Page 42 of Free Wind (Lifeguards of Barking Beach #2)

“What’re you doin’?”

On his knees on the kitchen lino wearing his boxers, Damo jerked his head up to find Tabby in the doorway in the oversized Dockers T-shirt she sometimes wore to bed. It brushed her knees and had been Dad’s once upon a time.

Damo glanced up at the kitchen window to see the sky brightening beyond the reflected glare of the overhead light. He tried to smile. “Ya snuck up on me! Just, you know. Cleaning the floor.”

Tabby’s hair was messy from sleep, and she tucked it behind her ears. “Why don’t you use the mop?”

“Can’t find it. Should be in the broom cupboard, right? Dunno where it went.”

Probably lost in the shocking mess you call home.

He stood and rinsed the sponge he was using, the soapy water turning gray. After scooping up some suds, he knelt at the next section of floor. It wasn’t the most efficient way to clean the floor, but he was getting the job done.

“Have you been cleaning all night?”

“Nah. Just woke up early and figured I’d do the dishes and tidy up a bit.”

“Have you heard from Mum?”

He scrubbed at a sticky stain of…something. “Texted after midnight. They admitted him to the ward. Talking about some kind of rehab.”

Tabby snorted. “As if he’d do that.”

“Yeah.”

Damo didn’t have it in him to defend their father. He knew in his head that it wasn’t Dad’s fault. The accident, the pain, the addictions, the abuse he hurled at them.

It still hurt.

On tiptoes, Tabby picked her way across the floor and boosted herself up onto the bench beside the sink. Damo scrubbed, moving onto the next square. The floor was faded by the sun and hadn’t been changed since he was little.

“Who was that guy? Blake? He said he was a mate of yours, but you’ve never mentioned him before.” Tabby asked.

Damo’s throat suddenly felt like he’d gotten a mouthful of sand.

The two days away had been so bloody good. Hanging with Cooper, the drive together—even with the stress over the petrol—sleeping together in the same bed and waking up with Blake’s elbow in his ribs, not wanting to wake him even though Damo’s arm was cramping.

Being fucked like that. Giving up control and being on the edge of pain—but knowing it was safe.

His phone sat on the bench, and he could feel the weight of the unanswered text waiting for him like a wave pinning him to the reef.

Hi. I’m so sorry for earlier. How’s your dad? Are you okay? I’m here for you.

What did Blake have to be sorry for? He’d only wanted to help. Damo was the one who’d stuffed up everything. He’d been selfish and gone away, abandoning his sister—and look what happened.

He’d been off fucking and cuddling and having fun. He never should have left. Never should have thought he could have more.

He’d been too embarrassed to answer. What could he say? He’d stared at the message on his lock screen until the text from Mum had arrived and he’d had to open his phone to answer.

Then, he’d stared at Blake’s message some more, trying to cough up the right words. Or any words. He’d given up at two and slept for a few restless hours, dreaming of paddling out for a patient but not being able to get any closer.

He’d finally jerked awake after watching the faceless person drown over and over and over.

He could feel Tabby’s eyes on him but didn’t look up. There was another stain on the floor, and he scrubbed at it with jerky movements. God, he couldn’t even imagine what Blake had thought seeing the house. Seeing Damo’s room.

Prickly humiliation crawled over his skin like the tiny ants they couldn’t keep from going after crumbs. They came in through the drain and the cracks in the foundation, no matter how much repellent Damo sprayed.

Scrubbing harder, he cursed himself and squirmed with a toxic mix of embarrassment and shame. Not to mention heaps of regret. He wanted to shrivel up and die remembering yelling at Blake in his room.

Fuck, that room. What must Blake think of him?

“Is he your boyfriend?”

Damo looked up so quickly he tweaked his neck. Feet dangling where she sat on the bench, soles dirty from the goddamn floors that needed to be mopped properly, Tabby watched him with a serious expression.

“Why d’ya say that?”

She shrugged.

“Yeah, he’s my boyfriend.” In the end, it hadn’t been hard to say at all. “At least, I hope so. Not sure after yesterday.”

“I wasn’t very nice to him. Sorry.”

They could just toss that on top of the mess Damo had already made. “S’okay. Yesterday was…bad.”

“Really bad.” Her voice quivered on the second word.

In one movement, Damo dropped the sponge and leapt across the damp floor to hug his sister where she sat on the bench. She didn’t fight, folding against him like a balloon with a hole in it. Her tears wet his chest, and all he could do was hold her tight, her knees digging into his belly.

