An Invitation from Uncle Marcus

Chapter 1

It had been five long, lonely nights since Brooke had last felt anything but the sterile hum of the hospital and the ache of an empty house. She set her phone down on the kitchen counter and looked across the dining room table at Jordan and Cameron. They both stopped mid-chew, their spoons hovering above the plates of Cameron’s home-cooked pasta bake.

“The wizard strikes again,” Brooke announced, and folded herself back into her chair. Two pairs of eyes watched her, curious and patient.

Brooke had been on the dreaded two-week night shift rotation that swept around once every four months, and Cameron had been away during the week for work. For three people who ordinarily orbited each other as neighbours — and much more — the stretch of missed dinners and hurried glances in the driveway had felt like a forced starvation. Sunday night was their one fragile reprieve, and they clung to it like a life raft.

She gathered a spoonful of pasta, letting the cheese stretch, and chewed slowly. Her mind was clearly elsewhere, turning over something unfinished. She swallowed and looked up, a small, wondering smile curving her full lips.

“You’ll never believe who that was,” she said. “Uncle Marcus. He rang to ask if we wanted to use the family weekender up at Lakes Entrance this weekend.”

Jordan’s eyes went wide, while Cameron set down his fork and leaned back, stroking his gray beard with a thumb, a slow grin spreading.

Brooke’s voice took on a dreamy quality. “Christ, it’s gotta be twenty years since I’ve been up there. Certainly not since Dad…” Her voice trailed off, but they didn’t press. She took a sip of her wine, her eyes sparkling with the sudden joy of memory. “Oh, you have to see it. It’s such a magical place, right on the beach. Dad and Uncle Marcus built it together when I was just a baby. We spent every summer, every school holiday there. It’s… incredible.”

She pushed her pasta around, still lost, and then that coy smile returned, sharp and playful. She met Cameron’s gaze, then flicked it to Jordan. “The fucking wizard’s work again. How did he know?”

Cameron spread his hands. “Don’t blame me. I didn’t ring him.”

But the grin on his face said he was more than happy to take the credit.

---

Chapter 2

By midday, the SUV was packed. Cameron sat in the driver’s seat, taking a slow, centering breath as the diesel warmed. He watched through the windscreen as Brooke and Jordan emerged from the house, weekend bags slung over their shoulders. Brooke, still soft-eyed from her post-night-shift haze, locked the security door with careful, practised movements. Jordan, as always, threw the bags into the boot with more gusto than grace, then slammed the hatch down with a satisfying *thunk*.

Cameron winced. “One more time, just one more time I have to tell her it’s automatic,” he muttered, but the fondness in his voice betrayed him. He turned the key just as Jordan bounded into the passenger seat, already calling shotgun, her blonde hair still damp from the shower, her petite frame buzzing with the same eager energy that had made Cameron nickname her the Energizer Bunny.

Brooke was perfectly content with the back seat. She folded herself into the soft leather, a pillow hugged to her chest, and within seconds of the engine idling, her dark lashes had settled against her cheeks. She was asleep before they even reached the end of the driveway.

Cameron caught Jordan’s eye as he reversed. She was giving him that familiar pout, the one that usually meant she wanted to fiddle with his dashboard gadgets. He’d learned long ago that her curious fingers were impossible to resist. Before she could speak, he flipped up the laptop mounted beside her legs, pressed his thumb to the sensor, and opened the camera app. The screen lit up with two simple options: ON and OFF. He selected **ON**, closed the lid, and slid the computer back onto its bracket.

“No,” he said, catching her eyes again. “You don’t get to play co-pilot today. Today, you just sit there and look pretty.”

Jordan’s pout deepened, but her eyes danced with something far more dangerous. She leaned slightly closer, her voice a husky whisper only he could hear. “You know I hate it when you tell me what to do, Cameron.”

He felt the familiar spark crackle between them, that taut, unspoken thread that had been coiled tight all week. In the rearview mirror, Brooke’s breathing was slow and deep, her lips slightly parted, utterly unaware of the games starting in the front seats.

