Adam finds Skye outside on the street, her arms folded tightly across her chest, her face pale and tense.
‘What now?’ Adam says. Skye shrugs and shakes her head. She’s close to tears. ‘Let’s just walk a bit, then.’ Taking her hand, Adam leads her away from the concrete high rise and her father. For a while, they follow the shoreline northwards, the sea on their right. Cool breezes pick up Skye’s hair. The salty strands dance around her face, taunting her. She pulls them together and tucks them into her t-shirt as they walk. To their left, columns of luxury high-rise apartments throw horizontal bands of shadow across the beach, creating a virtual boardwalk. But as Adam and Skye continue on, the high rises get smaller and the beach front bars and restaurants become more dispersed. After an hour or so, Adam notices a modest motor hotel announcing room vacancies. Maybe the rates will be cheap. He leads Skye to a bench on the beachfront.
‘I’ll be back in just a sec,’ he tells her. Then he crosses the road and enters the motel reception. He takes a quick look around; a laminate counter top, a couple of wicker armchairs about a glass coffee table, and a display stand full of tourist brochures. Not exactly luxury, but at least the coffee table is free of finger marks and the brochures are tidy.
Adam looks over the counter. The receptionist looks like hot Donna from That 70s Show: bleached blonde, wearing a sleeveless purple tank, and a shell necklace swinging between her breasts. She’s playing solitaire.
‘I’d like a room for tonight, please.’ Adam shuffles his feet nervously.
The girl looks up from her game. ‘Just you?’
‘Two of us. My mum’s outside parking the car.’ The girl doesn’t seem to care. She points to the sign on the counter, indicating the room tariffs.
‘We’ve got one left. No sea view, though.’
‘That’s okay. It’s only one night.’
The girl takes a clunky key off a row of hooks behind her, the shell pendant swinging as she turns. ‘Breakfast is included. Just fill out the form in your room and hang it over the door before eight p.m. Do you want the paper tomorrow?’
‘No, that’s fine, thanks.’ She crosses to a small fridge and takes out a tiny carton of milk. Adam hears the sucking sound of her thongs on the fake wood planking.
‘How will you pay?’
He pulls Whitworth’s money out of his pocket. ‘Cash okay?’
The girl smiles. ‘Sure.’
After taking the money, she comes around the counter and points to the back corner of the motel block. ‘That’s yours there. Room 103.’ She hands him the milk and the key, with its bulky plastic label requesting the finder to please return it to the Sun Plaza Motel. ‘Have a nice stay,’ she says, and goes back to her game.
As soon as the doors have closed behind them, Skye drops her backpack, throws herself on the bed, and begins to sob. Adam kicks off his shoes and lies behind her, his large body spooned about her smaller one. He buries his face in her hair while she cries. After a while, he shuffles backwards a bit, slipping his hand under her t-shirt to caress her back in long slow strokes, tracing the soft smoothness of her. They stay that way for what seems a long time. Eventually, the arm underneath him is wooden, the room is nearly dark, and Skye’s sobs have become occasional involuntary sniffs.
‘Skye? I’m really sorry.’
‘What an arsehole.’
‘Yeah.’
‘I hate him.’ Skye’s voice is a whisper. Adam says nothing. Pulls her closer to him. ‘You want to know what’s really sad?’
‘That he didn’t come to your first netball game?’
She snorts. It’s not really a laugh, but it’s close. ‘Nah, now that I’ve met him, I’m glad he didn’t stick around. I think maybe I’ve been lucky not to have a dad. Not one like him, anyway.’
‘Yeah. I reckon.’
‘What’s really sad is now I’ve lost a sister, too.’ She’s crying softly now. ‘I’ve never had a sister before,’ she says between snuffles. ‘There was never anyone but Aroha and me. It would’ve been nice, you know? Maybe we could’ve been friends.’
‘Shhh,’ Adam soothes, thinking how he’d like to be spirited back into medieval times just so he could march into Whitworth’s holdings, whip out his blade and hack off a few limbs, or at least slice that immaculate silk suit into ribbons. It’d serve him right, too.
Skye is still crying, but it’ll pass soon. Adam knows how it is. After Mum, after that first week, he’d cried like a baby, cried until he was exhausted. It’d felt childish and indulgent at the time, but afterwards he’d felt better. Sooner or later, Skye will cry herself out. Adam just needs to be patient.
