Chapter 18
Flynn wanted to vomit.
Everyone knows. That’s what she said. He’d denied it but she was right. He’d been seen. Barb, Reid, Prita—they’d all seen him lose himself to the weakness that lived inside him. And what was even worse, none of them seemed completely surprised. Well, Reid and Prita were a little, but not as surprised as they should have been if he’d been in control as much as he thought he’d been.
But his mum—no surprise there at all. How long had she known? Had she been covering for him? What must she think of him?
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
‘You okay, Flynn?’
‘Fine.’
‘You sound fine, Mr McSnapperson.’
Flynn snorted. ‘You sound like Nat when you talk like that.’
‘I’m happy to sound like Nat. I love my wife’s funny making up of names and words. You do too.’
‘Not really.’
‘You do, except right now you’re so far up your own butt you can’t see the sun.’
‘I am not up my own butt.’
‘Okay, maybe you’re not up your own butt, but you aren’t fine.’
‘I am.’
‘You are if fine means, “so wound up you’re scaring the horses.”’
‘I do not scare the horses. I’d never scare the horses.’ The horses were and always had been his salvation. In fact, if it wasn’t for his damn knee, he’d be out working with his horses right now. Or riding into the bush.
‘Maybe not. But one thing’s for certain, there’s no way a scared cat will come anywhere near you with that expression on your face.’
‘What expression? I don’t have an expression.’
Reid leaned across and flipped down the visor, leaving Flynn to see his reflection in the mirror. He was frowning. Hard. Scary hard. Damn it. He snapped the visor up. ‘Okay, I’m angry.’
‘What about?’
‘Whoever’s starting these goddamn fires. Isn’t that enough?’
‘Sure. We’re all worried about that. But that was more than worry on your face back at the house.’
Flynn ground his teeth together working really hard at forcing his clenched hands to stay on his lap. ‘I was thinking about what we can do about it.’
‘Okay.’
‘I was.’
‘I said okay.’
He could feel Reid glancing at him as they turned onto the road that led to Wilson’s Bend and Prita’s burned out house. He wished he’d stop it. Hell, was this what he was going to have to deal with now? Worried glances? Pity? Questions hovering behind the usually inane, ‘How you doing?’ and ‘You okay?’ that people asked people every day. But now that asking was going to be different because they knew something was wrong with him. They knew he was weak. They were going to start treating him carefully. Like he could shatter any moment and take them all with him.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
He took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair, trying to calm himself down. He couldn’t lose it again. Couldn’t go back down that hole of shaking, sick-sweaty, fear-laden numbness again. He let his hand drop back to his lap and only realised then that it wasn’t shaking. Usually after an episode, he would be covering the shakes for hours after. But his hand was as steady as a rock. When had that happened?
He’d been in full blown panic mode, unable to stop the cascade and then …
The kiss.
Everything had stopped the moment Prita’s lips had met his and he’d lost himself to the feel of her in his arms, the taste of her on his lips, his tongue, her scent a wild temptation surrounding him, caressing his senses.
Her kiss.
It had burned away the horrible weakness-induced shaking, a different kind of shaking flaring into existence. One that didn’t weaken him, but made him feel something far different. A something that gave him back his control.
Holy-crapping-hell.
Kissing Prita had given him back his control.
‘We’re here.’ The tyres crunched over the crushed stone and dirt of the verge across the road from Prita’s house, the ute jerking a little as Reid brought it to a halt. ‘I can’t believe part of it’s still standing.’
Flynn looked across the road at the blackened skeleton of Prita’s house. The brick walls were, in most parts, still standing, the red-brick blackened and charred, a tragic shadow-imprint of the once glorious Victorian era building that had stood there for one hundred and fifty years. The side that was the clinic showed the worst damage, a ruin of rubble across the customer parking from where the explosion had blown the front of the office out and up. Skeletal remains were all that was left of the second floor on that side, charred and blackened wood stuck up here and there, like accusing fingers pointing at the sky. Surprisingly, part of the ‘family’ side and the tower were still standing.
Reid opened his door. The scent of char and smoke wafted into the car.
Flynn stiffened, thankful—so thankful—that Reid was looking at the wreckage of the house and not at him. Flynn wanted to yell at him to shut the door, to slide over and drive away, far away, to somewhere he could fill his lungs with something other than the scent of burn, of dying things.
Bloody crapping hell. Why did he think he could do this? What madness had made him say he would look for Prita’s cat?
Prita.
He was doing this for her. For Carter.
Yes.
He could do this for them, surely? After he’d failed to run into the burning building to save her and had only helped by dint of the fact she’d run out of the house and into him.
His hands began to tremble as he reached for the door. Shit. No. How could he stop this?
Prita. She’d stopped this before. With her kiss. Maybe thinking about kissing her could do the same.
He shut his eyes and reached for the feeling of her lips on his. Her hands in his hair. Her scent filling his nose. The taste of her filling his mouth. Oh god, he loved the way she tasted. The way she smelled. He’d never thought to feel that about another woman and when he’d started to feel those tendrils of insidious desire for Prita, he’d
