Текст книги "Switch"
Автор книги: Jennifer Ryder
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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 21 страниц)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
ROCCO
“Is there something you don’t eat?” I ask her as I gather a few things from the fridge.
“I’ll eat pretty much anything. Except broad beans. I hate those. My mother used to shove them down my throat, but I never liked them.”
“Ha. Me too.”
As I slice some mushrooms, wielding my butcher-style knife as if I’m a professional chef, Soph watches me with keen interest.
“These don’t look like normal mushrooms,” she says.
“These stumpy looking ones are porcini and the flatter ones are portobello,” I say, pointing to each of them with my knife.
She nods.
The chopped vegetables sizzle when they hit the heated olive oil in the pan. I add some garlic and toss. It doesn’t take long for the aroma to fill the kitchen.
“Hmm, they smell amazing,” Suds coos.
The chopped tomatoes and chilli are chucked in next, and I scatter them with a good couple of grinds of salt and pepper. I add dried pasta to a pot of salted boiling water.
“My mamma would have had me make my own pappardelle pasta, but I’m too hungry to muck around with that tonight.”
“You’re shitting me. You can make your own pasta?”
I look at the cupboard above the fridge and point to it. “I’ve got mamma’s old pasta maker stashed up there.” Maybe one day soon I can get it out and give it a whirl. I have someone to cook for. I totally should. By the time V gets out, I’ll be cooking like mamma and I used to when I was a boy.
“How come you were all dressed up today?” I’ve been keen to ask her since she stumbled in the door.
“I was doing something I should have done a long time ago.”
“And what’s that?”
“Starting to get my shit together.”
“And how’d it go?”
“I might be put forward for a job, just had to send a reference through. With any luck, I should hear something in the next week.”
His mouth pulls into a smirk. “Good work.”
“You know I have you to thank,” she says. I’m stumped to think what I could have done.
“For what exactly?”
“Kicking my arse the other morning.”
“Yeah, right.” I rub my hand over the back of my neck. I really was an arsehole to her that day. “Sorry ’bout that.”
“Don’t be. I needed it.”
I drain the pasta and toss it with the vegetables. When the pasta is mixed through, I dust it with a handful of grated Parmesan cheese.
There aren’t too many words over dinner. We’re both too busy eating. I have to admit, though, it was nice to actually sit and eat with someone. And to not be getting pissed at the same time. Something about simple human contact. Not being alone. It makes me think of V, which is probably why I don’t have much to say. It also makes me wanna drink when I try and imagine his life inside … his living hell.
While I clean up the kitchen, Suds makes some calls, cancelling her cards and stuff. What a pain in the arse that’d be. Later, I turn on the lights and we move to the lounge room. Instead of sitting on separate couches we sit on the same one. It doesn’t feel weird at all. After blood and showers and nudity, I think we’re both past that.
I don’t even take in what we’re watching. It’s just a series of colours and flashes on a screen.
Suds shuffles beside me and lifts her legs and places them over my lap, as she did that night.
Ever so softly, she runs the backs of her fingers down my temple and places her hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay?” Her voice is laden with worry.
Inside my head, all I hear is no.
“Fine,” I grunt out.
“Uh-huh,” she mutters. “Just as I thought.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Suds curls her fingers over my closest hand, which is now resting just above her knee. I’ve got the shakes. Bad. I know it, and she knows it. My skin is clammy, and I feel like shit. I’m the picture of a man who wants a drink.
“Listen, I know I’m not really in the position to be asking favours, but will you let me take you somewhere?”
“What, like now?”
“No, not tonight, but maybe tomorrow.”
“Am I gonna like it?” I have a feeling it won’t be nude chicks jelly-wrestling …
“Time will tell, but I promise you, it’ll be good for you.”
Good for me? Is she gonna make me see a doctor?
“If that’s the case, then you’re not really selling me on it. Wanna give me a hint?”
“Nope. It’s better this way.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “That’s all I’m getting out of you, isn’t it?”
