, and she proceeds to try to compose herself. It’s quite amusing. She’s flustered. Still affected by me, even though I’m sure she fucking hates me. Good. The feeling’s mutual. Damn my blue balls. But then Alex appears, looking rather concerned, and I retract my previous thought. I can’t damn my blue balls. They’re the reason I now have my Cabbage.

‘Hey, precious,’ Darcy sings, her voice shaky. On a swallow and a flick of her eyes to mine, she turns toward our daughter. ‘I was just talking to Ryan.’

‘You mean Dad,’ Alex corrects, and I smile. ‘He’s my dad, Mum.’

‘Yes, your dad.’ She may as well have spat it out.

‘What about?’

‘Oh, just this and that.’ Claiming Alex, she walks her up the gravel drive. ‘Let’s get you cleaned up and ready for dinner.’ Looking over her shoulder, Darcy shoots me down with another glare, trying to win back some dignity. It’s hilarious. I sound my horn and pull away.

So . . . what am I going to do with myself now? Once again I feel like my right arm is missing. I get to the end of the driveway and sit idle for a few minutes. I could turn left and go home. Tomorrow will come quicker if I hit the sack. Or I can turn right and head to the pub for a beer.

I indicate right and pull out.Chapter 8HANNAH

Karaoke. What was I thinking? But when Molly showed up and asked me if I fancied a drink, I really did. Or needed one. She neglected to mention that tonight is karaoke night, one of the most popular nights at the pub. It’s packed, and the noise is cutting as Hampton’s finest take to the stage. Mrs Hatt is currently hogging the mike, delivering her version of ‘What’s New Pussycat’. She actually sounds like a cat, too. One that’s being strangled.

I cringe and take refuge in my wine. ‘She’s been spending too much time with her pussies,’ I mumble around the rim of my glass. ‘Good Lord, kill me now.’

Molly starts chuckling as she cracks open our second bottle. ‘Well, you know what they say.’

‘What do they say?’

‘If you can’t beat them—’

‘Don’t join them,’ I hold out my glass for her to top up. ‘There is not a chance in hell you’ll get me on that stage.’ I inspect the makeshift platform that looks like something Bob threw together in an emergency. ‘And not only because I don’t want to sing. That stage looks like it could collapse any second.’ Mrs Hatt isn’t helping, flinging her old body around it with gusto.