Welcome to Sugartown (33 page)

“
You’re
back?” Her eyes widen a little and glitter with unshed tears, and
the next thing I know, she’s throwing herself at me. After a moment
of blind panic where I assume she’s going to start using me as a
punching bag and I realise that there’s no way in hell I can hit a
woman so I’ll have to just stand there and take whatever fucked up
punishment she thinks I deserve, I nearly keel over. Her arms wrap
around my waist and she cries into my chest. I have no choice but
to wrap my arms around her.

“
It’s good to
see you too, Holly.” I can feel my eyes are saucer-wide as they
shoot between Ana and Jackson for answers.

Jackson
sniggers, “Feeling a little clingy today, Hols?”

Holly uncurls
her arms from around my waist and glares at Jackson. “Shut up,
fuck-face! Did you eat the rest of my crackers?”

“
Holly’s
pregnant and tends to get a little … er … emotional lately,” Ana
explains.

Jackson hides
his next dig behind a fake cough, “Psychotic!”

“
Fuck you,
Jack!” She stalks from the room, and a door somewhere in the house
slams behind her.

“
You just
name the place, sweetheart,” he calls after her. “You know where to
find me.”

“
Would you
stop provoking her, please?”

“
She’s really
pregnant?” I feel like I’ve stepped into the twilight
zone.

“
Yeah, she’s
fourteen weeks along.” Ana gives me an uneasy smile. “Come on,
let’s get you settled in.” She grabs my hand and leads me from the
kitchen down a narrow hall, pointing out Holly and Jackson’s rooms
at one end. In the middle is a decent-sized bathroom, and further
along two more rooms sit opposite one another. The one on the right
is covered in clothes, and there’s a yellow doona sitting bunched
up on top of the bed. No guesses as to who occupies that
room.

I follow Ana
into the room opposite. There’s a black and grey doona sitting on
top of a double bed that barely looks like I’d fit in it, two
bedside tables and a chest of drawers leaning against the side wall
with chipped and peeling black paint. On the top sits a framed
picture of my bike and another of Ana and her family, Jackson and
Holly included. I pick up the frame and stare down into the posed
shot.

“
Do you like
it? You can take it out if you like. I just thought you should have
at least one picture of … family. I know you don’t have any of your
mum and sister and no one should have a room without pictures.”
She’s rambling again, and it’s so fucking sweet it’s giving me a
damn toothache.

“
I love it, I
love all of it.” I make a gesture that includes the room around me.
“Thank you.”

She smiles.
“The police confiscated your clothes; more like they confiscated
everything in that motel room, even your bike. Dad had to buy it
back at police auction.”

He hadn’t
told me that. It would have cost him a shitload of money too,
considering how rare they are here in Australia. Money I’ll be
paying back down to the last cent.

“
Anyway,
Holly and I went shopping last week for some basics. There isn’t
much, but I’m sure we can take some things back if they don’t fit.
And sorry about the bed, it was the only one we could find within
our price range. I have a queen-sized one, and we can swap them
over if you like? I really should have thought of that before. I
guess I just forgot how big you were and now that you’re
here—”

“
Ana?”

“
Yeah?”

“
Shut up.
Everything’s perfect,” I say and then realise that doesn’t even
begin to cut it. I take a step toward her. “You’re
perfect.”

She backs out
of reach. “Well, I should see about dinner. You probably felt like
a quiet night alone, but my family doesn’t really do quiet. Ever,
actually. So everyone is coming around for a BBQ a bit later.
Surprise.” She throws her hands up and turns to leave.

“
We gonna
talk about this?”

“
Talk about
what?”

I raise my
brow at that, and she steps back into the room and sits down on the
bed, my bed. “You know, I haven’t had one of these since I was
sixteen.”

“
A bed?” she
asks, as I sit down beside her.

“
A bed, a
room, a home.” I flop back onto the mattress and rest my hands on
my chest. “My dad had a room at the clubhouse. After I went to
juvie he sold the house. I wasn’t there anymore, and he hardly ever
stayed there as it was. I think it just held too many memories of
Mum and Lil, so he sold it. Sold all my shit, too. When I got out
of lock–up the first time, the club came a-calling. I became a
prospect, and prospects don’t amount to shit until they’re patched
in, so I stayed on a clubhouse couch for the next year. Then I
spent three years on the inside and after I got out, I roamed from
one shitty motel to another, until now. Until you.”

“
Well I’m
glad you have a room—a home, now,” she says, and her voice cracks a
little on the last word. Ana sat there, stiff as a board,
throughout that story. She’s so different now. We’re different now.
I grab her elbow and yank her back so she’s lying beside me, her
arm flush with mine. She lets out a frustrated yelp that quickly
turns into tears. For a moment I just let her cry, because though I
hate the idea of her hurting, I know she has to work through
everything she’s feeling with me being back.

When I can’t
handle the silence any more, I link my hand with hers and say,
“Talk to me, baby girl.”

“
I
can’t.”

“’
Course you
can.” I nudge. “If there’s one person in the world you
can
talk to about this
it’s me.”

“
I can’t fall
back into things with you,” she blurts, and I’m glad we’re not
facing one another because that hurt like a motherfucker and I’m
sure it’s written all over my face.

“
Can’t now?
Or can’t ever?”

“
I don’t
know,” she whispers, like saying those words quietly is going to
hurt me any fucking less.

“
You still
love me?”

