Page 12

Madigan

There were a ton of things I’d rather have done on a sizzling hot Saturday afternoon than run a workshop on Preservation Management of Library and Archival Assets for a university library conference. But as said university allowed me the use of its conservation studio in return for those occasional workshops, I put up and shut up.

That didn’t stop me bitching all the way home, not helped by the fact that the motorway was a nightmare and the air con in my old Toyota was on the fritz. By the time I turned into my magnolia-lined driveway, I was hot and irritable and spoiling for a fight, and the unfamiliar Audi parked in front of my house did nothing to alleviate my pissy mood. Visitors I cared about knew better than to call on me unannounced.

I pulled into the carport and trudged my way back to the Audi, only to find it empty. My hackles rose. Wandering uninvited on my property was definitely crossing the line. My gaze swept the expansive lawns, browned-off and thirsting for rain, but I saw nobody.

“Hello?” My gaze tracked the property’s boundary as I waited for a reply, but other than a few cicadas and the distant call of a bellbird somewhere in the bush, silence reigned. Dammit.

Remembering Nick’s break-in, I hesitated. Surely not. No self-respecting thief would park their getaway car bang in front of the house they were robbing in broad daylight, right? Nevertheless, I scanned the vicinity for something I could use as a weapon, but unless I could fell the intruder with a handful of gravel or a terracotta pot brimming with petunias, I was out of luck.

Actually, the pot wasn’t such a bad idea, and I was about to reach for it when another thought struck me. Nick drove an Audi. I was almost positive. It was also a more likely explanation than being robbed in broad daylight on a Saturday afternoon. Especially when, unlike Nick, I had a top alarm system that I actually used.

Feeling reassured, I let myself into the house, disarmed the alarm, and set the air con to freeze-your-balls-off-in-a-hot-minute. That done, I stepped into the open-plan living area, dumped my bag on the sofa, and took a look around. It didn’t take long to clock a pair of long denim-clad legs extending from a chair on the back deck, and unless my thief was taking a break to enjoy the country view, I figured I’d found Nick.

Not sure what to make of his sudden appearance on my doorstep, I wandered over to the ranch slider and surreptitiously watched him for a moment. He looked exhausted and was slouched so far down in the chair he was almost sliding off. His face was tilted up to the late afternoon sun, eyes closed, three empty beer cans scattered at his feet, and an open bottle of whisky dangling from his hand above a large carboard box.

Oh boy .

I wasn’t sure what was going on, but one thing was certain, my evening had just taken a turn for the complicated. I should’ve felt pissy about that, especially since the man had all but ghosted me since our New Year’s conversation, but I didn’t. Nick was on a huge emotional rollercoaster, and none of it was about me, even if a part of me wished it were.

I studied him, unseen, through the glass, his faded butter-soft jeans tight on his thighs, a pale lemon T-shirt with the words Certified Black Sheep printed across the chest, making me smile. Black rubber jandals sat kicked to the side, his bronzed feet left bare and oddly sensual against the dark stain of the deck. I’d have taken him for relaxed if it weren’t for the tension rolling off him in waves.

It made me take a closer look and I didn’t like what I saw. There was something achingly lonely about the picture he painted in that chair. Locked down tighter than a drag queen’s tuck, Nick wouldn’t have found his way to my house on a whim. I knew that much. His jaw was rough with thick silver stubble like he hadn’t shaved in days, and weary lines pulled at his eyes and mouth like a man who’d fought too many battles for too long against enemies he couldn’t name. But more than anything else, Nick Fisher looked... lost.

Something had brought him here. Something big. And for a few ridiculous seconds, I wanted nothing more than to gather him in my arms and tell him that whatever it was, everything would be okay. That I would stand guard over him until it was.

I blinked and looked down, stunned at the force of my craving to do exactly that. To protect this man. To keep him safe until the world was a gentler place for him to breathe again.

I’d either lost my marbles completely or had a death wish, because if I knew one thing about Nick, the stubborn fucker wouldn’t thank me for trying.

“You gonna stand there all day?”

My gaze jerked up to find Nick watching me with glassy eyes and a lazy smile.

“Come on out.” He waved me onto the deck with his free hand, his words soft and slurred at the edges, like butter melting in the sun. The careful picking and placing of words answered any question I might’ve had about how much whisky he’d had.

I opened the ranch slider and stepped onto the deck. “You leave your gate unchained for one day and look what happens. Strangers invite themselves onto your deck.” Okay, so maybe a little pissy at the ghosting.

Nick’s smile tipped into a beaming grin and he looked me up and down far too slowly to be entirely comfortable. “Aw, I missed you too.”

I snorted dismissively. “Yeah, I doubt that, considering you’ve been avoiding my calls since New Year.”

He had the grace to look a little sheepish.

“Here.” I threw him a wide-brimmed sunhat. “Put that on before you burn.”

