I throw up my arms. “Then what the hell!”
“Love transcends everything, asshole. The only man good enough for my sister is one who would fight to keep her no matter what.” Mitch shakes his head, and he’s right. I’m not fighting to keep her. But I am fighting to save her from myself. “You screwed up, Romero. Big time. There’s no coming back from that.”
Mitch starts down the stairs and pauses, turning to look back. “Oh, and one more thing. Stay the hell away from her. If we find you back in her life, Travis will dig a nice big hole in the ground, Jared will hunt you down, and I’ll bury you in it.”
MAC
Two years later…
I wheel my suitcase down the hallway until I reach the numbered apartment I’m searching for. Letting the handle go, I straighten my shoulders and stare at the door. It’s been a long road to get here after leaving Melbourne. After the car accident.
My life irrevocably changed the day I woke up in hospital. Even now, when I’m doing everything I can to move on, it plays out like a movie in my mind.
“Mitch?” I turned my head on the pillow of my hospital bed so I could look him in the eye. “Did you talk to Jake?”
My brother just stood there grinding his jaw, his right arm in a sling from a wrist fracture.
“Did you tell him about the accident?” I prompted. Then my voice lowered to a raspy whisper because the words were hard to speak aloud. “Did you tell him that I lost … that I …” I couldn’t finish. Jake lost a child before he knew he was going to be a father. A lump formed in my throat. It was painful to swallow. I didn’t care that he pushed me away. This was bigger than our rift. It was bigger than anything. The pain had eclipsed my entire world.
Jake would want to know. And I needed him right now, more than I’d ever needed anyone.
Mitch looked away, fixing his gaze on the wall to my left. “I told him.”
But Jake wasn’t here. “And?”
His gaze came back to me. “And nothing, sweetheart.”
“What do you mean and nothing? Why isn’t he here?”
Mitch’s expression was stony. “He wanted a clean break.”
“No … Mitch, he wouldn’t do this.” Tears threatened and my voice turned shrill. “He wouldn’t stay away.” I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, panic building like a storm. I rose to my feet. “He wouldn’t.”
My brother just stood there like a dumb, useless lump. I planted my hands on his chest and shoved. My legs were unsteady and it caused me to stumble backward.
“You’re a liar!” I cried, grabbing the mattress to keep me upright. Mitch tried to help with his one good arm and I batted him away. “Where is he? Where’s Jake?”
Mitch shrugged, helpless in the face of my rage. “I’m sorry.”
“Fuck your apology!” I screamed. “Fuck you!” My fingers found the IV in my inner elbow and I ripped it from my skin. I was going to leave the hospital and find Jake. And when I did, I was going to beat the everloving shit out of him for abandoning me like a loser.
“Calm down.” Mitch grabbed my shoulder and pushed me back toward the bed.
I slapped and shoved at his chest. “I won’t calm down. Fuck you!”
My shouts drew Elijah and Travis to the room. “Mac!” Travis barked. “What are you doing?” Mitch had my shoulder and Travis grabbed at my torso, trying to push me back in bed without using too much force. “Get back in bed!”
“Don’t order me around!” My breath came in frantic pants. I fought like a wildcat, and the three of them worked at pinning me down as I thrashed and screamed. “Let me go!”
They wrestled me onto the bed and Eli got in my face, blue eyes panicked and blond hair falling in his eyes. “Mac! Please,” he begged. “You can’t—”
“Get the hell off me!” My legs kicked out forcefully and my back bowed in an attempt to buck them off. A male nurse rushed into the room to help.
He jabbed a needle in my arm but I didn’t see it. I rolled to my side and curled in a ball, a deep sob ripping from my chest. I wanted to die. “Just leave me alone,” I whispered.
I was defeated. They must have seen it because the room slowly emptied, all except for Eli. I turned my head and looked into his eyes. He stared back silently and after seven pained breaths, my eyes closed and I drifted away.