Cameron put the car in drive and rolled out onto the quiet suburban street. The late-spring sun bleached the asphalt, and the scent of warm leather and Jordan’s floral shampoo mingled sweetly. He adjusted his glasses on his nose, kept the speed agonizingly slow — twenty kilometres an hour — as they coasted toward the intersection.

“You’re doing it on purpose,” Jordan accused, but she was smiling now, a slow, smouldering smile that matched the heat building in his chest. “Teasing me.”

Cameron didn’t answer. He merely glanced at her, letting his gaze travel from her bare knees up to the mischievous glint in her eyes, then back to the road. His thumb stroked the steering wheel, the silence between them louder than words. In the back, Brooke shifted in her sleep, mumbling something soft, and the tension in the car suddenly felt like the charged air before a summer storm.

Four and a half hours to go, and already, the weekend had begun to simmer. Cameron took a left turn onto the highway, picking up speed just enough to let the tension stretch, but not break. Not yet.

The weekend escape had only just begun.

---

Chapter 3

Thankfully, the drive across the city wasn’t too bad for a Friday afternoon. They were well ahead of the peak-hour rush, and Jordan sat back enjoying the ride. She loved driving with him. She loved how he was already five spots ahead of the cars in front of them before they even knew he was there. She loved how he handled that car—hell, she loved that car as much as he did! He wasn’t throwing it around as roughly as he would when it was just him and her. He was obviously mindful that Brooke was running on two and a half hours’ sleep and dozing contentedly in the back, her sunglasses down across her eyes, tucked up against the pillow she’d brought. Every time they drove together, he taught her something more, whether explaining directly or letting her watch how he took a corner at speed, how he maintained a safe distance, how he observed traffic ahead, beside, and behind—always knowing exactly where he was and when to move. She never felt scared. When he was behind the wheel, she could tell he knew more about driving than anyone she’d ever met. All she wanted was to absorb him.

They finally cleared the city outskirts. Cameron glanced at the satnav. “Forty-five minutes,” he murmured, just loud enough for Jordan. “Not bad, old boy.” She leaned to look at the display on the dash—some souped-up off-market version showing point-to-point times. It had predicted sixty-five minutes to the point they’d just passed. She smiled to herself. God, she loved this car: the way it handled the road, the cluster of aerials, the way other drivers just got the fuck out of the way, and the fact they were completely wrapped in black, non-see-through tint. He dropped his foot as the sign flashed 110 km/h. She glanced at the speedometer: 135, but the beast hugged the road like it was at home. She reached across and laid her right hand on his thigh.

They drove in silence on the open highway, lost in thought but content to be together again. Cameron glanced in the rearview mirror; Brooke was still fast asleep, mouth slightly open. He loved that Jordan was just sitting there, behaving herself, not touching anything, not asking about buttons—just resting her hand lovingly on his thigh. Then he felt her move: first just her thumb, brushing the outer side of his chinos, then slowly widening into circles. He ignored her. Her hand slid up from his thigh to his crotch, fingers provoking a response from his unaroused state. She gave up on subtlety and began rubbing her whole palm against him. Within seconds, she got what she wanted—the unmistakable stiffening beneath the fabric. She shifted in her seat, leaning closer, her hand working purposefully against his hardening bulge. Don’t look, he told himself. Don’t encourage her. But he was loving every second.

Her fingers found his fly, fumbling, and he felt the zipper heading south. Her hand slipped inside, beneath his underpants, wrapping around his semi-aroused cock. She stroked him slowly, tugging with a gentle, deliberate rhythm. He heard her breathing quicken, soft whimpers escaping her lips as he grew in her grip. Then without warning she pulled him free of his trousers and began stroking him openly, her small fingers circling the swollen head with a luxurious abandon. A glance in the rearview mirror: Brooke hadn’t moved. Cameron’s eyes stayed on the road as Jordan slipped out from under her seatbelt, rose onto her knees on the passenger seat, and leaned across the console. She took the head of his engorged cock into her mouth.

