Blake looked it up, downloaded it, and replied: Yep! Want to play sometime?

  Well, at least learning the game as fast as possible would keep him busy for the rest of the evening. He read and reread Cooper’s single letter response—the letter K—and grinned like a fool.

  He had a son.

  And before he could talk himself out of it, he was ringing his mum. How could he wait any longer before telling his parents they had another grandchild? They’d be thrilled, and he had to share his joy with them.

  He paced eagerly, imagining their delighted smiles. When Mum picked up the video call, her brow was furrowed.

  “Blakey? You right?”

  He laughed. “Yes! Everything’s good. Fantastic, even. Magnificent. Tremendous.” He heard Damo’s voice saying those were ten-dollar words and grinned.

  Mum was sitting on the brown leather couch in their apartment behind the pub. It was after closing time, and she was in one of her floral short-sleeved nighties.

  The camera angle was low, but at least her face was visible. Behind her, the framed print Blake had bought them at the Pro Hart gallery in Broken Hill hung on the beige wall.

  It was called “Mining Town Sunday,” painted in earth tones depicting squat wooden buildings and tall, dry trees with spindly-legged townspeople playing and talking. It always made Blake feel good to see his gift hung proudly.

  The murmur of the TV was silenced, and Dad squeezed into frame. He wore a white singlet. “Are you on drugs?”

  Blake’s smile stiffened. “When have you known me to ever do drugs?”

  “Ya haven’t, but you’re going out to those nightclubs. We know what happens there. All sorts.”

  He didn’t ask whether Dad meant nightclubs in general or queer ones specifically and forced a laugh. “Not sure the last time you two went clubbing, but again, I don’t do drugs. I wanted to tell you some good news.”

  Mum’s lined face lit up. “You’re moving back home!”

  Blake was stunned into silence. She couldn’t really think that? They’d gone over it so many times. He blinked. “I… What? Why would you think that?”

  Mum still beamed. “We need you here, Blakey.” She wasn’t joking. He could tell when she was.

  His stomach dropped. “Why? Are you sick?”

  “You know we have our aches and pains, and your father won’t listen to the doctor even—”

  “But you’re not having any stroke symptoms?” He exhaled.

  “No, love.” Mum’s smile was strained. “You know that wasn’t the only reason we needed you home.”

  “I know,” he said automatically. “But you’re doing great without me.” The last thing he wanted was to be drawn into that debate again. “No, I’m not moving home.”

  Their faces fell, and while part of Blake felt guilty—a bigger part had him clenching his fists, his phone in a death grip. How many times did he need to say that he’d left Blinman and wasn’t going back?

  He should’ve been excitedly telling them about Cooper and Damo. Sharing the two new people in his life who’d turned it upside-down in the most wonderful way.

  His joy had faded—the bright, vivid rainbow colors of his eagerness muted to drab grays.

  “We just miss you, son,” Dad said. “You’re such a help around the place.”

  Blake battled between a rush of pride and satisfaction and frustration that his parents knew how drawn he was to helping people—and they used that to guilt-trip him.

  “Do you ever ask Adam or Richie to come back?” He knew his sister, Ella, had gotten her fair share of guilt trips when she’d moved to Adelaide. His older brothers had been gone for years, though.

  Mum frowned and said, “They’re in Queensland,” as if he didn’t know that. She laughed. “Don’t reckon Heather or Julia would fancy Blinman.”

  Dad scoffed. “No way Julia would leave Brissie.”

  Blake clenched his jaw. His father always said her name with a hint of distain even though Blake’s sister-in-law was lovely. He’d asked more than once what the issue was, and Dad had always insisted there was nothing. Blake suspected it was simply that she was a lawyer.

  “And Ella’s settled in Adelaide now with Griff and the baby,” Blake said.

  Mum sighed. “Yes. But there’s no reason you can’t come home!”

  “Because I’m single? What if I wasn’t?”

  Ah, and there was that painful mix of discomfort and embarrassment with a hint of panic. Blake hadn’t subjected Lance to a trip to Blinman, and his parents had always been too busy with the pub to visit him at uni in Melbourne. They hadn’t even attended his commencement ceremony.

