Oh yeah. I was in deep trouble. Deeeeeep. Like Marianna Trench levels of deep.
And you know what?
I didn’t fucking care.
Valentine fucking Tye had done a number on me, upended everything I thought I knew about him, about myself, and I was strangely okay with that.
“Your dad’s a weirdo,” I said to Enzo. He was in his cat carrier on the front seat of my ute.
Why? Because I was looking after him while Valentine was in Melbourne for four nights. It was too short notice for the cattery place, and Valentine refused to leave him at the emergency, short-notice stay at the vets. When I’d suggested I’d take him, Valentine was clearly uncertain.
“If you wanted to stay here instead?” he’d countered. “Or even just call past of an evening to feed him . . .”
“He can’t be by himself for the rest of the day,” I’d said, holding Enzo to my chest. “What kind of cat-dad are you?”
Enzo and I both gave him a look of horror.
Admittedly staying at Valentine’s probably would have been easier but would it be weird? Yes. Him giving me keys to his place would definitely be weird. Also, would I be more likely to get caught or questioned or found out coming and going from his place? Maybe, and that was a risk we couldn’t take.
Taking Enzo to my place was just better.
Plus, me and Enzo were tight. The little guy loved me.
“Yeah, your dad’s a weirdo,” I said again. Enzo meowed. “Well, he’s not too bad. Underneath that cold exterior, he has an inner whore with a kink for some weird shit. But he’s not really the bad guy he pretends to be. We know this, don’t we?”
Enzo meowed again.
First time in my life I’d ever had a full conversation with a cat.
First time in my life for a lot of things, apparently.
I got him settled into my apartment. It was much smaller than Valentine’s, obviously, and nowhere near as fancy. Mine was in an old building, and it was just a one-bedder, but it was all I’d ever needed. My neighbours were nice and my landlord had been great.
Not sure why I felt the need to justify any of it to Enzo. He didn’t appear concerned at all.
I put his carrier on my bed and closed the door, letting him get used to the scents and sounds, and after a brief inspection, he was surprisingly cool with everything. I set up his litter tray in my bathroom and then we watched TV for a while.
I did kinda cheat by feeding him some chopped up BBQ chicken though, piece by piece, while we watched crap on TV.
And because I couldn’t help myself, I took a pic of Enzo perched on my lap watching the millionth rerun of Rocky, and when I was certain there was no way anyone could know it was me in the pic, I sent it to Valentine.
Giving your kid an education in film classics.
Well, they’d know it was me if they’d been in my flat before, which very few people had. Taka had, but he already knew about me and Valentine, so it made no difference. It wasn’t like I was posting it to social media, and there was no way Valentine would share it with anyone.
His reply came through about five minutes later.
Is that . . . is that Rocky?
I snorted. He likes it.
He also likes rotten fish, so make of that what you will.
I laughed but wasn’t sure what to say next.
Was texting for fun allowed in our agreement? Was it crossing a line?
Christ, after what I’d done to him in the last sixteen hours, it seemed anything was allowed. Our ‘lines not to be crossed’ were more like zigzags drawn by a squirrel on speed.
So I thought, fuck it.
And hit Call.
It rang three times and I could picture him sitting there staring at his phone, horrified that I would engage in conversation with him.
This was not part of our agreement, and I felt stupid, stupid, stupid. I was just about to end the call when he answered. “I wasn’t aware phone calls were part of our arrangement.”
I would have felt chastised if it didn’t sound like he was smiling.
“Cat-sitting wasn’t part of it either, and yet here we are.”
He sighed. “I can’t believe you’re making him watch Rocky. I should call the RSPCA.”
I snorted. “I’m not making him do anything. He’s perched up on my knee like I’m part of the furniture.”
There was a beat of silence. “So he’s settled in fine, I take it.”
“Very. Made himself at home the second he got here. Pretty sure I’m his favourite now.”
“Was there food involved?”
“Of course there was. I’m not an idiot.”
He scoffed and fell silent.
Wait. What did that mean? “Do you think I’m an idiot?”
He laughed then. “No.”
“Just as well.” I gave Enzo a pat. “How’s Melbourne?”
“Cold and wet.”
“Nice.”
“Not really.”
“Meetings tomorrow?”
He made a displeased sound. “Yes.”
“My day’s gonna be awesome,” I said. “We usually have these team meetings on Mondays, but the reason I go won’t be there, so I’m not going.”
