Текст книги "Switch"

Автор книги: Jennifer Ryder

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CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

SOPHIE

“Ah, it is you, Sophie. You’ve grown more beautiful as the years have passed.”

I don’t hesitate to smash my balled up fist into his cheekbone, connecting with his nose.

“What’re you—”

My right fist connects again, followed by a strong left hook to his jaw. His knees buckle and his arse hits the tiled floor. His palms slap to the cool surface as he tries to steady himself. As he looks up, blood streams from his nostril over his lip, and then it splashes on the lapel of his silvery grey suit.

No! He’s not meant to bleed everywhere! I swallow down the unease rising from my gut.

Don’t be a pussy, Soph. You’ve been waiting for this day.

“Fuck,” I grunt out as I crack my knuckles. I fling out my hand in an attempt to ease the pain radiating from it. I should have picked somewhere softer to hit him. I’ll save that for my next strike.

He holds his hands defensively in front of his face as I lean down and drill him with a look of pure evil.

“You’ve got some fuckin’ nerve, coming anywhere near me.”

Heavy thuds echo up from the bottom of the stairwell, growing louder. Plastic rustles and something glass smashes. I don’t care if I have an audience. I’m doing this—to hell with the consequences.

I grit my teeth and pull my fist back, preparing to strike. This time, I mean business.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” a gruff voice echoes. Rocco jumps over Fuckface and loops his arms around my ribs, stepping me back into the open apartment door.

“No! I’m not done,” I cry out, clawing at De Luca’s toned biceps, causing him to grimace. I choke on my own breath. Breathe, Soph.

“Who the fuck is this?” he growls in my ear, loud enough for only me to hear.

“Meet Prince Fuckface,” I announce, loud and proud. Of course, this is the first time I’ve had the pleasure of saying it to his face.

“This is him?” he says, turning and eyeing him from head to toe as the arsehole rises to his feet.

“Well, that’s charming, Sophie,” the prince says, as he takes a handkerchief from his pocket and dabs at the claret which continues to stream out of his nose. I swallow down a mouthful of acid. Gah!

He stuffs the bloodied material into his pocket and extends his hand to Rocco. “Gregory Chase.” How is it that he can still look this sharp in a suit?

Rocco ignores his outstretched hand, grabs him by the elbow and drags him through the doorway. “Get the fuck inside.” He leads him through the lounge room to the dining table and yanks out a chair. The legs protest as they grate across the timber floor.

“Sit,” Rocco snaps at him.

“Not quite the reception I was hoping for,” Prince Fuckface says, straightening out the sleeves of his suit jacket. He continues to stand, much to Rocco’s frustration, judging by the huffing and puffing he’s carrying on with.

“What did you expect? A fucking welcome parade?” I wave my hands around. “Oh, look! The man you were going to marry is back after abandoning you and ruining your life!”

“Don’t be like that, sweet pea.”

“Don’t you dare fuckin’ sweet pea me.”

“You were seriously gonna marry this prick?” Rocco says as he moves closer to him, and strategically places his inked arms across his puffed-up chest.

The prince looks down his nose at Rocco. “Who the hell is this?”

“Someone who’ll back up Soph, so watch your fuckin’ mouth.”

I try not to smile, because I’m not happy that Fuckface is here. But bearing witness to this protective side of Rocco … I like it. No, I love it. I can’t remember the last person who came to my aid in a situation like this—not that I need it now. I can handle this slimy piece of shit myself.

“What the hell are you here for?”

“I need to do this with an audience? Really?”

“Yes, really. Spit out whatever the fuck you have to say, and make it count because I’ve got a short fuse.”

“I want you back.”

He what?

Mouth agape, I reach for the ceramic fruit bowl on the table and aim for his head.

“Suds,” Rocco growls, and dives at me just before I throw, sending the bowl and fruit to crash to the ground. Porcelain shatters in every direction and oranges roll every which way across the floor.

“Don’t,” I plead as I grapple to slice my fingernails down the prince’s face.

Rocco grunts as he wraps his arms around my middle and takes me back a step. I fight him with all my strength, tearing at his shirt, pulling his arms to let me at this fucker.

“Calm down,” Rocco orders.

I could ring his neck, I’m that mad. How could he even think I could take him back after what he did?

“Are you serious? Do you know what kind of hell you’ve put me through?” I yell as I drill him with daggers.

“I’ve come into some money. I’m going to pay it all back …”

Say what now? He’s going to make good on his debt?

