Ringer (15 page)

I didn’t want to be Ringer’s summer fling,
and truth be known, now I didn’t have to be, I was free. Free to leave this
dustbowl of a place, free to leave my traitorous parents, but more importantly,
the infuriating boy that stood opposite me, the one that made my heart thunder
and my cheeks burn. What had I been thinking before, wanting more from him? He
was just a cad like every other man I knew.

“You can’t be mad at your dad for caring;
yeah, it’s extreme, but he had good reason.”

“There is no excuse,” I snapped.

Ringer plunged his hands in his pockets.
“He told me about the accident.”

My eyes snapped up to meet his. That one
singular sentence sucker punched me, knocking all breath, all clear thought.
That night had always been a constant source of shame. It was something I
wanted to push to the furthest corner of my mind, and why wouldn’t I want to?
It was the night that I almost killed my best friend; the scar on Mel’s face
was a permanent testament to the fact. It was also a huge part of me not
wanting to come back and face these ghosts, to be faced with the same distrust
from my parents even after all these years. The fact I had even asked Mel to borrow
her car last night to escape for my own selfish reasons made me feel physically
ill just thinking about it. Even though we had now discussed it, I still felt
guilty for my stupid choices. How could I not?

What was wrong with me?

“Is that why we trekked across the paddocks
last night, so they wouldn’t know?” he asked gently.

I could feel my blood boil; I didn’t need
him to point out the irony. That the reason I couldn’t be trusted was, well …
because I couldn’t be trusted.

What could I say to that?

My mind was overheating; the more Ringer
said the madder I became. I didn’t want to see reason or logic; I just wanted
to be mad. Be mad at Dad and at Ringer. The incredulous feeling of betrayal was
so much easier to process than the reality of my self-loathing. So I did what I
did best in these situations.

I walked away.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

RINGER

I closed my eyes
the moment the words tumbled out of Steve Henry’s mouth. Yep, a definite mood
killer.

Miranda stormed past me towards the house.

I inwardly groaned, looking up at the sky.
“Miranda, wait.” I sprinted after her, moving to block her path.

She glared up at me. “Move.”

I stood tall, defiant and crossed my arms.
“No.”

I half expected her to abuse me with a long
line of insults; instead, she did something much worse and far more unnerving.

She smiled sweetly.

My brows knitted together, staring down at
the vision of a blonde angel; I slowly let my guard down thinking maybe she was
actually coming around? And just as a small line lifted the corner of my mouth,
Miranda’s smile slowly fell from her face as she let out a blood-curdling,
ear-bleeding scream. I leapt to cover her mouth, to muffle the sound that had
me jumping out of my skin at the unexpectedness of it. What wasn’t unexpected
were the lights turning on, first from the shearing huts, then the outside
light to the homestead.

Fuck!

I let Miranda go and dropped to the ground.
I rolled under Sean’s ute in the nick of time, as the screen door burst open
and Miranda’s dad appeared in just his jocks and armed with a cricket bat.

The sound of feet pounding on the gravel
and coming to a halt made me cringe as I saw a gathering of legs appear.

“What’s going on?” asked a breathless Sean.

“Sorry, everyone, false alarm, I thought I
saw a snake in the drive,” Miranda said.

“Good God, Miranda, we thought you were
being murdered,” said Miranda’s mum.

“I’m so sorry, I was just getting something
out of my car.”

“So there’s no snake?” said a yawning
Moira, who almost sounded disappointed.

“All right, show’s over, folks,” Steve
Henry announced.

A series of sleepy mumbles sounded as I
watched the barefoot shuffles in the dirt as the boys slowly disbanded back to
the shearers’ huts, and heard the sound of the wire door opening and closing as
the Henrys went inside, but none of that held my interest. My gaze was solely
fixed on the pink polished toenails and the long legs that disappeared out of
view, her thongs flip-flopping up the steps, the door sounding for the last
time, and then a moment later the outside light went out, plunging me into
darkness.

I held my breath, thinking that the simple
motion of exhaling would interrupt my efforts to listen, what for I wasn’t
sure. Miranda had gotten what she wanted; she was inside now.

I groaned, shifting myself from under the
ute, pulling myself to stand, brushing off the dirt from my jeans and shoulders
before flinching at the shadow in the corner of my eye.