Another beat of silence. “The reason you go?”
“I’m talking about you.”
“Yes, I got that part,” he said. “Why am I the reason?”
“Well, first, the only reason I went was to annoy you.”
“A good a reason as any.” He was smiling, I could tell.
“Then I started going to see if you could actually sit down.”
He barked out a laugh. “What?”
“Yeah. After what I did to your arse.”
He snorted. “I told you, I like the reminder.”
I realised I was smiling and told myself to stop. “How’s your reminder feeling today?”
He hummed a little. “It’s . . . enjoyable.”
“That’s fucked up.”
“I like what I like.”
“And I like that you like it.”
Did I just say that?
Christ.
Think of something else to say. Think of something else to say . . .
“What does your recovery look like?” I asked, then regretted it immediately. “I mean, when we first started this thing, you said you’d prefer it to happen on Saturday nights because it gives you a day to recover. What does that mean?”
“A long hot bath, usually,” he answered, his voice smooth as honey. “A relaxing day on the couch. Sometimes with a heat pack or an ice pack.”
Jesus.
“It’s more of a state of mind,” he added quietly. “It’s hard to explain, but being by myself at home, I’ll wear nothing but my robe, and I let myself enjoy the aches and pains. It’s silk, and the cool, soft fabric counters the discomfort.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Uh, wow.”
“Does this surprise you?”
“Ah, no. Not what you’re saying, I guess. I wasn’t expecting such an honest response.”
He snorted. “Would you prefer I lie to you?”
“No. I don’t want you to ever lie to me.”
More silence then, and I was beginning to think maybe I’d said the wrong thing.
“I don’t want you to lie to me either,” he whispered, his voice so quiet I barely heard him.
Holy shit.
“Good. Let’s add that to our agreement.”
He chuckled, and Enzo chose that moment to do an elegant circle on my lap and curled himself into a ball, and he began to purr.
“Can you hear that?” I asked, putting the phone to the cat. “He’s purring. See? I am his favourite.”
I took a photo and sent it to him.
“Well, I hope you didn’t have plans for the rest of the evening,” Valentine said. “Because you can’t move now until he gets up.”
I snorted. “Yes I can.”
“No, that’s the rules of cat minding.”
“Great. I’m supposed to be going to my parents’ place for dinner.”
He was quiet again.
“It’s a Sunday thing,” I added, feeling bad for mentioning family.
“Sounds nice.”
“I’ll leave Rocky II on the TV for my little new best friend. He won’t even know I’m gone.”
“Leave him food and a warm bed and he won’t notice you’re gone,” he replied.
“You don’t leave the TV on for him?”
“Uh, no.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s a cat.”
I covered Enzo’s ears. “Don’t tell him that.”
“Oh, good Lord,” he mumbled. It sounded like he was still smiling.
“What’s your plans for tonight?” I asked. “Dinner in some fancy restaurant?”
“Heavens no. I avoid people when I can,” he replied. “I’ll be having a long, hot bath and ordering room service.”
“Do they have robes there? Or did you pack your own?”
He chuckled. “Goodbye, Marshall.”
“No, I was being serious! I want to know what mental imagery I’m supposed to jerk off to tonight. Is it a fluffy robe? Or silk? What colour is it?”
There was the sound of his quiet laugh before the line went dead.
Goddammit.
Now I’m gonna be wondering . . .
Damn, I bet silk felt good against his skin. I could imagine running my hands over him wearing a silk robe. Then again, a soft fluffy one would be good too.
My phone beeped with a message. It was a photo. A fancy bathroom, some exclusive hotel, no doubt, with a big mirror and low lighting. He’d cropped his head out of the photo, but it was Valentine. Absolutely no doubt. His back in the reflection, wearing an expensive-looking dark grey silk robe that fell around his shoulders, revealing a hickey and a bite mark I’d left on the back of his shoulder.
God fucking damn.
I replied with zero regard to my pride, or to our agreement.
You are so fucking sexy. My marks on your skin are hot.
He didn’t reply, and he didn’t have to. His photo was enough. Knowing he’d sent it to start with, knowing he wanted me to see the marks I’d left behind, that was all I needed.
If anyone else saw that pic, there was no way they’d know it was Valentine.
But I knew.
And that somehow made it hotter. It was just for me. He was just for me.
You’re in so much trouble, Marshall. You’re in way over your head.
I sighed and gave Enzo a scratch behind the ear. “Your dad isn’t so bad,” I mumbled.
