But she did.
She’d known it was more than sex from the first time she’d woken up in his arms. But it hadn’t been until she’d stood at the edge of his boat, with the freedom of the open waters dancing in her hair, looking down at the dolphins, that she’d realised how much he would do for her. That he wanted to show her what she was missing out on by being so narrow-minded.
And what had she done to return the favour? She’d picked a fight with him… refused to let him in. She’d told him to go. No matter how much time passed, she’d never forget the hurt written on his face when she’d told him not to come after her.
How could she possibly fix it?
‘Nothing is irreversible, baby girl.’
Could she let herself believe that? Would she be able to handle the rejection if the damage was too much? Funny how a few weeks ago the thought of another dance company rejecting her had been her driving force. Now her victory seemed hollow without Brodie in her life. She loved dance—it was in her blood—but a world without him seemed… hopeless. Grey.
‘I need to get my stuff. I’ve got an apartment in Sydney now.’ Her voice was hollow, her movements stiff and jerky, as if she were being directed by puppet strings.
‘Go to him, Chantal. The stuff can wait. Things can wait.’ Frances stood and gave Chantal a gentle shove towards the front door. ‘He might not.’
‘I don’t know how to get to him.’ There were too many variables… too many things to deal with. What if he’d already left for Queensland?
‘Find a way—you always do.’
Chantal surprised her mother by pulling her in for a big hug—a real hug. Planting a kiss on her cheek, she grabbed her bag and headed for the front door. Canberra airport was the closest airport that would allow her to fly to Brisbane, but it was a two-hour drive away. She didn’t even know the name of his company.
Her sneakers hit the steps in quick succession and didn’t slow as she raced towards her car.
‘Call me when you find him!’ Frances called out.
‘I will.’
She slammed the door too hard in her haste, the sound ringing out like a shot. Was she doing this?
Chantal bit down on her lip and looked at her mobile phone in its holder on the inside of her windscreen. There was one person who could help her. She had no idea if his number was still the same, or if he would protect Brodie rather than talk to her. But she had to try.
As she paused for a red light Chantal tapped the screen and dialled a number.
‘Hello?’ Scott’s voice echoed through the car.
‘Scott, it’s Chantal. I’m hoping you can help me…’
Brodie stood in the helm, staring blankly out at the harbour. The moored boats were lined up in tidy rows, the Princess 56 blending into the Sydney scene better than it had in Newcastle. He couldn’t be anywhere on the boat without remembering Chantal.
Was she back in the city by now? Doubt rooted him to the deck. Not because he didn’t believe in his feelings for her, but because he had no idea if she would ever reciprocate. He couldn’t remember a time when a girl had left him so strung out… except for the Weeping Reef situation with Chantal the first time around.
Chantal: two. Brodie: zero.
Giggling came from a couple walking past the boat—the sound of two people in love. He looked away, focusing on the dials in the cockpit. He knew he should sail home, but something had stopped him from preparing the yacht. The beautiful views and the freedom of sailing felt wasted without Chantal. No matter how opulent the scenery, it was marked by her absence.
He turned his phone over in his hands. He could call her, invite her for a drink. Apologise for pushing too hard. Then what?
Those three little words hung over him like a dead weight. Three. Little. Words.
They changed everything. He’d never loved any woman before—he hadn’t thought he had any love left over after his family had taken their share. But she seemed to pull emotion from him that he’d never even known existed. It had forced him to do things he’d never thought he could… like confront his father.
The Princess 56 was waiting for him, ready and willing. It sat there patiently, needing him only to make a decision. He could either find out where Chantal was or he could sail home.
No, he wasn’t going home without her.
Scott was right—he had to try again. He had to be sure there wasn’t a chance for them. His attraction to her had always been more than he’d admitted. More than her gorgeous legs, her dancing, the sex. It was something so frighteningly intense and real that he’d been unable to process it until it was too late.
Brodie was about to pick up his phone to dial her number when it buzzed. Lydia’s smiling face flashed up on the screen.
‘Hey, Lyds.’
‘Hey, Brodie.’ There was hesitation in his sister’s voice. ‘So… Dad called.’
‘He did?’ Something lifted in Brodie’s chest. His father had ended their call earlier with a promise to get in touch with the girls more often, though Brodie still had his doubts. ‘What did he say?’
‘He’s coming to visit,’ Lydia replied. ‘Well, he says that, but we’ll see.’
‘Would you like him to visit?’
‘Yeah, I guess.’ She hesitated. ‘It would be good to see him.’
He sincerely hoped his father lived up to his promise. He’d got a sense that his father’s attitude had changed—there’d seemed to be something more receptive about him that had been lacking in the past. Something down in his gut told him that their conversation had been a shifting point for the older man—a reality check that his family needed him. That his daughters needed him.
Brodie could get by on his own, but he had plans to make Chantal a part of his life more permanently—and that meant he couldn’t always play the role of pseudo father. The girls needed to know they could rely on their real father as well. Hopefully this was the beginning of all that.
Lydia caught his attention by launching into a new problem—something to do with Ellen and how she was trying to mother her, even though she was the youngest sibling. But Brodie was no longer listening.
A figure hovered nearby on the jetty. Long legs, long dark hair.
Chantal.
‘Brodie, are you listening to me?’
Lydia’s indignant tone brought his attention back to the call. ‘Sorry, Lyds. I have to go.’
He stepped out onto the upper deck and tried to get a better look at the figure. Was it really her?
‘But I need your help.’ His sister sounded as though she were about to cry. ‘That’s why I called you.’
‘I’ll help you. But I need to do something for me first.’
She sniffled. ‘What’s more important than talking to your sister?’
He jogged over to the stairs, taking them as quickly as his legs would allow. ‘Love.’
‘Is this about that girl?’ Lydia asked, her voice returning to normal.
‘It is.’
‘You love her?’
‘I do, Lyds. I’m going to ask her if she loves me back.’
‘Dibs on being the maid of honour,’ Lydia said. ‘Call me later. Tell me everything.’
‘I promise.’