He caught the hat and set it on his lap. “It’s too late in the day for that.”

“I wasn’t asking,” I reiterated. “My deck, my rules. That sun still has some heat and by the look of your face, you’ve caught far too much of it already. Put. It. On.”

He looked about to argue before his gaze flicked up to the scar on my forehead, which was still a little lumpy. “It healed nicely” was all he said before sliding the hat onto his head without any further comment.

I pulled my own hat into place and grabbed one of the other chairs.

He eyed me thoughtfully. “Does it bother you? The scar?”

Heat raced into my cheeks. “Of course not,” I lied, kicking off my shoes and loosening my tie. The fact that I hated seeing it in the mirror every morning and applied silicone gel twice a day meant nothing. “I’m too old to worry about vain shit like that.”

He waited until I looked up, then said, “Don’t do that.”

I rolled my eyes. “Do what?”

“Diminish yourself,” he said gruffly. “Jesus, Madigan, you’re only fifty-five and you’re a handsome guy. You’re allowed to care about how you look. It’s not a crime.”

His compliment set fire to the rest of my face, which seemed to amuse him. “I didn’t say I don’t care,” I flustered, a comment which earned me a look. “Fine, so maybe I care a little. But I refuse to fixate on all that superficial crap. There’re enough older guys doing precisely that and it’s not a good look. It screams insecurity.”

His lazy smile spread into a broad grin. “Aren’t we all a little insecure in one way or another?”

My lips twitched. “Well, clearly you are.”

He snorted. “I’ll ignore that. But also, stereotyping much?”

I sighed. “Yeah, okay, maybe. Doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”

He grinned. “I’ll give you that, but my earlier comment stands. You’re a good-looking man and you’re allowed to care about that.”

As I digested the uncomfortable reiteration, a starling soared low over our heads on a mission to the bush line. And when Nick turned his head to follow the flight path, I caught the purplish-red bruising on his jaw for the first time.

I let out a low whistle. “Jesus, Nick. Who the hell did you piss off to earn that ?”

He lifted a hand to the bruising and winced. “I’ll tell you later.”

I didn’t push. “Wait here.” I left to grab the wheat bag I kept in the freezer and handed it to him. “Here. Stick this on it.”

He considered the bag for a second and frowned. “It’s a bit late for that.”

“Maybe,” I agreed. “But slap it on anyway. See aforementioned rules about it being my deck.”

Nick snorted but did as he was told.

I crossed my hands over my chest and studied him. “I must’ve missed your text.”

He looked over at me and frowned. “What text?”

I was tempted to jump into the whole lack-of-contact thing but managed to bite my tongue. “The text telling me about your plan to drop in today?”

His lips twitched, his grey eyes swimming in a pool of alcohol. “Oh. Well, it probably went the same place that yours did when you turned up uninvited on my doorstep.”

He had a point. “You started without me, I see.” I tipped my head at the whisky bottle in his hands.

Nick followed my gaze, like he’d forgotten the bottle was even there. He shrugged. “What can I say? It’s been a helluva day.”

“If it brought you to me, it must’ve been really, really bad,” I said drily.

He grinned and pointed gun-fingers my way. “See, I knew you were smart.” He held the whisky bottle out for me to take a hit.

I declined. “At the rate you’re polishing that off, one of us needs to be capable of calling an ambulance. I’ll take one of those beers instead.”

“Ambulances are overrated,” he muttered, grabbing an unopened can from the cooler bag at his side and passing it over.

“I’ll make sure to let them know.” I cracked open the can and held it out between us. “Here’s to a shitty day.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Nick tapped the can with the bottle of Glenmorangie and took a hefty swig.

Oh boy. It was gonna be a long night. “You came prepared.” I indicated the cooler bag.

His gaze sluggishly followed mine and he shrugged. “Nope. It was part of Davis’s stuff that I’ve just collected from Lizzie’s caravan.”

He didn’t explain further and I didn’t ask, figuring he’d get there in his own good time. I took a slow guzzle of beer and finished with a contented belch. I eyed the unfamiliar label and nodded. “Not bad. Don’t think I’ve tried this one.”

“Me neither,” Nick admitted. “The fact it’s even drinkable is down to good luck since I grabbed the first six-pack off the shelf without even looking.”

I took another swallow and eyeballed him. “Right, then. All pleasantries aside, why are you here on this stinking hot evening?”

His eyes flashed with something I couldn’t quite get a handle on but which looked a lot like pain. Seconds later it was gone, and that unfocused slightly mocking air returned.

“Here’s the deal,” he said. “If you tell me about your shitty day, I’ll tell you about mine.”

I narrowed my gaze. “In case you’ve forgotten, you’re the one who turned up out of the blue after ghosting me the last few weeks. I even gave you the name Casper on my phone.”