I knew it wasn’t the cat I was trying to convince.
“Hey, Mum,” I said, giving her a kiss on the cheek as I walked into the kitchen. “Something smells good.”
“Thanks. I thought some lasagne might be nice. It’s a bit cold out there.”
“Sounds perfect.”
“What’s that?” she nodded pointedly to the bag in my hand.
“Need to sew on some buttons.”
She pulled her old faithful sewing container down from the cupboard. “Here you go.”
I pulled out the shirt in question. It was one of my favourites. A tan button-down shirt with black palm trees on it that I’d bought at some trendy store. It was super comfy and it fit me just right . . . and I’d lost the top button when Valentine pulled it off me.
Granted, I’d popped every button on his shirt when I’d ripped it open. I wasn’t sure how I’d only lost one. He said he’d take his shirt to a tailor to get fixed, but I told him I’d do it. He’d laughed when he’d asked me if I could sew on a button, and I was sure he didn’t believe me when I said damn right I could; it was how I was raised.
But the reminder that we’d had very different upbringings made him quiet, so I’d shoved the shirt into a bag and didn’t mention it again.
I threaded a needle and began sewing on my button, sitting at the kitchen table while Mum made some potato dish to go with dinner.
Until she saw what I was doing. “What are you using red for?”
I shrugged. “I don’t care what colour it is,” I said, poking the needle back through the hole. “And you’ve got a whole reel of red and only half white or black ones. Plus, one button with red cotton makes it look cool.”
The black button with a red cross of cotton looked awesome.
I finished mine and pulled out shirt number two, then put all the buttons Valentine and I had managed to find on the floor into a pile on the table. Mum took one look at the expensive Polo logo.
“Well, that shirt’s not yours.”
“Uh, no.” I grimaced. “But I . . . I might have popped the buttons on it, so instead of paying a tailor, I said I’d do it.”
She pursed her lips and gave me her best mum look. “Were you fighting again?”
Fighting, fucking . . .
“Something like that,” I mumbled.
“Oh, Marshall,” she said, tsking her tongue. “I thought you’d have grown out of that nonsense by now.”
“Grown out of what nonsense?” Dad asked as he walked in. He clapped my shoulder. “Thought I heard you come in.”
“Hey, Dad,” I said. “Yeah, just needed to fix a shirt.”
“He was fighting again,” Mum said, throwing me right under the bus.
“It wasn’t fighting,” I lied. “It was rugby.”
She dead eyed me. “You were playing rugby in your good shirt, huh?” Then she nodded to the shirt I was holding. “And the guy you were fighting was wearing a two-hundred-dollar shirt playing rugby too, huh?”
Before I could answer, she noticed what colour thread I was using. “Oh, Marshall, you cannot use red thread on that good shirt.” She tried to take it off me.
I pulled it away from her. “I absolutely can. I said I’d sew the buttons back on. Never said what colour thread I’d use. It’s gonna be a button short anyway. If he doesn’t like it, he can buy himself a new one. I mean who wears a two-hundred-dollar shirt to play rugby?”
Dad laughed. “How’d your game go yesterday?”
“They played well.”
“They?” Dad questioned. “Did you not play?”
I groaned because I knew how this would end. “I might have got sent off.”
My mother’s sigh of disappointment was long and loud. “Oh, Marshall.”
“He deserved it.” I kept sewing on the stupid button so I didn’t have to see the look I knew she was giving me. “It was payback for him hitting someone else.”
“Still doesn’t make it right,” Mum said.
But Dad nodded as if that made perfect sense then. “If he hits one of your teammates, then he’s fair game. That’s how rugby works.”
But he didn’t hit one of my teammates. Not that I was telling my father that. I tied off the button and bit the thread with my teeth.
“Clear that away for now,” Mum said, nodding to the sewing kit. “And help me set the table.”
Mum’s lasagne was delicious and I’d shovelled in half my plate when Dad pushed his food around with his fork. “So,” he hedged. “How’s work?”
I was hoping to avoid this conversation tonight. Forever, if I could have. But here it was . . . I put my fork down and sipped my drink. “It’s okay. Got a busy week. The Mercer job is almost at lock-up. Windows will be in this week.”
That wasn’t what he was really asking and we all knew it.
“And the new owners?” he asked outright this time.