Road head. And it was glorious. Her tongue rolled over his head, tasting him, while her tiny fingers continued stroking the shaft with gentle, affectionate movements. She didn’t suck him deep; she didn’t try to take all of him. She simply played, lips wrapped around the crown, tongue flicking and swirling as her soft blonde hair bobbed just above his lap. Cameron fought not to look down, fought to keep his scanning rhythm—mirrors, road, mirrors—but her mouth was a soft, wet heaven. She worked him with quiet, devoted focus, each lick and suck a message of how much she’d missed him. He could hear her small, breathy moans vibrating against his skin. It had been seven agonising nights since he’d touched either of them, and his balls were heavy and full. He wasn’t going to last.

She felt the head of his cock swelling in her mouth and knew he was close. She worked her lips lower, drawing him deeper, her tongue lashing the sensitive underside. Three more strokes of her tongue and he expanded wide, releasing a hot, thick flood into her mouth. She swallowed greedily, surprised by the volume—he clearly hadn’t relieved himself since their last play a week before. She kept him in her mouth, sucking the last pulsating pulses, licking him clean as he slowly softened. Only when he was completely spent did she lift her head, slid back into her seat, and pulled the seatbelt over her shoulder. She ran her thumb seductively across her lips, licking away the last taste of him with a satisfied, private smile.

A sleepy voice from the back seat broke the silence: “Well done, princess. Brooke’s moment—he obviously needed that.” They both froze. Cameron turned his head; Brooke was still slumped against the window, eyes closed, apparently already back asleep. He looked at Jordan, still breathing a little uneven, and shook his head. “Fine. For fuck’s sake, you could’ve just asked if you wanted to drive.” She let out her usual excited squeak—quieter this time, conscious of their backseat passenger—unbuckled, and practically shoved him out the driver’s door. She scrambled across the centre console and settled into his seat.

Cameron walked around the car, climbed into the passenger side, and watched as the driver’s seat memory adjusted to her pre-set position. She buckled up and looked at him with that eager, loving expectation, waiting for the words she always needed. He held her gaze, adoring, and gave them: “Okay, fine.”

She planted her foot. The beast roared into gear, peeling out of the rest area, the speedo effortlessly sweeping past a hundred. From the back, Brooke’s groggy voice drifted forward once more: “Oh, Jesus Christ.”

The weekend had barely begun.

---

Chapter 4

Brooke felt the fingers gently stroking her knee. She heard the voice—his voice, that deep, soft baritone—as his fingers circled her knee. She loved those fingers. She loved that hand. Christ, those fingers had been in every orifice of hers. She reached out and placed her hand on top of his. “Sweetheart,” he said, “we’re almost here.”

She knew where she was. She was in the back of his car. They’d let her sleep as they drove across the state. She knew where they were heading, and with the sunglasses still pulled down over her eyes, she slowly attempted to open them to look across and see his big build behind the wheel of his SUV. She could feel the hand still on her knee, stroking it lovingly through her tracksuit pants. But as she focused on the driver’s seat, he was not there. The normal broad shoulders she’d seen in that driver’s seat so many times weren’t there. Instead, all she could see was blonde hair and a ponytail nestled in the rich leather seat, pushed forward, and two tiny hands wrapped tight around the steering wheel.

She struggled to maintain clarity. Her mouth was dry as she woke up. As she focused, she could see who was driving, and it wasn’t him. She reached for the water bottle tucked into the back of the seat in front of her. “For Christ’s sake, I can’t leave you two alone for a moment, can I?”

She sat upright in her seat, pulling the pillow away from the car door as she continued to focus. She looked forward and saw Cameron looking back at her from the passenger seat, his hand still caressing her knee. “How are you feeling, love?” he said. “At least you got a bit more sleep, I suppose.” She gave him a tired smile and then looked across at the driver, who was maintaining absolute concentration on the road ahead—something she had never seen Jordan do before. She took a swig of water and said, “I’m okay. How are you doing, little one?” Without turning her head, without losing focus, Jordan said, “We’re almost there, love. Six k’s to go.” Brooke strained her eyes, making sure it was Jordan driving, and thought, *Who the fuck are you?*

She was fully awake by the time they rolled into the outskirts of town, the car flowing smoothly as it rolled through the 60 km/h zone. She’d given him the address, and it was already locked in the satnav. Jordan dutifully followed the instructions as they popped up on the screen, the guiding directions of Master Chief telling her well in advance where she had to go. She pulled into the driveway as instructed, and before them sat a quintessential 70s-style kit home. When Cameron saw it, he had a flashback—a flashback to his childhood, to a place thousands of kilometres away. It was the exact same kit house his childhood neighbours had built next to his parents’ house. It was the same, but it was different.

