Kitabı oku: «The Complete Red-Hot Collection», sayfa 22
CHAPTER TWELVE
BACKSTAGE AT THE BAR, Chantal tried to psych herself up for her performance. Truth was she wanted to run away with her tail between her legs and never come back. But she was a professional, a trooper. She never backed down.
Part of her wanted to get out there on that stage to prove a point. Brodie had treated her as if she was made of crystal—as if she’d break with the slightest knock. But she didn’t break. She’d been through her share of tough times and she always kept going. No matter what.
‘Don’t look so down, honey.’ A blonde girl in a sparkling corset pouted at her. ‘If I had natural boobs like that I wouldn’t be frowning.’
Chantal instinctively crossed her arms over her chest. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Is this your first time dancing?’
‘No, not at all.’ Did she look that nervous? Hell, what had Brodie done to her? She was wound up tighter than a spring.
‘It’ll be okay.’ The blonde nodded and gave her shoulder a light pat. The woman’s long silver nails glinted like tiny blades. ‘Don’t let the audience frighten you. They’re big old lugs. Only here for the tits and the booze, never mind that fabulous dancing we all do.’
Chantal couldn’t help but smile. The blonde gave a little shimmy, flicking the black fringe edging her corset back and forth. Her stockings stopped at mid-thigh, biting into her generous flesh, and she wore black gloves that stretched up over her elbows. She looked at ease with herself… with what she was doing.
‘Just have fun. Leave your worries behind!’ She sang the last few words, twirling and shaking her ample booty.
‘I think I need to take a leaf out of your book,’ Chantal said, smiling.
‘Good idea. I always get a little tipsy before I dance.’ The blonde leaned in conspiratorially. ‘A couple of shots of tequila. Boom! Loose hips.’
Chantal practised her routine in the small space next to the mirror-lined bench. Sure, this wasn’t the best place on earth, and it wasn’t what she wanted for her career, but she could get through it. To hell with Brodie. She’d be fine and she didn’t need anyone else to take care of her. She would stand on her own two feet.
The dancer before her gyrated on stage, using the pole to complete some gravity-defying tricks. The audience roared, catcalls and wolf-whistles drowning out all but the heavy thump of the bass. Then it was her turn. She peeked out as the other dancer finished up. The crowd had swelled considerably since she’d first arrived.
Then she spotted Brodie. He was unmistakable. Sitting in the front row, arms folded across his chest, biceps on display… most likely on purpose. The blood drained from her face and her confidence followed it until the world tilted beneath her feet.
What the hell was he doing here?
Her music started but her feet were rooted to the ground. Someone shoved her in the back and she stumbled a little as she walked on stage. The audience didn’t seem to notice. They cheered and hooted as she swung her hips, pivoting on one foot with a dainty flick of her hair. Under Brodie’s intense stare she might as well have been naked. His eyes seemed to penetrate her, seeing all that she wanted to conceal.
He didn’t smile, and his eyes certainly didn’t sparkle the way they normally did. Had she turned him into this hardened lump? Where was the free and easy Brodie she’d fallen for?
And had she really fallen for him… even after everything that had happened today?
Confusion made her head fuzzy, the thoughts clashing in her mind. It was nothing—just a fling. She shook her head, trying to dislodge the warring emotions.
The steps of her choreography eluded her, but she had to keep going. Close to the edge of the stage she felt a hand brush by her—not Brodie’s. A portly man with a heavy beard and mean eyes leered up at her. Her skin crawled and she backed away, still clinging to her stage presence though she was sure she’d never danced so terribly in all her life.
Brodie had leant over to the man, his face red and indecipherable words falling from his lips. For a moment she would have sworn a fight would break out, but it didn’t. The bass thumped at odd intervals with the pounding in her head… everything unravelled. Fast.
She rushed off stage before her time was up, ducking her head at the curious stares of the other dancers and ignoring the cutting remarks from the manager as she scuffed her feet into her sneakers and grabbed her keys.
Outside the change room people swarmed the crowded space of the bar, the smell of beer and body odour making the air heavy and thick. Swallowing against the nausea, she pushed through, swatting away invasive hands and avoiding lingering stares. If she didn’t get outside… Well, it wouldn’t be pretty.
