Which was scary, but also such a bloody relief. He couldn’t take it back—and he didn’t want to.

  His belly fluttered as he remembered getting off with Blake. Big hands on his back. Blake sucking his cock. Blake looming over him and coming in his mouth. Blake lifting him up into his strong arms…

  “I’ll take care of you.”

  Jesus, it had been so sexy.

  Damo fumbled for the lotion and tugged himself, spreading his legs. He closed his eyes to the faded posters—surfers and beach babes. He was waking up in the same old room, but he’d finally gone outside his comfort zone.

  Outside his open window, ravens cawed loudly. Even though he’d blown his load twice the night before, Damo’s balls tightened, and he bent his knees, breathing hard, digging his heels into the saggy single mattress. Fucking up into his fist, he was so close already—

  The thud echoed through the single-story house, followed by Tabby’s curse. Damo cursed too, rolling out of bed and yanking on his board shorts. He wiped his hand on the pile of dirty laundry in the corner as he crashed back down to earth. Nothing killed a boner quite like his baby sister needing help.

  Their parents’ room was at the end of the hall, and Damo was there in a flash. As he suspected, Dad was on the floor, sprawled face down on the faded blue rug beside the bed. His walker stood by uselessly. Tabby stood over him, red-faced in the gloom, the blinds drawn as always.

  “I told him to wait until I had it steady!” Her golden hair was pulled back in her usual ponytail, and she stood with hands on her skinny hips, wearing her green footy kit. To their dad, she pleaded, “Why couldn’t you wait?”

  “I need to piss!” Dad barked, then muttered, “Stupid girl.”

  “Oi!” Damo closed the door quietly and marched over. “None of that.” He bent at his knees and heaved his father onto his back as gently as he could. Dad grimaced, his drawn, craggy face turning from the usual grayish-yellow pallor to red.

  Hoisting his father onto his feet was no easy task. Dad was a head taller than Damo, and though his weight went up and down depending on what drugs he was taking, he was a big man even at his thinnest. More than that, he was dead weight, no matter how often Damo asked him to push with his legs.

  Dad just gritted his teeth and groaned as Damo hauled him up like he was a drowned patient he needed to get on his board. Tabby was ready with the walker, and they hovered nearby as Dad grumbled and moved by centimeters to the adjoining toilet.

  Over his usual pajama bottoms, his bare back was sweaty and pale. Jagged, shiny scars where the doctors had put in pins to try and fix his broken bones were stark even in the murky light. Once he was inside on the crapper, Damo shut the door.

  The ceiling fan thumped overhead in the bedroom. It stank of cigarettes, pot, sweat, and something that had to be complete fucking misery. Lips pressed in a line, Tabby crossed her arms. Damo slung an arm around her rigid shoulders.

  “You’d better get to practice, hey? I’ll get him settled back down. Careful not to wake Mum on your way out.”

  “Dunno how she slept through that,” Tabby muttered.

  “Mum’s exhausted.”

  “She always sleeps on the couch now. Never in here.”

  Can’t say I blame her. “You better get a wriggle on. I’ll make dinner, okay?”

  Tabby’s narrow shoulders loosened. “Okay.” She glanced at the bathroom door, sadness and resentment souring her freckled face.

  “Sorry I didn’t get up earlier to check on him,” Damo said. “It’s hectic when he gets like that.”

  When he wasn’t at work, he always tried to be the one looking in on him. Dad usually slept late, so Damo could go for a dawn surf if he wasn’t on the opening shift and still make it back in plenty of time.

  When he wasn’t out with a bloke, that was. He cursed himself for not setting his alarm for earlier.

  Tabby shrugged, and he hated that she had to deal with any of this. She shouldn’t have had to handle anything more than homework and playing footy and her first crush.

  “You were home late,” she said, eyeing him curiously.

  Guilt nipped with sharp teeth, and he kissed Tabby’s head and gave her a little shove. “On yer bike!”

  While he waited for his father to finish shitting, Damo picked up the dirty plate left on the one bit of the side table not lined with pill bottles. A chip packet had floated to the carpet, and he grabbed that on the way to the kitchen.

