Slow Grind (Men of Mornington Book 1) (3 page)

“She told Aubs the cancer’s back. I told her I didn’t want her knowing until I had a plan. The last thing I need is her all the way over there worrying about me.”

“Aubrey,” I say with a smile. It’s funny how I was just thinking about the goofy kid, now Max is bringing her up. Has to mean something. “How
is
the kid?” I ask. The last time I saw her was when she was twelve, and she was yelling at me for leaving Max hanging from a tree. By his underpants. Covered in honey. Next to a beehive. What can I say? I was an arse back then. I
did
mention she was protective of her big brother, didn’t I?

“Kid? Dude, she’s twenty-one. I
wish
she was still a kid,” he mutters, shaking his head.

“Twenty-one? You’re kidding me,” I say, my mouth twisting into a grin. I can’t imagine that wiry little tomboy all grown up. She’ll always be that little girl with the pigtails, covered in freckles. Then again, we just celebrated Em’s twenty-first with a huge party. I wonder what she looks like these days? Em’s always been a pretty girl, though she ruins it with all the piercings and hair dye, but Aubrey … she was a little more on the awkward side. Cute, but awkward. Kind of nerdy … like Max in a way. Nose always buried in a book, or writing in that diary of hers.

“Don’t even think about it, Drew,” Max growls.

“What?” I laugh, holding my hands up in self defence. “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, well, keep it that way,” he grumbles, shaking his head.

A knock on the door interrupts us and we both look up to see Nash, Sam and Cam standing there. They stroll in, Sam dropping a six-pack in the fridge before collapsing on the couch next to me. Sam and Cam are twins. They were impossible to tell apart as kids, and they loved pulling jokes on Max and me. Nowadays it’s much easier, since Sam has really beefed up and Cam has a beard.

“Hard day?” I grin at Sam. He shoots me a look which only makes me laugh.

“Fuck off, Drew.”

I’m always giving him shit about his job. Sam’s about as alpha as they come. With a full chest of tattoos and a Harley, he somehow ended up the Purchasing Director for one of the biggest lingerie store chains in the country. In all honesty, I couldn’t think of a better job than staring at scantily-clad women all day long. It’s a tough job, but someone has to do it, I suppose.

“Naw, come on, man, don’t be like that. If you’re mad at me, who will I ask for advice on what colour thong suits my skin tone?” I chortle.

“Dude, I’ll shove my fist so far up your arse you’ll be wearing that thong around your neck,” he growls as the other guys howl with laughter. I reach over and slap him on the back, pulling him into my arms for a hug.

“You wouldn’t hurt me, mate,” I tease. He groans, struggling out of my grip. “Now that we have that out of the way, let’s play some poker.”

Five best mates since primary school, and we’re all so uniquely different, I bet some wonder how we ever became friends in the first place. Sam is the alpha, Max is the protector, Nash is the roughneck—always in trouble for something—and Cam is the peacekeeper. Then there’s me, the joker of the group, though the guys might argue manslut is a more appropriate name for me. I’ve never been shy about my love for women, and lots of them. Separately, we’re successful and handsome, but together, we’re a powerhouse of badass, and so close—even after all these years—that when you mess with one of us, you get all of us. That goes for cancer, too.

“Are you still fucking Darla?” Cameron asks, dealing out the first hand. Unlike Sam, Cameron is typically reserved. He’s not usually interested in who we’re sleeping with, who’s a good lay or even who has the best rack. Out of the five of us, he’s definitely the quietest.

“As a matter of fact, I am, though I wish I wasn’t,” I say, tossing a fifty-dollar note into the center of the table. “The woman barely gets off my dick long enough for me to shower.”

“Oh, poor baby,” Max interjects. “Fucking a beautiful woman must be so terrible,” he adds in his typical sarcasm.

“I’ll take her off your hands if you’d like,” Nash jokes, tossing a few chips in the center of the table.

“She’s all yours, mate. You’ll have to brush up on your handyman skills, though. She likes her appliances fixed before she takes the dick,” I grin. “Hey, maybe I can take back my fifty-dollar buy-in and put Darla on the table instead?”

We laugh in unison and Max wins the first hand. Nash deals out the next, and the laughter, jokes and game continue well into the night, until everyone except Max is so pissed we end up crashing at Max’s place. I’m not even sure who won, but considering my pockets aren’t full of cash, it wasn’t me.