Nick almost choked on a laugh. “As in Casper the friendly ghost? Now you’re really showing your age.”

“You should know. Now, are you done?” I snapped and he shut his mouth. “Suffice to say, I don’t owe you any explanations, Nick. You , on the other hand, need to start talking.”

“Suffice to say?” He smirked and I wanted to slap him. Then that strangely desolate look he’d been wearing when I first saw him returned and I wanted to wrap him in cotton wool instead. Something was definitely off with him.

“I know I need to talk, and I will, I promise,” he said soberly. “But maybe humour me for once?” He indicated the bottle of whisky. “My thoughts are a little... fuzzy. I need a minute.”

Protect. Protect. Dammit.

“Fine,” I breathed the word out on a sigh. “If you must know, I spent the day teaching a workshop at a conference. A very hot, very tedious, very long conference. On a Saturday .”

He nodded. “Explains the suit. Looks good on you, by the way.”

I blinked, thrown by the unexpected compliment and not sure how to respond. I decided to let it go and began recounting my day instead. Nick listened without interruption, although I wasn’t sure how much he really heard, his attention waning at times like the whisky level in that damn bottle. When I couldn’t stand it any longer, I held out my hand and clicked my fingers.

“Enough. Hand it over. You promised to talk, but at the rate you’re chugging that down, you’ll be comatose before you get a chance.”

Nick’s shoulders tensed, like he was steeling for a fight, but then his body deflated and he reluctantly handed me the bottle.

I was about to thank him when he reached for a beer to replace it with.

“Absolutely not.” I shot to my feet and snapped my fingers again. “I’ll take those as well, thank you very much.”

He groaned and made a big show of surrendering the two remaining cans while grumbling about bossy fucking friends.

“I’ll make us some coffee,” I countered, and his answering pout made me smile.

“I don’t want coffee,” he griped. “I want a whisky.”

“You mistake my order for a request,” I clarified. “I’ll bring some water as well. And yes, I know, you don’t want that either. Save it for someone who gives a shit.”

His mouth snapped shut.

I smirked. “Excellent choice. This is the part where you shut the hell up and do as you’re told.”

That earned me a sizzling glare. “Then maybe I should leave.”

My gaze remained steady on his. “You can, but you won’t. Because you want to talk to me, Nick. That’s why you’re here. And there’s nothing I want more right now than to hear what you have to say. So, how about you stop all this fucking posturing and let someone else look after you for once. It won’t kill you.”

His gaze hardened, and for a moment I thought I might’ve pushed too far. But his expression softened after a bit and his mouth quirked. “But it might kill me.” He cocked a brow. “You can’t know that for sure.”

I groaned. “Then leave. See if I care. But you’ll have to walk because I’m not handing your keys back until you’re sober, which isn’t going to be anytime soon judging by how much you’ve had to drink.” I jangled the key ring I’d swiped from the coffee table earlier and headed inside.

“You can’t do that!” Nick protested, his chair scraping back on the deck.

“I just did,” I threw back over my shoulder. “Now sit the fuck down, and if you’re a good boy, I’ll even throw in a sandwich for good measure.”

“I don’t want a bloody sandwich,” he hollered as I disappeared into the kitchen.

“Just as well I wasn’t asking, then.”

Twenty minutes, a double-shot espresso, and a ham-and-cheese sandwich later, Nick was finally ready to talk. He pushed his plate away, set his mug on the coffee table, and stared into the treeline.

“I’m pretty sure Davis was cheating on me,” he said baldly, still looking away.

I almost choked on my last mouthful of sandwich. “What?”

Nick’s gaze slowly tracked back to mine. “I think Davis was seeing someone else before the accident.”

Holy shit. It was the last thing I expected him to say. I stared at him, stunned speechless. Everything Nick had told me about Davis didn’t fit with the man being a cheater. “And you know this because...?”

His jaw tensed, but his gaze remained steady, almost unnervingly so. “Because it’s the only thing that makes sense. The only thing that explains all the weird shit I’ve discovered today.”

“Today?” I blinked. “You’ve only discovered this today?”

He shuffled nervously and nodded. “Yeah, in the last eight hours, to be precise.”

I shook my head, still trying to digest his words. “Then how can you possibly be certain?”

He huffed. “It wasn’t exactly hard to piece together.”

I sighed and fell back in my chair, opening my hands. “Go on then. I’m all ears.”

And so he did, and I listened in disbelief as he relayed the full story of his day—the publishing folder, the laptop receipt, the search of the townhouse, which led him to the caravan and what he found there. As he talked, his fingers worried the seam of his jeans, his gaze darting on and off my face, his expression warring between anger and humiliation and a much, much deeper hurt.

