Because of Them (Because of Love #2)

Chapter Seventeen

MICHAEL

“T wins?”

Brendan’s shocked tone screams at the part of me still desperate to run away and never look back. But I can’t do that, I won’t do that. Sure, a tiny piece of me wants to cling to my past and escape the future, but that part is tiny. Even if it is loud sometimes.

I rocked up to the latest job site hours later than I said I would, and the guys are already packing their shit away, ready to call it in. The main frame of another luxury townhome stands mostly complete, taking up almost the entirety of the block of land it sits on. This whole development suburb feels crowded and closed in. Large houses on tiny blocks, crammed together like sardines just for a slice of the Aussie dream that isn’t hours from the city.

Not really my place to complain though, it’s not my house we’re building here. My house is waiting for me, kind of. I just need to build it. As soon as I was bringing in enough money to finance a mortgage, I bought land that was nestled right on the outskirts of the suburb. It’s surrounded by other large blocks and right in the middle of a green wedge that means it’ll never be developed further.

One day, I’ll figure out exactly what I’m doing with my life and build a home on it. I guess that future in my head might be closer than I thought it was, even if it does look a little different to what I always imagined. Two distinct futures pass across my eyes.

I much prefer the one where Audrey comes to her senses and realises we are more than just something light hearted and casual. The one where we build a house on the land together, where the kids grow up riding quad bikes through the paddocks. It seems so distant though, and I can’t stand the thought of the more realistic future. The one where I’m never good enough for Audrey, and no matter how hard I try, I’m not good enough for the babies either. In that one, I probably never leave the apartment, my land stays empty and I only see my children on weekends, if I’m lucky. That future hurts and I will do anything to make sure it’s not the one I’m stuck in.

I just need to figure out how to prove to Audrey that I’m here. I’m committed. To her and to the babies.

Stuck inside my contemplation, I nod in response to Brendan’s shock. I’m still coming to terms with the whole twins thing anyway, so I don’t exactly know what else there is to say. He stares at me, waiting for a response. Although the ultrasound technician had explained missed twins in early ultrasounds—how the babies had developed in a way that one twin had hid the other from view during earlier scans—I still don’t quite get how we are only just finding out. Surely there’s a test pregnant women can do to find out how many babies are growing in there. Or should we have picked up on the signs because of how sick Audrey was feeling?

“You there?” Brendan questions, clicking his fingers in front of my face.

“I don’t fucking know,” I snap. “I wasn’t even expecting one kid and now I’ll have two. Never mind the fact I don’t mean anything to Audrey. She keeps saying it’s fun, but it still feels like more than that to me. I want it to be more than that to her too, but fuck if a relationship wouldn’t make things a hundred times more complicated than they already are. I don’t blame her for trying to keep her distance.”

It all spills out, and my shoulders are a little looser with each admission.

“I don’t know what to do, man.”

Brendan throws his toolbelt into the back of his truck and turns to lean against it. With a foot propped up against the tire he twists his hands together. “Maybe you should have kept it in your pants?” he jests, shrugging a shoulder. The words jab at me all the same.

I throw my empty water bottle at him. “Bit late for that advice.”

A shiny black pick-up rolls to a stop on the street in front of us, interrupting us and looking entirely out of place amongst the muddy worksites.

“What’s your old man doing here?”

My shoulders pull towards my ears. Whatever the reason, I suspect it’s something to do with me. Brendan bails out as my dad’s too clean work boots step onto the pavement, calling out that he’ll meet me at the gym. I don’t have time to tell him I’m not sure I’m up for it. Don’t have the brainpower to figure out why that is.

My father strides over to me like he is the king of the world, but that’s always how he has held himself. Even when he was a young apprentice, I still picture him acting like he was the most important person on the job site. It’s a confidence that never passed down to me, and I hate the way he makes me want to cower behind Baxter.

My traitorous dog bounds towards his granddad, stopping short of jumping up to leave messy paw prints on clean jeans. My dad leans down to pet behind his ears. His mop of too long, rough curls fall over his face.

“Son.” He nods in my direction.

“Father. What have we done for you to grace us with your presence?”

