‘He didn’t yell.Just walked me out there, handed me the right tools, and said, “Stop apologising.Fix it.”’
I smile faintly.
‘Out here,’ Luke says, ‘you don’t have time to stay stuck.You move forward or you drown in it.’
Silence stretches between us again.
‘What was it like?’I ask.‘Growing up here?’
Luke shifts slightly on the pillow as if the question nudged something loose in his chest.‘It was a dream,’ he says quietly.‘I didn’t know that then, of course.I thought it was normal.Spending everyday outside.Bare feet, covered in dirt, running behind Dad while he worked the property.’He pauses.‘Mum used to call me Shadow,’ he adds.‘Said I never left his side.Always watching him.Mimicking him.Thought if I could walk the same way, talk the same way, I’d turn out just like him.’
My throat tightens.‘Sounds like you really loved them.’
He takes a slow breath.‘I did.’
I reach across the small space between us and find his hand beneath the blanket.Luke squeezes my fingers.
We lie there, hands twined together, facing the ceiling.
The silence stretches around us, warm and still.And somewhere in the space between heartbreak and safety, I fall asleep.
I don’t mean to.I don’t even notice it happening.
One minute I’m staring at nothing, breathing in sync with a man I’ve hurt in every way that counts – and the next, I’m pulled from sleep by the thin, unmistakable wail of Daisy.
Half asleep, I turn slightly, blinking into the dark.
Luke’s still there.Still holding my hand like it never left.
TWENTY-TWO
The next time I wake, it’s to the sound of birds – echoing calls that are stitched into the landscape itself.No traffic.No sirens.No distant hum of the city.Just the layered chorus of magpies warbling, cockatoos screeching in bursts and the soft rustle of a swamp bloodwood tree brushing across the tin roof.The light pushing through the thin curtain adds a soft golden filter to the room as it slants across the faded quilt in long bands.
I blink against the brightness and turn to the other side of the bed.
Empty, but not cold.
Luke’s spot beside me is still faintly warm, the pillow creased in the shape of a head that probably hasn’t rested properly in days.His suit from last night is crumpled in the corner on the chair.The room smells of him – that deeply masculine scent of soap, sun and earth.
I sit up slowly, my body sore in that emotional-hangover way.I run a hand over my face.
Did last night really happen?Why does this place already feel familiar?What the hell am I doing here?Seriously.What is this?It’s too quiet for answers, and too noisy in my head to ask the questions out loud.
So, I swing my legs off the bed and find the floor cold beneath my feet.I grab one of Luke’s shirts and slip it over my head, noting I need to get my own bag out of the car.
The kitchen is filled with the smell of bacon and eggs and I’m still here.
I tread softly into the kitchen, trying not to look like someone who slept in someone else’s bed and is now wearing their clothes.
Ella’s barefoot, hair piled on top of her head, balancing Daisy against her chest with one arm while flipping eggs in a pan with the other.Domestic chaos, executed in perfect ballet form.
Daisy watches me over Ella’s shoulder with wide, curious eyes.She’s quiet, alert, filing away this moment for future judgement.
‘You’re still here,’ Ella says, not turning around.Her voice is casual, yet there’s something teasing under it.A challenge.
‘Barely,’ I mumble, scratching the back of my neck.
Ella plates the eggs one-handed, sits down at the dining table, and props Daisy against her boob as if it’s nothing.She then eats with one hand while I sit beside her and try not to overanalyse the fact that I feel like I belong here.She slides another plate over to me, which is filled with perfectly fried eggs and the exact quantity of toast I love.