Brodie had got up from his chair. Chantal spotted him in her peripheral vision but didn’t stop. This was all his fault! He shouldn’t have come here thinking he could distract her, making her look like an idiot in front of all these people. As much as she didn’t care about their opinions, she was still dancing. Forgetting her choreography was unforgivable.
‘Chantal!’
How could she have let herself fall for him? The way he’d acted tonight proved he was the wrong guy for her. He was just like her ex: over-protective… ready to smother her.
She headed towards the stairs, running down them as fast as she could while dodging two people kissing up against the wall. Downstairs a heavy metal band thrashed about on stage, the drummer’s double kicks resonating through her, the beat reverberating right down to her bones.
She stumbled outside, tripping over a pair of feet in her desperation for escape. The cool air rushed into her mouth, was trapped where her throat was closing in. She gasped, sucking the air in greedily and forcing each breath down like a pill without water. How could she have forgotten her choreography? How? She balled her shaking hands, wishing she could crawl into a crack in the ground and disappear forever.
‘Chantal!’ Brodie’s voice rang out in the car park, muted by the music from inside the bar. ‘Wait—’
The deep rumble of a motorcycle raced past and drowned out the rest of his words. For a moment she kept walking, each purposeful step slamming into the ground. What would happen if she kept going? Tempting as it was, she couldn’t quit—she couldn’t. Not when things were turning around.
‘I’m trying to protect you.’ His voice carried on the night air.
Chantal whirled around, her body tense, like a snake about to strike. She locked her arms down by her sides. ‘You distracted me up there. I forgot my steps because I couldn’t concentrate on anything but whether or not you were going to start a fight.’
‘I’m here to make sure you’re safe—not to distract you.’ His brows pulled down, a crease forming in his forehead. ‘I only wanted to make sure you had somewhere safe to stay.’
‘I’m not coming back to the boat.’
He shook his head. ‘I was planning to pay for a hotel room for you. I’m thinking about your best interests.’
For some reason his words cut right through her chest, making her head pound and her stomach turn. Safety… protection… best interests. These were all words she’d heard before—the vocabulary of a control freak.
‘Why don’t you trust me, Chantal?’
‘You told me I didn’t have to trust you.’ Her voice wobbled and she cringed. ‘That was part of the deal.’
His eyes flashed; his mouth pulled into a grim line. ‘I thought you’d change your mind.’
‘I haven’t.’
He raked a hand through his hair, the blond strands falling straight back into place over his eyes. He’d come straight from the boat, still wearing his shorts and boat shoes from their trip to Nelson Bay. The black ink of his anchor tattoo peeked out from the rolled-up sleeve of a crisp blue shirt. Damn him for looking so utterly delectable when she wanted nothing more than to throw her shoe at his head.
What had happened to the laid-back Brodie she knew? Did all guys turn into ‘me Tarzan, you Jane’ types as soon as you slept with them?
‘Have you changed your mind about anything?’ He stepped forward, folding his arms across his chest.
‘Like whether or not I should finish my contract here?’ She shrugged, hoping she looked as though she cared a lot less than she did. ‘I’m a professional dancer. I can’t quit.’
‘That wasn’t what I was talking about.’
‘What are you talking about, then, Brodie? Because I sure as hell have no idea.’
His jaw twitched, and the muscles in his neck corded as he drew a long breath. ‘What about your desire to do everything on your own?’
‘That’s how I need to do it.’
At least that was what she’d believed most of her life. But somehow she didn’t feel so convinced any more. Remember what happened when you got married… You trusted him and look how that turned out. Mum did it all on her own—you can too.
‘Why?’ He took the last few steps towards her until there was no space between them and his hands gripped her shoulders. ‘Why do you think you need to do everything on your own?’
‘Because it’s safer that way.’ She shut her eyes, wishing her brain would stop registering the scent of him and firing up all the parts she needed to stay quiet at the moment. ‘I’m sick of being a charity case. I want to do something on my own that I can be proud of. I need it.’
‘You can be independent without pushing away everyone who feels something for you.’
Blood rushed in her ears. The roaring made it hard to think straight. ‘Are you trying to tell me you feel something for me?’
That was exactly what he was saying, wasn’t it? He did have feelings for her. Why would he keep chasing her if he didn’t?
‘What if I do?’
‘That would go against our agreement.’ Her olive-green eyes were wide, like two shimmering moons, begging him not to continue.
