Stan (13 page)

Chapter Twenty-Four

Stan

She jumped. I
can’t believe she jumped.

Bel resurfaced
with a gasp and a squeal, flailing the water into a foamed fury, pushing her
hair backwards, getting her bearings. After adjusting to the cold water, she
kicked her way to the edge near me, clasping on and looking up at me with those
big doe eyes.

“Help me up?” she
asked, still breathless.

I laughed. “Not a
chance.”

Bel mocked
innocence. “What? I’m not going to pull you in.”

“Sure.”

“Pfft, whatever,”
she said, launching herself backwards, kicking. “You know it’s really not that
bad, quite invigorating actually.”

“Even sobering,
you might say?”

Bel latched onto
the aluminium ladder, lifting herself to step out of the pool. “I’m not drunk,”
she snapped.

“Of course not.”

Bell clambered
back onto the concrete, jumping around, whimpering, drenched in her jean shorts
and singlet; She really was a pitiful sight. She grabbed her shoes and ran as
quickly as she could manage in teeny tiny steps toward where I stood at the
gate. I stepped in front of her, earning myself a death stare.

“Stan, please.”

“You can head home
in a minute.”

Her brows rose in
surprise. “Really?”

I nodded. “But
first follow me.”

Her demeanour
shifted. “Why should I?”

“Because it
involves clean towels and hot water.”

I brushed past
her, heading toward the shower block with only the assumption she might follow.
When I heard the pitter patter of feet behind me, I smiled.

“You can’t go in
the women’s shower block.” Her voice echoed incredulously, as I flicked the
light on to only the entrance part of the building.

I turned to her,
causing her to pull up abruptly so as not to run into me.

“Why not? I’m good
enough to clean them.” I looked at her pointedly. “Besides, I think the coast
is clear, no one in their right mind would go swimming at this time of night.
Honestly, Bel, I don’t know what you were thinking,” I teased.

“Oh, shut up,” she
said, pushing past me.

She dumped her
shoes on the bench inside before working to dislodge some water out of her ear,
and mumbling under her breath in frustration.

I bit my lip,
stifling a laugh as I pushed open the door to the largest cubicle and turned
the taps on to get the shower running.

“All yours.” I
motioned with a sweep of my arm.

“Gee, thanks, you’re
a real freakin’ gentleman.” Bel glowered, walking past me and pausing in the
door. “I’m leaving my clothes on by the way,” she said quickly.

“Good for you.”

Bel gave me one
more death stare before slamming the door shut after her.

The angrier she
got, the funnier it was. I slotted in the key from my key chain to work on
unfastening the locker that housed the towels. Grabbing the plush navy towel, I
slammed and locked the door, whistling ‘Don’t Worry, Be Happy’ as I headed over
to Bel’s cubicle to hook a towel over the edge of her door.

I broke off
mid-whistle when I couldn’t see Bel’s head over the door. By all rights she
should have been visible from the shoulders up, but there was nothing other
than a stream of hot water and rising steam.

Had she done
another runner?

I cursed under my
breath. “Bloody pig-headed, stubborn, bloody wom—” I ripped the door open,
ready to slam the taps off when I stilled. Bel was sitting with her arms
wrapped around her knees, her back against the tiles, the shower head spraying
over her, causing trails of water to fall over her face and cascade down her
chin. My heart ached at the sight. She looked so small, so helpless, that if I
reached out and touched her she might break. I knelt before her, cupping her
face, the spray drenching me as I looked into her eyes.

“Bel?”

Her defeated eyes
told me all I needed to know but she voiced it anyway. “I don’t feel well.” Her
chin trembled and I cursed myself for chasing her and forcing her to jump in
the pool.

I swallowed,
wiping the hair from her eyes. “I know.” My chest was tight and my heart raced
in panic seeing her like this.

Her eyes blinked,
trying to focus as she looked down at my arms that still had a hold of her.

“You’re getting
wet,” she protested.

“Doesn’t matter,”
I said, slamming off the taps and slinging the towel over my shoulder.

“I’m going to pick
you up, okay? Put your arm around my shoulder.”

She did without a
word of argument. She must have been sick. I lifted her limp, exhausted body
off the floor, bringing her out to sit on the bench. The shower cubicle was
only faintly lit from what light filtered through from outside; I hadn’t wanted
to draw attention to us being here. I knelt in front of Bel who rested her
palms on my shoulders to keep upright.

“You right? Just
take a few deep breaths, okay?” I pulled the towel from my shoulder, unfolding
it and flicking it around hers, before lifting it up and over her head, rubbing
briskly to dry her hair best I could.

“Ow, careful.” Her
muffled words cried out from under the towel.

“Shit, sorry,” I
said, before letting the towel settle around her shoulders again.