At some point in the middle of the night, I pull myself off the couch and go into the kitchen to hydrate myself and find Max sitting on a barstool, staring off into the night.

“What’s going on, dude?” I ask, pulling a bottle of water from the fridge.

“She wants me to go back and stay at home.”

“Who? Your mum?”

“Yeah. She’s not taking no for an answer. And how can I keep ignoring the fact I’m not getting any better?”

“It’s going to be okay, Max. You’re Superman.”

“Well, Superman may have found his Kryptonite and it’s not the cancer. Her name is Rosalind Rosewood.”

“It won’t be so bad. Aubrey’s coming, right?”

“Yeah, she is, but I kind of wish she wasn’t. I miss her. I just don’t want her to see me like this,” he mutters, glancing down at his worn dressing gown. “And you know she’s going to fight with my mother. It’s not going to be easy.”

“Well, I’ll be there every step of the way.”

“Thanks, mate.”

“Always.” I clap him on the back and head back to the couch. When I lie down, all I can think about is Max never getting better. I remember thinking about him dying when we were younger, but then the cancer went away. It has to go away again, right? He’s not even thirty, and we’ve barely lived.

“There’ll be more time,” I reassure myself even though I’m not sure I believe it. “It’s going to be fine.”

Chapter Two
Aubrey

“Excellent work, Aubrey. Very impressive,” the shrew that is my instructor points out as I rehearse for my final. I wipe a bead of sweat from my forehead and smile.
Finally, I feel like I’m getting somewhere.

This is by far my favourite class, even if it is the most punishing on my body. My dad’s only condition about paying for college was that I double major in dance and something else. I chose business. So, while the other dancers only had to worry about their final performance—which would also serve as an audition piece—I was studying my life away for the Econ final. Dad said I needed a backup plan, so a backup plan I have. However, if I’m not accepted at a good company, I’m not sure how well that backup plan will be while I wallow in his basement as a homeless bum with no job.

Toeing across the floor en pointe, I rest in a final bow. When I drop, I glance around the room and find twenty eyes on me and me alone.

“That was amazing!” Jacey whispers, staring at me with glazed-over eyes.

“It’s just a little something I threw together, no big deal,” I mumble, brushing off the compliment. I’ve never been really good at accepting the praise of others when I dance. Everyone has an outlet to escape the tragedy of real life, and this just happens to be mine.

In only twenty-one years, I’ve tried to study every form of dance I can—from tap to hip-hop, and jazz to ballet—but ballet is by far my favourite. There’s just something about the fluidity of the movements—the grace, elegance and strength. Anyone with rhythm can practice enough to learn a hip-hop number, but for a dancer to stay en pointe for more than a second or two … that’s true strength.

“You could just say thank you, you know,” Jacey teases, and I blush. Again, not good with praise, except from the professors, instructors and company leaders, as their opinions are the only ones which will decide my future.

“Only a few more weeks until your final showcase. Remember to rehearse in your spare time and use class time effectively. Until next week,” the instructor says, dismissing class.

I slip out of my pointe shoes, tossing them in my bag, and slip into a pair of flip-flops. Jacey does the same and follows me out the door.

“Are we going to Kappa tonight?” she asks, and I groan, pulling my long, chestnut hair out of its tightly-wound bun and tying it back in a loose ponytail instead.

“I can’t,” I laugh. “I have so much homework. I’ve kept a 4.0 GPA this long, it seems silly to throw it all away in the last semester. I’ll see you later, though?”

“Maybe not,” she jests with a wink. “Raul’s been sending some serious signals my way. I might just act on them tonight.”

“Don’t you dare bring him back home. I can’t deal with you guys burning up the sheets when I need to burn the midnight oil. I swear, I’ll have to kill you this time.”

“Oh shush. I won’t bring him back. If I’m not home by one, just assume I’m at Kappa and I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.”

*****

After rushing through a quick shower and not bothering to wash my hair, I slip into a pair of Nate’s baggy sweat pants and equally large tee shirt. Spreading all my books and notepads across the bed, I dig into studying until my eyes refuse to read another word. Knowing I got a few solid hours of work done, I neatly put everything to the side and curl under the blanket for some much needed rest.