“Yup.”
Looks like I’m waiting to see what tomorrow brings.
I sink back into the lounge and put my foot up on the coffee table, pushing the paper aside. “Hey, I almost forgot. Jones gave me some mail to pass on to you.” I jut my chin towards the envelopes sticking out from under the newspaper.
“I kinda wished you’d somehow lost them on the way home.”
“Sorry. Just doin’ as I was asked.”
“Thanks,” she grumbles. “I was gonna re-direct my mail from April’s, but figured I’d organise that when I have my own place sorted.”
“Makes sense.” Surely she’s not planning on leaving yet? It seems as if she can’t afford anywhere else. Still, I know it won’t be long before V needs the room. I don’t particularly want to bring it up, because that’d lead to more questions. I don’t want to put her under pressure, and besides, there’s no need to push her to leave when there’s still time.
She picks up her sexy-arse black glasses and slips them on. I can’t look away. Something about those damn glasses. With each letter she opens, my dick grows harder. I’ve got a right mind to slip my hand into those sexy shorts she’s wearing. For a second, when we were in the shower earlier, I was sure that once I got naked something would happen. Not that I wanted to take advantage of her while she was fragile, but she drives me so fucking crazy. The friction between us just does something to me … it makes me want her. Surely she senses it too? Once I was naked though, she couldn’t get out of the bathroom quick enough. What the fuck was up with that?
She opens the last of the letters and then sighs loudly. In short, sharp bursts she draws breath. A lone tear glides down her flushed face.
What the fuck? One second she’s fine and the next she’s turned to water?
“Suds, what’s wrong?”
She glances up, and her glassy eyes drill into me. It’s as if someone kicked me fair in the chest with a big heavy boot. She screws up the final letter and tosses it on the coffee table and then stands and walks zombie-like into the kitchen. She reaches for my bottle of Patron from the top shelf and a small glass. I’d put it up high for a reason.
I stalk after her. “You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” I ask, more forcefully this time.
With a shaky hand she fills the glass, which holds at least three standard shots. The clear liquid spills down the side of her mouth as she takes large gulps. When the liquid is gone, she wipes her lips with the back of her hand and slams the glass on the counter.
“I just can’t get a fuckin’ trick.”
Again, the glass is refilled. She drinks then storms off to her room without another word.
She harps on at me for drinking alcohol, and then slams down, what? Six shots in thirty seconds?
I’ve gotta read that letter.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
SOPHIE
They’re taking my shit-box of a car. That’s the grim reality of it. They’re playing hard ball, and there’s not a goddamn thing I can do about it. I know I’ve had countless warnings. I know the bank’s threats are never empty, but I was just hoping that it would never come to this. It’s the only asset I have of any real value. Five to six thousand dollars at best. They’re cutting off my way of getting around, which will hinder me when it comes to getting a job. It’s taking away part of my independence. I might as well be sixteen again, relying on public transport to get from A to B.
I have no one I can ask for a loan. The bank won’t touch me after he maxed out our credit cards and they cut them up. I know April would bail me out, but I can’t expect that from a friend. Not when she’s got her whole life ahead of her, not to mention planning and paying for a wedding. Money only ruins relationships. She’s already paying for my trip to Vegas, and I’m not about to burden her with this or jeopardise our friendship.
In slow circles, I twist the solid platinum band with diamonds on my right ring finger. I could sell my grandmother’s ring, but how could I? Nana was the only one who believed in me. She didn’t judge. She just wanted me to be happy.
Fuck it. As if I can fight this. They can take my car, because I won’t give this up.
I pick up the silver frame by my bedside table with the photo of the two of us. Nana was five years sober in this shot. Her silver hair is set in curls, just like she’d get done at the hairdresser every Friday, and her blue-green eyes are shining with the reflection of the sun through the trees in her cottage garden. She’s wearing the purple cardigan that she never wanted to part with. I miss her so goddamn much.
