Chapter Twenty-Four

The Vanquish’s V12 grumbled as Jarrah and Olivia crawled along the highway between his two worlds. Despite the 560 horsepower lurking beneath his right foot, he couldn’t bring himself to set his toy free. With every kilometer drifting by, the cabin grew darker and colder despite the heat mirages shimmering on the horizon and the midmorning sun pouring through the Aston’s windshield.

He forced himself to ease his grip on Olivia’s thigh and focused on the dead-straight line of bitumen leading back to Brisbane. She’d been so withdrawn, so quiet, so…so un-Olivia-like he’d been amazed he hadn’t cut off her circulation in the hour they’d been on the road. The lifeless hand resting on top of his hadn’t so much as flinched as she silently watched the Outback floating past. Christ, they’d spent four weeks together, and this had been the longest they’d gone without speaking. But what the hell could he say? He felt as empty and lost as she looked.

“Does leaving always hurt this much?”

His heart stuttered at the sound of her voice. They were the first words she’d spoken since she’d wrenched herself out of Abi’s embrace and dived into the passenger seat in a blubbering mess. He would’ve loved to tell her it got easier the longer you spent away from your loved ones, that the friends you made away from home and the career you dedicated your life to would fill the void, but she’d learn the truth soon enough and he couldn’t lie to her. He forced a smile and shook his head as he guided the Aston around a rare bend in the road.

She chuckled and slapped the back of his hand. “You’re meant to tease me and tell me to harden the hell up.”

She angled herself in the seat and squeezed his hand while her desolate smile gouged an even-deeper crater in his chest. Christ, she knew him so well. Or was that just his heart trying to convince his brain that what they’d shared went deeper than a holiday fling that would soon become a long-distance acquaintanceship that’d eventually fade into courtesy birthday and Christmas emails? Unable to get his mouth to work, he shook his head and turned up the air conditioning.

“Why do you leave?”

He snapped around to find her resting her head against the seat and studying him while tracing gentle circles on the back of his hand. He had clients to serve, a practice to maintain, and a business to grow. He’d worked his arse off to get to a point where he could choose who he represented and what jobs he accepted. The last thing he should do was take his foot off the accelerator when he should be sucking it up and stomping the gas.

Yet with every slow circle of her finger, she erased each of his pathetic arguments until all he had left was the truth.

“No freaking idea.”

Once upon a time he’d known exactly what he’d wanted and how he’d get it. He’d wanted security for his family and the resources to buy not only what they’d needed but what they’d desired. He’d dreamed of giving his brothers and sisters the opportunities to do whatever they’d wanted without the burden of wondering about their mother’s well-being. And most of all, he’d wanted to prove to the world that an indigenous kid from the Outback could make it. Now there was only one reason he was going back, and that was to wage war with Carter fucking Industries.

He captured her hand and brought it to his lips before inhaling her scent. He’d been drifting aimlessly for years. He had fooled himself into thinking he cared about the success of his business and had used his client’s dreams as surrogates for his own. But he’d finally figured out what he wanted. The only problem was he had absolutely no fucking idea how he was going to get it without hurting the woman who’d stolen his heart.

…

The Aston’s voluptuous curves burned Olivia’s rump while she waited for Jarrah in front of the gas station they’d pulled into fifteen minutes ago. Yet she barely felt the scorching sheet metal amid the joy and grief warring for control of her emotions. Eight hours and five hundred miles had passed since she’d exchanged last insults and way too many damned tears with the horde of people who’d trekked out to Wingarra to say good-bye. And she missed them already.

She’d prepared for the Harpers and a few of the mustering crew to hang around to make sure she and Jarrah actually left. She’d never expected the hundred or so Baroona locals who’d practically dragged her off Delores and passed her around like a Yankee stress ball. She and Jarrah had already said farewell to the town the previous night at a going-away party that must have come close to shaking the Grand Hotel to its foundations. That obviously hadn’t been enough for the strangers who’d become friends in just four short weeks. She smiled despite the ache in her chest. She had no idea what involvement, if any, her in-laws or Mayor Charmichael had in organizing their surprise bon voyage. But if Helen or the Harpers had wanted to leave a lasting impression on her and Jarrah they’d sure as hell left their mark.

Jarrah eyed her as he pressed the phone that hadn’t stopped pinging for the last two hours to his ear and prowled the shade cast by the gas station’s roof like a caged panther. She returned his fake smile with one of her own before he turned and stalked back toward the pumps. Her smile faded the instant she relaxed and the memories she’d tried so hard to ignore flooded back.