  From the hall, he could peek into the living room. Mum’s light hair was messy on a pillow on the couch, and she didn’t move. He left the plate on the kitchen benchtop and padded back to the bedroom.

  Dad was shuffling across the carpet with the walker. At least once he got up, he was usually okay to go to the toilet and back alone. Damo hovered nearby, prepared to steady him but not getting too close.

  He couldn’t resist saying, “You shouldn’t talk to Tabs like that. You know—”

  “Don’t fuckin’ tell me what I know!” Dad cringed as he lowered himself to the bed, holding on to the side rail they’d installed years back. He sucked in a gasp. “Feet.”

  Damo hefted his father’s swollen feet and legs up and helped pivot him onto his back. Once he was settled, Damo asked flatly, “What do you want for brekkie?”

  “Whaddya think I want?”

  Turning away, Damo went to fetch the coffee, toast, and a Cherry Ripe. A horrible little cry made him jolt around.

  Tears shone in Dad’s red-rimmed eyes. “Sorry,” he whispered, a hoarse—and increasingly rare—confession. For a second, he was like himself again. The dad he’d been before the accident and the personality changes that came with it.

  Just for a second.

  “I know.” Damo tried to smile and escaped to the kitchen.

  He scraped the thin layer of Vegemite on the buttered toast just like Dad liked, struck by a memory of when he was Tabby’s age and Dad was home early from a job, still in his high-vis tradie gear. Damo had helped him make brekkie in bed for Mum’s birthday while Tabby had gotten underfoot.

  Dad had swung her up onto his back, shushing her as she laughed. She’d clung to him while he’d scrambled the eggs, and Damo had buttered and Vegemite-d the toast. They’d all climbed into bed with Mum. She was groggy after her hospital shift but beaming, snuggling them close while they got crumbs all over the doona.

  He blinked up at the water stains on the ceiling, a remnant of a summer storm and faulty roof tiles they couldn’t afford to fix. He wasn’t sure what would be worse—allowing Dad to see tears in his eyes or letting the toast get cold.

  “Swimmers in front of us! Come straight back to shore. This is not a safe swimming area!”

  Damo sat beside Liam Fox in the buggy at the north end of Barking, watching as the people completely ignored him. Still holding the smooth plastic of the transmitter attached to the megaphone on the buggy’s roof, Damo shook his head.

  “Foxy, ya reckon they think I’m talking to you?”

  Liam chuckled and adjusted his mirrored Aviators. “Apparently.”

  Damo pressed the microphone button, blowing into the transmitter to make a static noise to attract attention before saying, “Did you know that this area of the beach is not for swimming? There are big yellow warning signs and everything. And lifeguards going hoarse.”

  “In fact, I did know that,” Liam said, scanning the water back and forth.

  “Glad the message is getting through to someone. It’ll be gnarly soon.”

  Damo propped his bare foot on the dashboard. It was clouding over, but the sun still broke through to glimmer on the waves. The tide was turning low, and the Croc would start biting, and the people who ignored the warnings and refused to swim between the flags would be caught in the rip.

  Kids playing on the sand shrieked and laughed, and Damo breathed in the fresh, briny scent of the beach—salt, seaweed, and the sweet slap of sunscreen and surfboard wax. Someone nearby was using Mr. Zogs Sex Wax with a coconut scent he’d know anywhere.

  Annnd now he was thinking about sex, which meant thinking about Blake. About his cock and foreskin and those nipples surrounded by hair. About said cock stretching Damo’s lips, tasting like skin and man.

  He’d finally done it. Tomorrow, he’d do it again, which gave him a secret shiver. He was wishing like hell he’d told Blake he’d see him tonight, but he couldn’t leave Tabby alone two nights in a row.

  Damo’s phone was locked up in the staffroom in the lifeguard tower, so he couldn’t check to see if Blake had texted. He should’ve sent a message himself before his shift, but after dealing with Dad and tiptoeing around while Mum slept, he’d had to jog the few blocks to the beach to make it on time. At least their house was in a prime spot in Barking.

  As a kid, Damo hadn’t wondered if it was weird for his dad to live in his childhood home as an adult, and now it was too late to ask. If he tried to bring it up, Dad would probably call him names in one of the surges of fury that simmered under the surface, ready to explode.