As my vision begins to blur, I know that the tequila has well and truly kicked in. My insides are like a raging fire and my head is swooning.
I may have been a little dramatic out there. I mean, what was I thinking? How am I going to help steer Rocco away from the bottle when I’ve just performed like that? I’m only reinforcing that when life goes to shit, you should drink through it. It’s not the message I want to send, especially to him, but I was on autopilot. I just needed to feel numb.
I need a new job like I need my next breath.
With the comforter wrapped tight around me, I bury my head in my pillow and cry like a fucking sissy. Anyone would think I just sculled a cup of gin. I’m so pathetic.
****
ROCCO
She could have been seriously injured. What if she’d hit her head, or worse still, broken bones? And she was worried about paying rent. I meant it when I said I didn’t give a fuck about it. I don’t. I’m more worried about what’s really going on here.
I pick up the letter, and as I scan over each line I can’t believe what I’m seeing.
The bank is going to seize her car. She’s right. She can’t get a fucking trick. It’s no wonder she just downed that much booze. This bullshit is enough to drive someone to drink.
Suds needs to talk to someone. Given the shit we’ve already talked about, maybe she’ll talk to me more. It’s sad that even though she’s so close to April, that when shit like this happens she bottles it up and keeps it to herself. She soldiers on, determined not to burden anyone with her problems. I know exactly what that’s like.
I knock on her bedroom door—yes, I learnt my lesson—and wait for some kind of sound that lets me know I’m clear to enter without being inflicted with grievous bodily harm.
A curt ‘what’ is grunted.
The wooden door creaks as I pry it open. The moonlight is streaming through the partially open blind, enough to make out her figure curled up under the covers, and her long hair tangled over her pillow.
I pull back the corner of the covers and slip in behind her and place my hand on her upper arm. She shifts her body to face me.
“Can’t I even cry around here in peace?” she grumbles, but there’s a hint of humour to her tone.
“I read the letter,” I tell her. No point beating around the bush.
A heavy sigh leaves her lips. “You don’t need to worry about me.” She sniffs.
“I am worried about you, whether you fuckin’ want me to or not.”
“I’m tired, Rocco. Tired of struggling.”
“Wanna tell me why the bank’s beating down your door?”
“It’s all his fault.”
“Who’s?”
There’s a long silence between us, and I wonder if she’s about to kick me out or start crying again.
“Four fucking long years, Rocco. I’ve been paying off a debt left to me care of Prince Fuckface.”
“What the fuck? What happened?”
“Rewind four years when I was engaged. That was my first mistake.”
“Okay,” I say, to keep her talking.
“I went into the relationship blind. Of course back then, I had my parents’ full support. Their daughter was going to marry an established businessman with a prominent family, and it was going to be a big, lavish wedding. I was stupid and naïve, and didn’t think twice buying a house in joint names with this man. I was going to be with him forever.”
“How did it turn to shit?”
“The cracks were there, but I didn’t piece it all together until it was too late. The engagement ring he was getting designed was taking months longer than it should have. We weren’t eating out as much, and he downgraded his Mercedes S-Class coupe to an E-Class. The bank statements stopped coming in the mail. As far as I knew, his business was doing well. All my savings and every spare cent I earned went into our joint account, which we used to offset the home loan to pay less interest. I didn’t question it. It made sense.”
She puffs up her cheeks and lets out a loud rush of air.
“Then one day I went into the bank to get some cash out. I was gonna buy something nice to wear for an upcoming wedding we were going to. They cut up my card and the next thing I knew, the suits from the bank came around with a notice evicting me from the house. Fuckface was conveniently MIA, and I couldn’t get in contact with him. The last time I saw him was just before he left on a business trip overseas. That was the last time I’ve had any contact. His phone was disconnected. It was as if he’d dropped off the face of the earth. The bank needed money, and since they couldn’t find him, and the loan was in my name too, they came to me.”
“Fuck. That blows,” I say, as I shake my head.