If he admitted to caring about her and she rejected him what would happen next? He’d never see her again. The thought of a life without her seemed pointless. Colour-less. Dull.
‘We’re supposed to be friends,’ she whispered.
‘We are.’
‘That’s all I have room for. I don’t want a relationship right now. I want to get my career sorted. I’ve worked my whole life for this. I’m not stopping now.’
‘You do know you can have more than one thing in life, don’t you?’ He couldn’t help the words coming out with a derisive tone. How could she be so narrow-minded?
Hypocrite.
‘Can you? I thought family was your one thing.’
She stepped backwards and he let her slip out of his grip.
‘Someone told me I was too scared to invest in anyone outside my family. Maybe that person was right.’
‘No. Family should come first for you.’ Chantal shook her head. ‘Go back to Queensland, Brodie. Go home.’
‘Who’s scared now?’ He hated himself for the waver in his voice. She’d managed to do what no other woman ever had—she’d made him feel something. She’d made him want to stay.
‘I am, Brodie. I’m scared.’ She looked at him with a blank face. ‘I’m scared for my career, so that’s what I’m focusing on right now. Please don’t follow me.’
With that she turned and left him standing in the middle of the parking lot. Her silhouette faded into the night and every nerve ending in his body fired, telling him to go after her. But she’d made it clear her life had no room for a relationship. No room for him.
If she wasn’t going to let him in there was no point hanging around. He was stupid to have even tried. Of course she wanted nothing more from him. How had he fallen into that trap? He was supposed to walk away—it was what he always did.
‘You’re a goddamn idiot,’ he muttered, unsure if he were talking to himself or to her.
By Friday, Brodie was ready to sail home. His travel bag was packed, but he hadn’t been able to convince himself to go. Instead he’d headed back to Sydney, in the hope that a change of scenery could pull him out of his incredible funk.
The view from the boat should have cured any bad feelings he had, and the sunlight sparkling off the water and the girls in their tiny shorts and tank tops was his definition of nirvana. Not today, though.
Humid air clung to his sweat-drenched body. He’d hoped going for a run would allow him to burn off the agitated energy that had kept him awake the last few nights. It hadn’t. Since then he’d called the office, video chatted with the family, and run until his legs trembled. Now what?
The shower beckoned. He stripped, hoping the rush of cool water against his sizzling skin might ease the confusing thoughts in his head. But the normally soothing sound of water against tiles gave him space to think… something he needed like a hole in the head.
He was officially broken.
A noise caught his attention. The vibration of his phone against the benchtop, sounding like insects buzzing. Who would be calling him? The guy who managed his office had already told him to butt out until his holiday was officially up. Apparently things were running like clockwork, and he’d told Brodie he sounded as if he hadn’t had any rest at all.
Brodie rubbed his eyes and tilted his face up to the spray. Exhaustion weighed down his limbs. No wonder… He was pretty sure he’d seen each hour tick over on his clock last night.
What if Chantal was calling?
He wrenched at the taps, shutting off the water, and stepped out of the shower. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist, checking the ID flashing up on his phone. Of course it wasn’t her. She’d made it damn clear there was nothing between them. That didn’t stop the way his body sprang to action at the thought of her contacting him.
Pathetic.
‘Hello?’
‘Hey, man.’ Scott’s voice boomed over the line. ‘Want to grab a drink?’
The last thing he wanted was to see Scott face to face. His friend would know in an instant that things had gone south. ‘I’m actually having a little time out at the moment.’
‘You’re back in Queensland?’
‘No, not yet.’ He’d been so rattled by the encounter with Chantal that he’d hightailed it back up the coast to Sydney without telling anyone. Not even Scott.
‘Everything okay?’
‘Nothing major,’ he lied, padding to his bedroom.
‘Work problems?’
He paused, unsure how much he wanted to reveal. But Scott’s pushing meant he knew something was up. ‘Not exactly.’
A chuckle came down the line. ‘Let me guess—it starts with C and ends with L.’
‘Spelling was never my strong suit.’ He tried to make light of Scott’s words but it sounded hollow, even to him.
‘What happened?’
‘I don’t know. One minute it was fine—we were fine—and the next…’ He dropped down onto the bed and rubbed his temple with his free hand. ‘It was supposed to be convenient. Fun.’
‘Love is anything but convenient,’ Scott said sagely.
‘I didn’t say I loved her.’