  Awkwardly, Mum tried to laugh. “All right, so you’re not coming home. Can’t blame us for tryin’! Love, did I tell you what happened on Friday?”

  “Oh, you won’t believe it!” Dad said too eagerly.

  Anything to avoid talking about the mere possibility that Blake could have a boyfriend. A partner. He’d told them after his first year in uni that he was gay, and after their initial disbelief and Mum’s tears, it had been like this. They simply avoided the topic at all costs.

  He nodded and listened to Mum go on about the ringers from the local sheep station getting up to no good, then said, “I have to be up early for work. Talk to you later.” He forced a smile and disconnected.

  They hadn’t asked about his good news.

  Blake wanted to ring Damo and tell him everything, but it wasn’t fair dumping this on him when he had his own stress to deal with. Whatever that was. That Blake didn’t even know was a stark reminder not to get ahead of himself.

  Even if he and Damo were properly dating, it was early days. The last thing Blake needed was to go too fast and spoil it.

  He could text Kat, but he hadn’t replied to their latest messages yet. In fact, he hadn’t even told them about Cooper. Shit. They had a lot to catch up on, but he wasn’t in the mood to answer a million questions. He was best off getting to bed since his alarm would be blaring far too soon.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Loose hair sticking to his sweaty cheek, Damo whipped his head around as the scream pierced the buzz of typical beach noise. He was used to kids screaming and shrieking while they played in the water or on the sand, but this scream made the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

  He’d been patrolling the north side of the flagged area on foot, and he jolted to a stop, scanning the water. It hadn’t seemed far away, but sound could play tricks. A violent splash just five meters out caught his eye. He threw down his radio and whipped off his sunnies and uniform shirt before grabbing the nearby rescue board and racing in.

  The fully dressed kid was probably seven years old, and he was immediately climbing the ladder, clawing at the water as if he could pull himself up, going under just off the back of the sandbank, dark hair plastered to his face. His father was also dressed, and he flailed and tried to hold the kid up while going under himself. They were steps from safety, but panic had set in.

  They were so close that Damo didn’t even get on the board, instead shoving it toward them and yelling to hold on. He kept the board safely between them, and they clung on the other side, the boy sobbing. Pulling the board with the two patients clinging to it, Damo only had to kick once before he could stand on the sandbank.

  “It’s okay. You’re safe.” Damo motioned to them. “Stand up. You can stand.”

  They still clung to the board desperately, and Damo reached across to pry the man’s fingers loose from the side rope. “Mate, stand up.”

  Kids were helpless and made crap life choices, so Damo didn’t blame them for not knowing better. But he couldn’t understand how an adult thought it was a good plan to go into the water in jeans when they couldn’t swim a stroke.

  He bit back the irritation and tried to smile, motioning upward with his hands. The man stumbled to his feet, pulling up the boy as well. Damo herded them onto dry sand, and the man bowed, shaking his hand and thanking him.

  “Where are you from?” Damo asked.

  “Japan. Thank you.”

  “No worries. Just stay out of the water if you can’t swim. It’s very dangerous to wear clothes.” He pointed to the jeans, and the man nodded.

  Damo crouched and looked up at the sniffling boy. “Did you swallow much water?” He mimed drinking and tried to get his point across. The kid’s color was okay, and he’d only flailed maybe twenty seconds before Damo got to him, so he was probably fine.

  But Jesus, that could have gone bad. He hated close calls, and with a kid it was even worse. Beachgoers who’d watched the rescue applauded, but Damo kept his focus on the shaking little boy. He wanted to give him a hug but instead explained to the dad about inhaling water and the danger signs before they went on their way, the boy managing a smile now.

  Damo’s walkie-talkie crackled where he’d left it with his shirt and sunnies, and he blew sand off it. “Central, had to move fast. Both patients look fine.”

  “Copy that,” Ronnie said in the tower. “They were so close to shore, hey? Good work. Can you get up to north end? Croc’s going to start chomping soon, and Foxy’s dealing with a bag thief. Coppers are on their way. Mazza can swing by in the buggy for ya.”