“Yeah, it does. They took the house, but because he’d borrowed up to the hilt, maxed out credit cards and withdrew everything from our re-draw facility, they came after me for the rest. I’d just given up my full-time job to take on more study. We were planning to try for a baby on our honeymoon. One day I was leading what I thought was the perfect life, and then I was on my own with a big-arse debt.”
“Where did you go?”
“I moved home, and my parents were great. They helped me pay off some bills and gave me a place to stay. A few weeks later I had a massive bender. They came home a day early from holidays, and found my head buried between the thighs of a French backpacker. I was shown the door.”
Suds was caught licking out a hot French backpacker? Don’t get turned on. This is serious shit. She was kicked out. Change the subject.
“Shit. And you haven’t seen the fuckwit since?”
“If I had the money I would’ve hired a private investigator. I tried reaching out to his family, but they wouldn’t take my calls. If I ever see him again, I’ll skin him alive.”
“Even though you can’t stand the sight of blood?”
“You’re right. I’ll need help. You up for that?”
“Hell yeah.”
“The fucker not only ruined my life, he’s fucked up my credit rating forever. I’m never going be free of this shit. I’m basically working for nothing. I’ll be renting for the rest of my life, because there is no way a bank will even consider me for a home loan.”
“I’m not gonna let them take your car,” I say, and I mean it. I’ve got money. I’ve been smart with what Mum left me. Stupid fucking staph infection.
“This isn’t your battle,” she whispers.
“The hell it’s not. I just made it mine, so deal with it.”
“You’re so arrogant,” she sputters.
“You’re too proud to ask for help,” I say, mirroring her tone.
Silence.
A hiccup bursts from her lips. “Oh,” she moans, and moves her hands to her stomach.
“Oh, what?”
“I don’t feel so good,” she says. An almighty burp rips from her mouth.
“In what universe is that okay?” I mock her.
“What if I puke? Will you hold my hair back?”
“Ah,” I mumble.
“Kidding … I’ll be fine. But a glass of water would be awesome.”
“Be right back.”
I spring out of her bed, go to the bathroom for a piss, and then head to the kitchen. After turning off the TV, I scull a glass of water, and then take one back to her.
I walk in to find Suds blowing her nose. By the jerking of her shoulders and her jagged breath, I can tell she’s been crying again. Dammit. I thought we’d sorted this shit. Why is she still upset? Women.
Suds sits up and I hand her the glass. She takes a few sips as I perch on the edge of the bed.
“No more cryin’,” I tell her.
A noise somewhere between a laugh, a sob and hiccup comes from her mouth. It doesn’t sound human. She rolls over and faces away from me.
“You’re not the boss of me,” she argues. She reaches back and grabs my hand and wraps it around her middle. Guess I’m not leaving.
I snuggle in behind her as I was before, except I slip my other arm beneath her neck, letting her use it for a pillow.
“No, but you need to be told,” I growl in her ear.
Her breathing settles down, and little by little I feel the tension in her body fade. I close my eyes and drink in her sweet scent as I think of the shit that went down today.
“I hope you realise what an important person you are, De Luca, ’cause right now you’re the only one keeping me together.”
Wow. What the hell do you say to that?
I tighten my hold around her waist and pull her back to rest against my chest. I haven’t felt important to anyone in the longest time. To hear her say that makes me wanna hold on to her … and not let go.
“One day sober … proud of you,” she whispers, and then lets out a sweet sigh.
Has she been keeping tabs on me? I’ve had a couple of beers with Jones the last couple of afternoons before coming home, not today though. Maybe she’s smelt it on my breath.
“Yeah,” I grunt out. With all the commotion going on around here, I hadn’t thought about it.
****
A warm body is spooning back into me when I wake. I slept in her bed, and I’m free of stab wounds. Ha.
“I can’t remember the last time I woke up with one of those perched against me,” she says, in the sexiest morning voice I’ve ever heard. I thought I was hard before…
“You get me hard.” I don’t even feel bad about grinding it against her that little bit more.