‘Didn’t need to. Why else would you be hiding out?’
Scott had a point. He’d run like a scared little kid, tail between his legs, all because she’d drawn the line at sex. In what universe would he be upset by that? It was guilt-free—for once he didn’t have to be the bad guy.
‘I don’t know if I love her.’
‘Are you feeling miserable?’
‘Yes.’
‘Miserable’ was probably a few notches down from the aching in his chest that had appeared when he’d sailed out of Newcastle that morning.
‘Confused?’
‘Hell, yeah.’
‘Lost?’ Scott didn’t bother waiting for an answer. ‘That’s what love feels like.’
‘It blows.’
Scott laughed. ‘It only blows before you sort things out. Then it’s pretty bloody amazing. Kinda funny how the tables have turned.’
‘I’m not laughing.’
He wanted to throw something—anything that might help him release some of the deadening weight in his limbs. ‘So what’s your plan of attack?’
‘Plan?’
‘To get Chantal back. Jeez—keep up, Brodie.’
And there was the rub. ‘It’s hard to get someone back if you didn’t have them in the first place.’
‘Did you tell her how you felt?’ Scott sounded as though he were explaining something to a dumb animal for the tenth time.
‘Well, no.’
‘Did you even try?’
Brodie groaned inwardly, this was way out of his comfort zone. He was used to being the one giving advice—as he’d done with Scott not that long ago. Why couldn’t he seem to sort out his own situation?
‘I kind of went a little… caveman.’
‘Wow—and you’re wondering why she didn’t give you anything?’
‘She didn’t want it. I could tell.’ He remembered the look in her eyes, almost as if she was pleading with him to leave.
‘She’s got a thing about being independent—you can’t change that.’ Scott sighed. ‘She needs her space.’
‘I know.’
He rubbed a hand over his face. Of course she wanted to be her own person, but that didn’t stop him wanting to protect her. Was it completely hopeless?
‘How did I screw it up so bad?’
‘Is she worth the pain?’
‘Yes.’
The word slipped out before he’d even had time to weigh up possible answers. Uttering that one little word had released the tension from his neck and lifted the heaviness from his shoulders. Was it possible that he was in love with Chantal Turner?
‘What should I do?’
‘Aren’t you supposed to be the lady whisperer?’ Scott teased.
‘I’m lost, man. She makes me question everything and I’ve got no clue what to do next.’
‘What do you do when you wipe out?’
Brodie smiled—he could always count on Scott to put something in his terms. ‘Are you trying to tell me I need to give it another go?’
‘I’m not trying to tell you—I am telling you. I know Chantal is tough. You need to let her know how you feel—she’s not great with ambiguity.’
‘What do I say?’
‘You’ll figure it out. But I would start with an apology. There’s no excuse for going caveman.’
Brodie put the phone down and stared at it long and hard. He would figure it out… But having Chantal meant sacrificing other things. To be with her he would need to be away from his family more. He couldn’t expect her to drop her dreams of being a dancer and move to Queensland with him.
If this thing between him and Chantal was going to work then other things needed to change too.
He reached for the phone and sucked in a huge breath, dialling his father’s number quickly, before he could change his mind.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
HIGHWAY SCENERY BLURRED past as Sydney faded away in Chantal’s rearview mirror. Her old car struggled to keep up with the speed limit, but she was moving… and that was all that mattered.
Last night she’d stood tall in the face of criticism from the bar manager, keeping her head high and knowing that she would make it through to the end of the contract like the professional she was. Knowing that, no matter how dire her situation, she was supporting herself.
Thoughts of Brodie were insistent, but she cranked up the music to drown them out.
After spending the morning at her audition for the Harbour Dance Company she’d gone looking for a cheap apartment to rent. Luck must have been on her side. A tiny one-bedroom place had been vacant for a few weeks and the owner was desperate to get someone in. As she’d signed the paperwork a call had come from the dance company, congratulating her on a successful audition.
Now she was on her way to visit her mother and collect all the boxes she’d stored there. Everything had turned out the way she’d wanted it to—once her bar contract was over it would all be perfect. So why didn’t she have a sense of accomplishment and relief?
Brodie.