  Damo forced away thoughts of home. The beach was his place. His freedom. Also his job, and he sternly reminded himself to be vigilant. He watched a young couple having a play on a sandbank. Any minute now, they’d get lifted off it, not be able to touch the bottom, and full-on panic. You could set your bloody watch by it.

  His gaze drifted over to the surfers out the back. The waves were only okay, and he could tell there were a lot of beginners in the lineup. It occurred to him that Blake had to be a relative newbie if he’d grown up in the Flinders Ranges.

  He looked for Blake, his pulse fluttering just at the thought of seeing him again. Which was mental, right? First off, Blake had said he was helping out a mate. Second, he’d only just met him. Fair enough, they’d shared spit and jizz, which was a pretty big deal—at least to Damo.

  Even with chicks, he’d never had many hookups. Or any, now that he thought about it. Aside from Shaz, there’d been a couple of girls who hadn’t lasted long, but they were more than just a one-nighter.

  But was it different with guys?

  He chewed that over as he watched a new group of swimmers leave their towels right by the DANGEROUS CURRENT warning sign.

  When Damo had left the toilet, Blake had seemed…distracted? Before, his attention had been intense, and it wasn’t only the guyliner making his eyes more dramatic.

  Yet when Damo had left his apartment, Blake had seemed preoccupied. Not quite as present. Damo couldn’t help but wonder if it was because they’d gotten off. Maybe the excitement was gone? The mission was accomplished, so Damo wouldn’t be interesting anymore?

  He scoffed at himself. As if he was some man of mystery. Still, it wouldn’t be the first time a bloke lost interest after orgasms, would it? Chicks complained about that all the time—understandably. And if Blake wasn’t fussed with him anymore, Damo had to admit the disappointment would be…

  “You right?” Liam asked.

  “Huh?” Damo glanced away from the water to find Liam frowning at him.

  “Got ants in your pants and you’re sighing every five seconds.”

  “Sorry, mate.”

  Eyes on the water, Liam shrugged. “No worries. Everything good?”

  “Yep,” he answered too quickly. “I’m sweet.”

  And everything was good. Blake had clearly wanted to see him again, so why was he worrying about being brushed?

  Because thinking of Blake had him hot and nervous and excited, and he tapped his foot against the dash.

  “Excuse me?” a teenage girl asked.

  Damo jolted guiltily, and he and Liam turned as she tentatively approached the buggy on the left where Liam sat. Liam said, “G’day.”

  She brushed a dark, frizzy curl from her face. “You’re Liam Fox, right?”

  Damo could feel the tension ripple through Liam’s big body even though they weren’t touching. Liam nodded, waiting. The girl couldn’t be more than fourteen and fiddled with the strap of her striped bathers.

  Damo said, “This is the legend in the flesh.” He was pretty sure the girl wasn’t about to tell Liam he was a pervert going to hell since she was practically vibrating from nerves. He hoped not, at least.

  “Um, I…” She shifted on the sand. “I just wanted to say thanks. For coming out. I’m bi, and when I told my dad, he didn’t even get mad. You helped him understand.”

  Liam exhaled. “I’m glad. What’s your name?”

  Smiling, Damo looked back at the water—and jumped to his feet. He pulled off his long-sleeved blue uniform shirt. Sure enough, the couple had been lifted off the sandbank by the swells, and they couldn’t swim a stroke. At times, lifeguards waited to see if people could get themselves out of trouble, but Damo knew instantly he was in.

  “There they go. I’m gettin’ wet!”

  He could hear Liam on the radio calling the tower, where other lifeguards would be watching with binoculars. Rescue board in hand, Damo raced in, punching past the impact zone and paddling hard to where the couple flailed and grabbed at each other in their terror, pulling each other under.

  “I told ya not to swim here!” he couldn’t resist shouting as he grasped their arms. “Especially if you can’t actually swim!”

  They couldn’t speak English, which was common on Barking. They were close enough to shore that he was able to drag them back to the sandbank and walk them out of the water.