The shadow chuckled. “You are so fucked.”

Sean.

He casually leant against the tray of his
ute; his smugness was not lost on me.

I was in no mood for this.

“Don’t start.” I glowered.

Sean shook his head. “Ain’t love grand.”

***

Too many late-night rendezvous are bound to
catch up with you; this was clearly the case as I felt the harsh kick to my
bed.

“Get up, lover boy! We’re heading.”

I groaned, burying myself deeper into my
wrapped cocoon as I ignored Chris’s voice. My attempt of ‘ignore it and it will
go away’ was short lived when my bed started to shimmy violently. I sat up,
squinting at Toby rattling the foot of my bed.

“Let’s go, Ringo,” he shouted.

“What do you need me for?” I croaked.

“Well, that’s bloody nice, we’ve come all
this way and you can’t even open the gate for us?”

I sat on the edge of my bed, rubbing the
sleep out of my eyes. “Get stuffed.”

As I slowly pulled myself out of the dregs
of sleep I took in the scene before me. My mates, dressed and ready to start
their adventure. All bright and upbeat: it was enough to make you sick. Nothing
about this scene was right, and the fact it was still dark outside seemed just
wrong. I grabbed for my jeans, peeling them on, one leg at a time.

“You may hate us now, Ringo, but wait till
we bring back the big one,” Stan said, miming casting a fishing rod. I smirked,
watching my delusional friend.

I stood, slapping Stan on the shoulder.
“Haven’t the girls told you size doesn’t matter?”

“Oh, ha-ha,” said Stan, as I pushed past
him to the sink in the corner of my room. Splashing water onto my face, I
blindly grabbed for a towel.

“The Henrys must really trust you, Ringer,”
said Toby.

“Hmm?” I managed past the minty toothbrush
in my mouth.

“They’ve left already,” he added.

I paused mid-brush. Well, that was
unexpected, I honestly thought Steve would come say goodbye, if nothing else
give me another neurotic rundown of my daily chores; he really was keen to get
away.

“They trust you, all right,” added Chris.
“Leaving you here with their daughter.”

“Their hot daughter,” added Stan.
“Seriously, why do you suppose Max never mentioned he had a sister?”

Chris rolled his eyes. “Gee, I wonder?”

Rinsing and wiping my mouth with my towel,
I offered a friendly whack to Stan’s ribcage as I made my way out onto the
verandah.

Sean was relaxing against the verandah
post, looking off into the distance with amused interest as he sipped on a cup
of tea. I collapsed into the chair outside my door, working to scrunch my socks
up to put on my feet.

“What are you looking so pleased about?”

“Not so much pleased as intrigued; you
might want to check this out.” Sean nodded towards the house.

I got up from my chair, moving to stand
next to Sean who had a better vantage point and view to the driveway. I
followed his eye line and froze, my eyes narrowing.

There she was.

Dragging her ridiculously oversized duffle
bag, struggling to lift it into the boot of her car.

I could feel Sean’s eyes watch me with
interest. “Seems like not all the Henrys trust you.”

I didn’t really know what I wanted from
Miranda, and it wasn’t just sexual frustration of two nights in a row of
teasing. But, I know that I didn’t want her to leave. More so, I didn’t want
her to leave me.

Was I really willing to chase after her?
Willing to ask her not to leave?

I watched as Miranda gently pulled down the
boot and pressed on it lightly. She was creeping around so as not to draw
attention. Well, she had my attention all right, and as I watched her dart back
quickly into the house, my mind was made up. She may have not wanted to see me,
or hear me, but you don’t always get what you want.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Miranda

By the time I
heard the house stir into life I had made up my mind.

And once I had, I wasted no time in getting
up and ready; I wanted to do it before Ringer and the boys made it over to the
house.

I needed to clear my head, to think about
what I almost did last night, what I had done the night before. I was becoming
someone I didn’t wholly recognise anymore. I wasn’t so much as angry but
confused. I knew it as much when I walked into the kitchen, I had the full
intention of blasting my dad for messing with my car, but when I was met with a
giant bear hug from him, all the resentment melted away, and I could feel my
chin tremble like I was a small child.

“Well, we’re all packed and ready to go.”
He was so excited, I didn’t even have the heart to tell him I planned to leave
too. I think he knew.