He’d been the only thing on her mind since she’d walked away. It had barely been three days and already there was a gaping hole in her life where he’d inserted himself in their short time together. She missed his cheeky smile, the way his arms felt as they squeezed her against him, his lips. The unmanageable desire that materialised whenever he was around. How could she have let herself fall so hard? So quickly and so deeply?
Her childhood home came into view as Chantal rounded the corner at Beach Road, where blue water lined the quiet coast of Batemans Bay. Home sweet home.
The roads were empty. Most of the tourists from Canberra would have gone home by now. Work would be slow for her mum… the motels and self-contained units that dotted the shoreline wouldn’t need extra cleaning services now that summer was over. Hopefully she still had a gig with the local high school to at least cover rent and bills. Though there would be little left over after the essentials were covered.
Chantal pulled into the parking bay of the apartment block and killed the engine. Stepping out of the car, she smiled at the way the number on their letterbox still hung at a funny angle and the squat garden gnome she’d given her mother one Christmas still guarded the steps up to their second-floor apartment.
The stairs were rickety beneath her feet, and the railing’s paintwork peeled off in rough chunks. She was certain it had been white at one point—now it looked closer to the colour of pale custard. The doorbell trilled and footsteps immediately sounded from within the front room. Her mother appeared and ushered Chantal inside with brisk familiarity.
‘You should have called. I would have put afternoon tea on.’ Her mother enveloped her in a quick hug.
Frances Turner’s affection was like everything else she did: quick, efficient and with minimal fuss. She’d never been overly demonstrative while Chantal was growing up, but age had softened her edges.
‘No need,’ Chantal said, smiling and waving her hand. ‘I’m here to visit you—not to eat.’
It was more that she hadn’t wanted her mother to feel obligated to go out and buy biscuits, or the fancy tea she liked to drink when Chantal came over. It was easy to see where her desire to keep up appearances had come from.
‘Sit, sit…’
Frances gestured to the couch—a tattered floral two-seater that had yellowed with age. Chantal remembered using the back of it as a substitute barre while practising for her ballet exams.
‘How are you?’
‘I’m good.’ She smiled brightly, pulling her lips up into a curve and hoping her mother didn’t look too closely. ‘I got a call this morning. I’m joining the Harbour Dance Company.’
Frances clapped her hands together. ‘I knew you could do it, baby girl.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’
‘Why the sad face?’ Frances studied her with olive-green eyes identical to hers. Nothing got past those eyes. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ Chantal said, but she couldn’t force the tremble from her voice. ‘Boy problems.’
‘Derek’s not giving you trouble again, is he?’ Her thin lips pulled into a flat line. Her mother had hated Derek from day one—something Chantal should have paid more attention to.
‘No, Derek is long gone.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I’ve been spending some time with an old friend. It got… confusing.’
‘How so?’ Frances motioned for Chantal to follow her into the kitchen.
Yellow floral linoleum covered the floor, matching the painted yellow dining chairs and the small round dining table. The kitchen was her favourite part of the unit—it was kind of garish and dated, but it had the heart of a good home.
She traced her fingertip along the length of a photo on the wall. Chantal stood with her mother, wearing a jazz dance costume they’d stayed up till midnight sequinning the night before a competition. She had a gap-toothed grin and her mother looked exhausted. She didn’t remember her mother looking that way at the time. All she’d cared about was the trophy clutched in her young hand.
Guilt scythed through her.
‘He doesn’t get me and I don’t get him. We’re different people.’
‘But you liked him enough to spend time with him?’ Frances twisted the tap, holding the kettle under the running water with her other hand.
‘I did.’ I do…
‘And you think it’s not good to be different?’ Her mother threw her a look she’d seen a lot growing up. She called it the Get off your high horse look.
‘It’s not that. It’s just…’ How could she explain it? ‘He wanted to do everything for me. And I’m capable of doing things myself. I want to do things myself. I don’t need some knight in shining armour to rescue me.’
Her mother would be the one person who would understand. She’d stood on her own two feet since Chantal’s father had walked out. She knew what it meant to be independent—what it meant to achieve things on your own.
‘And that bothers you?’
‘It does. It’s like he can’t understand that I need to fix my own problems.’ She sighed. ‘I want to be able to say that I made my way without any hand-outs.’
‘Accepting help is not the same as accepting a hand-out, Chantal. There’s no gold medal for struggling through life on your own.’
The kettle whistled, cutting into their conversation with a loud screech. Frances lifted it from the stove and poured the piping hot water into two mugs with pictures of cats all over them.