It’s been years since he has stepped foot on a site, outsourcing literally everything until all he has to do is sit behind a desk making outrageous promises to customers and demanding we make it work.

“I was hoping to catch you before you packed up for the day.”

“And?” There’s something, I can tell.

“Can’t a father want to come see his son?”

I scoff. “Sure, but there’s always something else with you.”

“Do you have to be so sceptical?” His smile fades, a firm crease forming between his eyebrows.

“I am how you made me.”

He doesn’t try to deny it. Doesn’t do anything to prove me wrong either. Instead, he takes a step toward me, grimacing a little when his boot squelches into the mud. I pretend not to notice.

With a hand now firmly clasped over my shoulder, my father drills his eyes around the job site before turning to face me again. He shakes his head. I want to squirm under his scrutiny.

“You’re worth more than this, Mikey.”

Here it comes. I step out of his grasp, folding my arms across my chest.

“I’ve been thinking about that job you sent my way. Noel, was it?”

“Noah.”

“Right, well it’s a big job. But it was all you. So, I think you should take the reins. Have a little trial run.”

Trial run? My face must mimic the confusion I feel. I agreed to take on a job, not one as big as Noah’s hotel.

“I’m retiring at the end of next year. At least, I want to. You know the business is yours when I do, whether you think you’re ready or not. It’s time you started to step up and learn how to handle things.”

My brain is stuck on his first few words. Retiring. End of next year . That’s only—I count the months on my hand—fourteen months. Shit. He’s not that old. Is he? I try to remember how old he was at his last birthday, but the man has been adamant he is ‘only twenty-five’ for the past however many years. I’ve lost track.

“Why?” I cringe at myself, hating the way that was the best question I could come up with.

Shoving his hands into the pocket of his polar fleece jacket, he shuffles his feet, stirring up the mud under his boots. I watch as Baxter plays between his legs, slowly coming to terms with just how soon my father’s planned retirement is.

“Your mother and I want to travel. Not just up the coast, but really travel. Buy a caravan, explore the country. See Uluru. And we want to do it while we are young enough to get around.”

“You want to become grey nomads?” Dad and I used to laugh at the older couples whenever we would pull into a campground when I was younger. My mind races, trying to find the moment he decided he wanted to be one.

“It’s always been a dream. And besides, I’m done here. I’m proud of this company, but I’m ready to move on. I won’t sell it off, though. Can’t sell it off. There’s too much of me in every qualified builder that worked their apprenticeship by my side. Too much of my life in every contract the business holds. Which is why I need you to run it.” His features slacken as he drops his gaze to the ground, shaking his head. “Please,” he adds.

The back of my neck itches. Gnawing at the inside of my cheek, I swallow down the lump in my throat. Sure, I’ve known he wanted me to run the business, but he never really explained why before. At least not like this. It doesn’t matter when he decided he wanted to be a grey nomad. It doesn’t matter how soon he wants that to happen. He won’t do it if I don’t step up. For how many years did he push back his plans, waiting until I thought I was ready?

I still don’t think I am, but guilt runs my veins dry. It’s time for me to start trying.

A quick puff of air escapes my lips.

“Shouldn’t I start with something smaller? The next town home, maybe? Something cookie cutter.”

Dad stretches his arms out, gesturing around the site, towards the near-finished frame. “This? Whether you believe it or not, you could put this puzzle together in your sleep. You need to challenge yourself, and it’s best to do that while I’m still around to help you if you really do get as stuck as you think you will.”

“But—” I stammer, trying to come up with another excuse. I’m ready to start trying, but Noah’s job is full on . The architects and engineers are drawing up custom plans, the framing will have to be done piece by piece, on the job site. No prefabricated walls ready to be propped up and nailed down. It’s a big job. Too big to be mine. “But Noah is a friend,” I stammer out. A stretch, calling Noah a friend, but maybe the excuse will work. “It would be a conflict of interest.”

“You are not a bloody defence lawyer. We do jobs for mates all the time.”

“But—”

He closes the gap between us, squaring me in when he places both hands on my shoulders. He squeezes firmly but with an unexpected kindness that throws me off guard. My spine relaxes.

“No more buts, Michael.”