Instant Family (23 page)

Chloe enjoyed the Thai food and the adult company but most of all
the feeling of freedom. Brent's friends weren't policemen as she'd
expected. They all had wild senses of humor. She hadn't laughed so
much for years.

After the movie, standing on the sidewalk in the cool of the night,
someone suggested they hit a nightclub. Chloe hesitated, glanced
at her watch. Just after eleven. Not late. If Alex was there with the
kids, Simone could go home. If he wasn't there, she'd go to bed on
the trundle in Katy's room, and they'd whisper and giggle half the
night. Either way she could stay out.

Alex could babysit while she danced. Give him a taste of what
having children really meant. Responsibility. Restriction.

"Sure," she said.

Alex stretched out on the couch, watching the late-night movie.
After a preliminary sniff and investigation, the cat had curled up on
his stomach and gone to sleep purring so loudly that he had to turn
the TV up. Past midnight now. He'd sent a yawning Simone home at
eleven. Katy was fast asleep by ten-thirty; the boys were finally
packed off at eleven-thirty. They'd had a fun evening playing board
games. Plenty of laughing, inept attempts at cheating, and general hilarity. Simone was a riot. No wonder her grandchildren adored her.
He'd never heard so many crazy stories in his life. What a life she'd
had if even half of them were true.

Only one thing missing. Chloe.

Was she having as good a time? Part of him hoped she was. Another part, meanly, hoped she wasn't. Hoped she couldn't fully enjoy herself without him. Was that being petty and jealous? Darn right
it was, and he was jealous as could be. But he wasn't going to let her see that. No way. He'd stick to his original plan of being cool
and friendly.

She'd struck hard and painfully when she accused him of not caring for Steffie. Of putting his daughter second to his work. It made
him think. Wonder. Did he? In his mind he didn't. But he wasn't a
six-year-old from a split family. He'd never been from a split family,
had always known he was loved and wanted despite his father's
harshness. Took it for granted. Could Steffie possibly doubt that her
parents loved her? No! Chloe was wrong.

Hadn't she planned on going to a movie? She could've called to
let him know if they'd gone on somewhere else. What if he hadn't
made it at the last minute, and Simone had been here by herself? A
late night didn't worry him, but it'd be different for Simone. She was
yawning by eleven. Very inconsiderate of Chloe. Atypically so.

The credits were rolling when he heard the car roar into the garage.
Half past two. Alex woke the cat, who jumped off his lap, and they
both stretched. Where had she been? If she hadn't gone out with a
policeman-and he'd met the man-he'd have been worried for her
safety.

The roller door rumbled. The door from the garage to the house
opened. The cat wandered away in the direction of the kitchen. Alex
sat staring at the TV screen, glanced casually toward the door where
she'd appear, returned to the TV, and glanced again. Back again to
an advertisement for a car dealership. Chloe finally entered on a
wave of cool night air, excited, sparkling eyes, golden hair tumbling
loose about her face. Gorgeous. He pressed the mute button on the
remote.

"Hello," she said. "Still awake?"

"Yes." He flicked the TV off and stood up.

"Simone's gone?" She tossed her little embroidered Chinese bag
onto the nearest chair. It slid off and landed on the floor. She watched
it fall but didn't appear to care. Alex stepped across and retrieved it,
placing it carefully on the coffee table before replying.

"I sent her home."

His deliberately even tone must have cut through, because she
glanced at him with a slightly raised eyebrow.

"She sleeps over if I'm late. You didn't have to stay." In other words, Don't complain to me-you chose to sit up. Off came her
sandals. She threw herself onto the couch where he'd been stretched
out. "Gosh, my feet are tired. Too much dancing." Toes wriggled, ankles flexed.

"If you're out late? I didn't think you went out much."

"Sometimes I have a late gig. A wedding or something. Thanks
for staying."

His hands wandered to his hips. "I didn't have much choice."

She cast an appraising eye at his stance. Her tone altered. She
planted her feet flat on the floor. "I told you, Simone would have
stayed"

"I didn't know how late you'd be."

"We went on to a club. I haven't been dancing in years. It was
great. Loud, though. My ears are ringing." She smiled.

It sounded horrible. Deafening music, flashing lights, semidarkness. He must be getting old.

"You have to be careful of drink-spiking in those places." He
sounded like her father. Except she didn't have one. He relaxed his
hands from his hips and fished in his pocket for car keys instead.