We returned to Sydney three days later. Mum and Dad were relieved to see me home, but they treated me like a shattered picture frame that had been taped back together. We downplayed the accident so as not to worry them, and they didn’t know about the baby. I made my brothers promise to keep it quiet. I wanted to mourn the loss in private and move on. That’s what I came home to do.
I spent the next few days in my room, leaving only to shower and eat. Weeks into my convalescence, I made the trek outside to the pool. I sat there for an hour and stared at the rippling water, thinking of nothing. I returned the next day, and the next. It gave Mum hope. She came out and sat beside me, brandishing university brochures. I’d been accepted to five exceptional institutions, having applied for them before I left. The applications had been a last ditch effort to escape finishing college.
I grabbed the first brochure I saw. “This one,” I told her so she’d stop talking.
Mum took care of the enrolment. She was thrilled to see me making a decision. She had no idea that I didn’t care which university it was. I couldn’t think about my future. It was too dark and bleak.
Over the next two years, I became the Stepford daughter they always wished for. The funny thing was, no one seemed to like it. My parents hovered more than ever. My brothers, including Eli, returned from their studies at Charles Sturt whenever they got the chance. Once again, I was smothered, though this time it was for different reasons.
At the end of my second year of university, I discovered I barely knew the people I studied with. I barely knew my campus. And I didn’t have a single real friend. None of them really knew me at all. I hadn’t been living for two whole years. I’d simply been existing. The realisation hit me harder than a jackhammer. It was time to move on. And I couldn’t move on at home.
I told my parents. I expected an argument but instead they gave in with equal expressions of defeat. Perhaps they thought it would help. They were desperate to see me return to my normal self, but I’d forgotten who that was.
Arrangements were made and my enrolment was transferred to a Melbourne university. I wasn’t sure why I chose to return there, but something pulled me back. The city held such bad memories, but it held the best ones too. I loved hard and I lost deep, but I lived so much in that short period of time with Jake.
A shout comes from behind the apartment door. It jolts me from the memories of my past.
You’re here to move on, I remind myself. To remember who you used to be. Find that girl again. And if you can’t, fake it until you do.
I raise a fist and give the apartment door a sharp rap. A female voice filters through in a shout. “Hussy, get the door!”
“It’s your turn, Sandwich,” comes the pissy reply.
A loud smacking noise follows, like the sound of a ball hitting a wall. “You’re so lazy!”
“And you’re a greedy bitch.”
The response is a wheezy gasp as though someone is caught in a chokehold.
“I am not!” comes the indignant, yet strangled reply.
I rap again.
“You ate all my Doritos, Evie!”
“Not all of them.”
A loud squeal results.
“Ooomph! Get off me, Henry!”
There’s a loud thump. It sounds like a body hitting the floor. Annoyed with waiting, I try the handle. It twists easily beneath my hand. The door isn’t locked. I push it open. The girl, whom I’m assuming is Evie, is on her hands and knees on the floor. Her face is stuffed full of corn chips, her cheeks resembling a chipmunk. Her hair is the colour of dark caramel, her skin like nutmeg with a dash of rose, and her wide eyes the colour of chocolate. She’s wonderfull
y exotic and beautiful, even with the thick layer of orange seasoning that covers half her face and lips.
The guy behind her must be Henry. He’s cute. His hair is so blond it’s almost white. His eyes are bright blue, and his bared muscular chest is currently sporting four blood-red scratches. He’s busy pulling a chunk of Evie’s long hair. His other hand is mashed into her back, pinning her down. An open packet of Doritos rest on the floor beside them, chips strewn carelessly across the floor like casualties of war.
“Spit them out,” he growls.
She makes a garbled sound as if trying to say no.
He uses the hand fisting her hair to shove her head down further. “Spit them out, Sandwich.”
The manoeuvre is aggressive, and Evie sputters. Two corn chips break loose from her mouth. They drop to the floor along with a string of saliva.
“And the rest,” he growls again.
A muffled sound escapes her mouth. It sounds a lot like “Fuck off.”