I free myself from Rocco’s hold, sit down at the table and rest my head in my hands. I can’t help it. I cry. Like a big sissy girl, overwhelmed by every emotion that has haunted me since the day he left. With the hem of my long-sleeved shirt, I wipe the tears from my eyes.

“I want you back,” Fuckface repeats.

Why?

“Say what?” Rocco says, his voice deep and barely controlled. I look up at him as his hand curls around my shoulder. He squeezes me tight, to the point where it becomes painful.

Placing my hand over Rocco’s, I draw in a deep breath. “Can you give us a minute?” I ask Rocco, pleading with my eyes for him to step down. His grip relaxes but he doesn’t let go.

“Sit,” I shout at the man who shattered my dreams.

He sits opposite me and reaches for my hand, but I snatch it away and tangle it with my other hand in my lap instead. I’m not about to go get cosy with him.

“I’m fine,” I whisper to Rocco. Slowly he backs away, drilling Fuckface with a mean-arse stare as he does.

“I’ll be close. You can count on that,” Rocco hisses and points his inked finger at the intruder.

When Rocco’s bedroom door slams shut, I prepare to give my ex a serve, but for some godforsaken reason I can’t. I would’ve thought I’d be more livid with him, but I’ve run out of steam.

“You made promises … you broke my heart.”

“I’m just a man. I made mistakes. Monumental ones. I had a gambling problem. I know I ruined everything, but I’m well now.”

“I’m still paying for your mistakes. Every single week until I’m practically penniless.”

“I went to the bank today. I’ve paid off a hundred thousand and—”

“How can I believe a single word that comes out of your mouth?”

He pulls a piece of paper from inside his left jacket pocket and hands it to me. It’s a receipt for one hundred thousand dollars into the bank account with the numbers that have haunted me for the longest time.

“I swear to you, once I liquidate some of the family shares I’ll be able to settle it in full.”

“What do you mean family shares?”

He pauses, sadness lining his features. “My mother is gone, Sophie.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” I’m not a total bitch. Tabatha was actually very sweet to me, but of course once Fuckface went MIA she didn’t take any of my calls. She was too embarrassed that he’d disgraced the family name.

He stands and glides his hands down the front of his suit jacket. He pulls a card from his pocket and hands it to me.

Gregory Chase

Managing Director

Chase Constructions

“I want children, Sophie. Just like we’d planned. I’ve moved into the family home now that Mum is gone, too. All I need now is you.”

I can’t believe this. I want to cry, scream, rip every hair from his head, but I can’t do any of it. I have a chance for this debt to be cleared, which will change my life forever.

Whether I want to take it or not, he’s offering to give me what I always dreamed of: a family, a child of my own who won’t judge me, but will love me unconditionally. It’s what I’ve wanted for so long, but is this what I want right now? And with him? Something inside my heart has changed. I have a new job, and the potential to advance my career and support myself. Am I really ready for kids after all?

“I don’t know what to say to that, Greg. I really don’t.”

“I’ll make this right, Sophie, and you will take me back.”

The confidence that once oozed from his every pore is back. The sharp smell of his cologne takes me to a time when we were happy. When I was the world to someone, and my dream was so close I could touch it. The problem is, there’s too much bad blood here. I can never recover from what he did to me, but I have to play it cool if I want to make sure he pays off the debt. Play it smart.

Fuckface leans down and kisses my cheek. “Goodbye, Sophie. See you soon.” The next thing I know, he’s out the door.

Did that really just happen? Do I need to slap myself to make sure I’m awake?

Rocco’s heavy boots thud down the hallway, growing louder with each step. He’s huffing and puffing like a maniac.

“Well this day turned to shit fast, huh?” I joke.

“What are we gonna do about this prick?” he says and throws his hands in the air. He paces towards the front door and then turns and rakes his fingers through his hair on his way back to me.

“We? This isn’t your problem,” I inform him. I get up from the table, and collect a few oranges from the floor. The timber is littered with broken porcelain. I’ll have to replace Rocco’s fruit bowl. Shit. I hope it wasn’t his mother’s.

“You know what I mean. I thought we were skinning this prick alive?” he seethes.

“This is an opportunity for me to work it out with him.”

“You’re seriously not considering going back with him?” His voice is raised now in pitch and volume. Why is he so riled up about this?

“The only thing I’m worried about here is clearing the debt. That’s all.”