“Ha ha, very funny,” she says, but she doesn’t make any kind of move to squirm away. Interesting.
“Seriously. You do. Just telling it how it is.”
“Well you’d better get out of here before I … um,” she stammers.
“What? Do something with it?” Is she tempted?
“No!” She rolls onto her back and shakes her head. “God, I think it’s time for you and your morning glory to leave. I’ve gotta get up and get to work. Tony gave me an extra shift so I can’t be late.”
“Yeah, I’ve gotta be in the workshop in an hour.”
“What time will you be home?”
“I dunno, hopefully by five, why?”
Suds rubs the sleep from her eyes, and regards me. “Don’t make any plans tonight,” she orders.
“Mystery date?” Why the hell would I say that?
“No. Not a mystery date.”
She props herself up on her elbows and stretches out her back. Those goddamn nipples are perky. Again. She leans over and kisses my cheek, her hair tickling at my jaw.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“What for?”
“Just being you.”
No one has ever said something so heartfelt to me. Ever.
A soft smile creates a dimple to her cheek and before I know it, she plants her soft lips briefly against mine, and then makes her way out of the room.
Hold up a minute.
There’s some kind of weird thing happening inside my chest.
****
Once Suds has left for work, I ring the number on the bottom of the letter. After ten minutes I finally get to speak to a real person, which means I’m already at the point where I’m ready to blast someone.
“What’s it gonna take for her to keep her car?”
“It’s not that simple, sir.”
“Well, it fuckin’ is. Just give me a figure.”
“Um, one moment, please. I need to check with my supervisor.’
“You do that,” I grunt.
After twenty minutes, I’ve sorted the problem.
As promised, Soph is keeping her car. For now.
****
Jones is already at the workshop when I arrive. He seems pretty lively, if you ask me.
“How many coffees you got under your belt?” I ask as I head over to the percolated coffee machine, which is on its last legs.
“Two, buddy. April kept me up all night.” He does that stupid thing with his eyebrows, making them jump up and down.
“Yeah, I bet she did. You two are like fuckin’ rabbits.”
“What’d you get up to last night?”
“Not much,” I say, because of course, Suds made me swear not to say anything. I kinda get the whole non-sharing thing she does with her friends. I relate to it, but it does make me worry that she’d keep shit like this to herself. What else is she bottling up?
“You mean no big night down the pub? No birds in your bed?”
“Nope.” Just a quiet night at home with a girl …
“Uh-huh,” he says, finishing off with a cocky smirk. “How’s Soph?”
My eyebrows pull together, and I narrow my gaze at him. What’s he wanna know for? “You have her number, why don’t you ring her and ask her yourself.”
“Ooh, we’re a bit touchy this morning.”
“How about you shut the hell up while I work on your bike?”
“Fine, but before I shut up, I need to tell you that we have to sort out the suits next week. April has been on my case for a month.”
“Whatever you need,” I say, as I unclip his bike seat.
“S’pose I’d better get myself a new suit too,” Mac pipes in from behind us. “It’s been a while since I’ve worn one, and well, this old bod isn’t what it used to be.”
“You might as well come with us,” Jones tells him. “We’ll go before next round. Friday.”
“Sounds good,” Mac chimes in, and then starts humming a tune. “Looks like I’ve got a date for the wedding, Jones.”
“Good to hear, Mac,” Jones says. “April will be thrilled.”
****
I breeze through so much work today I even surprise myself. Spare parts are ordered. Tools are in order. Bikes are in prime condition. Today I fucking killed it.
Mac hasn’t stopped nodding at me, and a smile hasn’t left his face all day. He’s been humming and singing around the workshop. Things with the lady friend must be working out. Good on him.
At the end of the day, I’m itching to get out of here. Suds has something planned for me, and it’s been nagging in the back of my head all day.
Has it got anything to do with the fact that we’re growing closer?