“Bel, we’re going
to have to get these wet clothes off you,” I said quietly, looking down to the
drops of water pooling onto the cement. I didn’t look up until I felt the deep
inhale from her tiny frame, and the soft, almost inaudible response.

“Okay.”

My eyes flicked
up, reading the expression on her face in case I had misheard her. But when she
nodded her head in agreement I knew I had heard right. I nodded back, and
without words I just worked on what needed to be done.

I swallowed, and
with as steady hands as I could manage, I let the towel fall from her
shoulders, my fingers dancing gently to gather the sodden fabric and hem.

“Arms up,” I said,
and she obliged.

I peeled the pale
pink singlet from her, letting it fall to a rolled-up, wet heap on the floor
next to her. I was grateful for the bad lighting as my eyes were in line with a
white bra and what I could make out, a pink bow in the middle. I quickly
shifted my eyes as I worked my clumsy hands to the button of her jeans, the
backs of my fingers brushing against her soft belly. It took all my strength
not to focus on the sensation and just work on bloody unbuttoning the damp
denim, something that felt like it took ages to manage. I could feel Bel’s eyes
looking down on me. She leant back a little, resting on the back of her hands,
the navy towel draped around her. I didn’t dare look up, not once.

Come on, come
on. Got it!

Finally freeing
the top button I worked her zip down. I didn’t need to ask for the next
direction as she instinctively lifted for me to edge the wet denim down over
her hips, slowly sliding them down her thighs, down, down her legs. My fingers
grazed a path; I could feel the goose bumps that puckered her flesh, thinking
it had more to do with being cold than anything I was bumbling my way through.
Once the denim hit the concrete next to her top, I breathed a sigh of relief,
quickly moving to wrap the towel tight around her like a cocoon as I rubbed
briskly.

“Better?” I asked.
Once again she managed a head nod.

Bel Evans out of
words. Now that was really something.

I scooped up Bel’s
wet clothes and shoes and heading toward the same locker block as the towels,
opened, and chucked them inside.

“I’ll grab them
when I do the rounds tomorrow,” I said, mainly to myself. Pocketing the keys, I
made my way back to Bel.

“My shoes?” She
blinked, probably wondering why I had taken them.

I smiled. “You won’t
be needing them,” and before she could question that very fact, I scooped her
up in my arms and made my way out of the shower block. Despite the awkwardness
of the situation, and how dismal the girl in my arms felt, nothing had ever
felt more right. She felt right in my arms. And I was taking her home.

“Time for home,” I
said.

“Home?” Bel’s soft
lips brushed tauntingly close to my jaw line, her arms wrapped around my neck.
I smiled broadly, peering down at her as I readjusted her weight in my arms.

“My home.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Bel

I awoke in a
twisted pile of sheets
.

Groaning against
the strip of sunlight that had somehow penetrated its way through a gap in the
curtain and right across my eyeline, I grimaced, rolling away from the
offending beam. Clasping my temples to prevent the pounding assaulting me, only
to realise it wasn’t anything to do with my head, which by all accounts, now
that was I was coming to my senses and waking slowly from my sleep, felt good
and was not in fact pounding. The pounding was coming from somewhere in the
house. I sat up quickly, alerting myself to listen intently until my attention
snapped down, and then under my sheets I gasped.

Naked … so, so
naked.

I delved in the
fuzzy edges of my mind to try and piece together how exactly that had happened.
I don’t remember much else after the fresh night air hit me as Stan carried me
back to the house. I don’t remember taking my bra and undies off, but surely I
would have bloody noticed if Stan did?

Oh, God.

I hid under the
covers, wanting to die. Not only because the mystery was still a mystery to me,
but because an image flashed of me being sick, passed out on Max’s floor.

Shame-shame-shame.

If I could ever
bear to face the world again, I would have to apologise, change my name, and
assume another identity to save a lifetime of humiliation. Stan will never let
me live this down, never.

The pounding
continued, causing me again to sit up and listen intently to the distant noise.
I wrapped the sheet around me, shifting to the edge of the bed, only to pause.

There, folded on
the chair in the corner were my clothes from last night. Clean and dry. I
stood, shuffling over to touch them, to see if they were real. They smelled
like fabric softener as I lifted them and rubbed the fabric affectionately
against my cheek with a smile.

Stan.

I unfolded them
hoping to find my bra and undies and when they weren’t amongst them, a sudden memory
flashed through my mind. Sure enough, I peeled the covers back and there they
were at the base of the bed. A bubble of relief surfaced inside me; I took them
off myself. I laughed, pulling them out and shoving them into the deep side
pocket of my bag.

Seriously, I was a
danger to myself.

