I let out a loud sigh and consider her question, which has been taunting me for days anyway. After the win in Vegas and Fuckface taking the bank off my back, there’s nothing financially holding me back.

“Up until a few days ago, I was. I was going to start looking at places online, but—”

“He needs you, Soph,” she says, placing her hand on my shoulder.

“I know.” I busy myself spooning sugar and instant coffee into the mugs. “I think a part of me wants to stay for more than that. I dunno.”

“Really?” she asks, her voice a higher pitch.

“He’s a good friend.”

April shakes her head and purses her lips. She’s not buying it. Shit. I turn to the lounge room and make sure all the boys are together and preoccupied.

“Something happened between us,” I say quietly in her ear. “The night he found out about his brother.”

She grips both my shoulders. “You slept together?” she whisper-growls, her steely grey eyes drilling me for an answer.

I turn to the males in the room once more. All eyes are still focused on the big screen. Phew.

“Not exactly.”

“Don’t get technical on me, McKenna.”

“The problem is, I don’t know what he’s thinking, let alone what I’m thinking. We get each other. We’ve been through some shit together, and it’s brought us close. We have something. I just don’t know what the hell you call it and if it has a future.”

“I’m sure time will tell.”

I pull her into a hug. “Thanks for being here today. Rocco might not be able to say it, but you all mean the world to him.”

“I’d say by the way he looks at you, you’re the whole damn universe.”

He really looks at me like that?

“Can I ask you something?” she asks, her voice serious now.

“Of course.”

“He worked the stud, didn’t he?” She waggles her eyebrows up and down, just like Jones does, and then bites down on her lip.

A smile stretches across my face for the first time in days. “He worked it, alright.”

She play-punches me in the shoulder. “I knew there was something goin’ on with you two in Vegas.”

There was, but how far will it go?

 

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

SOPHIE

Thursday—one month later

“Thirty-four days,” I announce as I nudge Rocco in bed next me.

It should be weird that we’ve slept in the same bed since Vinnie died, but it’s not. We haven’t kissed since that sad night, and there’s been no hanky-panky either. Our friendship has taken a front-row seat, and I don’t think either of us want to ruin that.

“Yep,” he says, and throws the sheet back, scratching at his bare stomach. “Another day sober.”

Rocco has been strong in his battle against the bottle, and we haven’t missed a single AA meeting. He’s been throwing himself into his work. He’s keeping it together, and I couldn’t be prouder of him. Every day it’s as if he has that little bit of extra zest for life, but I’m not disillusioned into thinking he’s back in one piece.

“What the hell do you wear to a game of golf and not look like a dick?” he asks as he tosses a couple of shirts onto his unmade bed.

“You’re asking the wrong person. I hate golf with a passion.” That was Fuckface’s game.

“If my best mate wasn’t getting married in two days, there’s no way I’d be going anywhere near the green. But you know, big Carl Jones always gets what he wants.”

“I’m sure if you wear a collared T-shirt and a good pair of jeans you’ll be okay.”

“It’ll have to be okay, because that’s the best I’ve got.”

He digs at the back of his cupboard, and slips on a navy, collared shirt, which I’ve never seen on him before. Next, he steps into a pair of dark blue jeans. Surely that’ll be acceptable?

“When are you meeting up with the girls?” he asks as he straightens his collar, and tucks the gold cross inside.

“After work I’ll go straight to the hotel. Tomorrow is a full day of waxing and primping and preening.”

“Sounds horrific,” he says, through a chuckle.

“It’s my job as badarse bridesmaid to ensure everything is perfect.”

“I’m sure it will be,” he says, with a wink. He puts on a pair of black skater sneakers, and scoops up his keys from the bedside table.

“I’ll see you at the altar, then.” I straighten my pyjamas as I get out of bed and pull the covers up in a half-arsed effort to make the bed.

“I’ll be there waitin’,” he says and walks from the room, a swagger in his step. The heavy front door closes a moment later.

In the silence of the apartment, I take a quick shower and get dressed for work.

Rocco seemed fine this morning, but I can’t keep using him as an excuse. I need to start making some headway of my own. I’ve been taking charge in my new job, loving every liberating minute of it, but there are two things hanging over me. Two things that have to be done for me to really be in charge of my future.

****

On my way into work, I call Vicky on hands-free.

“Hi, Sophie,” she says, excited as ever when she answers the phone.

“Hey, Vicky. Sorry it’s taken me a while to return your call. The last few weeks have been tough.”

“Don’t apologise. I heard about Rocco’s brother. Please tell him I’m thinking of him, too.”

Aw, that’s sweet. “That’s nice of you. I will.”

“Now, I’ve read through the documents you sent and made contact with bank. I’ve got communications with the bank confirming that the loan has been completely paid off, with all processing fees paid. You’re no longer liable, Sophie.” Her voice is all business with a hint of her trademark bubbliness.

“I can’t tell you how fuckin’ relieved I am to hear that. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m so happy this has all worked out. You’re getting your life back.”

It’s not about getting it back; it’s about starting fresh.

“Thanks, babe. If I can ever repay the favour, just say the word.”

“I will.”

Once I park my car near my work building, I flip through my bag for his business card. His name mocks me as my eyes cast over the pompous gold font. Time to call Fuckface and say goodbye for the last time.

“Greg. It’s Sophie.” I hope the reluctance in my voice doesn’t come across as obvious as it feels.

“Ah, Sophie. Well, hello darling. I didn’t think it’d take you this long, but you were always going to call.”

Cringe.

“We need to talk.”

“Yes. You’re right. How about we meet for lunch?”

“I can meet at twelve, twelve-thirty?”

“Give me half an hour to organise somewhere and I’ll text you the booking details.”

“Sure.”

****

He’s waiting for me outside the door to Buon Ricordo in Paddington, as agreed. The fucker wears a different suit to the one he wore the last time I saw him. This time, it’s a dark navy blue number, with a crisp white collar and striped powder-blue tie positioned firmly around his neck. Would make for a nice noose.

The pompous smirk that crosses his lips as I approach has my heart racing and my nerves on edge. Perhaps I should have told Rocco about this meet. This whole skinning-alive business is supposed to be a team effort, and I failed to bring my partner in crime.

“Greg,” I say, with a nod.

“Love this look on you, sweet pea. Much more fitting.” He kisses my cheek. I clench my jaw to stop myself from outwardly cringing.

Fuck you.

“Shall we?” I say, motioning towards the door and raising my eyebrows.

“Of course.” He opens the door for me and I walk through, doing my best to avoid his gaze. I needn’t have worried, because he seems to forget about me when two middle-aged business men start talking to him. He shakes hands with the suits, kissing their arse with compliments on a building project. I smile to myself in his shadow, thrilled that there are people here that know him.