“I’m sorry I left,” he said when he was sure he could speak without sobbing himself.

“It’s not your fault,” she mumbled against his shoulder. “You can’t be here all the time. It’s his fault.”

Damo sighed and rubbed her back slowly. Her hair tickled his nose. “He’s in so much pain.”

“I know, but… It’s not fair.”

“It’s not. It’s really, really not.”

After a minute, Tabby lifted her head and swiped at her red eyes. “Does Mum know? About Blake.”

“Nah. Maybe if Dad gets help, she… She could be here more. Really here, I mean. You know?”

Tabby nodded. “Yeah.” She sniffed loudly. “Your boyfriend’s cute. He’s old enough to have a kid?”

“Yeah, had him young.”

“I was a bitch to both of them.” Her lip wobbled. “I’m sorry.”

“We’re all bitches sometimes, right? If he’s still talkin’ to me, you can apologize.”

“Why don’t you ring him?”

“I think he’ll be at work now. Or, no, it’s Saturday.” He tried to remember if Blake had mentioned if he was scheduled for a clubbie shift or if he was rostered off since Cooper was in town. “It’s his day off. Don’t want to wake him too early.”

Face scrunching, she said, “That sounds like an excuse.”

“Oi! That’s enough out of you. Don’t need dating advice from my little sis.” Especially when she was right. “Do ya have a clean uniform for footy practice? Come on, chop, chop.” He lifted her down off the bench the way he had when she was younger, and she didn’t roll her eyes or complain.

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered.

He grabbed her wrist. “Love ya, Tabs.”

Her face brightened a few degrees. “You too.”

Alone in the kitchen, Damo thumbed open his phone and stared at the text from Blake.

And realized he’d somehow accidentally responded to it hours ago—

with a thumbs-up emoji.

A bloody thumbs-up emoji!

Of all the emojis, he’d hit that one? ’Course he had because he was the biggest pork chop in the entire universe. What was he supposed to say now?

Anything would be better than a thumbs-up, but his whirling mind was somehow blank at the same time, and he had to make sure Tabby was okay and get to work.

Damo stared at the stupid little thumb and felt even more ridiculous than he had before.

As he made his way down to the water, Damo distractedly nodded at a few locals he knew, not slowing down to chat. He stood in the shallows, the waves reaching shore with a boom and then retreating with a whoosh.

Matching his breath to the rhythmic thunder and hiss, his toes sank deeper and deeper into the sand. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the sun was already strong on his face. He loved Barking in the mornings before the crowds arrived.

He only had ten minutes before his shift started but he had to take a second to…what was the word? Recenter? No. Re…something. What was it? Blake would know.

Not just because he’d gone to uni. He knew things. He had his shit together. He had actual art on his walls! In frames! He had a kid. He was a grown-up.

And Damo had to put on his big boy pants and send a proper reply to Blake’s text—or just ring him even though he barely ever actually talked on his phone.

He still cringed to think of how he’d yelled at Blake. Told him to get out. He wanted to bury himself in the sand.

On his way to the tower, he stopped short. The clubbies were setting up their sunshade and chairs. Kat was there, and Damo looked for the now-familiar shape of Blake’s body—his broad shoulders, cute ears, strong calves, magnificent arse, slim hips…

It had been less than twenty-four hours, but Damo had missed him so damn much.

He couldn’t spot Blake among the yellow and red uniformed clubbies.

Maybe he was rostered off to spend the day with Cooper.

Blake had surely mentioned it, but Damo couldn’t remember.

He’d barely slept, and he’d have to chug one of the mediocre coffees from the machine in the lifeguards’ kitchenette.

When he jogged up the stairs to the tower, he mumbled a prayer and pushed open the door with its sign instructing the public to only knock for emergencies.

But because the universe bloody hated him, of course Mark was leaning forward in the roller chair at the long benchtop under the windows, scanning the water with binoculars. He was only a casual lifeguard, but he just had to be on the roster today.

Mark usually kept himself to himself. He wasn’t one to go drinking with the boys, and Damo realized he didn’t know much about him. Meanwhile, Mark had seen the shitshow of Damo’s house in all its glory.

“Hey!” Cody greeted Damo from his seat by the far windows.

“Hiya.” Bracing, Damo waited for Mark to look at him.

