‘I’ll go wrestle the boys off their game.’
Prita smiled at the groans as Barb walked into the lounge room and told the boys to finish up their game, then headed down the hall to the bathroom.
***
Flynn pushed through the back door that led into the laundry and instantly began to strip. He was hot, sweaty and his clothes stank of smoke, the smell coiling up his nose and making nausea swirl in his stomach.
Damn it!
He shouldn’t have gone down there. Mac had called to say it wasn’t necessary. But it was his property and he couldn’t keep leaving things like this to others.
The fire hadn’t even been that bad. Just the brush jump and some grass around it as Mac had said this morning. He’d thought he could cope, but the trembling was still twitching through his body, the nausea still roiling up from his gut.
One whiff. One look at the burned and charred grass and soil, the burned jump, so close to the bush. That was all it had taken to turn him into a stumbling, trembling, vomiting mess. Thank god the men had gone by the time he got down there. That was the only bright light in the entire miserable incident.
What made him feel even worse was he’d promised Aaron he’d spend some time with him this afternoon, and he’d let his weakness catch him and stop him from doing that. He hadn’t even got back for the promised morning tea. Or lunch. Too many things had gone wrong today and now this.
At least Prita and Carter’s arrival would have kept him occupied, but still, he didn’t like letting his son down. But he’d had no choice. He couldn’t have returned home even if he’d been able to manage it. Not until the shaking and the sweats had stopped enough to allow him to make it back to the ute and be steady enough to drive home.
Christ.
Nausea swirled with fear and anger equally mixed, making his hands tremble and his breath come hard and fast like he’d been running. He ripped his t-shirt over his head, the scent of burning and smoke intensifying briefly. His knees went weak and he had to lock them to stop from crumbling to the floor.
‘Shit. Shit!’ He gripped the edge of the laundry bench and hung his head, breathing deeply, in and out, forcing a steady rhythm past his racing heartbeat and the dizziness threatening to take him down. Memories hovered, waiting to swamp him, but he wouldn’t let them. Couldn’t let them. Someone could walk right in at any moment and find him like this. He had to hold onto his control.
He turned on the tap in the laundry tub and splashed water over his face. It wasn’t cold enough and he could still smell that smell that haunted his dreams. He dunked his whole head under the tap. He wanted a shower, but there wasn’t time. This would have to do. But the smell was still here.
His jeans stank. That was the problem—the denim soaked in the scent of smoke. He had to get them off. Now. He couldn’t walk through the house and into his bedroom smelling like this. Couldn’t have this smell in his room. Not even for a moment. It lingered. Always lingered, no matter how much you sprayed air fresheners and left your window open, letting in the outside heat with the fresh air. Not that anyone else could smell it. Only him.
He clenched his hands into fists and let the water run over his head as he took in deep gulping breaths, trying not to choke on the water. He had to get over this weakness. He had to. He couldn’t give in to it. Couldn’t let his son down, his mum, Reid, Nat, Tilly, and everyone else who depended on him. Wasn’t time supposed to heal all wounds? Then why the hell wasn’t it doing that for him?
Because it was a bunch of horseshit, that’s why. Time healed nothing. Only he could heal what was broken inside him. And if determination could see him through rebuilding CoalCliff and making it the successful horse stud/riding ranch/children’s camp that it was today, then sheer determination and stubbornness would see him over this hurdle too.
To do that, he had to pull his shit together and get a move on. He had to get Aaron, and his mum, down to Reid and Nat’s and help with the barbie. Well, if not with the actual cooking of the meat, then anything else that needed doing. Thankfully, Reid loved to put his apron on and play king of the BBQ.
He yanked the tap off and lifted his head, water dripping down his chest and back, and stripped off his jeans. Leaving him in the Rudolf boxer briefs Reid had bought him as his joke gift this last Christmas. They’d been the only clean undies in his drawer this morning, today being washing day, so he’d had no choice but to put them on—they were surprisingly comfortable. He’d have to dash to his bedroom and hope Aaron or his mum didn’t come out and see him in them—they’d be sure to tell Reid he was actually wearing them, and then he wouldn’t hear the end of jokes about his little red pecker lighting the way for some eager female.
They all thought it was time he moved on, but they didn’t understand. They’d not been there for Anna’s last moments. Never had the person they loved the most die in their arms, the look in her eyes, the last words on her lips, pleading with him to save her, to not forget her. He hadn’t been able to answer the first plea but he could damn well answer the second.
He slicked his wet hair back, wishing he had a towel to dry himself a little now the water was running down his chest and back, wetting his jocks. Oh well—they’d dry soon enough. It was a hot