What the actual fuck?

The shrill ringing of my phone pulls me from a deep sleep and a fantastic dream about the boy who lives down the hall. Not only am I annoyed that someone has the nerve to interrupt the few hours I actually have to myself, but my dream was just getting to the good part. Typical.

As I flick on the bedside lamp, the dim glow is bright enough to let me blink a few times to allow my eyes to adjust. Frustrated, I reach over to the nightstand to grab my phone, only to find it’s not there. Then it stops ringing. Pulling my hand back, I try to decide whether to get up and check or roll over and go back to sleep. How important can a call really be at three in the morning? Jacey could need me, but she’ll keep calling until I answer. More than likely, it’s Nate looking for a little drunken booty call. On any other night, I’d be cool with it, but I’m too exhausted for him or his penis. My dilemma is decided for me when the stupid thing starts up again. Groaning, I climb off the bed, trip over my Econ book and rummage through my duffle bag until I find the ringing bastard.

I’m ready to rip Jacey a new one, but her name’s not the one illuminated on the screen. Neither is Nate’s. Looking toward the heavens, I ask whoever’s up there, “Why me?” and watch the name flash over and over again.

Mother.
I groan and rub my aching head. Why would she ruin a perfectly good year by calling me? It’s been nearly five years since I’ve had any communication with her. We don’t talk. Like,
at all
. We don’t even email. It’s not that I don’t love her; I think human beings are programmed to love the person who birthed them, regardless of wrongdoings. It’s that whole unconditional love thing. And I know my mum loves me, but we don’t
like
each other. We haven’t in nearly a decade, since I left Australia.

In all my pondering, the ringing stopped again and just as quickly started back up.

“Hello,” I answer, not bothering to keep the annoyance out of my tone.

“Aubrey? Is that you, sweetie?” Her voice is so saccharine, I’m nearly gagging, and all I can think about is how badly she fucked up all our lives.

The downward spiral of our turmoil-filled relationship started just after I turned twelve. My father was a professor at Monash University, which is ironically where he met my mum before Max was born. Our home wasn’t far from the University, so it wasn’t atypical for me to pop in to spend time with my dad while he was grading papers or between lectures. Apparently, my mother didn’t take this into account when she decided to have an affair with his TA … in his office … while he was in the lecture hall teaching his class. It was nearly ten years ago, but I remember it vividly, which, after years of therapy and medication, I wish I didn’t.

Out of all the things I forget on a daily basis—where I put my keys, where the laptop charger is, if I did my homework, or have I called home to my brother yet this week—it’s the one thing that stays lodged in my head.

The first person I told about the scandal was my big brother, who urged me to keep my mouth shut. He was six years older than me and for a while, I thought he was right, so I took his advice. Then my mother kept coming home later, making excuses to go to campus at random hours and had even invited her lover to the house for dinner. That was my last straw. I had to do something. I wanted to keep everyone happy, but even at twelve I knew it was wrong for her to let my father look stupid in his own home.

So I told him.

Three months later, their divorce was final. My mother looked at me like I was the one who ruined her perfect little family, and that’s when I decided to go back to the States with my dad when he accepted a teaching position at the high school level. It was definitely a step down career wise, but he used to say that’s what he was passionate about—teaching children while they’re still young enough to care.

“Of course it’s me, who else would it be?” I finally choke out. “What’s going on? It’s three in the morning. Why are you calling me?”
And why are you sounding so damn happy to be speaking to me?
The last time we spoke, she was screaming at me, telling me what a selfish child I was. All for ruining her perfect little affair.

“I need to talk to you about something very important, sweetie.”

I cringe.
Has she had a stroke?
That’s really the only explanation for her behaviour.

“Just spit it out, mother,” I huff, turning on the overhead light. There’s no way I’m going back to bed after this. If I wasn’t awake before, I certainly am now. “What’s the big emergency? Is it Max? Has something happened?”

I had never really made the trip back to Australia to visit my mother since we didn’t have much to say to her, but Max came here to visit as often as he could. Once he got past his first year of college, the visits became shorter and longer apart. I knew he was growing up and he had more important things to do than visit with his kid sister. I never held it against him, and I still don’t.