He pulled back from his hug and looked down
on me, smiling with warm affection. “I checked the water and oil on your car,
she’s good to go.”

“Well, we better get moving before the
hungry hordes expect a cooked breakfast.” Mum laughed. “Miranda, I have left
notes for Ringer for any household stuff, and our number is on the fridge.”

Whoa, she wasn’t kidding, there were
Post-it Notes everywhere. On the fridge, the pantry, the remote controls, and
the TV.

“Mum, I think Ringer will know how to
operate a kettle,” I said, flicking the bright yellow square.

“Well, just in case,” she said, wrapping
her arms around me. “We’ll see you when we get back, be good.”

Oh, dear Mum, always in denial.

“What? We’re not saying goodbye to the
boys?” Moira pouted, incredibly put out with no opportunity to view some man
candy before she left.

“Nah, let ’em sleep,” Dad said.

“Miranda, there is cereal, fruits, toast
and juice for when they get up; make sure they have something to eat before
they go.”

Ha! I hoped there were Post-it Notes for
that, because I hadn’t planned to be here when they came up for breakfast.

I gladly herded them outside with the last
of their bags to the ridiculously over-packed car; they always over packed. I
glanced towards the darkened shearers’ hut, grateful that there were no
stirrings of life …
yet.

In true Dad style he had to warm the car up
for what seemed like all eternity; I wrapped my arms around myself in the
coolness seeing as the sun had still yet to pierce the sky. Each minute that
passed my anxiety grew.

“Well, drive safely,” I said in an attempt
to hurry them along.

Mum wound down the passenger window. “Oh, I
can’t help but feel like I have forgotten something,” she said, her expression
troubled. “Miranda, can you make sure I turned the iron off?”

“I will.”

“And can you make sure the boys don’t make
a mess in the kitchen?”

“Sure.”

“Oh, and don’t forget to tell Ringer about
the pot plants; Steve, did you tell Ringer about the pot plants? I didn’t put a
Post-it on the pot plants.”

I half expected her to ask me to check the
attic for Macaulay Culkin; instead, I just bent down and pecked my mum on the
cheek.

“Go! It will be fine.” Mum seemed taken
aback by my affection, a rare moment that hadn’t been exchanged between us in
some time. It was a nice way to part. Unlike my sister, whose elbows appeared
propped from her open window in the back seat.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” She
wiggled her eyes in a hubba-hubba motion. There was just enough time to whack
her outside the head before Dad pulled into gear.

“Burn rubber, eat my dust,” he chanted. It
was something about Dad behind the wheel of a car that evoked terrible Dad
humour.

I just laughed. “Have fun.” I stood back,
waving, finally breathing a sigh of relief watching them circle and exit out
the long, dirt driveway. I cringed when Dad tooted, my eyes flicking towards
the huts.

Still in darkness, good.

When Mum and Dad’s car was no more than a
speck in the distance, I bolted inside the house, through the kitchen and down
the hall into my bedroom. I had all my stuff packed and ready by my door; I had
been showered and dressed for hours, waiting for the perfect timing. And now
with my family gone, never had there been better timing. I didn’t have to
suffer the endless questions of where I was going. What I was doing? I had no
real clear plan, other than to go see my brother, Max, which was a start.

I dragged the biggest of my bags across the
freshly polished floor before pausing at the door. My heart plummeted to my
feet.

There was a light on at the shearers’ huts.

Damn!

I was on borrowed time. I kicked the screen
door open, pulling my bag out after me. Not wanting to put my back out, I
dragged the big bulky weight behind me, leaving a very obvious drag mark in the
dirt. I worked to open the boot and then, rather awkwardly, manoeuvred the bag
into the car. My heart pounded, I closed the boot oh so gently before racing
back into the house for my last bag. I dared not look behind me, to see what
light was on now. I just had to move quickly and quietly and get the hell out
of there.

I shouldered the last bag and managed a
quick glance around the kitchen; even in my hurry to leave, a small spike of
emotion rose in my chest. I clamped it down. I wasn’t sure when I would see
this kitchen again.

Don’t be silly, Miranda. You have never
been whimsical about home, don’t start now.

I left the lights on inside and made my way
out the door, ensuring it didn’t slam behind me. I crept down the steps,
rounding my way around towards the car. I could almost breathe a sigh of relief
the closer I got to the driver’s side.

