Backstage with Her Ex (13 page)

Eventually she turned over onto her back and stared up at the sky. ‘Okay...Well...you know my dad...committed suicide?'

‘Aha.' His heart pounded hard and loud. Nate didn't want to speak, didn't want to stop her from purging herself of whatever it was that had formed the essence of this strong yet vulnerable woman.

But he was scared too. Scared for her, scared that she'd had to endure something that was clearly very ugly. So instead of speaking he held her, his throat raw with the pressure of the unknown, nodding slowly into her hair as she shook. Waiting for the fallout.

He didn't have to wait long. Her voice was so small that he had to strain to hear it.

‘I was the one who found him.'

TWELVE

‘I was ten
years old, craving attention from a daddy who'd changed over the months from being kind and attentive to silent and reclusive.'

How had it got to this? Fast, slow. Black, white. Secrets, lies. Past, present.

Sasha took another breath. It seemed there'd never be enough air to squeeze down her fast-closing throat. Repressed images from that night flickered through her brain like a bad old movie while deep inside a rising panic threatened, but she swallowed it back.

‘He was in his study staring blankly out of the window. And I wanted my old happy dad back so I scuttled in and tried to sit on his knee, asking if he could help me get my bike from the back of the garage. But he pushed me away and shouted that he was too busy. That I was selfish and spoilt. He yelled and yelled, getting more and more worked up. Then...he did something he'd never done before...'

Even now after all this time she couldn't believe it. Sure, she'd rationalised his motives, but the actual physical act had been so unlike the father she'd grown up with. ‘He hit me. A loud smack across my face that sent me reeling to the floor. Hard and sharp and thick on my cheek.'

She could have sworn the sting flared again as she touched her face. Nate's hand followed and he grasped her fingers in his fist, his touch spurring her on.

‘And he just kept staring at me, grey with horror, as if unable to understand what he'd done, saying,
“I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.”
Then he rushed out of the room.'

‘Some people react badly under pressure.' Nate squeezed her hand. ‘I should know.'

‘But my upbringing was nothing like yours, Nate. I didn't know violence. My life had been a fairy tale until then, although I'd always thought it was boringly normal. Then he changed. I was scared. Everything seemed to be unwinding out of control.'

‘And then...?'

‘I heard my sisters laughing and chatting downstairs. My mum working in the kitchen. The slam of the garage door. A car backfiring in the street.'

‘Only it wasn't a car?' Nate's voice was quiet and gentle.

She shook her head, inhaled deeply, unsure if she could continue. Tears stung the backs of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. ‘No. It wasn't. But I didn't know that. I'd heard the garage door and I headed there for my bike, thinking he'd gone to get it for me.'

‘Oh, God...but he hadn't...'

For some reason her leg had started to jitter, up and down, up and down. She couldn't stop it. It beat a wild, out-of-control rhythm.

And there was Nate's palm resting a light pressure on it to slow it down. For once, the steady to her chaos and, God knew, she needed him right now. Needed this. Needed his arms around her, his chest to lie against, his heart to pump a regular rhythm she could follow.

‘A smell hit me; weird, smoky, metallic, pure, but terrifying. And no noise. Nothing at all, not even the sound of his breathing. But there he was. So much blood over everything. And over me eventually, when he wouldn't wake up. And then my mum was behind me, telling me to come back into the house with her.'

‘I'm so sorry you had to go through that, Sasha.'

‘Me too.' She was suddenly cold through to her bones. So cold.

Nate's eyes closed for a moment. When he opened them they were tormented. ‘But why? Why would he do that?'

‘He'd put all his money into a pension company that failed. His business partner—his best friend—disappeared with all the cash, leaving Dad to face the creditors. He'd tried to protect us, but there was hate mail, a pending court case, prospective jail time, and massive media coverage, journalists at the door braying for his blood.' She couldn't stop the bitter laugh. ‘Well, they got it.'

Nate shifted as he became more animated, his hands raised and his fists clenched. ‘But why didn't he face them all? Fight them? Why did it have to be so...?'