I chose my words carefully. “Saw old-man Tye the other day. He’s still a miserable piece of shit. But Valentine’s . . .” God damn it. “He’s not too bad. I’d always thought he was a piece of shit too, but he’s not so bad.”
Mum nodded and smiled. “We can’t really blame the child for the actions of the father, can we?”
Dad chewed on the inside of his lip as he stabbed some lasagne. “Guess not. But . . .” He shrugged. “He’s a Tye, right?”
And there it was.
“He is,” I replied. There wasn’t anything I could add or deny or argue or announce. There was no point in trying. But still . . . I felt an itch to defend Valentine, a burr under my skin to protect him.
Which was fucking absurd.
“I thought I’d see the Mercer job through and quit,” I admitted. They both stared at me. “Maybe ask Mercer if they’re looking for a site manager.”
Dad put his fork down. “Because of Tye Corp. They just have to buy up everything at all costs, regardless of the collateral damage.”
That might be true of his father, but it wasn’t Valentine. I shook my head. “Maybe they do, Dad. But now I’m not sure.”
“Not sure about what?”
“Not sure about leaving.”
Mum reached over and gave my hand a squeeze. “You’ve worked hard for what you’ve achieved there. Don’t let anyone ruin that, love.”
Dad nodded slowly, a slight frown on his brow. “You have worked hard. You’ve proved yourself. If you want to stay, you should. Don’t let them take that away from you.”
Valentine wasn’t taking anything away.
“I don’t understand the merger details or none of that,” I said gently. “That’s not my business. And the hardware side of Tye Corp isn’t my business either.” My dad’s gaze shot to mine and I shrugged. “I’m in construction. And the takeover has been as smooth as it could have been. I don’t deal with the old-man Tye. I deal with the new construction division. And they’re pretty good. So far, at least. It’s only early days but what I’ve seen so far is decent. They listen, at least.”
I shrugged again, feeling blown wide open for defending Valentine fucking Tye, of all people, to my father. Not that I’d said his name in that last part, keeping it at ‘construction division’ because if I had to keep saying his name, I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t give myself away.
“If that changes,” I added, “if they show their arse, then I’ll leave.” I shovelled in another chunk of lasagne and changed the subject. “This is so good, Mum. Best one yet.”
She smiled. “Want some to take home?”
“Hell yes.”
“Don’t give it all to him,” Dad grumbled. “Leave some for me.”
Mum rolled her eyes. “Like you don’t get fed like a king every day of the week.”
Dad gave her a cheeky smile that told her he knew all too well she spoiled him.
I laughed, glad the topic of conversation had moved on.
Mum finished sewing on the buttons of Valentine’s shirt while Dad and I cleaned up the kitchen, but I couldn’t stick around tonight. I had someone waiting for me at home . . .
That someone was a cat, but whatever.
It was kinda nice to know that someone would be there. I’d always thought myself as more of a dog person, but Enzo was cool. Maybe I should look at getting my own cat. Just a rescue from a shelter, not some expensive pedigree like Enzo. He had that same sleek air of superiority as Valentine, which made it funny, because they were both softies on the inside.
I was probably more of a moggie-bitzer-with-attitude kind of guy.
Enzo meowed at me as I walked through the door. I was pretty sure he was only interested in the lasagne because he seemed mad that I put it in the fridge instead of giving him some.
But when I crawled into bed, a few moments later I felt the gentle plop of soft paws landing on the covers, followed by padding up my body and then a purring furry circle wedged himself in the crook of my shoulder and neck, at the side of my face.
Great.
I grabbed my phone and snapped a pic, trying to not include my face and it was dark, but it was very clear that Enzo was asleep on me. I sent it to Valentine.
His reply came back immediately.
THAT TRAITOR
I fell asleep with a smile and purring cat on my neck.
I didn’t go to the meeting on Monday morning. I had enough to do at work with the aircon crew anyway. I went to rugby training on Tuesday night where my coach made me do sprints until I almost puked, and then he had me holding the padded mats while the team took turns in hit-ups, and if that wasn’t enough payback, he told me I was benched for the weekend’s game.
I wasn’t surprised, but it meant I wouldn’t be playing against Lane Cove, against Valentine.
That in itself was probably a good thing, even though I was disappointed. Would I go easy on him? Would I tackle him harder than necessary? Would he aim for me? I wasn’t sure . . . but I’d have liked to have found out.
I’d have liked to smile at him from opposing sides, to square off against him, to see which of us was faster, better.