Almost there.

But just as I closed the distance I was
brought to a jarring halt.

“Forget something?”

I closed my eyes; the sound of his voice
caused my stomach to twist. I dropped my bag; my shoulders slumped in
resignation as I turned to face him.

Oh crap! Why did he have to look so
good?

There he stood, hair all tousled, yet
perfectly imperfect from his sleep. His trademark navy T and navy Levis made my
heart race; he was so sexy. I didn’t want the sight of him to affect me like
this; it’s only lust, I told myself. Don’t be fooled into thinking it was
anything else. But then I made a huge mistake.

I looked into his eyes.

His deep, soulful hazel eyes, that always
seemed to alter in colour depending on how the elements hit them. And with the
sun only just piercing the sky, his eyes were flecked with an intense lightness
that made me want to forget everything and just walk to him. Hold on to him.

But then that familiar cocky smile tugged
at the corner of his mouth and I slammed down my rampant hormones. My brows
lowered; it was so much easier to hate him with that smile on his infuriating,
yet highly kissable, mouth. I double blinked, snapping my traitorous mind away
from such thoughts, and straightened my spine.

“You can’t go,” he said seriously.

His voice was warm like melted butter and I
tried to ignore the butterflies that tickled my insides when he spoke. I
defiantly lifted my chin, hoping my silence would urge him to elaborate.

If you ask me to stay, I will. I need
you to ask. I don’t know where I stand with you.

Ugh! Shut up, brain!

“You see, there’s something I have been
meaning to give you,” he said, slowly taking a step forward, then another.

My chest tightened as he stood before me,
so close I could smell the mint on his breath, and the intoxicating richness
that was just him.

I swallowed. “Well, hurry up then,” I
snapped.

My urgency was more out of the danger of
being completely drugged by his presence, folding to his words and charm. I
could feel my resolve melting, and what was worse was the cocky gleam in his
eyes that showed me he knew it.

“I just wanted to give you something to
remember me by,” he said, slowly closing the distance. I instinctively closed
my eyes, waiting for his lips to brush against mine. So when he gently took my
hand instead, and turned my palm upwards, I was surprised. I was distracted by
the fact there was no kiss, and by the other fact he had placed something in my
hand. I opened my eyes; I slowly lifted the object Ringer gave me. There, lying
in the palm of my hand …

The door handle to my Mazda?

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I said, the
incredulous words flying from my mouth.

Ringer mocked concern. “Oh no, you’re
disappointed?”

I shook my head, words failing me.

Ringer straightened. “Wait a minute, what
did you think you were getting from me?” he asked, amusement lining his
features.

My urge to throw the stupid handle as far
as I could with rage was paramount, but seeing as I really did need it, I just
crushed my fingers around it with a white-knuckled intensity instead, as I
glared up at Ringer.

“Nothing! I want nothing from you,” I said,
turning to my car door. Ringer grabbed me by the arm and spun me around so fast
my head was in a spin. He pushed me up against my car, all humour lost in the
heat of his eyes as he cupped my face with his hands.

“Nothing? Really?” he asked calmly, his
breath whispering across my lips; my chest heaved at the unexpectedness of his
touch.

No, not nothing, never nothing, it would
always be something with this infuriating man. He made me forget my demons by
simply challenging me in ways my heart failed to understand, let alone my head.
My head that was reeling from such a simple question.

“Say you want nothing from me, say it like
you mean it, and I will walk away.” His thumb skimmed teasingly over my bottom
lip.

I looked at him for a long moment, loving
him, hating him; around and around again my emotions spiralled in a mesh of
insanity, till the final twist settled in my mind and with a resounding force.

I can’t stay here. The guilt will eat me
alive. My parents’ censure is too overbearing. Ringer probably won’t stay,
anyway. Not for me. What am I thinking? There is no reason to stay.

I snapped my head to the side, refusing to
look at him.

I sensed the moment his shoulders melted;
he pressed his head against my temple staying there for a long moment, his
fingers gripping me so fiercely I knew there would be marks indented in my
flesh. The heat of his skin was like a furnace scolding me with his touch, and
just when I thought I couldn’t take anymore, he let me go, turned, and walked
away.