The scene reminds me of the relationship I had growing up with my brothers. It leaves me feeling at home in an instant. Armed with the knowledge I’ve chosen the right apartment and the right roommates, I wheel my suitcase inside and slam the door behind me.
They freeze in position, their eyes sliding my way. A brief pause ensues while we all stare at each other. It’s followed with a loud crunch, which draws a glare from Henry. Evie swallows hurriedly, wincing as the solid mouthful forces its way down her throat.
“I’m your new roommate,” I announce, because they don’t know it yet. Their ad was pinned to a board in a local university pub named The Elephant.
ROOM AVAILABLE
Looking for the best, ass-kicking roommates that ever lived? Then we are your people. We have a great apartment near campus. We are both undergrads at Melbourne University and our interests include music and food.
YOU: must share similar interests, be financial, not steal food, be a good cook, be able to operate a thermomix, excel at maths, dislike country music, exhibit hygienic tendencies, and not lick windows.
PS we’re not racist but no vegans need apply.
I unpinned the sheet of paper before anyone else got to it and wheeled my suitcase directly to the address listed. Finding an available room near campus is the equivalent of God turning water into wine. I’m not giving them a chance to say no, so I stare them down with brows high, daring them to refute my statement.
From what I can see, the apartment is fairly ordinary. The furniture appears pre-owned but clean. The windows are oversized and let in an abundance of light. The walls are beige but the floors are timber, and my small heels made a pleasant clicking sound when I walked inside.
With one last shove into Evie’s back, Henry gets to his feet. He rubs a hand along the scratches on his chest with a wince. “Can you cook?”
“No.”
He looks to Evie. She’s getting to her feet and brushing hair from her face. She shrugs and both pairs of eyes return to mine. “Do you eat meat?”
“Your inquisition is unnecessary,” I state coolly. “I’m your new roommate and that’s that.”
They purse their lips at the same time, like peas in a pod.
With an impatient sigh, I hold out a hand. “I’m Mac.”
My gesture is ignored.
“She didn’t answer your question, Evie,” Henry says. His brows draw together in a wobbly line of worry. “I don’t think she eats meat.”
Evie clears her throat, drawing my attention. “You can’t be vegan. We love bacon and we won’t tolerate death stares while trying to eat it. It gives us indigestion.”
“I eat anything,” I tell them.
“Can you operate a thermomix?” Henry asks.
“What’s a thermomix?”
Evie slaps the back of her hand against Henry’s bared stomach. He has lovely washboard abs, but I’m immune. Men are not on my radar. “I told you that stupid appliance was a waste of our savings.”
“It’s supposed to do everything!” he protests.
Evie sets her lips in a grim line. “It does nothing but sit there gathering dust because you don’t know how to use it,” she hisses.
“I can chop things,” I interject, fascinated by their argument. They act like brother and sister, yet they look nothing alike. It makes me wonder who they are to each other.
“Like?” Henry prompts.
I huff. It’s a ridiculous question. “Like carrots and onions.”
“That works,” Evie says and offers me a grin. “I’m Evie Jamieson and this is Henry Paterson. Welcome to our humble abode, Macklewaine.”
I arch a brow. “It’s Mac. Mackenzie Valentine.”
Her grin widens. “Mac Attack.”
“Mactard,” Henry offers.
My gaze pins him to the floor. My brothers use the nickname liberally. At least they did. I haven’t heard it much in the past two years. The reprieve had been nice. “Henrietta.”
“Yes!” Evie hisses loudly and jabs a finger at Henry. “I love it! Perfect for the times when you’re acting like an unwaxed vagina.”
His jaw locks. “I’ve never acted like a vagina in my entire life. Waxed or unwaxed.”
An argument ensues, causing my head to pound. The two of them clearly need a parental figure to keep them in line. It seems that figure is going to be me. I clap my hands together smartly. “People!”
They pause for a breath.
“Perhaps you can show me where my room is?”
