Hero Duty (13 page)

She changed into comfortable jeans, a favourite T-shirt and bare feet, combed her hair and left it loose.

As much as she’d resented and feared the emotional cost of the memorial weekend Portia had planned, at least the plans had given Jessica a framework. Now she didn’t know what to do. She didn’t even know how to begin thinking about Portia’s revelations.

She walked out of her room.

‘I knew you ate Italian,’ Brodie said. ‘So I’ve ordered minestrone and hamburgers. Just think of the meat patty as a rissole.’ He’d also made her a cup of tea. It waited on the coffee table beside his. The television was on, the volume turned low.

He’d created normality and a welcome.

‘Thank you.’ She sat beside him on the sofa, but not touching. The tea was perfect.

He turned up the volume on the television again. ‘Anything you want to watch?’

‘Whatever.’

‘I like old sitcoms.’

An undemanding choice. The canned laughter even told you when to smile. She didn’t manage the smile. She sipped her tea and thought.

Her dad hadn’t loved her. Her crippling and false sense of guilt had been the price of his luxury lifestyle.

The irony of it cut. She’d have happily shared the money with him. She wouldn’t have thought twice. With that much money, who cared how it was spent.

Except her dad had wanted to control it. She hugged her knees up under her chin. He had wanted its power.

‘Room service.’ The attendant was professional and efficient. ‘Minestrone, hamburgers with everything. If you leave the trolley outside the door when you’re done, I’ll remove it.’

‘Thank you.’ Brodie gave him a tip and investigated the trolley while the attendant quietly removed himself. ‘I hate soggy hamburgers, so I think these first and then the soup. There’s a heating element on the trolley, so the minestrone will stay hot. Unless you’d rather just the soup?’

‘A burger’s fine.’

‘Gherkins and pineapple,’ he said with satisfaction after his third bite. ‘Though there’s no fried egg.’

She hadn’t noticed. She concentrated. ‘There’s cheese.’ She managed a quarter of her burger before Brodie was up, serving the soup. She realised his burger was long gone. She’d spaced out.

It was easier to let him take the uneaten burger away and replace it with the soup than to protest the waste. The rich tomato flavour was soothing.

‘Better?’ Brodie assessed her.

‘Hmm.’ She’d eaten at least. Left alone, she wouldn’t have.

‘Would you like dessert?’ He stacked the trolley.

‘No, thanks.’

He pushed the trolley into the corridor and came back to the sofa. The cushions shifted and settled under his weight. ‘I can’t fight the demons in your head.’

‘Pardon?’

‘You wanted a hero. All I can give you is the truth.’

‘Portia’s already done that. Dad didn’t love me.’

‘Maybe he did.’ Brodie hooked a knee up, angling around to face her. ‘Not everyone who becomes a parent works at being a good one. Love can get twisted up. Doesn’t mean it isn’t still love.’

‘Huh.’

‘Face it, Jessica. None of what Portia said is news to you.’

‘I didn’t know Mum and Dad were getting a divorce.’

‘Didn’t you? You had one parent left, and you clung to him and your good memories of what had been. Kids sense tension and you were what, fourteen? You knew there was tension. That was probably what made you so insistent on returning to your granddad’s beach house. You wanted familiarity and the happiness of earlier holidays.’

The acuteness of his insight annoyed her.

He kept going. ‘Portia ripped the Band-Aid off fast, but you were putting it together. Rationally, you knew that you weren’t responsible for your mum and granddad’s deaths, which meant your dad, Portia and Derek were wrong to use it and your water phobia against you. Worse than wrong. Ruthless.’

She curled up tight in the corner of the sofa. ‘I’m not scared of the water. Just of the sea.’

‘And you confronted that fear, tonight, at the beach. That’s why you came and found me in Jardin Bay and asked for help. You want to confront your fears. You want to control your life. Don’t stop now.’

‘So you think I should just accept that Dad used me, used Mum and Pops’ deaths, to prop up his own ego with money and status?’

‘Yes.’

‘No. I’m his daughter. He can’t have been that shallow.’

‘Why not? Parenthood doesn’t bestow sainthood. My dad is a hell-raiser, the original charming no-good. I can’t trust him, but I love him. He can’t fool me, but he loves me anyway. You have to accept things as they are and move on.’

‘And do what?’ She uncurled to challenge him, sitting up straight.

