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“Oh, hi. I thought you’d be at Mum and Dad’s.” The false cheer in her tone grated on her nerves.
“I was.” Juniper stepped inside, moving past Mikayla and walking into the kitchen. She switched the kettle on. “But you weren’t, which I thought was a bit weird, seeing as it was your dad’s birthday and all.”
Mikayla crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m going to head over later.”
“Any reason why you couldn’t be there for lunch?”
She shrugged. What could she say? Turns out switching from friends with benefits back to just friends was really hard. She just didn’t know how to navigate it. Didn’t know how to reach out to him. Didn’t know how to not love him enough that she could just be friends with him.
Juniper made the tea and took both mugs into the lounge room. Mikayla sighed as she followed her. She was not going to be let off the hook. She curled her feet under her as she sat on the couch and reached for the mug of tea she knew she had no desire to drink.
“What’s going on, honey?”
Mikayla felt tears well in her eyes at the gentle sympathy in the question. “Nothing.” It was a feeble attempt at avoidance, and it got what it deserved.
“Mikayla.” A low warning in the tone.
“Was Rafe at lunch?”
“No.”
She blew out a breath and wiped at her eyes. That somehow made it worse. She hadn’t gone so that he wouldn’t feel awkward about being there, but he hadn’t even been there. Of course, she hadn’t told him she wasn’t going, so it was reasonable for him to think she’d be at her father’s birthday lunch. So, she’d missed it for nothing, and so had Rafe. She felt so tired all of a sudden. So utterly drained and exhausted. Finally, too tired to stop the tears that were always threatening to fall. “I miss him,” she whispered brokenly. Juniper took the mug from her and put it next to her own on the table, pulling her in for a hug. Mikayla laid her head on her shoulder and let go, weeping for herself, for Rafe, for their lost friendship.
* * *
The skip bin had been a good idea, Rafe thought as he threw a few big chunks of plaster into it. Once he’d cleared out the plaster from pulling the wall down, he could get started on the kitchen cabinets. He moved to go back inside but stopped at the sound of a truck pulling up on the curb. He turned and watched as Callum got out, a six-pack of beer under his arm and a purposeful look on his face.
Rafe turned and headed inside without a word. Callum came in after him, eying the destruction with curiosity. “What’re you doing here?”
Rafe shrugged. “Felt like a change.”
“Right. Need a hand?”
Another shrug. “If you like.”
He’d moved the fridge to the laundry room, so Callum put the beers in there and got to work. He didn’t say much as he worked, which Rafe appreciated. He was feeling pretty shitty and not really up for conversation. It had been over a week since Mikayla had stood in his dusty kitchen and called it quits. He hadn’t been right since. He hadn’t been right before that, if he were being completely honest. But no matter how much he kept telling himself it was absolutely the right thing to do, that letting her go was necessary, it hurt like hell. He missed her so damn much. He felt like he was missing a limb, like he’d lost half of himself. He knew he’d agreed that they could go back to just being friends but that was a steaming pile of horseshit. There was no way he could be anywhere near her and not touch her. There was no undoing what was done. There was nothing to do but feel the devastation of it.
With all the plaster removed, the two men got stuck into the kitchen cabinets. They were old and of poor quality, so it was short work to pull them all out and fill the skip bin. The whole process had taken just over three hours and they’d worked in almost complete silence. Their only conversation had been to discuss the next task. But once the kitchen was entirely ripped out, Callum called for a break. Rafe went to protest, but one look at Callum’s face told him that would be pointless.
Callum grabbed the beers and they sat out on the front veranda. It was a gray day, that threatened rain. Not a satisfying, violent, storming rain. Just a dismal drizzle.
“Tell me what’s going on with you and Mikayla.” Callum leaned back in the padded chair and crossed his legs at the ankles. He was clearly here to stay.
Rafe stared out at the ocean without really seeing it. What could he say? “It’s about my father.”
“He hasn’t contacted you, has he?”
“No.” He took a swig of beer. “He’s in jail. Again.”
“Right.”
Rafe picked at the label on his beer bottle.
“So, what is it about your father?” Callum prompted.
“He’s a petty criminal, as you know. Lots of stupid little crimes. But assault. Assault’s the big one. He can’t seem to help himself. He wants to steal someone’s car, he’s gotta beat them up first. He beat my Mum. A lot. And you know, she wasn’t great as a parent. She loved to score more than she loved me. But she didn’t deserve that.”
“No.”