Jordan pulled the car up and placed it in park. She leaned forward and switched the key off. He turned to look at her, and she looked at him, raising her hand. “I know, I know—put the fucking seat back the way I found it.” He just smiled, opened the door, and stepped out, stretching himself and arching his back after a three-and-a-half-hour drive stuck in the passenger seat. He instinctively stepped forward, his eyes instinctively dancing around the surroundings—watching, looking, surveying—as his hand reached for the rear passenger’s door handle. He opened the door and looked down at her, still a vision of beauty despite the fact that her hair was a mess, and he was pretty sure he could see a stream of spittle running down the side of her cheek where she had slept so comfortably. Both girls hopped out, and Brooke stood looking at the house before her. She was taken back immediately to her childhood. She could hear the sounds of laughter, of happy times, the smell of sunblock, the feeling of sand everywhere, and of him. She could feel he was there, and she whispered to herself, “Dad.”

Brooke collected the key from exactly where Uncle Marcus had said it would be. She was pretty certain it was the same place that had been for the last forty years. She looked at the key as she held it in her palm and was pretty certain it was the same key that had been there for the last forty years. Jordan and Cameron watched as she approached the front door. They knew she hadn’t been there for so long, and they knew this was some place very special to her. They watched without saying a word. She opened the front door and stepped inside. They followed and stepped across the threshold to the most amazing sight either of them had seen in a long time. Directly from the entry door, they could see it: the vast expanse of the water, the giant floor-to-ceiling glass windows and sliding doors. The view was spectacular, and they were glad to be there, but Brooke wasn’t there. Brooke was somewhere thirty-five years ago.

The silence was broken, of course, by Jordan. “Oh my god,” she said, “this is amazing,” as she rushed to the glass doors to look out over the ocean. Cameron stepped one step behind Brooke and put his hand on her shoulder. He could tell she was dealing with something, and he was just going to let her work through it. She tilted her head onto her shoulder where his hand lay. She just looked out over the water and said nothing. She then snapped back, kissed his hand, and looked up at him. “I told you this place was pretty special.”

Cameron collected the bags from the car and brought them inside. Brooke had slid open the glass doors, airing the house out with the same fluid motion, the same doors, the same windows that she’d seen her mother and aunt do every summer, every school holiday, a thousand years ago. The staleness of the locked-up house soon disappeared, only to be replaced by the intoxicating smell of the saltwater. Jordan trotted in behind Cameron, dragging the full esky behind her and placing it on the floor in the kitchen. They stood together and looked, Jordan’s hand reaching for Cameron’s as it hung beside him. They looked and saw the woman they both loved standing out on the back deck, just standing, affixed to the sight of the bay.

She breathed the salt air deep through her nose, filling her lungs with a clean air that the city could never offer, exhaling gratefully—grateful to be there once more, and then she realised she was grateful to be there now with them. She regained her composure, turned around, and walked back into the house. They both saw her wipe her thumb against her eye. She looked at them both as they stood there, just watching her, Jordan’s hand wrapped minutely around Cameron’s giant paw. She sniffled, looked at them both, and said, “Are you two just gonna fucking stand there? Are you gonna help me unpack?” Cameron felt Jordan squeeze his hand and heard her whisper, “Look out, the bitch is back.”