  He pointed to the danger signs, and then down towards the safe swimming area. They nodded and thanked him, the woman gripping his hands gratefully.

  Damo’s frustration ebbed as he returned to the buggy. He knew no one wanted to get into trouble in the waves, but he wished they’d give the ocean the respect it demanded.

  Liam shook his head. “Couldn’t swim a stroke.”

  “Nope.” Damo rubbed a towel over his arms. “That was nice of that girl, hey?”

  “Yeah. Took a selfie with her.” Liam looked vaguely embarrassed.

  “You should be used to it by now, Foxy.” Damo shoved his shoulder playfully.

  Liam huffed, but he smiled too. “I can’t imagine coming out at her age. Maybe things really are changing.”

  “Hope so, mate.”

  They went back to patrolling in comfortable silence when they weren’t hopping on the megaphone to tell people to move to the safe part of the beach—to little effect, as usual. Damo pulled his shirt back on and swatted a persistent fly, and the girl’s voice echoed in his head.

  “I’m bi.”

  Was he bi too? He rolled the word around in his head. Bi. Bisexual. Biiiiiiiii.

  Yeah, he’d been curious for a while—probably longer than he’d admitted to himself—but putting words on it made his palms sweat. Which was bloody stupid given he and Blake had gotten naked together.

  Crap, now he was thinking about jizz in chest hair again, and Blake’s big hands, and his stubbly, heart-stopping kisses—

  “What’s got you all tied up in knots?” Liam asked.

  His cheeks went hot. “Nothing!”

  “You can…” Liam waved a hand. “I can listen.”

  Damo had to smile. Before Cody, Liam would have rather pulled out his fingernails than have a deep and meaningful.

  “Yeah, nah. Just have a lot on my mind.”

  “Hot chicks and the next party?”

  And shit, that shouldn’t have hurt, but it did. Damo put on a grin. “You know me, Foxy.”

  It wasn’t Liam’s fault. Damo had created an image for himself on the lifeguard service. Always keen for a joke and a comment about bikinis. It hadn’t been intentional, but since he never talked about home, the boys had no clue. Damo rocked up to work with a smile no matter what else was happening.

  There was no reason Liam’s offhand comment should sting. Yet Damo sat there feeling like a dickhead. And it was ironic that Liam of all people was the one buying into the act when Liam had pretended to be straight for years.

  Though Damo did like hot chicks in bikinis, and he did like a joke. He’d wanted to keep the beach his sanctuary. It wasn’t like he was pretending to be someone he wasn’t.

  Jesus, he didn’t know which end was up.

  As he scanned the waves with his foot on the dash, Damo asked as casually as possible, “How’s it been lately? Being out and everything.”

  Liam was quiet for a few seconds. “Good. Mostly good.”

  “No regrets?”

  “Not one,” he said right away. “Well, aside from regretting that my parents still won’t talk to me. I can’t control that, though. I can only control how I respond.”

  It was clear Liam had been going to therapy. Damo nodded.

  “Now that Cody and I are getting—” he stopped.

  Leaning forward, Damo examined the water. “See something?”

  “No, it’s fine,” Liam said quickly. A flush rose over his bearded cheeks.

  Narrowing his gaze, Damo asked, “Now that you and Cody are what?” His Spidey senses were tingling.

  “Nothing!” Liam pushed to his feet, moving faster than you’d expect given his size. “I’m going to—”

  “You’re going to cough up what you were gonna say!” Damo tugged on Liam’s sleeve. “You and Cody are… Let’s see. You already live together. You have a dog.” He half-joked, “Are you getting hitched?”

  “Shh!” Liam hissed, jumping back in the buggy.

  “Are you?” Damo drummed his hands on the dash. “You are!”

  With a hilarious scowl, Liam shook his head but didn’t deny it.

  “Far out!” Ignoring Liam’s head shaking, Damo grinned. “I won’t tell, Foxy. It’ll be our little secret.”

  With a heavy sigh, Liam shot him a skeptical look.

  “I swear. My lips are sealed.” He dropped the smile. “Look, I know people think I’m a total boofhead, but I can keep a secret. Maybe better than you think.”

  Brow furrowed, Liam nodded. “Thanks.”