Page 77 of Chasing Blue

Lacing my fingers together, I press my hands into the top of my head and turn away from Zoe before turning back to face her.

“This is . . . I fucked up,” I admit.

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“What Eden told you is absolute fucking bullshit. She turned up at my house unannounced and unexpected yesterday arvo while I was at Scarlett’s. That is honestly the first time I’ve seen her in years. There is nothing, absolutely nothing going on between us. She’s a fucking liar.”

“Who just happened to answer the door—your door—wearing your tee and not a lot else at eight in the morning?”

My mouth feels dry, and my teeth are sticking to my lips as I try to talk. I’m so fucking angry, I can barely string a sentence together.

“She turned up yesterday arvo, claimed to be worried about me, and that she had nowhere to stay. She’s Finn’s mum, I couldn’t kick her out, so I let her stay the night. I barely said two words to her, and I was up and gone this morning without even speaking to her.”

There’s a long silence as I stare at Zoe and she stares right back.

“You gonna buzz up to Scarlett now and tell her to talk to me?” I finally ask. Zoe shakes her head.

“No point, she’s not there.”

“You gonna tell me where she is?”

She shakes her head again. “Not until I talk to her first. If she wants you to know, she can tell you herself.”

“For fuck’s sake, Zo. I don’t even have a phone, and she probably won’t take my calls even if I did have it.”

She licks her lips, tucks her blonde hair behind her ear, and shrugs.

“Wait here. I’ll go up and see if I can find your phone.”

“Thanks,” I tell her before letting out a long, slow exhale.

Rather than run the risk of being picked up on camera loitering around the doors by security—because, let’s face it, the way my luck’s going it’s a strong possibility I’ll end up arrested—I walk back over to Zoe’s car and wait, using the time to process that I’m a grown fucking man, who usually has his shit together enough to run a successful business while raising a son to adulthood, and yet somehow, skulking about in carparks is what my life has become.

I pace as I wait for her to return, and when she does, she’s on her phone, and I really fucking hope it’s Scarlett she’s talking to, but my gut pitches when she ends the call.

Zoe’s face gives nothing away as she pulls my phone from her bag and hands it to me.

“It was on the kitchen benchtop.”

Shaking my head, I take the phone from her. “It’s sat there all that time, and Scarlett never saw it?” I question.

“She’s not been there. We were at the showroom all night, then we went to yours, then . . .”

She trails off, blowing out a long breath as she slowly shakes her head. “Her brother called as we were leaving yours. Her mum was killed in a car crash last night . . .”

My hand goes back to the top of my head, and I press down on it in an attempt at stopping it from spinning. Zoe continues talking, “I brought her back here for literally ten minutes to help her throw some clothes in a bag. We took Mac to mine and then I drove her to the airport. I’ve just left her a voicemail, trying to explain everything . . .”

“Which airport?” I interrupt.

“What?” Zoe asks with a frown. “You won’t catch her, she’s already on the . . .”

“Which airport is she flying into? Where does her mum live now?”

“The place you all grew up, her mum just recently moved back there. Palmers Bay, is it? The earliest flight was into Byron, her brother’s picking her up from there.”

“Thanks, Zo, thanks,” I move in and kiss her cheek as I talk. “I’ll put this right, I promise,” I call out as I start jogging around to the front of the building where I left my truck.

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