‘Final? Violent? Cowardly? Afterwards I thought it was cowardly to leave us all. But Daddy had never been a coward. He was strong and honourable and always did the right thing. Whatever made him take his own life must have been a dark force that overwhelmed him.'

She sank further into Nate's arms, taking comfort from his heat. ‘But he was a broken man too. Trust came too easily to him and he couldn't believe what had happened. Eventually it must have become too much for him to cope with. I guess, faced with all that, it seemed the only way out.'

And yet getting over his actions had held her and her family prisoner for the rest of their lives, in one way or another.

Over the years she'd worked hard to erase the images from her head, shutting the door on that part of her life. But the scars were there still, she now realised, dressed up in her inability to allow herself to dream or to relax, or, indeed, to trust anyone not to do something so extreme again.

Laughable really. She hated extremes and chaos. Yet here she was opening her soul to the human embodiment of them.

His fingers stroked down her back. ‘But instead of wallowing in it, or taking your anger and grief out on the world, you became a teacher and give so much to everyone. And you never ask for anything in return.'

‘The way I see it, school was my constant, the one thing I could rely on to be the same every day. No surprises, just routine where I felt safe and could leave the chaos of home behind. And, to be honest, there were some pretty decent adults who wanted the best for me. If there's one kid at Chesterton High who needs that, then I'm there for them. Plus, channelling energy into something positive is empowering too...A bit like sex.'

She'd never realised how powerful a woman could become when she let her sexual instincts take over. How liberating letting go could be. It had only taken seventeen years for her to understand. Heck, she was a slow learner.

But now she had a good teacher and the things his hands could make her feel...

‘Now that I can understand, sweet thing. Sometimes you surprise even me.'

His knuckle ran across her cheek, then his mouth followed, tracing tiny kisses over her lips, her cheeks, the nub of her nose, her eyelids. Back to her mouth where he pressed his lips against hers and she opened to him, safe and warm in his arms.

Here was a man who would face bad times—
had
faced bad times, and would fight back with everything he had. Bare knuckle if need be, but he'd fight.

His life might well be played out in public, but his love was kept so preciously and deeply private.

He tasted sweet and soft and of hope. And at that moment she knew she could truly fall for him. Hard. She could learn to love him too, perhaps, given some time and a chance. Maybe she already did. Because how could she not?

The pain in her chest melted slowly, overwhelmed by something else, something equally weighty, but not as devastating, or as hollow. Eventually he pulled away and offered Sasha his hand to stand. ‘I think it's time we went inside and worked a bit more on Sasha-empowerment, don't you?'

‘Most definitely. And this time I get to call the shots.'

‘Oh, God, I've unleashed a monster.' He laughed. ‘We've got all night. And the next...'

Wrapping a blanket around her shoulders, he took her hand, and walked her up the terracotta steps towards his amazing terracotta castello. A bright silver moon illuminated the endless fields of vines casting an ethereal glow, almost magical. Here, she figured, anything was possible. Even talking about something she'd never mentioned to a soul. Or maybe she'd been lucky with finding the right person to listen.

She followed him past the library, the dining room, into the opulent lounge, breathing in the reassuring centuries-old aroma of polished wood mixed with new vine growth, eucalyptus, fresh air.

‘Here, have this, it'll make you feel better.' He gave her a glass of something from a crystal decanter. Thick and dark, it burnt her throat but it hit the spot. Almost immediately the horror started to fade, replaced by a warmth deep in her gut.

He took a big gulp, then looked at her, brows furrowed. ‘Just one thing. Why didn't you tell me this all those years ago? Why keep something like that bottled up?'

‘I was raw and damaged. Would it have made a difference?'

‘I don't know. I'd like to think I'd have tried to help you work it out. I guess my efforts would have been clumsy, but I always felt you were holding something back from me. Something that stopped you trusting me. You remember that last day? You were quiet at school, but I knew there was something bothering you. You refused to talk about it, and...'

‘Because I wouldn't trust enough to confide in you, you went looking for a fight. And you got one.'