"I didn't drink, Alex. I was driving, remember? Plus I was with a
policeman."

The smile turned into a wide grin. Yes, the policeman. She sounded
like a teenager. An errant daughter. Was she teasing him? Taunting?
Don't get into any of that. Be cool. Friendly. "Well, I'm off. Glad you
had a good time."

"Thanks"

"My pleasure. I enjoyed it. I'm happy to come again if Simone
can't make it."

She actually smirked. "If you enjoyed it so much, you could come
next Friday. I have a gig. Six till nine. I was going to risk leaving
them on their own."

"I'll have Steffie next weekend. I guess I could bring her. If you
won't be too late." He tried not to put undue emphasis on the last part
but must have failed.

Chloe stood up. "I'll be home by nine-thirty," she stated. "Can
she last that long?"

"Or they can come to my place. You could collect them on your
way home." Cool as an ice cube.

"Fine. They'd like that. Thanks." Very polite. So brittle, she almost crackled.

She stared at him. Not moving. Was she expecting him to kiss her?
A good-night kiss? He wasn't going to, because if he came closer
than the two-meter gap they had between them, he couldn't answer
for the consequences. He'd never seen her dressed to go out, in a
satiny black sleeveless top and red shiny pants clinging to the gentle
curve of her hips, with those sexy, strappy sandals she'd kicked off.
He wanted to slide his fingers over her waist, slip those thin straps off
her shoulders.

Leave. Right now.

"Bye." He smiled, turned.

"Alex" She was suddenly right behind him. No brittleness now.
All yielding and pliable, tactile and desirable. Her perfume, the heat
of her body, her breathing. He didn't dare face her, this close. The
fabric of her top was too soft, low cut, revealing. He clutched his
keys so hard, the metal cut into his fingers. He waited. She spoke so
softly, he barely heard. "Brent doesn't mean anything to me-you
know that. Not the way you do."

His breath caught, then jerked out in a gasp. "I know," he muttered. And he strode from the house.

Chloe closed the door slowly. Should she have apologized for her
harsh words the last time they'd spoken? Accusing him of not wanting Stephanie, of being selfish. Had she been too cruel? But she
wasn't sorry she'd spoken. That was how she felt, and he needed to
know. What sort of relationship could they have if she didn't speak
her mind right from the start?

Here she was, thinking relationship! She'd also told him in that
tirade that there was no way a relationship could work. He appeared
to have accepted it, going by his behavior just now. Very distant. Polite and friendly. But distant. No kiss, not even a chaste good-night
peck on the cheek.

Gave her an unsettled feeling in the stomach. A nervous churning.
Unless that was the Thai food. No, it wasn't the dinner. It was Alex.
After his confession and very potent demonstration of love, he didn't
seem to care in the slightest that she'd gone out with someone else.
Shouldn't he have been the teensiest bit jealous?

Swept off his feet? No. Instead, he comes over to babysit. And treats her to a diatribe on the dangers of nightclubs just like a father. Too confusing. Too tired, too late.

Bed.

But sleep wouldn't come. The ringing in her ears was louder in
the quiet of the night. They say if your ears ring, the hearing is being damaged. Great outcome for a musician. Like Beethoven.

She wasn't Beethoven.

Chloe rolled over to stare at the luminous numbers on the
clock: 3:41. She closed her eyes. She'd be a wreck at tomorrow's
rehearsal with Amanda, for next Friday. A mini classical concert
at the Mexican embassy. Jazzy background music during drinks,
then two short performances between courses at the dinner. Flute
and guitar. Fun.

Friday would be tough. She finished teaching at five. Barely
enough time to change, drop the kids, and get to the embassy. Eat an
apple in the car. Couldn't play hungry. If it went well, they might
land more of the same. She'd played with Amanda once or twice and
liked the rapport they had. Amanda was keen to make the duo a permanent entity, expand their repertoire, and advertise more widely.
Try for music festivals. Record a CD.

Concerts. Recordings. Dreams. Like finishing her degree. Chloe
lay on her back with her knees bent.