‘Anything the hell you want.’

She leaned in. ‘Look in the mirror. Nothing’s chaining you down either, but I found you hiding out in a small country town.’

‘Jardin Bay is home.’ His jaw tensed and his tone warned her off.

‘You have the training, the smarts and the confidence to take on the world. Don’t give me that rubbish. You can do anything the hell you want. You tell me to change my life, to take control, to do what I want. Well, what the freakin’ hell do you want to do?’

‘I want to be a doctor.’

She blinked. The finger she’d stabbed at his chest relaxed, and she flattened her hand over his heart. ‘A doctor?’

He shook his head, like a fighter shaking off a blow, then stood.

Her hand dropped to her thigh.

‘It would take years of study. Money.’ He paced to the balcony door, stretched his arms up and braced against the frame. ‘I was never much of a student. I preferred doing things. I don’t want to spend my thirties stuck in a classroom. I don’t even know why I said it. Can you see me treating tennis elbows and handing out sick notes?’

‘I can see you caring passionately about people.’ She walked over to him, touched his back, felt the tension in him and slid her arms around him. She rested her head against his shoulder. ‘If it’s your dream, you should make it happen.’

‘I’m a soldier.’

‘You were a soldier.’ She said the harsh words gently.

He turned so his back was to the glass door and she stood in his arms. ‘I’m not a healer, but the things I saw in Afghanistan and other places…not just the result of fighting, but the poverty. People were desperate. Tiny children with huge eyes and no hope.’

She hugged him tight.

‘I see them sometimes.’ He slipped a hand under her hair to the warm skin of her neck. His thumb stroked her throat, paused at the pulse point. ‘I’ll be in a shopping mall, on the beach, somewhere ordinary, and suddenly a memory will overlay the scene and I’ll remember how desperate there were.
Are
.’

‘And you want to help. No, need to help,’ she corrected herself.

He slid his hand up to frame her face. ‘A doctor could help, but that’s not me. Won’t be me.’

‘You’ll have the money,’ she reminded him cautiously. ‘A million dollars will cover fees and living expenses.’

The stern line of his mouth eased. ‘I’m not taking your money, Jessica.’

She pulled back, but not far because he still held her. ‘We had a deal.’

‘You asked for help, needed someone to take your back, and I agreed. I’m not taking money for it.’

‘Brodie.’ Her voice was short and sharp, as if she’d stamped her foot.

He just looked at her. She had more chance of convincing a stone statue to hula, than getting him to take her money.

He smiled, so clearly it was obvious she’d given in.

‘Stubborn.’

He bent his head and kissed the insult off her lips.

Her breath caught, but before she could respond, he broke off the kiss and tightened his hug enough to make her squeak before releasing her.

‘Ice cream, television, and then bed,’ he said.

Apparently, their heart-to-heart was over.

Given the day’s emotional rollercoaster, she could live with that. ‘Chocolate ice cream,’ she specified.

Brodie picked up the phone and ordered two chocolate ice-cream sundaes with hot fudge sauce.

She flicked through the television stations and found repeats of sitcoms from the 90s.

The ice-cream sundaes were delicious. She didn’t notice when she fell asleep against Brodie’s shoulder.

Brodie noticed, though.

Her dad had definitely trashed Jessica’s confidence. She was beautiful, smart, compassionate, sexy as hell, and incredibly insecure. She couldn’t see that she was all that, and her shyness made her even more appealing, not only to his protective instincts. The hint of wonder in her eyes when their attraction flared out of control stroked his masculine ego. She wanted him and revelled in being wanted by him.

He suspected she had no idea just how much he craved her.

In sleep, her body was a welcome heavy-weight against him. Her left breast was pressed to his chest, rising and falling with their breathing. Temptation beckoned.

He switched off the television.

The cessation of the murmuring voices didn’t wake her.

He lifted her, shifted them both and ended with her lying full-length, half on top of him, on the sofa.

That she slept through all that told him how tired she was.

He traced the outer seam of her jeans at her hip. His desire to be a doctor had come out of nowhere. He wanted to help people, but not medically. The years involved in getting the qualification would drive him up the wall. But that under pressure he’d blurted out the idea of becoming a doctor told him that he couldn’t settle for establishing a car restoration business or a regular-hours office job.

