Each question pounded on the wall he’d built to protect himself. Cracks began to form.
“I’ve got commitments,” he managed. It was his standard response. The military as a mistress had been a damned good excuse over the years. He was deployed over Christmas and Easter regularly. His family didn’t know he’d requested it.
“Bullshit. It wouldn’t have taken much time to call Mum. Once a year on her birthday didn’t cut it. She made excuses for you, but I could see in her eyes she was disappointed.”
Brandon wanted to press his fingers into his ears and block out Darcy, but his brother was on a run now.
“Did you know Georgie tried to visit you when she was at uni?”
She’d stopped by a couple of times, but he didn’t spend much time at his house. “Shut up, Darce. You don’t know shit.”
It was the wrong thing to say, but as Darcy drew in a breath to retort, they rounded the bend.
His parents’ four-wheel drive was still on its roof, the ute’s headlights reflecting off the white surface, the body crumpled, windscreen smashed and police tape surrounding it. “Stop the car.”
Darcy pulled over without comment, turning the car so the lights shone on the wreck.
Brandon fumbled for the door handle and got out. On the rear window was a faded sticker proclaimingI love horses.He took a closer look. Shit. It was the same car they’d had when he’d left, the car which had taken them to many gymkhanas, and now it was destroyed. For it to be that far into the bush it had to have rolled a few times. He could imagine his mother’s screams as it did. The same anguish he’d heard in her voice only once before. No. He squeezed his eyes shut. Don’t go there.
Behind him the car engine stopped, and a door closed. Footsteps crunched over the red dirt as Darcy joined him.
Silence. Deep and endless.
“Who was driving?” His question was almost offensively loud in the night.
“Dad.”
Brandon frowned. That couldn’t be right. “He wouldn’t have been going that fast around the bend.” It was the one thing his father had droned on about when he’d taught Brandon to drive. Bends were often deceptive, always approach with caution. And with decades of experience on this road, his father knew every inch.
“Maybe he was worried about missing the boat.”
“No signs of a ’roo?” He slid down the gravel decline and walked closer, saw the blood around the door frame and clenched his teeth, looking away.
“None.”
It made no sense. “What did the police say?”
“Priority was getting Mum and Dad out. Major Crash Investigation are coming up from Perth tomorrow.”
He’d be interested in what they had to say. He ran a hand across his cropped hair. Darcy’s face was in shadow and his arms wrapped around himself like he was cold.
He couldn’t imagine what it would have been like finding the crash. He stepped closer. “Darcy, I’m sorry you had to find them.”
Darcy spun around, strode back to the ute. “You can look more in the morning.”
Silence stretched between them for the remainder of the drive. Brandon’s skin prickled as they drove through the wide gate, passing the sign Charlie had made weeks before he was killed.Retribution Ridge. An angry looking ram staring out at them.
Nausea swelled and he fought the urge to jump out and walk back to town. Darcy pulled up in front of the farmhouse, a solitary porch light illuminating the verandah. His mother had always left the light on for him on the odd occasion he’d gone into town to meet friends.
“The house is full. You’ll have to sleep in the shearers’ quarters,” Darcy said as he closed the car door. “Just don’t take the first two rooms. They’re occupied.” Without another word, he headed inside, closing the door quietly behind him—never mad enough to forget the others who would already be asleep.
Brandon sighed and trudged the short distance across the yard. In the dark he could make out the shape of the machinery shed, and behind that, the sheep pens and shearing shed. He used the torch on his phone to ensure he got the right room and dumped his bag on the floor. The single bed was unmade and there was no linen in sight, but he’d slept in more uncomfortable places. He kicked off his shoes and lay down. After over a decade he was back at the Ridge. The ceiling stared back at him, dark and judgmental.
He shouldn’t be here. He didn’t deserve to be here. His family didn’t want him here.
He inhaled deeply. Red dirt and lanolin.
Home.