Mark did, taking his eyes off the water for two seconds at most before asking, “How are you?”

What did he mean by that? “Fine! Everything’s fine.” Damo practically shouted it.

Frowning, Cody glanced over. “What’s up?”

Heart tripping, Damo fiddled with his sunnies, which were now hooked over the neckline of his T-shirt. “Nothing!”

Looking dubious, Cody turned back to the beach. Damo’s gaze cut to the lineup of surfers out the back at the north end. The swells were up, and they were forecasted to only get bigger.

Even though he knew Blake couldn’t be out there—that surf was already too much for his skill level—Damo still searched for him. As much as he wanted a glimpse, it was a relief Blake wasn’t there.

“You going to join us, or…?” Cody asked in a teasing tone.

Damo tore his eyes from the surfers and escaped to the change room with a choked laugh. He shoved his stuff in his locker and shook out his wrinkled uniform shirt.

If he’d gotten over his embarrassment and let Blake do the laundry, he wouldn’t be rocking up to work with the uniform that smelled the least offensive. He hadn’t been able to think straight in that moment.

Now, the idea of Blake cleaning his clothes for him and folding them neatly—because no doubt Blake would make everything perfect and fresh smelling—sent warmth flowing through him.

Before he locked up his phone, he checked again. Nothing from Mum or Tabby, which was good. Also nothing from Blake, which made him want to spew. Why would there be after Damo’s thumbs-up?

The change room door creaked open, and his heart plummeted as Mark appeared wearing his usual calm, serious expression.

With his thick eyebrows, did he ever look unserious?

He was probably in his late thirties, and his dark hair was graying at the temples.

He was hot, which Damo had never let himself think about before—and definitely shouldn’t have been thinking about now! He needed that coffee.

“You right?” Mark asked quietly with a glance behind him.

“Yeah, ’course! All good. Everything’s fine. Nothing to worry about. Sorry to bother you and the other ambos. We’re good. We’re—” Damo was babbling, and he shut his gob.

Mark smiled sadly without teeth. “It was no bother. That was a confronting scene. You did the right thing to ring for help. I’m sorry your dad’s so unwell.”

Shrugging, Damo kicked his locker shut and spun the dial on his padlock. “It’s fine. Is what it is. I don’t talk about it much.”

“I won’t mention it to anyone.”

“Right. Thanks.” He spun the lock again, not meeting Mark’s kind, serious gaze. “He had an accident when I was a kid. Never got better. Now the docs are sayin’ something about rehab, but there’s no way he’ll do it, so…”

“If you ever do want to talk, I’m here.” Mark laid a warm hand on Damo’s shoulder.

His steady manner was similar to Blake’s, and Damo flushed again with shame. Fuck, he had to message Blake properly. “Thanks.”

“Are you sure you’re up for working?” Mark asked.

“Just had days off. I can’t chuck a sickie.”

“Needing time for a family emergency isn’t pretending to be sick.”

“Mark?” Cody called distantly. “Got an allergic reaction out here.”

Mark and Damo snapped into work mode, hurrying out to the main area. Cody was helping a teenage girl with a swelling face onto the first aid bed, and as Mark joined them, Damo automatically jumped up the steps to the windows.

Didn’t matter that he’d barely slept and Dad was in the hospital and he’d yelled at Blake. It was go time.

He picked up the binoculars with one hand and rang triple-zero with the other, cradling the phone on his shoulder. “Ambulance, please.”

He knew Mark would administer the epi-pen in the meantime but they still needed the ambos. While he spoke to the operator, he surveyed the water. Just in the time since he’d come to the tower, the crowd had swelled and would only get bigger.

Lowering the binos, he spoke into the radio with his free hand, jabbing speaker on the phone on the bench. “Central to orange buggy. There are three heads out the back just north of the flags. Got a little flashy there. Might be worth a paddle.”

In typical Barkers fashion, everything was going off at the same time. It was early in the day for rips to be popping up, but with the big swells, that water needed somewhere to go.

“Copy that, Central,” Mia said over the radio.

The woman on the phone asked, “Is she still conscious?” and Damo yelled the question to Cody and Mark before telling her she was.

Staring through the binos again, he said into the radio more forcefully, “Yeah, Maz, you’re in. No way they can get to shore. Backup’s on the way.”

He sent Cody out to help Mia, and Mark could handle the girl while Damo took control of the tower. Everything else—Dad, Blake, even shitty coffee—had to wait.