When I turned sixteen, the courts said if I didn’t want to communicate with my mom, I didn’t have to, and I didn’t. The phone calls and letters about how I was doing—the fake shit—stopped, and I never thought twice about it. My life was easier without having to worry about her shit. But she’s still my mother, and I still feel a twinge of hurt when I think about how easy it was for her to forget me. I know our lack of contact is as much my fault, but she’s the parent, not me.

“Watch your tone, Aubrey,” she snaps harshly.
Ah, there’s the mother I remember
. I hear the voices of other people in the background and her being extra nice to me begins to make sense. She has to let everyone know her daughter is an important part of her life by being the perfect mum. And now I’m gagging again.

“This is important,” she adds, her voice quieter. Are you sitting down?”

“Yes, I’m sitting,” I lie as I pace around the room. I know my mum likes to be a drama queen, but something tells me this is serious, so I stop the attitude and just listen.

“It’s Max, honey. He’s sick.”

My world stops in that very moment. Max is never sick. Since his cancer went into remission when he was eighteen, it’s like he was bitten by some super-power-giving outback spider that makes it so you don’t even get a cold. He’s so healthy, like,
all the time
. He watches what he eats, works out regularly and even takes vitamins. Max and sick are words I never thought I’d hear again in the same sentence. No wonder it’s an emergency.

“What’s wrong with him?” I ask, hoping it’s going to be something silly like a cold, but something in my gut tells me it’s going to be much worse.

“I think it’s time you come home, Aubrey. Max is going to need you, honey.”

“Need me for what? Please just tell me, Mother.” I sigh, getting sick of her spinning me in circles.

“It’s cancer. It’s back.”

“Shit,” I say, my worst fears confirmed. “What did the doctor say? How bad is it? I need more than just the cancer is back, Mum.”

“We’ve known for a while. He’s been getting treatments but they don’t seem to be working. We’re out of options, and he’s going to be in rough shape. It’s time you come home and spend some time with him before …” Her voice cuts out as if she can’t finish the statement, but she doesn’t have to. I know exactly what she means.

Before he dies.

But Max can’t die. He’s Max. He’s my person. My lifeline. My piece of home when I start to miss Melbourne, my old friends and my childhood bedroom. He’s the one person I know will always be there for me. No matter what. He’s mine.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me? Why didn’t
Max
tell me?”

“He didn’t want to, honey. We were certain these treatments would work and he’d be all fine and you’d be none the wiser. Your father didn’t want to get you all upset about something that wasn’t going to be a tragedy.”

“Wait.
Dad
knew?” I ask, hurt.

“Of course he did. He’s Max’s father, Aubrey.”

“And I’m his
sister
!” I yell, tears stinging my eyes.

“Aubrey, I need you to take a breath and lower your voice. You’re in your last year of Uni and preparing to graduate. You needed to focus on you. Max isn’t going to be happy I’ve told you. It was the one thing he wanted … for you to not worry about him while living your life.”

I take a long breath and bite back a reply. I hate the way she talks to me, but this isn’t about her and me. It’s about Max.

“I’ve already spoken to your dad, and he’s arranged a flight for you in a couple of days. He’ll be coming at the end of the school year. He’s talked to your professors about you finishing the semester online so you don’t have to take an incomplete for your classes. He also said something about doing your ballet routine via Skype. But you need to be here now.”

“Okay,” I mutter, feeling absolutely useless. I reach up and rub the back of my neck, feeling sick to my stomach. This isn’t fair. Max doesn’t deserve to go through all this again.

“I’ll get everything settled around here and see you in a few days. I’ll set up your old bedroom for you. It will be like you never left.”

God, I hope not.

How am I going to deal with seeing my mother? I prayed I would never have to see her again after she ripped apart our family. I hate myself for even thinking about her when all my energy should be on Max right now.

I’ll deal with it, just like I always did in the past. No matter what it takes, I’ll be there for him, even if it means calling some kind of truce with my mother. Sighing, I get up to stake my claim on the dorm showers. It’s barely four a.m. Saturday morning, so the bathroom is empty. I treat myself to an extra-long hot shower as I think about what just happened.

I’m still having trouble believing it’s true. Maybe I should call Max; I wouldn’t put it past my mother to be exaggerating the truth. She’s done it before. Wrapping my towel around me, I open the bathroom door and check the coast is clear. When I see it is, I tiptoe my way back to my room.