“
I don’t know
that either.” She gets up and walks over to the door. The tears are
openly streaming down her face now. She makes no move to wipe them
away, she just stares at me from the doorway. “I’m
sorry.”

“
Yeah, me
too,” I say.

Ana walks
into the hall and then the few steps into her room and closes the
door behind her. I can hear her gut-wrenching sobs from here. It
tears and claws at something inside me, but I make no move to go to
her. Right now I’m not what she needs, and that hurts more than
hearing her say the words that ripped my heart into
shreds.

Chapter Thirty
Four

Elijah

As good as
it’d been to see Ana’s family again I breathed a sigh of relief
when the door closed behind them and the last dish had been wiped
and put away. Bob was giving me a week off before he wanted me back
at work. I should have been grateful, but all I felt was
frustration that I’d be sitting around playing with my cock until I
could get under the hood of a car.

Now, Ana and
I sit side by side on the couch, watching some shitty reality show
about bogan Brits who should all be banned from fucking one another
to spare the human race from having to deal with their fuck-knuckle
spawn. The temptation to pull her into me is so great I curl my
hands into fists and allow the bite of my nails to sting my
calloused palm and chase that thought away. I can’t be thinking
shit like that or I’m gonna fuck this up and wind up not having her
be a part of my life, even if it’s not the part I want.

In prison,
it’s not just pussy a man craves—it’s the peace of the connection
touching another person brings. It grounds and centres, makes us
whole where we might’ve been incomplete. Right now, I’m so fucking
incomplete I feel like a man on death row.

Ana yawns,
bringing my attention back to her. She lays her head back against
the couch. Her feet are tucked away under her body and she looks so
damn fuckable with her hair all dishevelled and her make-up
smeared.

“You wanna go
to bed?” I ask her, and I swear I meant that to be an innocent
question. Maybe it’s the way I’m watching her, maybe it’s the two
Stolis she had with dinner, or maybe it’s the fact that I want more
than anything to know that keeping our distance from one another is
as hard for her as it is for me, but a small frown turns down the
corner of her lip and I think I see the crease form in between her
brows, the way it does when she’s about to cry.

She rises and
heads towards the hall. “Good night, Elijah.”

“
Night,” I
mutter, hating myself for constantly making her cry.

“
Welcome
home,” she says and then she’s gone.

Home
. I’m beginning to think that
word isn’t worth shit.

I sit bolt
upright in bed. For a half second I forget where I am, and think
the screaming across the hall is just another inmate seeking
attention. Then I hear the shouting again and I’m out of bed and
pushing open the door to the room opposite mine.

Ana thrashes
on the bed. Her blankets are pulled tight around her, restraining
her, and she’s whimpering in her sleep.

“
No!” she
cries. “Get off me!”

I race over
to the bed and untangle her limbs, which may have been a piss-poor
decision on my behalf because she lashes out and punches me square
in the jaw. She’s sobbing and screaming, and I’m wondering how the
hell she hasn’t woken the whole house.

I don’t
bother trying to restrain her. I think that may only make things
worse, so instead I sit on the edge of the bed and gently shake her
shoulder while calling her name. She lunges upright with a gasp and
lashes out at me again. I don’t fight her, I just sit there and let
her beat on me until she comes to enough to realise that I’m not
him. When it does finally dawn on her, she lets out a wounded,
sobbing cry that tears me all to pieces.

“
You’re okay,
baby girl. You’re safe.” I fold her up in my arms and she clings
tightly to me, tucking herself in against my chest. I’m buck-naked
and she’s wearing only a pair of cotton knickers and a singlet top,
but none of that matters. The only thing I feel right now is love
and hurt and helplessness that I wasn’t there to save her that
night. But I’d willingly spend all of my nights awake in bed with
her body wrapped around me until she fell asleep if it meant she
felt safe in my arms.

Safe with
me.

Chapter Thirty
Five

Ana

I woke this
morning feeling lighter than I have in months. For the first time
since the rape I’ve slept the whole night through, which makes me
ecstatic and gives me the hope that maybe I’m slowly coming to
terms with it. I’ll never be able to erase it, or wash it out like
I would a stain, but I might finally be able to look in the mirror
and not blame myself.

Of course,
the downside to being nightmare free is that, for the first time
since Elijah moved in two weeks ago, I woke up this morning alone.
And I actually kinda missed him, though waking up to a naked man
every morning who’s tenting the sheets with his morning wood was
becoming increasingly awkward and impossible to ignore. Still, I’ll
never admit it but I’ll miss the way he held me in the middle of
the night, and not just because he was the only one who could chase
the nightmares away.

Holly has
been bugging me to make my special macadamia pancakes for weeks now
and, thanks to the public holiday on Monday, I don’t have to spend
my entire day slaving over a hot stove so I’ve decided to give her
what she wants. She’s always been a tad bit demanding, but
pregnancy seems to have pushed her over the edge and into the
homicidal maniac territory. Honestly, if I didn’t know that was
Coop’s baby turning her into a crazy person, I’d think it was the
second coming of Satan.

After having
Holly buzz around me like an over-excited kid as I pulled together
ingredients and a mixing bowl and turned my skillet on to preheat,
I headed down the hall to see if Elijah’s awake and ready to eat. I
knock but don’t really wait for a reply before opening the door,
partly because I’m not thinking clearly this early in the morning,
and partly because I’m sure he’s still dead to the world. But when
I walk into the room I see it’s not sleep that Elijah is immersed
in, it’s something entirely different.