‘I know that.’
‘Don’t you think I would have accepted some help if it was available when you were growing up?’
The question rattled Chantal. ‘But you used to tell me that it was us against the world and we had to work hard.’
‘I wanted you to be strong, baby girl. I wanted you to be tough.’ She dropped the teabags into the bin and handed a mug to Chantal. ‘Sometimes being strong means knowing when you can’t do it on your own. Accepting help doesn’t make you weak.’
They moved to the table, and Chantal was glad to be sitting on something solid. Her knees had turned to jelly, and her breath was escaping her lungs in a long whoosh. Her mother had tipped all her long-held beliefs on their head.
‘I would have killed for someone to come along and offer a hand when you were younger.’ Frances blew on the curling steam from the tea. ‘Though I feel like I did a pretty good job with you, considering.’
A smile tugged at the corners of Chantal’s lips. ‘Would it be conceited if I agree?’
‘Not at all.’ Frances reached across the small table and patted the back of her hand.
‘I’ve stuffed up, haven’t I?’
Realisation flooded her, running across her nerves until her whole body was alight with the knowledge that she’d thrown away something important. Something special.
Brodie.
She didn’t want to have him back in her life. She didn’t want to love him.
But she did.
She’d known it was more than sex from the first time she’d woken up in his arms. But it hadn’t been until she’d stood at the edge of his boat, with the freedom of the open waters dancing in her hair, looking down at the dolphins, that she’d realised how much he would do for her. That he wanted to show her what she was missing out on by being so narrow-minded.
And what had she done to return the favour? She’d picked a fight with him… refused to let him in. She’d told him to go. No matter how much time passed, she’d never forget the hurt written on his face when she’d told him not to come after her.
How could she possibly fix it?
‘Nothing is irreversible, baby girl.’
Could she let herself believe that? Would she be able to handle the rejection if the damage was too much? Funny how a few weeks ago the thought of another dance company rejecting her had been her driving force. Now her victory seemed hollow without Brodie in her life. She loved dance—it was in her blood—but a world without him seemed… hopeless. Grey.
‘I need to get my stuff. I’ve got an apartment in Sydney now.’ Her voice was hollow, her movements stiff and jerky, as if she were being directed by puppet strings.
‘Go to him, Chantal. The stuff can wait. Things can wait.’ Frances stood and gave Chantal a gentle shove towards the front door. ‘He might not.’
‘I don’t know how to get to him.’ There were too many variables… too many things to deal with. What if he’d already left for Queensland?
‘Find a way—you always do.’
Chantal surprised her mother by pulling her in for a big hug—a real hug. Planting a kiss on her cheek, she grabbed her bag and headed for the front door. Canberra airport was the closest airport that would allow her to fly to Brisbane, but it was a two-hour drive away. She didn’t even know the name of his company.
Her sneakers hit the steps in quick succession and didn’t slow as she raced towards her car.
‘Call me when you find him!’ Frances called out.
‘I will.’
She slammed the door too hard in her haste, the sound ringing out like a shot. Was she doing this?
Chantal bit down on her lip and looked at her mobile phone in its holder on the inside of her windscreen. There was one person who could help her. She had no idea if his number was still the same, or if he would protect Brodie rather than talk to her. But she had to try.
As she paused for a red light Chantal tapped the screen and dialled a number.
‘Hello?’ Scott’s voice echoed through the car.
‘Scott, it’s Chantal. I’m hoping you can help me…’
Brodie stood in the helm, staring blankly out at the harbour. The moored boats were lined up in tidy rows, the Princess 56 blending into the Sydney scene better than it had in Newcastle. He couldn’t be anywhere on the boat without remembering Chantal.
Was she back in the city by now? Doubt rooted him to the deck. Not because he didn’t believe in his feelings for her, but because he had no idea if she would ever reciprocate. He couldn’t remember a time when a girl had left him so strung out… except for the Weeping Reef situation with Chantal the first time around.
Chantal: two. Brodie: zero.
Giggling came from a couple walking past the boat—the sound of two people in love. He looked away, focusing on the dials in the cockpit. He knew he should sail home, but something had stopped him from preparing the yacht. The beautiful views and the freedom of sailing felt wasted without Chantal. No matter how opulent the scenery, it was marked by her absence.