His shoulders slump and he exhales loudly. “You don’t want to get back with him?”

“No,” I say, looking him in the eye. “Never.”

He nods, and the anger that was oozing out of him a second ago has all but vanished. “Right. Well I s’pose I’d better clean up the blood in the stairwell … and on the floor.”

“Ooh. Yeah, I forgot about that. That’d be great, because, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. You nailed him, by the way. There must’ve been a lot of pent-up aggression in that swing.”

I laugh. “You have no idea.” I rub my hands down my face. “Once you’ve cleaned up, can we eat jelly?”

“No. When I’m done, we eat chicken cacciatore.”

“Oooh, sounds fancy.”

“Not really.”

“After we eat, do you think you can do me a favour?” I ask, as if cooking me a fancy dinner isn’t already pushing my luck.

He tilts his head to the side. “What’s that?” he asks.

“Watch Ferris Bueller with me? It’s definitely a Ferris kind of night.”

He winks, and it’s as if I’m looking at this man with new eyes. “Yeah. I think I can handle that.” He steps around the chaos on the floor and rinses out a dishcloth in the kitchen sink.

Rocco is slowly showing me that he’s the opposite of what I once thought of him. He can be kind … caring, and—

“Come on. Hurry up, Suds. I need you chopping onions,” he teases.

And he still has the energy to be bossy.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

ROCCO

Friday

I pick up the house phone before the call rings out. “Yeah,” I say, hoping it is in fact him on the end of the line.

“Took your time answering, Roc,” he says, his voice quiet.

“Vinnie. Brother.” Relief spills through my blood. Just hearing his voice is a comfort. I walk into my room and shut the door. “You good?”

“I’m alive I s’pose.”

“You haven’t had any more trouble?” I dare to ask.

“I got busted up a bit yesterday.” He pauses, and I can hear his laboured breath.

“Shit, you okay?”

“They split my lip, and I’ve got a black eye.”

My jaw ticks as I clench my teeth. I’ll go fucking bananas if they’ve violated him again. “Did they … touch you?” I ask slowly, my voice gruff with emotion.

“No, but I have some news, and I’m pretty sure I have you to thank, even though I’m pissed you did it.”

“What news?”

“They’re moving me into protection tomorrow.”

My shoulders drop as the heavy load slides from my shoulders. “Well thank fuck for that,” I grunt out.

“Anyway, enough of this shit. Tell me what’s going on with you.”

I don’t even baulk at what I’m about to tell him. “I went to an AA meeting.”

“You did? Fuck, that’s awesome.” The pride in his tone has me all of a sudden crippled under a wave of emotion. My voice chokes in my throat as a lone tear rolls down my face.

“We tipped it all down the sink. I have to shake this fuckin’ problem, otherwise I’m no good to anyone. I’m no good to you.” I take in a deep breath and picture him smiling on the other end of the line. “I’ve gotta make some fuckin’ changes, brother. I can’t let my life or yours be overshadowed by the path Dad was on. I owe Mamma that.”

“I know, Roc. I have a lot of fucking time to think about shit in here. The longer I’m inside, the more I’m ready for a change. No way I’m ever coming back to a hell hole like this.”

“It’s gonna be a battle with the club. You know this.”

“I know.” He sighs and drags in a deep breath. “Last time we talked you seemed nowhere near doing something about your drinking. What changed your mind?”

A blonde bombshell under my roof.

“A girl … Suds … she’s living with me temporarily.” I hate the sound of that word. Temporarily. She hasn’t lived with me for that long, but that room being empty … waiting for V seems so long ago. I can’t imagine her gone, but I guess that’s the reality of it being temporary. It was only ever gonna be a short-term thing.

“You sleeping with her?”

“It’s not like that …”

“Is she butt ugly?”

I lower my voice for fear of being overheard. “Fuck off. No. She’s a glamour … the whole situation with her is just … different. She’s kind of a lesbian, but not, because she almost married a guy. But we have these moments where I think shit might happen. I don’t know. I don’t understand women.” Fuck, I’m rambling.

“You falling for her?”

Falling for her, as in love her? Fuck, am I?

“Just tell me, Roc. Give me something else to think about. Please.”

“If you must know, I wanna fuck her senseless, but I don’t think that’s what she wants. She’s turned out to be nothing like I thought. She kicks my arse, gives me shit. Can you believe she calls me De Loser?” I chuckle. “She’s the maid of honour in Jones’s wedding, and I thought we’d never get along, but with some of the shit that’s happened in our lives somehow we’ve found some common ground.”

