His hold on my hand continued as we exited the car and went to his apartment door, never breaking contact. He used an electronic keypad to gain entry to the foyer and steered me towards the lift, swiping again and pressing the button for the top floor. When the lift opened, there were only two doors in the foyer at the top. He walked to the one on the left.
He put his keys into a wooden bowl on a marble-topped console table at the entrance and walked into the flat. I walked down three steps, which led to an open-plan living area that was bigger than my entire house. The kitchen was white marble, the furniture tan leather. Huge black-and-white artworks decorated the walls. It was masculine, but somehow managed to still be comfortable and homely. There was glass everywhere and high ceilings and the glittering lights of Sydney harbour for the view. It was beyond beautiful.
He walked through the lounge and down a hallway, opening a door.
‘This is my sister Evelyn’s room. There should be some of her clothes in the drawers, and you should find something that fits you. She has a bathroom in there.’
Sister?I walked into the room, which was also beautiful. All cream with coral accents. The bathroom was done stylishly in black-and-white subway tiles with black taps.
There was a mirror, and I looked at myself briefly. My face was pale from the day, and I looked drawn. My makeup had held up pretty well, despite the tears, but there was a streak of blood across my cheek. Oliver’s blood. I took a shuddering breath.
I undid my buttons with shaking hands. Oliver’s blood had stained through my navy shirt onto my skin. Turning on the shower, I stood under it for a good five minutes before working at washing the blood off me. There was a heavenly scented body wash and, after ten more solid minutes under the running water, I reluctantly stepped out and dried myself off on the fluffiest of white towels.
I tentatively peeked into Evelyn’s drawers and there looked to be a basic supply of odds and ends, things that were evidently left behind whenever his mystery sister – who I had never heard of until a few minutes ago – was last in Sydney. I found some trackpants that fit me and a stretchy singlet, which would mean I didn’t need a bra.
I headed down the hall in the direction I thought was the lounge room. As I walked past a door, I heard another shower running and stopped, putting my ear to the wood. Part of me wanted to go in, to comfort him, and give him anything he needed to feel better. The decision was made for me when I heard glass shatter.
I marched straight in, ready to fend off whatever demons he was fighting. By the time I reached him, the shower had stopped, and he was standing there naked, dripping wet and bleeding. He had put his hand through a glass shelf in the shower; it lay shattered on the dark-grey tiles.
‘Jesus,’ I muttered.
His hand was bleeding, and a shard had nicked his leg.
I handed him a bath towel, and then reached for the hand towel and held it to his leg to staunch the bleeding of a Northby brother for the second time that day. He started sobbing then: hard, harsh cries that echoed in his chest and throat.
‘I’m so scared, Abbey, I’m so fucking scared.’ He was shaking, his eyes on the ground. ‘What if he’s not okay? I put too much pressure on them. I’m not a fun brother. We are all that we have. I don’t say I love you enough. I cannot bury another person I love. I cannot do it; I will not survive that. It would break me. I can’t do it, Abbey. I never want to be in that dark place again. I cannot lose my little brother. It’s my fucking job to protect them!’
I put my body against his, rising up on tippy-toes to put my face to his face, whispering his name, and told him everything was going to be all right, although I did not know that.
I kissed his temple and left my lips there, praying that anything I did would be of some solace to him. This glimpse into how much death had touched his life was illuminating, though.
He rested there against me while his sorrow drained.
I noticed the moment his lips began moving against my throat, his grip changing from taking comfort from me to needing me, his fingertips digging into my sides, pulling me into his body further. I must have given some indication of need too, although what sign it was, I would never know, but he picked me up and carried me to his bed.
When the back of my legs met the mattress, he placed me gently back down on my feet with reverent care. His beautiful, bereft eyes looked into mine and an unspoken conversation between us took place.
I reached up, taking his face in my hands, placing my lips firmly on his in answer, and he responded to my consent with immediate abandon.
He parted my lips with his tongue, tasting my mouth, biting at my lips. His hands were everywhere, pinching at my nipples through the thin material of the singlet and trying to get my borrowed track pants down.
His erection was between us, and I ran my hand down his chest and then down the length of him while stepping on the cuff of my pants, trying desperately to remove them. He felt exactly as I remembered him, and his eyes closed at my touch. He pressed his forehead into me, kissing my jaw, his nose in my cheekbone. He took off my top, his mouth claiming my nipples, making me issue involuntary noises. My knees were growing weak with desire, and I slid down onto the firm mattress, parting my legs for him.
He continued to lick and nip at my body while he positioned himself and then plunged into me as deep as he could.
‘Nick,’ I moaned his name.
‘Do you have any idea how hard it has been, being near you, under the same sky, in the same city, and not doing this? I think about you all day. You haunt my dreams at night.’
I was so turned on; I knew if he moved an inch, I would come. I tried wriggling myself, but I was pinned to the bed by him.
‘Do you know what is terrifying, though?’ His voice, normally commanding, was uncertain, throaty, raw, and somehow made my chest ache. ‘It’s not the thought of the sex, Abbey. What terrifies me are the thoughts that I want to take care of you. I want you never to worry about anything, ever again, or face any challenge by yourself. The thought that I want to come home to you, cook your dinner, watch you eat the entire meal, be a great stepdad to your kid. Paint your fucking walls. Be the kind of man who is friends with your sister and loves your gran.’
I was ready to confess all. I wanted these things too and so much more. That he wasn’t alone in his dreams, that I cared for him. That I loved his brother like he was my own. That I had fallen in love with him.
‘But it’s not who I am, Abbey. That’s not who I am. I made a promise to myself. Never again, not anymore. I cannot take the risk.’
Jesus Christ, who was he trying to convince here?
