Jilted

No, she wasn’t ready to talk, not yet. She turned to the fridge to focus her energies on breakfast and then remembered. No milk. Dammit, she just didn’t do black coffee, especially not at the crack of dawn. But another thought followed quickly on the heels of that one. As much as the idea of leaving the house terrified her, it was still early for a Sunday. She was less likely to run into anyone at this time of day, and going for milk and bread—the basic supplies that would get them through the weekend—would postpone the inevitable talk.

“I’m just going to pop up to the Shell and get us some milk. Want any munchies?”

Matilda frowned and sighed. “I’m not one to pass up a chocolate bar, but don’t think this gets you off the hook. We will talk. It’s well past time.”

“I know.” Ellie tried to sound nonchalant, as if the idea of raking up the past wasn’t uncomfortable or painful. “But I barely function, never mind do deep and meaningful without my morning coffee.” She leaned over and kissed Mat on the cheek, then grabbed the car keys and was out of there before her godmother had the chance for further protests.

She smiled with relief as she pulled into the service station. A couple of trucks were parked and their drivers stood between them chomping on greasy breakfast. The thought of eating that kind of food this early turned Ellie’s stomach, but she guessed it helped combat the chill of winter mornings. She shivered. She’d been in such a hurry to leave the house she hadn’t thought about a sweater or a jacket, never mind actually put one on.

Rubbing her arms, she strode toward the shop, dodging a crusty old ute at the gas tanks and ignoring the chill that ran through her as she noticed it was a Hope Junction license plate. She’d forgotten this about small towns in WA, that you could tell where a car was from by the first letters on the license plate. She was far from the anonymity of Sydney, and this car belonged to a local.

Get a grip, she told herself firmly.

But that was easier said than done. Her encounter with Lauren had reinforced her fears. The reception she would get from townsfolk was likely to be frosty at best, downright nasty at worst. She pushed open the door of the shop, trying to recall what it was she’d come for and crashed head-on into a man carrying a paper and a Coffee Chill. His purchases clattered to the floor and without glancing at each other, they both dived to collect them. Their heads knocked, their hands brushed, and laughter at the silliness of the situation tumbled from their mouths. Ellie felt instantly at ease.

Until they both stood up and the man’s warm chuckle died on his lips as he registered who she was.

CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_5f4fa125-30b4-5272-8fe8-b72ccd2d416e)

ELLIE REACHED OUT to grab the door for support.

Flynn.

She wasn’t sure if she said his name aloud or not. Nothing in her wildest imagination could have prepared her for this. It was as if a million different things were going on in her body. Adrenaline had set off a chain of reactions inside her—her hands got sweaty, her heart was beating so fast and loud it felt as if it would break out of her chest at any moment, and her knees felt incapable of holding her up much longer. Their overexertion probably accounted for the beads of perspiration bursting out across her forehead. But her mind and eyes were feasting on the sight before her, of which her memory had done no justice at all.

The grown-up Flynn was a hundred times more gorgeous than the teenage one—and that was saying something. Not that she’d expected otherwise, but he’d filled out in all the right places, grown into his long, lanky body and become a strapping, commanding presence. Light stubble dusted his jawline and his golden hair was longer than she recalled. And mussed up slightly. It suited him. Yet despite his overbearing good looks, one thing stood out as very different. His lips drew a flat line across his face where once a huge, mischievous grin held prime position. She’d fallen in love with that smile before anything else, and now it was nowhere to be seen.

“Cat got your tongue?”

Ellie snapped out of her trance and realized not only was she practically drooling, openmouthed like a codfish, but also that she hadn’t registered Flynn speaking. To her. She tried to reply but something obstructed her words. Like one of those awful dreams where there’s a serial killer chasing you and your legs won’t function. She had so much she wanted—needed—to say to Flynn, and yet her mouth refused to cooperate.

“Ah, never mind,” Flynn said bitterly. His eyes narrowed and he shook his head as he walked past, clutching his paper and drink hard against his chest while stepping as near to the door frame as possible. She could only guess he wanted to avoid the possibility of brushing against her. Her heart crumbled at this thought, but still she couldn’t find the wherewithal to speak. If only she could turn back time and at least find out what he’d said. But then, if she had such powers, she’d turn back time a lot further and erase other stupid mistakes.

Almost in slow motion, she turned around, but Flynn was already pounding the pavement away from her. He didn’t look back. Shivers scuttled down her spine like a thousand nasty, eight-legged beasts. And she started to shake. Uncontrollably. The room spun.

She took hold of herself and tried to moderate her breathing. She was no doctor, but even she knew breathing at such a rate was dangerous. Was this what a panic attack felt like? One of the actresses on Lake Street suffered from them, apparently, but Ellie had never bought into the hype.

“Excuse me, miss? Are you okay?”

She registered that someone somewhere was speaking to her, but a sudden, stabbing pain in her chest throttled any reply. She pressed her hand against her breast hoping the pressure would somehow ease the pain, that if the discomfort eased, then so would the dizziness, the shakes and the feeling the room was closing in around her. But it was no good. No longer able to keep a firm grip on the door, her knees gave way and she tumbled onto the hard concrete.