And where did Alex fit into her dreams? He didn't. Not into the
music ones. He was in a whole other realm. He was the impossible dream, so far from attainable it wasn't worth hankering after.
She loved him-she was fairly sure of that-but the strands of her
life just didn't mesh. She had one focus for the moment, and that was
rearing those children to the very best of her ability, and after Seb's
little aberration she'd have to be extra vigilant. There wasn't room
for complication and distraction in the form of a boyfriend. Alex was
welcome to help out occasionally if he was so keen, but his enthusiasm wouldn't last long. Look how he'd failed when the first conflict
of interest arose. The way Lachlan had failed. Bailed out when things
got tough, when she really needed him.

She didn't need Alex. She had been coping without him and would
continue to do so. While this first mad flush of attraction was upon
her, she couldn't allow herself to weaken again. She mustn't let him
touch her or kiss her. He'd lose interest fast enough. She had to be firm. He was the first man she'd been attracted to since Lachlanthat's all it was.

How very sensible she sounded. In theory. Lying in bed in the darkness. Apart from him. Safe from the smell and sight of him. The touch
of his fingers, the feel of his skin, his hair, his breath, that certain way
he looked at her. His voice. His kiss.

On Friday afternoon Alex was at the Gungahlin building site wrangling with the plumber over the misplacement of laundry pipes. His
cell phone jangled in the middle of a heated explanation by the man,
who stomped away in disgust.

"Sorry," he muttered to the retreating back.

"Knock-off time anyway," came the retort. The plumber kept
walking to his van.

"No," called Alex. "It has to be sorted out today. The whole thing's
behind schedule as it is."

"Not my problem, mate."

The phone continued to ring. UNKNOWN CALLER.

"Bergman," he snapped.

"Alex? It's Julian." A very frightened voice, none of the usual
confident, dry humor. His stomach tightened.

"Julian? What's wrong?"

"Seb's hurt. I don't know what to do. Can you come?"

Seb? Hurt? "Has he had an accident? Where's Chloe?"

"Chloe's teaching, and she's got her gig tonight. We didn't-Seb
didn't want to upset her. She can't stand blood." He was nearly in
tears. The plumber stood watching, scowling, hands on hips. "He got
beaten up."

"Where are you? I'll be right there. Does he need an ambulance?"

"No, I don't think so. I think his arm's broken and maybe his nose.
It's all mashed. There's blood everywhere. We're at the ovals where
he plays cricket. Near the school. They beat him up," he said again,
his voice trembling after the gush of information. He drew in a noisy
gasp of breath, struggling for control. "I had to leave him. I'm at the
shops." Another gasp. "Gotta go in case they come back."

"Fifteen minutes," Alex said into the buzz of the disconnected
line. He yelled to the plumber, "Sorry. Emergency. I have to go. Tomorrow morning, seven-thirty. Right?"

The man grunted, but Alex was already running to his car, heart
pounding high in his chest. Beaten up? Who would do that? The rest
of those thugs Seb hung out with? Someone taking revenge? Crikey!
Seb was fourteen years old. A child.

The BMW leaped forward as he jammed his foot down, his mind
already calculating the best route. Too early for the rush-hour buildup,
but there were plenty of dawdlers in the way. Tempting to accelerate
past the lot of them-the Beemer had the power-but no point crashing or having the police on his tail. He hovered just over the speed
limit, ducking and weaving, charging through amber lights he'd normally slow for. Adrenaline pumped through his body, focusing his
awareness, coordinating his limbs into smooth, effortless efficiency.

If Seb were badly hurt, it would almost kill Chloe. She'd blame
herself. They'd suffered enough, that little family. A protective surge
of anger almost choked him, and he had to force himself to wait at a
red light at Belconnen Way instead of blasting his horn and ramming through the intersection like a fire truck. When the light turned
green, he planted his foot. Someone changed lanes in front of him,
then slowed to turn off. He swerved and accelerated again. So close,
and now he was in a queue of cars behind a lumbering bus. Red light
at Bindubi Street. Clear for the last stretch.

The boys were huddled under the trees near where they'd run
laughing in the storm to Chloe's car. Julian leaped up, waving, then
turned to help Seb to his feet.

Alex sprinted across the dusty dry grass toward them. What he'd
thought was a design on Seb's T-shirt emerged as a bloody spatter
pattern emanating from a large central splodge. Dirt caked the knees
of his pants. Grit and dust streaked the blond hair like the work of an
inept makeup artist. His lips and cheeks were already swollen and
discolored, the nose twice its normal size. The left arm hung awkwardly, supported by the other. He winced as Julian's arm went around
his waist.