He turned back from reaching for a glass and looked at her blankly.
‘I know you said you were fine earlier, but I thought I’d check in case things have had time to sink in.’
‘I’m actually busy at the moment,’ he said, and although the words weren’t blunt, they were final and very clear. He didn’t want any help.
‘Yeah, okay. It’s all good.’
She turned towards the door, hearing his impatient sigh before he called, ‘But thanks.’
She didn’t bother stopping but lifted a hand in reply. She’d tried. You couldn’t push people to take your advice, and who knows, maybe hewasfine—his training may very well have conditioned him to handle trauma. But it didn’t mean that he wouldn’t replay what had happened in his head at some point and maybe feel like he needed to talk about it. Or not, she supposed, pushing Nick out of her thoughts. If he wanted help, she’d told him how to get it. The ball was well and truly in his court now.
Nick sat up in bed breathing heavily, disorientated, before the nightmare released its claw-like grip on his brain and his surroundings filtered back in. He wasn’t in that dimly lit shed, kneeling in the dirt in a pool of blood, desperately trying to save his mate’s life.
He swore—more a groan than anything else. He hadn’t had that dream in ages. But it was inevitable after today. The blood and the hospital … He’d let his guard down,
He gave a sigh before lowering himself down and closing his eyes. He knew Jenny had been worried about him andhe felt bad about the way he’d thrown that concern back in her face when she’d dropped in to check on him earlier, but it’d caught him off guard—the whole thing: the blood, the memories … the guilt. He was that kid’s boss. He was responsible for his safety. There should never be a concern that a nineteen-year-old could go to work in the morning and not come home.Fuck. He could have died. Like Richie.
No, not like Richie—not in the same way. Richie’s death hadn’t been an accident.
Nick felt despair threaten to engulf him once more. He hadn’t picked up on the signs that his mate was struggling after they’d gotten back from their tour—hell, they’d all been struggling in one way or other, but Richie had always been the happy-go-lucky type, always up for a laugh. He was the last one any of them thought would take his own life like that.
Nick should have known—he should have asked—why hadn’t he asked if Richie had been doing okay? Maybe that would have made a difference? Maybe Richie would have felt too embarrassed to bring it up first, but if they’d spoken about it …
None of them had. None of the mates he’d served with ever talked about the dark stuff. That would have seemed weak. They were trained to be hard, tougher than most. To adapt and overcome. But no one told them how to handle the black moods, the bottomless pit of emptiness—the stuff he didn’t even knowhowto describe to someone, even if he had wanted to—that would follow them in the years afterwards. The only good that had come from the whole messed-up thing was that Richie’s deathhadeventually got Nick and his mates talking.It hadn’t fixed anything like some miracle on-off switch, but ithadbeen a release valve of sorts and he knew that it’d helped him come to terms with a few of his own demons.
Nick glanced over at his phone vibrating on the bedside table and rolled his head back to stare up at the ceiling, ignoring the caller. He swore softly when the phone continued to ring insistently.
‘Hello,’ he said, hearing the shortness in his tone and not caring. He wasn’t in the mood for one of his sister’s lectures and he knew he was sure to get one. He’d been dodging her calls for the last forty-eight hours.
‘Finally he answers his phone,’ Susie’s cultured tones came over the line impatiently. He could picture her platinum-blonde hair, meticulously straightened and pulled back in a tight ponytail that flipped over her shoulder like a slinky snake. The fake English accent grated on his nerves more than usual. She’d been born and bred in Penrith, in Western Sydney, just like he had, and he didn’t care how long she’d lived overseas, there was no way she’d lost her accent to that extent.
‘I’ve been busy,’ Nick said, biting back a weary sigh as he swung his legs to the floor and sat on the edge of his bed.
‘So I heard. When were you planning on informing me about what happened in the kitchen?’
‘When I finished sorting everything out.’
‘I shouldn’t have to hear it from the chef. You’re the manager, Nicolas. I’m your partner. You need to report to me about these things.’
‘Report to you?’ he replied, and a hard edge had crept into his voice.
‘I am your business partner. It’s my money that I’m sinking into this venture. Money that you seem to be happily burning your way through.’
Nick clenched his jaw then made a conscious effort to relax it when his dentist’s warning about cracking teeth rang in his head. ‘Everything’s under control. There’s nothing you need to do.’
‘Except talk your chef down from leaving,’ Susie pointed out. ‘You’re welcome, by the way—I’ve convinced him to stay.’
‘He’s a liability, Susie.’
‘He’s theonly thingthis business has going for it. If you’ve got any hope of recouping any kind of investment, you’re going to need his name. Which is the other reason I’m calling. I’ve lined up an interview withFine Dining. As a favour to me, the editor is sending out a photographer to do a photo shoot and there’ll be a feature story on the whole “city boy, war veteran, bringing culture to the outback” kind of thing.’
What the hell?‘Don’t you think you should have run this past me first?’
‘I’m running it past younow,’ she said, and he could picture her waving a dismissive manicured hand. ‘Again,you’re welcome.’
Nick counted to five under his breath. ‘I need to plan for that kind of thing … When are they coming?’
‘Next week.’
‘Next wee—’ He let out an incredulous scoff. ‘Are you crazy?’
‘That’s the only spot they had open—an opportunity like this won’t come around again. Besides, it’s not as though you’re rushed off your feet out there,’ she said dryly. ‘I’ve seen thebooks. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to prepare. Make it happen, Nick.’
He listened to dead air as she disconnected the call then let out a harsh curse. As siblings, they were polar opposites and he both loved and hated her in equal measure.
Hate was a strong word. He didn’t hate Susie. He just didn’t understand her—or she him. Susie had left home at a young age and fought her way to the top—she was self-made in every sense of the word. Their parents had been strict and held some pretty conformist views on raising children, but they had somehow managed to end up with not one, but two teenage delinquents. After their parents’ deaths, Susie had spent most of Nick’s adult life trying to mould him into something he’d never be and it drove him nuts. He’d never be the businessman working in her multimillion-dollar business that she wanted.
For all their differences, he and Susie did share a few similarities, but where she was driven to make money and be successful, he was just driven to fulfil his goals—and that was it. He didn’t want to make a million dollars or turn his pub and restaurant into a franchise or set up in cities across the world or whatever the hell Susie’s grand plan was. All he wanted was his little pub in a country town and a bit of peace and quiet.
Chalk and cheese, he thought again, as he tossed the phone on the end of the bed and rose slowly to take a shower.