“There was a second phone as well a new laptop.” Nick eyed me defiantly. “And appointments on his calendar with someone bearing the initials L. K., and more with a second person labelled J. I don’t recognise either of them, and yet I thought we knew everything about each other, including our friends.” He snorted derisively. “It sounds pathetic when I think about it. I mean, what couple ever tells each other everything , right?” He shot me a pleading look. “But I could’ve sworn we were that couple.” He paused, looking miserable, and I wanted nothing more than to comfort him.

“But you said he met with lots of people when he was researching, right?” I reached for a possible answer.

Nick shook his head. “Not at the caravan. Never there... at least not that I was aware of,” he qualified. “The caravan was Davis’s writing space, not somewhere he socialised or interviewed people. If he needed to talk with someone, he generally arranged to meet at a café or a park or they came to the townhouse. He didn’t even like me visiting the caravan when he was working.” His voice broke and a guttural sound escaped his lips that almost broke my heart.

“Nick, you shouldn’t assume?—”

He cut me off. “I’ve been a fucking idiot. I loved him, Madigan. And I believed everything he told me. He could’ve had anyone he wanted, but I trusted he knew what he was doing when he picked me. That he loved me just as much as I loved him. It sounds so fucking corny, but damn, if he didn’t burn like a fire in my heart. He was my soft place to fall. The only person I’d ever allowed to be that for me. Do you know what that love feels like? It’s a once-in-a-lifetime miracle. You don’t get to be that lucky a second time. And I never questioned his loyalty, not even once.”

Oh god. I reached across and took his hand, unable to watch him coming apart from the sidelines any longer. “But you’re making some pretty big assumptions.”

Nick didn’t pull away, his attention slowly locking on our joined hands. “I don’t know that I am.”

I squeezed his hand and he looked up, his expression confused. “I’m just suggesting that maybe you should slow down a little. Because unless I missed something, I haven’t heard anything like a smoking gun. If Davis loved you like you believed he did, then maybe you owe him the benefit of the doubt. You were married for thirteen years before the accident, and I know you’re not easily fooled. This might not be what you think.”

Nick’s expression sharpened. “All right, well answer me this. On the day of the accident, Davis arranged to meet this L. K. guy at the caravan. There was an exchange of emails setting it up. I’ve read them. And it was noted on the calendar. Later that same day, he met with whoever this J. guy is. That was on his calendar as well. But he never mentioned either of them to me at breakfast.” He paused, swallowing hard, looking about as devastated as I’d ever seen him.

“Maybe he didn’t think it was important?” It sounded weak even to me and got the look it deserved from Nick.

“Davis always told me if he had meetings planned so I’d know not to worry if I couldn’t get hold of him during those times. And it was our anniversary as well. We had a dinner reservation. You’d think of all days, Davis would let me know if there was a chance he might be late on that day. What the hell was he doing down there—were they doing down there? Who are these people? Tell me again how I’m supposed to explain that away?”

“But you don’t know why they were meeting,” I insisted. “Maybe he was organising a surprise for your anniversary?”

“That needed planning in secret for almost two months?” Nick sent me a sour look and pulled his hand free. “Davis didn’t remember it even was our anniversary that morning, not until I gave him his card at breakfast.”

Oh. I kept my mouth shut because . . . well . . . shit.

Nick read the expression on my face. “Exactly. But he said nothing to me about any of it. He’d planned lunch with this L. K. person on our anniversary and yet it never occurred to him to tell me. We never understood why he was down that way in the first place. Now we know.”

I frowned. “But you said Davis was alone in the car when the accident happened. And it was miles away from Clarke’s beach.”

“I know. I know,” Nick said, frustrated. “I didn’t say the two things were connected. Who knows what Davis was doing when he took that corner too fast? Maybe that part was research. Maybe that was the J. guy? But there are more questions than answers and I can’t get past the fact that Davis was lying to me.”

I raised a brow.

Nick grunted. “By omission, at least.”

“It might still not be what you think,” I countered softly.

Glassy grey eyes shot back to mine and their bleak desolation rattled me. “Then again, it might be exactly what I think.” He stared right through me, then looked away.

And maybe he was right. I’d only known Davis through Nick, and I didn’t know Nick that well, not enough to make guesses about his marriage, leastways.

Nick’s gaze dropped to the water bottle in his hands. Crickets chirped in the hedge that bordered the backyard. And two paddocks over, Tony Ferguson’s angus bull bellowed endearments to his group of bovine admirers. And through it all, the cloying summer heat swallowed every drop of energy left in the day.

Nick looked so fucking sad, I couldn’t take my eyes from him. Like someone had ripped his heart from his chest, and I guess in some ways they had. Even if the whole thing wasn’t what Nick thought, Davis had still kept secrets from him and Nick’s belief in their relationship had been brutally shaken. I couldn’t pretend to know how that felt, but I sure read the devastation written clear across Nick’s face.

“So, who hit you, then?” I circled back.

Nick looked up. “What?”

I tapped my jaw.