“It’s fuckin’ good to hear you have her, Roc. You need someone like that in your life.”

He’s right. I do. “Yeah. She’s gonna come with me to meetings. It’s not gonna be easy, but it won’t be as hard as doing it alone. I’m a week dry. Can’t fuckin’ believe it.” My body is protesting, but my will is stronger.

“Proud of you,” Vinnie says, his voice hoarse.

“Thanks, V.”

The line goes silent for a moment.

“V?”

“I’m here. The guard just signalled that I’ve got one minute left.”

Shit. It’s never enough time. I could talk to him all day.

“I’ll be crazy travelling with work the next few weeks, so I don’t know when I’ll be able to come in. Then I have to go overseas for the bucks.” Each word cuts me up inside as it leaves my mouth. I shouldn’t be off having fun and jet setting across the world when he’s in there.

“Where’s the bucks?”

“Vegas.”

“You lucky prick.”

“If I wasn’t in the bridal party I wouldn’t be going. I don’t wanna go; I’d rather be here for you, but I can’t be an arsehole and pull the pin. I’ve got few friends, and I can’t fuck Jones over.”

“Just go. If I had the opportunity, I’d pounce. I’ll be right here waiting for you.”

“I’ll take you there, one day. I promise.”

“I want pictures and a full run-down when you get back.”

“As soon as I’m back, I’ll be in.”

“Gotta go, Roc. Love you brother.” Fuck it cuts me up when he says that.

“Ti amo, fratellino,” I say softly.

“Mamma’d be proud you still speak the language.”

“I want her to be proud of more than just that.”

“She’d be so fuckin’ proud you’re getting help. I bet she’s watching over you, smiling.”

There’s a loud voice in the background and the line goes dead.

This is the moment when I’d normally be reaching for the bottle.

Because I love my brother more than I can express to him in words, this time I won’t.

****

“So, you’re really doin’ this, huh? Getting married,” I ask Jones as I fiddle with my cream-coloured tie. I wouldn’t wanna wear this shit every day, fuck no, but I actually don’t mind it. It fits well.

“Yeah, buddy. I am.”

“How’d you know?”

“Know what?’

“That April was the one.”

“Truth or bullshit?” he asks, with his brow furrowed.

“Truth, brother. Tell it to me straight.”

“This might make me sound soft, but I don’t give a shit. I knew she was it for me because she made me fight for her. I was in a shitty place when I met her. I was the fuckin’ manwhore of motocross. April changed me … not by telling me to change. She made me see things differently, you know?”

Fuck me. He might as well be talking about Suds.

“Spencer Jones!” a female voice calls out.

We all turn to watch as the caramel-haired beauty struts farther into the shop, wearing bike boots, tight leather pants, and an open leather jacket with a loose charcoal grey tank underneath. A helmet is tucked under one arm. It’s like every man’s wet dream just walked through the door. And Jones happens to be engaged to her.

“I’m also marrying her because, well, just look at that.” He motions his hand up and down as if he’s presenting her as a grand prize on a quiz show. “When she wears those damn boots, I wanna take her out back, bend her over and drive—”

“Right behind you, Jones,” Mac grumbles.

A loud chuckle rises up my throat. Where the fuck did he spring from? His timing is always impeccable.

April walks right up to Jones, the tips of her boots nudging Jones’s black leather dress shoes.

“Damn I love you in a suit,” she whimpers.

“You happy, beautiful?” he asks, pulling his shoulders back and straightening his neck.

April tugs on the lapels of his jacket, smooths her palms down his chest, and then curls them around his waist.

“I’m more than happy. In fact, I’ve got a right mind to take you out back and—”

“Right here, Peaches,” Mac says and walks to the side of Jones, out from behind a rack of suits.

“Daddy, oh, hey. I just meant I was gonna, um, take him out back and show him some, um”—she swivels her head towards some glass cabinets—“cuff links. I hear they got in some new stock. Out back.”

“Relax, Peaches. I think I’ve come to terms with the fact that my only daughter has sex. Your old man is getting a bit of action these days too, you know,” he says with a wink.

“Ew! Way too much information,” she cries.

I laugh again. This shit is too funny.

“What?” Mac says with a shrug. “You’re having the sex, I’m having the sex. We’re all adults.”