He liked the responsibility that had been part of being a sergeant. Getting the best from people, solving problems, physically challenging himself.

Jessica stirred slightly. Her leg slid between his. She wriggled, getting comfortable.

His body responded predictably. He wanted to unzip his jeans, take her hand and wrap it around him. He knew how she’d feel. He could imagine how she’d look: sleepy, sexy, pink lips wet, her tongue —

He swore and slid out from beneath her, landing awkwardly on the floor. From there, he contemplated his unconscious goddess and his lack of self-control.

Naked toes, long, long legs sprawled in unknowing invitation, a strip of skin bared by her T-shirt, the T-shirt pulled tight over her breasts. She hadn’t worn a bra and the soft cotton outlined her nipples.

‘Well, hero?’ he mocked himself.

The walk to the bedroom took forever.

‘Ugh, no.’ Jessica’s complaint was more groan than words. She flailed an arm, then buried her head under the pillow. ‘Too bright’ sounded extremely muffled.

‘Oh-six-hundred hours.’

She pulled the pillow off her head, flipped on her back and stared at Brodie as he stood in the doorway. ‘You’re not in the army, now.’ There was a pause as her brain crawled towards consciousness. ‘I’m wearing clothes.’ A T-shirt and jeans.

‘You fell asleep on the sofa.’

‘Ah.’ Apparently he’d carried her to bed, but not undressed her. Gentlemanly behaviour — which kind of cut the ground from under any complaints she might want to make. Still, it was early. ‘Sleep.’

‘Later. We’re going out?’

‘At six o’clock?’

‘Uh-huh. You got any boots? Hiking boots?’

‘Yeah.’ They were broken in and comfy. She used them as walking shoes.

‘Wear ’em, and take a spare pair of socks and sneakers. Clean undies. We’ll get breakfast on our way. Ten minutes.’

‘Where are we — ’

He’d gone.

Since she was awake and curious, she got out of bed. She showered away the yuck feeling of sleeping in her clothes, got dressed and wandered out — ten minutes later than ordered.

Brodie had coffee to-go and Danish pastries waiting. ‘We’ll eat in the car. The drive’s just under an hour.’

‘The drive where?’

He grinned at her as he pulled the door shut behind them. ‘You’re about to become a weekend warrior.’

That didn’t sound good.

***

Sydney traffic was still busy early Saturday morning, but not frantic. Brodie ate three bacon-and-cheese scrolls and drank a mega coffee while they waited at the many traffic lights. Then he bullied Jessica into eating a second blueberry pastry. ‘You’ll need the energy.’

‘Why?’

He countered with another question. ‘What had you planned for today?’

Taking a bite of her second pastry gave her half a minute to think about it. ‘Portia cancelled the memorial weekend for Dad. I guess I could have flown back to Canberra till Monday morning, but I’d probably have stayed in the hotel, thought about Numbat and what Joe wants to discuss in Monday’s meeting. He’s probably going to ambush me. Vera said – ’

‘And that’s why we’re heading out,’ Brodie said. ‘You need some time outside your own head. Less thinking, more doing.’

‘Doing what?’

‘An assault course.’

She choked on her pastry.

***

‘I really don’t think this is a good idea,’ Jessica said as Brodie rolled up the cuffs on her camouflage gear.

He wore his like a natural. She felt as if she were on her way to a costume party. A costume party with mud. She eyed the assault course dubiously. Then she turned to look at her fellow weekend warriors.

‘It’s only two kilometres,’ Brodie said. ‘A doddle.’

‘I don’t run two kilometres. I sure as heck can’t wriggle that distance.’ She swam for fitness and had a bike that she sometimes rode around Canberra, but she was far from being triathlon material. The tube tunnels and cargo net leading in and out of a muddy wallow hole were impossible. As for the high wall in the distance…were there monkey bars leading away from it? ‘Brodie.’

‘Listen up.’ The large, muscled, middle-aged guy in charge of the assault course clapped his hands.

Immediately the group stopped chatting, stretching and generally filling in time. There were teenage boys there, which seemed understandable. They’d be in it for the excitement, challenge and sense of entering an adult world. But it looked like their mums were also suited up and ready to get their warrior on.

Jessica winced. Her surprise was sexist.

Other guys looked buff and focussed, perhaps army reservists. They were definitely there to compete against each other — and against Brodie, who paid them no mind.