I guess that competitiveness in me hadn’t changed, despite how I felt about him now.
Which is how, Marshall? How do you feel about him now?
I . . . I don’t know.
I wasn’t sure. I certainly didn’t hate him like I used to. I’d already established that. Hell, I even liked him. Was it more than that?
I didn’t know.
I wasn’t sure it could ever be more than that. Actually, the only thing I was certain about was the fact it could never be anything more.
And that sat in my belly like a rock. Like an anchor, keeping me stuck against the flow which I was trying to go with.
What I was . . . was confused.
Every night, I kept Valentine updated with a pic of Enzo, either asleep on me or sprawled out in front of the heater. He’d follow up with a snarky reply.
On Tuesday night, I told him I was out of the game on the weekend. He’d replied it was only because I didn’t want to lose to him.
On Wednesday night I sent him a pic of me and Enzo laying on the couch together watching Predator.
He’d replied almost immediately.
Hello RSPCA, I’d like to report a crime . . .
His sense of humour surprised me. Dunno why. I guess I was just surprised he even had one. He was always so serious, so aloof, so . . . cold.
Except he wasn’t.
I already knew I’d miss having a reason to text him.
I wasn’t going to ask, but it got the better of me . . .
How are we exchanging the child tomorrow night?
But he didn’t reply with a text. My phone rang in my hand.
“Exchanging the child? Is this a ransom demand?”
I chuckled. “It could be. I like having him here.” I gave Enzo a scratch under the chin for good measure.
“Is that him purring I can hear?”
“Yep. He likes me. And he likes action movies from the eighties. I’ll be including a list when I drop him off.”
“I knew this was a terrible idea. First you let him sleep on your bed, then you make him suffer through terrible movies.”
“Okay, you seem to be under the deluded notion that I let or make him do anything. I don’t let him sleep on my bed, he just does whatever the fuck he wants. He wants to lie on the couch with me and watch Arnie. It’s his choice. I mean, can you make him do anything?”
Valentine chuckled. “No. I cannot.”
“My point exactly.”
“You seem to enjoy having him a little too much.”
“I know. I’m now thinking I should get one.”
“A cat?”
“Yep.”
He made a happy sound, a sigh but as if he was smiling.
“And I’m gonna call it Arnie.”
“Oh dear god.”
“Or Rocky.”
“That’s worse.”
“If by worse you mean awesome, then yes.”
He laughed then. Actually laughed. It plucked at something inside me.
“Uh, about the drop off,” he said. “I can call around and collect him. You’ve already been inconvenienced enough.”
“What time’s your flight?”
“I get in at seven. By the time I get home—”
“I’ll pick you up from the airport.”
I had no idea why I just said that.
“I’ll bring Enzo along for the ride,” I added quickly. “But I won’t come into the terminal to get you, because that’d be weird, and I can’t leave a kid in the car, so I’ll wait for you at the express pickup spot. So don’t be late.”
He was silent for a long second. “You don’t have to do that,” he said quietly.
“Well, I kinda do,” I replied, trying to play it cool. “See, tonight is Wednesday and usually by this time I’m up to my balls in you, and by the terms of our agreement, any delays should be rectified at the earliest convenience.”
He barked out a laugh. “Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t recall that term.”
“Believe me, by this time tomorrow night, you’ll be very well acquainted with it.”
He chuckled warmly. “I’ll look forward to it then.”
Hell freaking yes.
While I was on a roll for making demands, I said, “I think you should wear that robe. When you get home, not at the airport. Jesus. We wouldn’t get out of the carpark before I nailed you.”
He sighed, almost a moan. “I wouldn’t mind.”
I gasped. “We’ll do no such thing. There’ll be a child in the car!”
“Enzo isn’t a child.”
I put my hand over Enzo’s ears. “Don’t you listen to him, little dude.”
“Christ,” Valentine mumbled. “Pretty sure he saw what you did to me over the back of the sofa, so . . .”
I laughed. “That was some of my finest work.”
Valentine chuckled again. “Yes, it was.”
We were both quiet for a second, so I decided to end it before it got awkward. “Tomorrow night at seven.”
“Terminal three.”
“Let me know if you get delayed.”
“I will.”
I hung up before I could say something stupid like goodnight or sweet dreams.
I tried not to think about how I was smiling or how my heart was thumping funny. Instead, I thought about him wearing that robe for me and what I might do to him.
Tomorrow night couldn’t come fast enough.