***

The pounding had
long since stopped, and as I dressed and had tamed my fuzzy head of hair best I
could, I wandered from my bedroom, down the long hall, closing in on the voices
that were muffled beyond the door. I cautiously twisted the handle, readying
myself for an awaiting audience and the flooding of natural light that would
hit me as I made my way into the living room.

Sure enough, I
grimaced against the adjustment and sheepishly walked in to see Glen and Paula
Remington fussing in the kitchen with a bench full of wines and bags of
assortments from their weekend away. Paula noticed me first, standing awkwardly
before the door.

“Oh, sweetheart,
we didn’t wake you, did we?” Paula pouted.

“Oh, no, it’s
fine.”

What time was
it?

I searched for the
wall clock but was interrupted by Stan’s dad.

“By all accounts
it sounds like you needed a sleep in.” Glen chuckled.

My spine
straightened; I could feel my cheeks flood with heat as the old familiar
feeling of mortification flooded me.

Oh, God, what
had Stan told them?

“Seems like you
had quite the weekend,” added Paula.

I wanted to die. I
wanted to search for the quickest escape and never come back to Onslow ever
again. I may have sabotaged Stan’s weekend but he would have the last laugh as
Mum and Dad had me under house arrest for life.

“Stan said you
were a real trooper, that he couldn’t have done it without you.”

Wait. What?

Paula laughed. “There’s
no need to seem so surprised. Stan doesn’t hand out compliments easily, my
dear. In fact, I am amazed he was able to delegate any tasks to you; it’s
rather miraculous.”

Glen smiled
broadly, nodding as he leant against the counter. “You kids did good, we’re
really proud of you.”

I closed my mouth,
thinking it not the best look if I looked like a stunned mullet. At best I had
to act as if I knew what they were talking about, and I sure as hell didn’t.

“Where is Stan?”
The sentence fell out before I could stop it.

“We’ve given him
the day off, I think he has earned it,” said Paula, as she re-stocked the fruit
bowl.

I gave a small
smile. “Yeah, absolutely; in fact, he probably deserves a weekend off, I think.
I don’t know how he does it seven days a week.”

Maybe I was a bit
out of line, but if there was one thing I did know about Stan Remington was
that he was a hard worker. Up at dawn, running around looking after everyone’s
needs before his own, I could see how easy it was to take advantage of such a
quality in someone.

“I mean, it must
feel nice to come back home after a few days off,” I added thoughtfully.

Paula smiled. “Yes,
it was just what we needed, hey, dahl?”

Paula’s words seem
to snap Glen out of his thoughts. “Oh yeah, yeah, absolutely.”

“To be honest, I
didn’t do near as much as Stan probably said I did. It was all him.”

“Well, no good
turn goes unrewarded.” Paula reached for her purse, fishing out some golden
notes.

My brows lowered
as she came over to me, picking up my hand and placing the money into my palm.

“I know you will
probably not want this, but we really do appreciate your help.”

Paula walked away
and I stared horrified at the fist of money, the money I had not earned, the
money I did not deserve. I shook my head, walking over to the kitchen bench,
and placed the money on the counter, much to the surprise of Stan’s parents.

“I would sooner
you put it towards a fishing rod.”

“A fishing rod?”
Glen queried.

I nodded. “A
fishing rod. Stan can use it next weekend on his time off.” I knew I was being
cheeky.

“B-but next
weekend is the festival … I … don’t think that—” Glen stuttered, until Paula
reassuringly put a hand on his shoulder.

“Oh, I think we
can handle it, Glen.” She winked at me. “That sounds like a really good idea,
Bel.”

Relief washed over
me; there was no way I felt comfortable about taking any money. If anything, I
should be paying them for Stan having to put up with me. Still, if he managed
to get a belated weekend off to go on his fishing trip, I’d hoped it would make
up in some small way for what really was a disastrous weekend for him.

“I’ll just grab my
things and head back,” I said.

“Your mum and dad
have gone to pick up Alex, but they shouldn’t be too far away,” said Paula.

I laughed. “Alex
will be gutted you guys came back early.”

“Ah, yes, well,
when there’s a doctor down I suppose there is little choice,” said Glen.

I paused in the
doorway. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, your dad got
a call from the clinic. Apparently one of the doctors has taken ill and you
guys have to head back tomorrow,” said Glen.

“Tomorrow?” I said
a bit too loud.

“Oh, dear. Glen,
you have such a big mouth. Hon, they were going to tell you; believe me, they
were really disappointed, too.”

I bet they
were, cutting short a wine weekend would have been positively shattering.

I know I had
wanted to get far away from Onslow, but with the thought of Christmas literally
being cancelled, I was pissed.

So pissed.

