“So why don’t you tell me? It’s just us. It’s just me. Why don’t we talk?”
She licked her dry lips. She felt no fear as she looked into his face. A face she’d loved for longer and better than she’d ever loved any man. Because she could admit that now. She loved him. Not as a friend. As a man. As her man.
“Do you mean it?” she whispered. “Do you want me to try and tell you everything?”
He took her hand and held it between his. “Yes. Whatever’s holding you back… just let it out. Whatever happens, it’s my fault, remember?”
Her chest loosened, the way it had that morning in his kitchen. The still-sober part of her knew her mental lifeboat was knee-high with water and her ability to resist giving all of herself to Patrick was shrinking by the second. But was that so bad?
The thought came clear as a bell. Drown.
Looking into the golden brown eyes of the person she loved, Cheryl decided to listen. To remove all stopgaps from her leaking vessel and simply sink into him.
14
One year before the yacht party
The wedding was winding down. Most of the families had left at midnight and the DJ was veering into dangerous territory. ‘The Chicken Dance.’ ‘My Humps.’ That Greek song where people kicked their legs around and invariably hurt one another.
Patrick was nursing a beer on one of the back tables. He’d been up since six doing groomsman things for his brother. All he wanted was to go to bed. If he was in Melbourne he’d have snuck away, but he was crashing at his parents’ place in Rockingham and both of them were still going strong.
The honking opening bars of ‘I Gotta Feeling’ blasted through the speakers and, groaning, he texted Cheryl.
The DJ’s playing The Black-Eyed Peas.
She responded right away. Lawsuit.
He smiled, and for the millionth time wished she was with him. She’d met his brother Dom twice, but that wasn’t a ‘get invited to a wedding’ level of friendship. The only way she’d have made the cut was as his girlfriend. And as much as he wished that was true, she wasn’t. It sucked that families revolved around marriage. Whatever he and Cheryl were to each other, her role in the Normal dynasty wouldn’t be legitimised unless she became his partner. How come the only legal way to bring new people into your family was to have ongoing sex with them?
“Hey, Youngest.”
His second oldest brother, Martin, stood over him; tie undone, eyes as red as the wine in his glass. Patrick hastily shoved his phone away. “Hey, Marty. You gonna fall over or what?”
“You’re bigger than you were in March.”
Patrick folded his arms behind his head. “Oh, maybe a bit…”
It was bullshit. He’d put on fifteen kilos and grown an inch and a half. He was six-four now. Officially the tallest Normal brother.
Martin eyed him with disgust. “You’re on ‘roids, aren’t you? The Sharks are shooting you up.”
“All natty, bro. Late growth spurt.”
“Bullshit.”
“Happens all the time, apparently. To some.”
Martin’s lip curled and Patrick grinned. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure to remember the little people. If I can see them.”
Martin made as though to throw his wine in Patrick’s face, then stumbled sideways. Patrick jumped to his feet, snatching the glass and steadying his brother.
“Thanks,” Martin muttered. “Pretty pissed.”
“I can see that.” Patrick guided him into the seat beside his. “How come you’re not with Meg? You just want a chat with your favourite brother?”
“Came to find out why you were hiding.”
“I don’t wanna dance.”