“Daddy, just no. We’re not having this conversation.” She sticks her fingers in her ears and makes a ‘la la la’ noise.

****

Saturday

“God I love the smell of dirt and exhaust in the morning,” Mac broadcasts loudly as he walks about our camp at the track at Raymond Terrace.

It smells that much sweeter waking up to it. I’m glad we got on the road last night after trying on the suits, instead of leaving at three am on the Saturday morning like we’ve done before. It makes for a long day that way with a good four hours on the road before the day even starts.

I take in a deep breath, letting the familiar smells settle into my soul. He’s right.

“Nothin’ else like it,” I say.

Mac moves in closer, but instead of focusing on the bike that’s in pieces in front of me, he’s looking at my face. Do I have grease all over my cheeks? What?

“You’re sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage, son,” Mac says as his blue-green eyes continue to wander over my face.

I wipe at my brow. I’ve been working all morning, but my body has been doing whacky things since I gave up the grog. Sweating has definitely been a major side-effect.

“Just trying to get through it, Mac. Doin’ my best.”

“It hasn’t gone unnoticed, son.”

I acknowledge his comment with a nod. I’m relieved that he’s picked up on the effort I’ve been putting in, but I have a long way to go. Once I’ve sorted out my own problems, I’ll be in a much better headspace. Then I can really focus on what I’m doing and start looking ahead.

“How we going with Billy Boy’s?” he asks, as he inspects Billy’s bike.

“I’ve changed the jets and then I’ll put the new exhaust on. I’ll have it finished in about half an hour.”

“Good work.”

Mac slaps me on the back and gives me a nod.

****

Jones walks into camp and pulls off his helmet and gloves.

“Apart from your words of wisdom at the start and finish line, I’ve hardly seen you today,” he says, flopping into a camp chair. He has dirt over his face and his blond hair is knotted and damp with sweat. He’s been pushing the limits this round.

“Head down, arse up, you know?”

“You comin’ out with us to dinner?” Jones asks as he strips off his jersey and starts unclipping his body armour. “I think the plan is to get cleaned up and head out in about an hour.”

Dinner on tour. Synonymous with eat and then get shit-faced, make a fool of myself and pass out somewhere, sometimes in the company of a chick, sometimes in a hotel garden. There’s no point staring in the face of temptation all night. I’m better off watching a movie in my room. It’s time I told Jones, and while we’re alone is the perfect opportunity. If he gives me shit I’ll have to suck it up. I have to fucking do this. For Vinnie. For myself. For Suds.

“Just gotta finish this exhaust and then I’ll be right. I’ll grab something quick to eat, but then I’m gonna head back to the hotel.”

“A couple of the Yamaha reps are planning on stopping by. I think they’re in the mood to party.”

This shit is gonna be harder than I thought.

“I’ll be happy to say g’day, but then I’m gonna bail. I’m fuckin’ wiped, you know?”

Jones rubs his hand across his chin and stares me down. “You good?” he asks. The concern in his tone gives me the balls to tell him.

“I’ve been sober for eight days, mate, and I’m trying real hard not to go back. If that makes me a shitty friend for not going out on the piss, then I’m fuckin’ sorry.” I grit my teeth, anxious for his response.

“Hold up. Who said anything about you being a shitty friend?”

“I just … fuck.”

“You’ve been sober for eight days?”

“Yup.”

“Good on ya.”

“So that’s cool if I don’t stick around?”

“Of course. You’re a brave man to do what you’re doin’.”

“I don’t feel it.”

“I’ve worried about you for a long time, buddy. I’m just glad you’ve finally realised that you have a problem.”

“Yeah.” I let out a long breath through pursed lips. “It’s gonna be hard staying dry in Vegas. I won’t be the usual life of the party. That’s if you still want me there.”

“Shut the fuck up, De Luca. I want you there. You’re best man for a reason, and it’s not for your ability to write yourself off.”

I guess that’s sorted then. He wants me there. Huh. Suds was right.

That woman is smarter than I gave her credit for.

****

As a team, we have dinner at the pub. I drink about a litre of Coke with dinner, which leaves my stomach churning. I make sure I talk to the Yamaha guys, but then give Jones the nod and slip out back. It’s time to leave before temptation grabs me by the scruff of the neck.

This round, I don’t drink a single drop. There are no bar brawls with fuck-head mechanics, and no fucking about with easy women.

I wish I were home.

Home.

Suds makes my place a home.

I wonder how it’s gonna feel once she’s gone.