Despite her best efforts to cling to a few shreds of dignity, she’d melted into a pathetic puddle of snot and tears in front of her new friends and family. And judging by the abuse hurled Jarrah’s way while she’d sniffed and hiccupped her final good-byes, her man hadn’t survived much better. By the time she’d been manhandled through the mosh pit and dumped in front of the Harpers, she’d been a mess. Saying good-bye to the family who’d all but adopted her had hurt more than she could’ve imagined. But it had been Naya’s final words as she’d broken free of her embrace that had torn open her heart.

You’re part of this family now, and you have a home here whenever you need it.

Olivia whispered the words to herself as she slowly lowered the arms she hadn’t realized she’d been hugging herself with and slapped at the tears leaking down her cheeks. Sagging against the Vanquish’s passenger door, she watched Jarrah through blurry eyes as he alternated between slouching and standing to attention like he was riding an emotional roller coaster of his own. She had no idea who he’d been talking to while she’d gone to the bathroom to scrub some life back into her face. Judging by the tightness of his features and the hand shoved into his hair, she had no doubt it had to do with Carter Industries’ newest fuckery.

He’d brushed off her concerns with the same fake bravado he’d tried reassuring his family with. His mouth was as convincing as always and he promised that Manningham’s most recent bid for Wingarra was even dumber and more desperate than his last, but he couldn’t hide from her.

Every nervous glance he flicked her way shot another dose of guilt into her already overdosed system. While she’d drowned in an ocean of first-world self-pity, he’d been figuring out how to save his family’s home.

Prior to Charlie’s early-morning bombshell, the endless calls had never seemed to bother him. He’d wait for the rare moments he wasn’t working or being abused by his family before disappearing into a quiet corner to take care of business. She’d often followed him and simply watched in awe and shameless pride as he calmly did his thing. Judging by the tension stiffening his shoulders and the free hand slashing through the 110-degree air, something had gone very, very wrong.

She pried open the fingers that’d curled into fists and stared down at the hand that had spent most of the day entwined in his. Calloused yet soft, strong but gentle, calming and absolutely terrifying all at the same time, his hand was the perfect reflection of the man it belonged to, and, like her heart, her fingers felt cold without his touch. They’d driven all day, stopped for gas and food so many times she’d lost count, and whenever they’d been within range, their hands had unconsciously found each other and their fingers automatically locked.

It should’ve freaked her out. At the very least it should’ve felt weird. They were just friends with benefits who’d enjoyed one hell of a vacation fling. And yet the effortless way her hand nestled inside his somehow felt more intimate than the unforgettable nights they’d spent coiled around each other. She flexed her fingers and lowered her hand before turning around to watch the setting sun ignite the Brisbane skyline. One more night before she’d kiss him good-bye and end the fairy tale.

She felt him before she heard him, a weird cocktail of peace and fear that flowed through whenever he was near. Turning, she found the cocky player had vanished and been replaced by a worried man who looked like he was about to ask out his crush. While she struggled to correlate the wide-eyed male chewing his bottom lip with the walking orgasm machine who’d overheated every part of her, he sighed and slowly extended his arms. While her own wide eyes toggled between his clenched fists and nervous face, he turned his hands over and slowly opened his fingers.

Two of the peanut M&Ms she’d bought at their last gas stop in a desperate attempt to cheer them both up sat in his palms, one blue, the other red. Her first instinct was to grab both and shove them into her mouth because God knew she needed the sugar hit. Yet the stress dragging on his features froze her in place and had her mind racing to catch up.

An image formed in her head. A dark room, a red leather chair, a bald man in an ebony trench coat holding out two pills, one blue, the other red. With each thud of her heart, the vision sharpened until she saw herself reflected back in the mirrored lenses perched atop Morpheus’s nose. Only this wasn’t the Matrix, Jarrah wasn’t Laurence Fishburne, and she definitely wasn’t Neo.

“You eat the blue one, we spend one last night together before ending whatever we have going on and returning to our real lives.”

She lifted her gaze from the blue M&M resting in the center of his palm and lost herself in his eyes. “And the red one?”

The lines creasing his forehead eased and some of the tension drained from his shoulders. “You eat the red one, and we forget who we are, where we live, and what we do. We forget reality for a few more days and go walkabout.”