He was right. However much she dressed up her insecurities in organisational perfection and her, quite literally, uptight approach to sex, it all amounted to her holding everyone at arm's length. Even to the point of pushing him to his limits. And losing him in the process.

‘And now you know why. We moved to Chesterton to get away from all the attention. My mum was sick from the stress. She refused to talk about it and tried to put on a brave face. We all did. I packaged everything up and pushed it deep inside myself as far as it would go. In a matter of months our happy ordinary life was ripped apart—everything I knew had changed and bowled out of control. Not talking about it made me feel like it couldn't possibly have happened.'

‘So you micro-managed everything. If you controlled things, things wouldn't get out of control. Right?' He smiled gently, pinning a rogue curl of hair behind her ear. ‘Those lists. The reluctance to just pack up and leave.'

‘I guess so. I was only ten and I didn't think like that. It was more like, if I behaved well and made sure I planned everything then nothing bad would happen.' She smiled. ‘The OCD just developed.'

‘And the trust thing?'

Oh, yes. She took another sip as she thought, bought some time. ‘The million-dollar question? Trust comes hard when you see what can happen. I'm working on it. But then sometimes there's this little voice in the back of my head asking:
what if something so bad happens again
? And that sense of threat tarnishes everything. It makes you see the world differently, takes away your ability to get close to anyone.' She noticed the glass shaking in her hand and fought to steady herself. ‘You're just waiting for it all to fall apart again. And what if it does?'

It took a long time for his answer to come. He peered down into his drink, as if the crystal held all the answers in the universe. When he finally spoke his voice was the most serious it had ever been, his eyes burning with a fierce passion. ‘Then I'll be there for you. I'll catch you, Sasha. I won't even let it happen in the first place.'

He believed it so fervently she almost allowed herself to believe him too.

But she wouldn't get carried away. They only had a few short days left and she was under no illusion what was going to happen at the end. ‘Well, don't dare treat me any differently, Nate. One show of pity and I'm gone.'

He brought her to an ornate antique chaise and sat down, pulling her onto his knee. ‘God, sweet thing, I don't pity you at all. I've been through some stuff, but it's nothing compared to you. Big respect. As Dario would say, you're one seriously cool chick.'

‘Aww, he's got such a way with words.'

‘Well, I'm not about to let him loose with any lyrics just yet, but he's right. So, so right.'

And then he held her on his knee, slowly stroking her hair. The mantelpiece clock ticked sonorously on and on as liquor and a solid pair of arms eased her transition from a nightmare past back to the present.

For how long they stayed there she didn't know. But it was enough. Enough to send the ghosts shivering back to where they came from, unable to hurt her any more. Enough to give her time to adjust to the new Sasha she could be now that her secrets had been unlocked.

She straddled his lap and leaned forward to press a kiss onto his forehead, his cheek, his lips. Ran her hands down his sculpted sun-tanned chest. ‘So, we have four more days, Nathan Munro, and I'm really out on a limb here with no schedule and no planner, pushing all my trauma issues to the limit. So you'd better make it worth my while, d'you hear?'

Her bikini bottoms were no barrier to the warmth of his skin and the sudden shock of his physical reaction to her.

Four days. That was all they had left and she was going to make the most of it. Because she wanted him now, and she was through with living scared. She'd deal with the consequences later.

A buzz of renewed desire prickled over her, a reawakening of her innate reaction every time she saw him. ‘Kiss me? Take me to bed? Surprise me? Let me surprise you?'

This time when his lips crushed hers they were ardent and heated. Gone was the soft caressing, replaced now by an urgency that deepened with every stroke of his tongue. Something fundamental had changed between them and it showed in the way he tasted, the intense way he gazed at her, a new respect. A deeper connection. Deepening all the time.

‘God, Sasha, you've been through hell and missed out on so much loving.' His hands slid the length of her back, stopping briefly to untie the strings on her bikini, then he cupped her bottom, groaning as she rocked against his erection. ‘And I'm going to spend the next few days making it up to you.'