Jilted - Rachael Johns

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just trying to tell you to slow down, rest a little.”

      Matilda aimed her middle finger skyward. “Bollocks to that.”

      AT THE HAMMERING on his front door, Flynn shook his head and stumbled from the couch. He’d been there for the past couple of hours, staring at a mark on the wall. His stomach groaned, alerting him to the fact it was probably way past lunch.

      “Flynn, what are you doing in there?” Lucy’s high-pitched shout shot through his head. “You’d better be ready.”

      “What are you talking about?” He opened the door and felt his body tighten at the sight of his little sister. Dressed in black tights, ridiculously high-heeled boots, a long-sleeved T-shirt that looked three sizes too small and a skirt he practically needed a magnifying glass to see, Lucy was doing a fabulous impersonation of a street-side hooker. He couldn’t imagine why his mom was letting her loose like that. Maybe she’d used up all her parenting energies dealing with him in his wayward years.

      “Flynn!” She seethed angry air between her teeth and held up her chunky Hope Hurricanes purple-and-orange scarf, proceeding to wave it in his face. “You’re supposed to be driving me into town for the game.” She looked him up and down, her eyes widening as she took in his holey track pants and scruffy sweater. “And you’re supposed to be playing.”

      “Damn.” The game had completely slipped his mind. He rubbed his forehead, which had been pulsing with nonstop pain since he’d heard about Ellie. Running up and down the oval, tackling sweaty blokes and kicking out his tension could be just what he needed, but the rest of it... Having to make small talk, knowing that everywhere he looked people would be talking about him, pitying him. He needed that about as much as a rhino in his top paddock.

      “You’ve forgotten, haven’t you?”

      “No,” he snapped, giving a quick nod to her outfit. “I was just thinking that I should get you an overcoat. You’ll freeze in that, not to mention give the boys a heart attack.”

      “You’re not my father, Flynn. Even if you act as if you’re about ninety-five.” She lifted her chin, daring him to disagree.

      “Thank the Lord,” he replied, beginning to soften. But Lucy’s words made him think. Did he really give off that impression? Was he turning into an old grump? Or was it just all the talk of Ellie that had put him off balance?

      “Besides,” she continued, oblivious to the churnings of his mind. “This is what all the girls are wearing. You don’t want me to be an outcast, do you?”

      Flynn had to hide a grin. She was such a drama queen, but her antics were distracting him from thoughts of his ex and lifting his mood. That had to be a good thing.

      “Luce, you could never be an outcast. You’re gorgeous, intelligent and, most important, you’re my sister. That’s pretty much got you covered.”

      “Hardy-ha,” she replied, but her full-blown smile told him she’d forgiven his grumpiness.

      “I’ll be right back,” he said, turning toward his bedroom to throw on his gear. He’d play the game, let off some tension and make a quick retreat before anyone could corner him. Footy would help clear his head.

      Five minutes later, Flynn turned the ute onto the main road into town. Lucy switched on the radio, grinning as Paul Kelly came blaring out. Paul was the one sound they both liked. The twelve years between them meant there weren’t many such bands.

      Trying to relax, Flynn tapped his fingers on the steering wheel along to the music. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lucy shift in her seat to face him.

      “You and Ellie could’ve been like this song.”

      He cringed. As if the end of their relationship hadn’t been tragic enough. He’d never spoken about Ellie with Lucy, or about what happened after she’d left, and he didn’t plan on starting now. Lucy was now the age he and Ellie were when they started going out, but she wouldn’t understand. She had one hyped-up crush after another but never stayed with a boy long enough to fall in love.

      When he didn’t reply, she elaborated. “I reckon Ellie did you a favor running off. I mean, I don’t really remember her and she may have been really nice, but Ms. Dawes, our sex-ed teacher, says teen marriages are twenty times more likely to end in divorce than other marriages.”

      “Is that right?” Frankly, he would have liked the chance to have been in on the decision whatever the outcome of their would-be marriage.

      “Uh-huh. Not that that old troll would know,” she giggled. “I don’t reckon anyone’s ever asked her to marry them.”

      Flynn let out his breath, thinking Lucy had moved on to other thoughts. Just to make sure, he raised a new topic. “So, how’s school going? Mom said you’re doing well.”

      “S’pose so. Doesn’t really matter. For the things I wanna do, I don’t need uni.”

      “You’re seventeen, Luce, you have no idea what you want to do.”

      “Shut up, Flynn, there you are acting all ancient again. You’re so boring. No wonder Ellie left you.” She gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth.

      Flynn’s whole body clenched. He’d never entertained the possibility that Ellie had thought him boring—he still didn’t—but the words hurt more than he cared to admit. She had chosen a showbiz career and life in the city over a partnership on the farm. Her dreams were bigger than rural Western Australia. And him.

      “I’m sorry, Flynn. That was out of line.”

      “Yeah, it was.”

      “And it’s crap, too. No one thinks you’re boring. Jeez, my friends all idolize you and the women in town all drool over you. You could have anyone you want.”

      He chuckled at the irony. “Perhaps the three women in my life are enough?”

      “Three!” Lucy shrieked. “Who’s the... Ooh, me, Mom and Gran.” She looked disappointed. “I thought I was going to be the first to know something exciting.”

      “Yep. You, Mom and Gran.” He reached out and rubbed her head affectionately.

      “Hey, don’t mess the hair.” She lifted a hand for protection but smiled nevertheless.

      For the rest of the journey, Lucy nattered on about the girls at school, the boy they all craved and their plans for Schoolies Week, which, thankfully, was still six months away. It may have been over a decade since Flynn had partied on Rottnest Island during Schoolies, but he knew things wouldn’t have changed too much. Seventeen-year-old boys had one thing on their mind and one thing only.

      “Crap, we’re late,” Lucy said as Flynn pulled into the oval and searched for a place to park. Already the field was bordered with cars, people sitting on hoods, eating pies and drinking soft drinks, waving banners as they waited for the game to start. Stupidly, he scanned the crowds for Ellie—she’d been a faithful supporter of the Hurricanes and never missed a game when she lived here, but of course, things were different now. Even if she were in town, it was unlikely she’d make a game of country football a high priority.

      Lucy practically jumped out the car before he’d put the hand brake on, and definitely before he’d taken the keys out of the ignition.

      “Come straight back here after the game,” he yelled, pretty certain she didn’t hear him, or at least didn’t want to.

      * * *

      DURING THE MATCH, Flynn didn’t look at the crowd and tried not to make eye contact with his fellow players. He scored more goals than he had in a while but not enough to give the Hurricanes the victory they’d been missing lately. When it was over, he went to wait for Lucy. He knew his quick departure would provide more fodder for the gossips, but that didn’t

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