Still facing away from him, Skye slips off her t-shirt, offering him better access to the curve of her back. She isn’t wearing a bra. Adam’s insides do a quick flip, but he tries not to read anything into it. As his hand glides along the hollow from Skye’s shoulder to her hip, he drops his head and breathes in the scent of her. It’s light, like cinnamon, with a suggestion of cheese pizza.
After a while, Skye turns over. Stares up at him.
Adam’s heart leaps. She’s beautiful, perfect. How could he have ever thought she was skinny? Looking down at her, Adam feels invincible, like he could take on the whole world. Linking her arms around his neck she pulls him down to her, kisses him. In his jeans, Adam can feel his erection hard against her thigh.
Oh God.
Skye slips her hands under the hem of his t-shirt, tugging it upwards. He lets his weight rest on her briefly, lifting his arms, freeing his torso. Skye sighs as their skin touches. Adam could swear there are fireworks going off somewhere.
‘Adam?’ Her green eyes widen. ‘I want...’ she says, her voice trailing away. She buries her face in his chest. Her breath is warm. ‘Please?’ Adam’s heart thunders like a train in his chest. She’s asking him? That train’s hurtling along the track now.
‘You sure?’
She nods quickly.
It’s all Adam can do to roll away. He dives for his backpack, rummaging around in the side pocket for the hopeful packet of condoms that’s been in there for over a year.
Shit! Where are they? Adam hopes they’re still good.
His fingers are shaking. The bloody wrapper won’t open! Still fumbling with the foil, he slides alongside her again. She’s shucked off her jeans and is naked on the bed. In a glance, Adam takes in her skin, her breasts, the cleft of hair between her legs. He groans, her image already imprinted in his mind.
Suddenly shy, Skye drops her eyes as she takes the condom from him, their fingertips touching. Her hands slide down his chest, to the top of his jeans. She pops the dome, releasing his erection. Adam feels like he’s going to explode. And then, Skye, bolder now, her eyes holding his, her fingers exquisite, slips the condom over his dick.
‘Skye...’
‘Shhh...’ She guides him in between her legs, just a little, then all the way. He bites his cheek to hold back, tastes blood. For a second, Adam wonders if she’s done this before, if he’s her first, then he realises it doesn’t make any difference. It’s Skye, and he’s moving inside her, and this is the first time he’s ever made love to a girl. He plunges, thrusting deep. She whimpers, making Adam draw back. He searches her face. Did he hurt her?
‘Skye?’
‘No! It’s okay, I’m okay.’
‘I—’
‘Shhh...’ She puts her hand on his cheek and smiles at him. He bends his head to kiss her, and finally he gets what all the fuss is about. Those guys at school, Mikey and Ants and even Kieran, the way they try to come over offhand, like they could take it or leave it. Like they’re the Man.
Yeah, right!
Adam knows they’re all full of bullshit because after just the smallest taste, he’s already totally addicted. Or maybe it’s just Skye? Because it feels to Adam as if there’s nobody else in the world, just him and Skye.
After making love to a girl, you’re sent into a blissfully restful sleep. I slept for hours. But I guess my body clock is set to that ‘pattern of wakefulness’ because I wake in the night around my normal time. Nothing else is normal, though. Milky orange light winks through brocade curtains and, outside, the night is punctuated with sounds: a car door slamming, a woman’s laughter, a truck—probably a rubbish truck—beeping as it backs up. Beside me, Skye’s body curves perfectly into mine. She’s so tiny, so perfect. She makes this girly huffy noise and suddenly I’m drowning in this flood of soft-focus tenderness. I have this urge to protect her again, like I’m some kind of bloody super-hero. I want to keep her safe. Never hurt her. Geez, listen to me. I’m the lyrics of a love song.
But the thing is, I did hurt her, because it wasn’t Skye’s idea to come here searching for Whitworth. It was mine. I made her do it with my talk about connections and opportunity. I even used my mum-card. I feel pretty stink about that. I manipulated Sky, made her imagine a new start for her and her dad. A line from Earnest pops into my head about the truth not being quite the sort of thing one tells to a nice, sweet girl. Ha! The truth is, I led her up the garden path to a callous, self-centred git who slammed the door in her face. She doesn’t blame me. I know she doesn’t. But it was my fault.
Bastards, both of us.
I ball my fists, thinking about it. In her sleep, I think maybe she senses my tension, because Skye shifts slightly. I listen to her breathing and make myself relax. Curl myself closer around her. Rest.