Evie leads the way. Henry follows, scooping his Doritos from the floor. He munches on them as I’m showed to the third bedroom. I wheel my suitcase inside and take it in. It’s not much but it’s furnished. A double bed fills the majority of space, and I have one bedside table and a built-in wardrobe. One acoustic guitar and two electric ones occupy the bed. We eyeball them for a moment.
“We’re musicians,” Evie offers.
“Oh?” I prompt.
“We have a band,” Henry adds.
“Called?”
“The Futons.”
I snort.
Evie and Henry look to each other and then back to me. “No good? We came up with that this afternoon.”
“While you were sitting on one?”
“Well … yeah,” Henry says, and shovels a load of chips inside his mouth.
My lips mash together. Be nice, I tell myself.
“You don’t like it?” Evie asks, hands on her hips.
Fuck it. Being nice is for dogs. I tried it once but it just didn’t stick. They can either like me as I am or not at all. “It’s a shit name,” I tell them, “but we can work on it. Where do you play?”
“We don’t,” Evie says, not seeming bothered at all by my blunt honesty as she reaches for one of the electric guitars. “Not yet.”
“You don’t have any gigs lined up?”
They both shake their heads.
“We can work on that too.”
My welcome to the apartment begins with a mini party. After spending a half hour unpacking my suitcase, the three of us go shopping for snacks and alcohol.
It takes two painful hours as I quickly get to know the two people I’ll be sharing living space with. Evie is indecisive when it comes to food purchases. How long does it take to choose between crinkle cut or thin and crispy? I’ll tell you how long it takes. Ten whole minutes. Do we want salted cashews or the mixed nuts? I don’t know, but let’s stand in the supermarket aisle and discuss it for an hour. Henry is no help. He’s clearly used to her indecisiveness and entertains himself on his phone. Frustrated with her antics, I start grabbing at the items she can’t choose between and throw both in the trolley. It’s piled high when we reach the checkout. The total cost is tallied and it’s beyond our budget. It’s my fault apparently. Evie has deemed me too excessive. We spend another lifetime choosing which items to put back before we make our escape and arrive home, exhausted.
“I’m never going to the supermarket with your indecisive ass again,” I announce to Ev
ie.
“Yeah?” she retorts, dumping our shopping bags on the kitchen counter. “Good. Because we can’t afford to take your excessive ass.”
I set the bag of alcohol down. “Let’s set a schedule and take turns.”
Evie nods as if my suggestion is brilliant. “That’s a great idea.” I pull a bottle of vodka from the bag and set it on the counter. “You know what else is a great idea?” she says with a grin.
“What?”
She whoops. “Getting this party started!”
We set our snacks on the coffee table and line the kitchen with spirit bottles, juice, an assortment of fruits, and a blender. I’ve never made a cocktail in my life. It would have been the one good life skill I could have taken with me from Fucking Dick Head school. With the price my parents were prepared to pay for my attendance, it would have been an expensive skill too. Thankfully, they were issued a refund. The money is helping pay my living expenses here in Melbourne.
I grab a bottle at random and pour with a flourish. Done, I screw the lid back on and reach for another.
Evie watches for a moment, giving the impression she’s as clueless as I am. After throwing in a handful of ice cubes, I put my hand on the lid of the blender and flick the switch. It comes to life with a frightful revving noise, and my ears go into shock.
“Right,” she says, startled into life by the sound. “I’ll chop some fruit.”
Henry walks in, rubbing his hair with a towel after having a shower. His lips move.
“What?” we both shout.
“What are you making?” he yells.
“Mai Tai’s!” Evie screams helpfully.
I nod because I have no clue. It looks like the right colour for a Mai Tai. I flick the switch off and unclip the jug attachment. My ears ring as the apartment settles into relative stillness.
Henry stares at the contents, appearing doubtful. “You don’t need a blender for those.”
“These ones you do,” I say and thrust the jug toward him. “Take this into the living room.”
“You’re bossy,” he informs me as he walks the short distance to the couch. Henry sets the jug down and goes to choose some music. Moments later a thumping beat fills the apartment. He fiddles with the volume and the walls begin to vibrate.