Page 131 of Vying Girls

‘Alright,’ Tilda says with quiet resolve. ‘I will.’

Another couple of hours and we’re finally on Hazelhurst soil. My chest loosens when Tilda’s roped into helping Coach lug equipment back to the sports centre. If I’m fast, I can grab a quick shower at the lodge and beat it back to the tent. Gonna move the fucker too. No doubt she’ll get it in her mind to find me.

My phone starts buzzing as I hit the forest path. I retrieve it with a sigh, thinking it might be Tilda begging me to wait for her.

But it’s an unknown mobile number that shows on the screen. My heart jumps, the beat of it loud in my ears. I know without answering who it’ll be.

Clearing my throat, I put the phone to my ear. ‘Hello?’

‘Um, hi, Nicole? Hey. It’s Josephina.’

CHAPTER 22

Nic

I run my phone over my lips, ears filled with the sound of surf. It’s a nice view up here. The castle stands to my right, just visible over the trees, with the grey-blue ocean spread out before me.

My eyes glaze over faraway whitecaps, my heart giddy. Strange, because all we talked about was Damien.

She sounds so old. Voice deeper, an infectious laugh that made me smile more than once. A window to the past I don’t mind peeking through.

She was shy. We both were. So much of my wellbeing has been riding on her happiness. I hadn’t realised until I asked her how she’d been, the tears of relief pricking at my eyes when she said she was okay.

And she sounded it. Missing Tommy, mad at her mum, concerned about Damien. But okay.

I put down my phone, blowing out a long breath that turns into a derisive snort.

So the asshole needs money.

Of course he does. Always was a greedy fucker. And I’m an easy key. Sitting on an egg of money I rarely touch. Just the necessities. Rent and food. An eventual house deposit. Feels like a kick in the teeth to his memory to spend it on much else.

My gut fills with acid at the thought of handing any over to Damien. I’ll be dead before that happens. Wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what he’s eventually gunning for. How convenient for him. He has to be an eligible relative. Aunt Kathleen definitely is. The only family I’ve got left.

All that time mindlessly snorting every drug under the sun, I didn’t think I’d live to see twenty. Only good thing I did for myself was get a will sorted, one that stipulates none of it goes to them. I thought about putting Josephina on it once, but I didn’t want to put her in this exact position. If I died and the money went into a trust for her, he’d find some way to tease it out.

All because he owes some bastards.

I shake my head, seeing his desperation, his anger, in a whole new light. Pathetic son of a bitch. It must have been a kick in the balls to come crawling back to The Order for some wheedling.

I feel relieved. I know what I’m dealing with now. Until he finds an alternative source, Tilda’s not safe, but at least now there’s no temptation. No handing over the money for an easier life. Fucker deserves what he gets. Hopefully that’s having his neck cut in some drug lord’s cellar. Shit, I might even ask to watch.

My phone buzzes again. This time it is a text from Tilda.

Please come home x

I darken the screen. I just need tonight. One night to breathe, to savour Josephina. Then I’ll fill Tilda in. Tommy too. Maybe make some sort of plan. Time to put this to bed.

I heft my bag full of laundry higher on my back, idly jabbing the power button on my phone. It’s definitely dead, my battery pack too, necessitating this trip back to the lodge.

Probably for the best. Means no more messages from Tilda. I’m eager to get it charged though, on the off-chance Josephina gets in contact again. I’ve told her to keep me updated if she wants, no obligation. Truthfully, I’d love another conversation free from the mention of Damien, an excuse to catch up properly. If I’m letting my dark past slither back in, might as well let the rest of it.

Just as I reach the lodge door, it swings open. Haz stands there, something wild in her eyes as she exclaims, ‘Dude, what the fuck? Where’s your phone? I’ve been calling like mad.’

I frown, dropping my bag in front of the washing machine. ‘Why? What’s up?’

‘Tilda’s fucking gone.’

I freeze. ‘Gone where?’