I said my goodbyes
and heaved the backpack over my shoulder, lost in my own thoughts as I left the
Remington house. Shutting the door behind me I turned, only to slam straight
into a hard torso.

“Whooa, careful,”
the voice said as a hand came out to prevent me from toppling over.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t
see you there,” I said, looking up and up at the really tall boy before me. How
I didn’t see him was a bit of a joke, he was huge and he was … oh God.

The Angel of
Death.

From last night. I
thought I had hallucinated his presence in the doorway of Max’s bathroom, but
there he was: very, very real. I took in the muscled lines of his built frame,
the high wattage smile, and piercing blue eyes that suddenly dawned with
recognition.

“Bel, isn’t it?”
he asked.

“Oh, um, yeah.” I
blushed.

“I’m Sean, Stan’s
mate,” he said, holding out his huge hand.

I shifted my
backpack, taking his hand as he shook it so hard I thought my shoulder would dislocate.
I was somewhat relieved he didn’t go into the whole ‘we kind of met last night’
scene. He didn’t mention it and there was no chance I was going to.

“Um, if you’re
looking for Stan he’s not here,” I said.

“Oh, okay. Do you
know where he is?” he asked, scratching the stubble on his jawline.

A day off, I
thought. There was only one place my mind jumped to when Stan’s parents had
told me he was given the day off. I felt as miserable as I did about it now as
I toed a wooden knot in the deck of the verandah.

“Well, I daresay
he’s probably at his girlfriend’s,” I said unenthusiastically, as I craned my
head to look back at Sean who was sporting a somewhat troubled expression.

“Girlfriend?” he
repeated.

“Yeah, Ellie.”

Sean’s expression
didn’t falter; it was like the lights were on but there was nobody home.

I sighed. “Ellie
Parker: tall, blonde, tanned, kind of hard to miss.”

It was like a
knife stabbing me in the heart listing off all of her traits to him that were
the opposite of mine.

“Yeah, I know who she
is.” He smirked.

“Well, find her,
you find him,” I said. Done with this conversation I stepped around him only to
be stopped as he grabbed my arm.

“Whoa, wait a sec.”

My eyes dropped to
where he held my arm, before raising my brows to him.

“Stan doesn’t have
a girlfriend,” he said in all seriousness.

My eyes ticked
over his penetrating expression. It was as if time stood still, his words
coming out in slow motion as they sunk in.

What? What?!

Numbness,
confusion, fear, hope.

“B-but they’ve
always been together.”

Sean smirked,
shaking his head. “They broke up over twelve months ago.”

“Twelve months
ago?” I repeated a bit too loudly.

Sean let go of my
arm, trying to contain his amusement. “So, as you can see my predicament, trust
me in saying Ellie’s is the last place Stan would be.” Sean gave me a knowing
look, taking in my overreaction with interest.

Stan didn’t
have a girlfriend. Stan didn’t have a girlfriend.

The words screamed
inside my mind, over and over again, the very sentences constricted my breathing
as I made sense of the last few days. How there was no affection between them
because there really wasn’t. The way he seemed to take Ellie walking in on us
with no guilt because he didn’t have any.

Oh, my God, he
nearly kissed me … as a very single Stan.

My heart raced a
million miles an hour, blinking into the here and now, realising I was still
very much standing in front of Sean who was finding my verge of having a
meltdown more than entertaining.

“Sean … where’s
Stan’s place?”

Sean broke into a
winning smile. “I’ll take you there.”

***

My mum looked at
me in disbelief. “I can’t believe you are taking this so badly, I thought you
would have been frothing at the mouth to get back to the city to see your
friends,” she said, unpacking her bag as I sat on the edge of the bed.

“Well, I have just
gotten used to the idea of staying and now we have to go. Can’t Dad go back and
we stay?”

“What? And spend
Christmas apart? I don’t think so.”

Our family always
spent Christmas together. Even Grant and Ben were coming here for Christmas.

Mum cupped my
cheek as she walked past out of the room. “There’s always next year.”

Not for what I
had to do.

Having waited the
better part of the afternoon for my parents to get to the van I had had only
time for a quick shower and change as I paced a track into the annex carpet.

Sean was going to
pick me up at six thirty at the top of the grounds. I really didn’t fancy
myself having to explain why a six-foot-three Adonis was picking me up, so I
would just keep that on the down low. In fact, I would keep everything on the
down low as I planned to head out to Stan’s and confront him about, well, I
didn’t know exactly. But knowing what I did now about he and Ellie not being an
item, well, it changed things, for me anyway. My mind raced a hundred miles an
hour. Even if he was a free agent, he was probably completely disgusted by my
behaviour last night. Even if he had shown signs of wanting to kiss me earlier,
had my antics from last night changed that?