Page 112 of Outback Secrets

He could also use it to mourn Henri’s departure, to mourn what had turned out to be an unexpected couple of weeks and undoubtedly the best sex of his life.

But no, aside from the fact he wouldn’t be able to avoid decorations and carols and other Christmas traditions that always brought the worst possible memories, spending such a monumental day with a woman’s family was all kinds of serious. And after their deep-and-meaningful conversation upstairs less than an hour ago, things already felt far too serious for his liking. They were supposed to be having meaningless sex, but the problem was it felt anything but meaningless. In their short time together, she’d rocked his world in a way that a fuck buddy was not supposed to do.

He lost his head around her. Take tonight for instance—the last time he’d had sex without protection was his very first time. He’d been a fumbling teenager, believing that risking pregnancy was better than the mortification of having to buy condoms.

But it wasn’t just the sex. He thought of the last couple of nights when he’d slept all the while holding Henri close. Not only had he not been visited by horrible flashbacks from his past, but he’d also had the best sleep he’d had since the shooting. Maybe he was just exhausted; it had only been a few nights. Didn’t necessarily mean anything.

Perhaps he was all over the place simply because this time of year messed with his head. Everything always felt worse in December. He’d been insane to embark on an affair this close to the anniversary of his family’s death.

Liam picked up the glass again, and only when he tried to lift it to his lips did he realise his hands were trembling. No, trembling didn’t even come close—they were honest-to-God convulsing. As if he were a junkie coming down from a high. And in a way that’s how he felt. He wanted Henri like an addict wanted their next hit.

This was not good.

It was too much. He had too much feeling pumping through his veins. He should go upstairs and apologise, but he didn’t want her to see him like this.

Still, sitting down here in the dark, trying to numb his emotions with booze wasn’t a good idea either. He’d spent years working hard not to become that person and he didn’t want to throw it all away.

Slamming the glass down, he whistled to Sheila, who’d curled into a ball in her usual spot behind the bar, and then he headed outside. Usually the warm, salty evening air in Bunyip Bay was like a balm to his soul, but tonight even being in the open air felt claustrophobic.

He picked up his pace as he headed towards the beach so that by the time he got there, he was running. He didn’t stop as his feet hit the cool sand; he wanted to run until his calves and lungs burned so hard that he couldn’t think about anything but the physical pain.

Although mostly dark on the beach, there was already the hint of dawn lighting his way just enough to see where he was going. Sheila ran alongside him, tiny crabs scuttling away into the ocean as they approached. He must have gone a couple of kilometres before she collapsed in exhaustion. Liam didn’t notice straight away, and by the time he sensed he was alone and turned to look, the dog was a good hundred metres behind him lying in the sand.

‘Fuck.’

He sprinted back towards her, almost tripping over his own feet in his desperation to get to her. He’d never forgive himself if the old girl had a heart attack or something because he’d pushed her too hard.

The hundred metres felt like a hundred kilometres, but finally he dropped to his knees and put his hand against Sheila’s thankfully heaving side. She lifted her head slightly to look up at him, before flopping it back down onto the sand.

‘Thank God,’ he breathed, burying his head in her speckled fur as tears spilled down his cheeks.

What a night. Yet, although his calves were burning and his heart still racing, his mind had not switched off. His head was still full of Henri and how right it felt having her around, having her in his bed of course, but also in his heart. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he suddenly knew with absolute certainty that he hadn’t felt this intensely about someone since Katie.

But he and Katie had been kids—practically babies. Two friends learning about sex and intimacy and what it meant to be a couple. Two innocents who perhaps didn’t even know the meaning of the word love.

Love?

Blood rushed to his head, and he saw spots in front of his eyes. Is that what he felt for Henri?

No, he couldn’t. They’d known each other such a short time and he didn’t allow himself to get to know the women he slept with.

But that there was the problem. Henri had snuck under his defences when they were merely pretending to be together. The difference between her and other women he’d slept with was that they’d become friends. Almost without him realising. One soul-baring conversation at a time, she’d succeeded in knocking down almost every one of his walls.

And this realisation scared the living hell out of him. Because love hurt. Love meant opening your heart to the possibility of loss. Losing his family and then Katie had almost destroyed him, and—thanks to her career—Henri would have to be one of the worst people in the world to fall in love with. Even though he’d tried to help her overcome her trauma, he hadn’t forgotten the statistics her mom had parroted at him.

The incidence of death and injury among ag pilots is over one hundred times Australia’s national average for all other work-related injuries.

Henri was one hundred times more likely to die than everyone else he knew. That may not be a rational thought, but it still felt like a punch to the guts.

Because he loved her. Whether or not he wanted to admit it, he was abso-fucking-lutely head over heels and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

But was the happiness he felt when he was with Henri—the lightness that had been absent from his life since the shooting—worth the risk? The thought of not being with her was almost as terrifying as the thought of being with her.

He would never be the guy that asked Henri to stop flying, so he’d always be on edge every time she was out of his sight. Every time she was up in the air, his heart would be up in his throat, wondering if he’d ever see her again. Ever hold her. Ever talk to her again.

He sighed and shoved his fingers through Sheila’s fur, looking for solace and maybe some kind of answers in her warmth.

But it wasn’t the dog that brought clarity; it was the realisation as he stared out at the vast, choppy ocean that he was almost in exactly the same spot, almost ten years to the day, that he’d decided to take his own life.