“That’s it, I’m calling an ambulance,” said the voice.

“Damn straight, looks like she’s having a heart attack,” said another voice. “Don’t want no celebrities dying in my shop. Maybe we should get her a blanket or something?”

No! She didn’t want a blanket. She brought her knees up to her chest and rocked back and forth against the door. I just want to go, she would have yelled, but her tongue had grown thick and immobile. I just want to go back to Sydney, where I’m not some kind of freak show, and live my life the best I can.

Her legs had lost all their strength. She tried to move so she wasn’t hunched like a sobbing cripple in the doorway, but the gods were laughing at her. Somewhere a flash went off, but before she had time to comprehend what that meant, sirens pierced the air, egging on her horrendous headache.

“In here,” she heard someone say. Then two women in green uniforms were looking over her. One of them crouched down and lifted Ellie’s hand, rubbing her wrist, presumably to take her pulse. The other ambulance officer began firing questions at the owner and his employee. Still stunned that this was actually happening, Ellie took a moment to react, but when she heard the word hospital, something inside her snapped back into place.

She pasted what was no doubt a less-than-believable smile on her face and looked apologetically into the face of the woman checking her over. “I’m really sorry,” she said, extracting her hand and straightening her ponytail. “I’m fine. I don’t know what happened, but I’m really fine now. I don’t need to go to hospital.”

The other, less feminine ambulance officer leaned down and butted in. “It’s policy. We have to take you in and have a doctor check you over.”

“No.” No way in hell was she going back to that pokey small-town hospital and risking another run-in with Lauren. She could only imagine what would happen if she were admitted into that woman’s care. “I said I’m fine and I am. You can’t force me to go.”

“She does seem fine,” stated the first officer.

While the two of them discussed protocol and common sense, and the service station owner added his opinion, Ellie flexed her feet and pushed herself up into a stand. Although still shaky, she had every confidence her legs were back in the game. Monitoring her breathing, she trekked slowly around the shop, grabbing chocolates, a big bottle of Fanta, packets of chips, two types of milk and a loaf of white bread. The pickings were slim at the Shell and the prices exorbitant, but she needed to get out of there quickly, with enough provisions to avoid coming back too soon. Tomorrow she’d worry about a bigger shop, although how she’d make it round the Co-op without having an actual heart attack, she had no idea.

“You sure you shouldn’t get properly checked out?” asked the shop assistant as she scanned Ellie’s purchases through the till. The young woman looked genuinely concerned. Ellie didn’t recognize her and judging by her attitude, she deduced that the girl couldn’t have been a resident of Hope very long.

“Thanks for your concern, but I just had a shock.”

The girl looked at her quizzically, but she wasn’t about to start discussing her sordid past with a stranger. No doubt the town gossips would fight to fill her in. Instead, Ellie handed over a fifty-dollar note.

The act of selecting and purchasing items seemed to convince the ambulance folk she was, in fact, physically fine. So, wanting to get this whole sorry episode over quickly, Ellie filled in her details and signed the release.

When Ellie returned to the house, Matilda—sitting in an armchair in the living room—threw her arms up theatrically. “You’ve been gone an age. I was about to organize a search party.”

“Sorry.” She walked through to the kitchen and began unloading the sparse supplies. Inwardly she laughed at the idea that anyone in this godforsaken town would give up their Sunday to search for her.

“I almost called the police,” Matilda continued, her shrill voice carrying down the short hallway.

“Thank God you didn’t,” Ellie called back. “I’ve had my fill of emergency services today.”

“You’ve what?” There was a short silence and then a shuffle. Ellie could hear Matilda reaching for her crutches and knew she was trying to stand up.

“Stay there!” she roared. “I’ll get us a drink and makeshift breakfast, and then I’ll fill you in.” On everything, she added silently. It was time.

She took her time making the coffee and toast. She even cut each slice into little triangles, laid them decoratively on the plate and loaded it all onto an elaborate tray Mat had brought back from Mexico a few years ago. When she finally entered the living room, Matilda was leaning forward in the chair, her body tense, the expression on her face desperately curious.

“What happened?”

“I ran into Flynn.” Ellie’s tone suggested this was an everyday occurrence. She handed Mat her mug, then placed the toast on the little coffee table, positioning it within both their reach.

“Oh.” For once Matilda seemed short of words. Then, eventually, “Dare I ask?”

Ellie flopped into the armchair opposite. “It was a complete debacle. He looked like he wanted to vomit at the sight of me and I almost fainted.” She laughed a little hysterically. “Someone called an ambulance.”

“You’ve been to the hospital?”

She shook her head. “I refused to go.”

Matilda waved an arm in front of her face. “Who cares about the hospital, I want to know about Flynn.”

Ellie tried in vain to keep her hands and voice steady as she sipped her drink and filled Mat in on the events of the morning. Yet with every mention of Flynn the effort became all the more impossible.