  In the buggy with Mia a few minutes later, Damo tied his uniform shirt around his neck, letting his skin dry in the afternoon heat. Mia—who they mostly called Maz or Mazza—navigated around the clumps of families and umbrellas and tanners, sticking close to the water’s edge. She cursed under her breath as a bloke walked right in front of the buggy, putting up an imperious hand for her to stop.

  “Mate!” Damo shouted. “Sure, after you. It’s not like we have a bloody job to do or anything.”

  “You right?” Mia asked as they drove on.

  Damo physically shook off his frustration. “Fine.”

  “It’s tough with kids. Confronting.”

  “Yeah. They’re so helpless against the ocean. I wouldn’t let mine anywhere near the water if they couldn’t swim.”

  They parked at the north end, Mia on the mega telling tourists to go down between the flags. Sitting in silence, they scanned the water before Damo asked, “You want kids?”

  Mia scoffed. “No idea. Not any time soon, that’s for sure.”

  “How’re things with whatshisname?” Damo asked.

  She wore mirrored sunnies, but Damo knew she was rolling her eyes. She said, “You know his name’s Tom.”

  “Right, so how’re things with Tommo?”

  “Excellent. Might introduce him to my parents. We’ll see.”

  “Wow. Good on ya. They don’t want you to marry someone Malay?”

  She shrugged. “They want plenty of things. For example, they want me to be a doctor, not a lifeguard. Life is full of disappointment.” She reached up for the mic, pressing the button with her thumb, the spiral cord swinging. “Swimmer in the red right in front of us! Come straight back to shore.”

  Of course the guy ignored her. A girl about Tabby’s age building a sandcastle nearby approached, bucket still in hand. “Why don’t you go get him now?” she asked in an accent Damo thought was maybe German.

  Mia smiled at her. “Well, someone else could get in much more serious trouble while we’re busy trying to convince him not to swim in the rip. From here, we’re watching all sorts of people at once, so we wait to go in until we really have to.”

  The kid looked out at the man, then nodded. “Makes sense.” She gazed at Mia with open curiosity. “Are there lots of girl lifeguards?”

  “Unfortunately not. I’m the only one at Barking at the moment, but I’m hoping that’ll change after the winter recruitment.”

  The girl nodded. “I hope so. Bye!” Then she was off back to her sandcastle, her parents napping under an umbrella.

  “If you got pregnant now, think you’d keep the baby?” Damo asked.

  This drew a frown. “Dunno. Why are you asking?”

  He shrugged, trying to play casual. “No reason.”

  He failed, because Mia groaned. “Don’t tell me you got someone pregnant. I know you’ve been getting laid lately, but I hope you’re not that reckless.”

  “What?” He sat up straighter. “How do you know I’m getting laid?”

  Mia pulled her sunnies down her nose and gave him a stare that said he was a complete boofhead. “You might as well hire one of those planes that flies banners over Barking with messages like ‘Marry me, Bella’ except yours would say, ‘Damo’s having sex with some chick he thinks he’s in love with.’ It’s all over your moony face. Plus the spring in your step. You know you can’t keep a secret to save your life.”

  Damo thought of a dark bedroom that stank of sweat and piss and smoke, Dad hurling the remote at his head, Tabby crying behind him and Mum miles away at work. Locking that door tight, he tried to act offended.

  “That’s not true. I knew Foxy was gay for months before he came out on TV.”

  “We all knew that. Besides, Cody would have had your balls for breakfast with tomato sauce on top if you’d breathed a word. If any of us did. But obviously we didn’t since that was major stuff. That was heavy. That wasn’t you hooking up.” She grimaced. “And seriously, tell me you didn’t get her pregnant already.”

  “I didn’t get anyone pregnant! There’s no new chick.”

  “You’re telling me you’re not getting laid? Bullshit.”

  “I’m tellin’ ya there’s no new chick.” Heart jumping now, he shrugged.

  Telling Cody had been surprisingly easy. Cody was gay and his mate, and probably one of the least judgmental people he’d ever met. But Mia was his mate too, and while she had way more opinions than Cody, she’d be cool with it. Of course she would.

  His throat was suddenly dry, but he got the words out. “I’m seeing a guy I met here. One of the clubbies. His name’s Blake. Blake the bloke. I fancy him, and I think I’m bisexual. I still like chicks, but I like guys too, so now I’m seeing him, and you’re right, I’m gettin’ laid, and it’s all been really good, and even though we just met, I like him heaps.”

  Out of words, Damo sucked in a breath and gulped from his water bottle, Mia watching him in silence, mouth open. He drank again, then added, “He’s definitely not preggo, and neither am I.”

  Mia was silent for the space of a few more of Damo’s thudding heartbeats before she said, “Wow,” and looked back at the water, pushing her sunglasses back up her nose. “I thought I had you all figured out.”

  “I’ve got hidden depths, hey?”

  A grin spread over Mia’s pretty face. “I guess you do. Good on ya.” She held out her fist, and he bumped it, exhaling in relief.

  “You ever kiss a girl?” he asked.

  She smirked. “Is this scientific research?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Yes, I’ve kissed a girl, but we were playing truth or dare, so it doesn’t really count.”

  “Did you fancy it?”

  Mia shrugged. “It was fun, I guess. And no, I’m not giving you any more details than that.”

  Damo scanned the surfers out the back, a giddy little flush in his chest even though he knew Blake was doing overtime at work. He was coming by around dinnertime, and Damo bounced his bare foot on the dash, trying not to let his mind jump to what he and Blake would do later.

  Dinnertime. He realized with a groan that Tabby would be alone after school again with Mum working another double. At least Damo had gone to Woolies that morning and stocked the fridge.

  Tabby would be fine, right? Besides, she was always banging on about not needing a babysitter. There was a roast chook and bag of salad, and icy poles in the freezer for dessert.

  Shit. He still needed to tell her about Bremer Bay. He had to go home before he met Blake.

  Considering he’d spent almost all his time at home when he wasn’t working or surfing, it was ridiculous to dread it so much now. It had been years, but suddenly he was suffocating.

  Maybe he should back out of going. It wasn’t fair to Tabby. He was a terrible big brother. He—

  Mia pointed. “Is there a head out the back? Fourth ramp.”

  Damo stood on the side of the buggy, peering beyond the swells, waiting for a flash of—“Yep. Reckon I’m going for a paddle.” All thoughts of Tabby and home and Blake had to go.

  The radio squawked, and yep, he was in.

  “Tabs!”

  Damo waited, then called again, “Tabs!” His long-sleeved wetsuit was unzipped to his waist, hanging down toward the lino floor. He’d caught a quick set to get his head on straight before coming home. He’d be meeting Blake back at Barkers soon, so he had to either tell her or cancel the trip.

  “What?”

  “C’mere!”

  Standing at the kitchen sink, he picked up a plate from the soapy water and scrubbed at the dried-on sauce from last night’s spag bol. Tabby’s door opened down the hall with a creak, and she heaved a sigh as she entered the kitchen.

  “What?” she repeated before tapping her phone.

  “Just need to talk to ya.” He scrubbed harder, trying to keep his voice normal even as his pulse jumped like he’d just spotted a tourist in a rip.

  “Here I am. Yes, Dad had his meds. He’s out of it today.”

  They’d never said it out loud, but Damo knew neither of them minded when he was dozy.

  “Um…” Damo put the plate in the rack. The dishwasher had busted a year ago and now they kept extra pots in it.

  Tabby stepped closer, putting her phone in her shorts pocket. “What?”

  Jesus, he was leaving for two bloody nights. Mum would be home by eight the first night and off work the second. Why was he tied up in knots? “I’m goin’ away.”

  Blue eyes wide, Tabby’s lip trembled. “When?”

  “Tomorrow. It’ll—”

  “Tomorrow?” Jaw on the floor, she stared. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?” Hands balled, she blinked back tears.

  “Whoa, whoa.” Damo reached for her with wet, sudsy hands, but she jerked away.

  “You’re moving out tomorrow and never said a word?”

  “Who’s moving out? I’m going down to Bremer Bay for two nights. Then I’ll be back.”