She ordered Cameron to throw their bags into the master bedroom for now, and for Jordan to help her unpack the esky and throw the perishables into the fridge. After eventually finding the master bedroom—after opening every door in the house—Cameron returned to the open living area and cast his eyes around. It was the quintessential holiday house, adorned with non-matching furniture, weird and eclectic knickknacks, prints and treasures, but also photos. He’d seen them all before, a thousand times in a thousand different places: photographs of individuals, photographs of couples, photographs of motorcars, fishing boats, motorbikes, but more importantly, photographs of families. Faces he did not recognise, places he did not know. Funny, he thought to himself, how many of these same photographs adorn the walls and bookcases and sideboards of a million homes. His eyes were drawn to one photo in particular. He recognised that he’d seen that house—hell, he’d just pulled up in front of that house not fifteen minutes before. He focused more on the photo: a group of eight standing proudly in front of the house, parents and children all huddled together in front of the structure that they were now standing inside of. He focused more on the individuals, looking at the motley collection of faces, and it slowly dawned on him: he saw her. She was shorter, her hair was different, but it was her. It couldn’t be, he thought. The photo looked at least thirty years old. His eyes then turned to the two men standing at the back, both arms folded, looking proudly. He squinted his eyes again. *Fuck, is that Marcus?* He thought. He looked back at her, and it wasn’t her. *Jesus Christ, that’s Lorraine,* he thought to himself. Then he looked at the five kids standing in front of the adults, and he scanned them, and then he bit his lip as hard as he could. He took a breath, stood upright, and turned to face the women in the kitchen. Brooke was packing the foodstuff into the kitchen, while Jordan, sweet little Jordan, was already cracking open a bottle of wine and pouring her and Brooke a tall glass.

“Oi!” echoed through the room. Brooke stiffened. She knew that tone. It was the way they both communicated to each other, whether they wanted the other’s attention and were either going to do something stupid together or something completely inappropriate. Jordan’s head looked up immediately from the bottle of wine. She saw him motioning for her to join him. She knew the drill. She knew the instruction. *Get there right now. This is gonna be fun.* Brooke stood transfixed. She watched Jordan walk across the timber floorboards to the sideboard where Cameron was standing, slightly leaning over, and she braced for impact. Jordan trotted up beside him, and Brooke’s eyes were transfixed as Cameron pointed to something. She watched as Jordan leaned down and then peeled herself in one of the loudest laughs that she had ever heard. Jordan exhaled. Brooke watched as Jordan picked up the photo frame and started it closer, her howls of laughter bringing tears to her eyes as she looked at it. *Oh God,* Brooke thought, *what have they found?* Jordan pretty much crossed the room in one bound with the photo in hand. “Jesus Christ, Brooke,” she said, “is that you? For fuck’s sake, where did you get those swimmers?”

Brooke looked down at the photograph. She remembered the day that was taken. It was Christmas holidays—fuck, it would’ve been thirty-six years ago. She was nine or ten. She looked across at him. He just stood there; you could tell he was trying hard, trying so hard, and she could see he was biting his lip. She grabbed the photo from Jordan and looked at it. “Don’t laugh,” she said. “Auntie Tess made all us kids our swimsuits that year.” Her mind raced back to that Christmas morning when she unwrapped the hideous fluorescent pink swimsuit that her mother and aunt had sewn together, and she remembered how proud she felt that she was allowed to wear a two-piece. Jordan moved around beside Brooke, who was holding the frame, and squinted harder at the photo. “Jesus, lover,” she said, “you were ten years old.” Brooke nodded her head, fondly holding the memory. “Christ,” Jordan said, “I can already see the outline of your tiny boobies.” Brooke gave her a wry smile and placed the photo face down on the kitchen bench. “Don’t be cruel,” she said. “I was an early bloomer, unlike someone else whose tits aren’t yet fully formed.” Jordan reached up and kissed Brooke on the cheek. “Don’t be cruel. I know you love my tits!”

Cameron went to the fridge and retrieved a beer as the girls walked around the house with their glasses in hand. He walked out onto the back patio and studied the house. He knew the house—the house that arrived on the back of a truck, already partially pre-assembled. He knew the house that the men and the families would come up to every weekend. They laid the slab, they erected the walls, they put on the roof, they lay the floorboards, they put in the wiring, they did all the plumbing. This was the house that was built by hand. This was a house that was made to last. This was the house that was built for one thing and one thing only: to bring people together, to enjoy everything that this world had to offer, and to be surrounded by people you love. He sipped his beer and turned back inside. The girls were back at the kitchen bench, still giggling together at the photograph as Brooke pointed out to Jordan the other people in the photo. She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling, and he said, “I think we’re all too fucked to cook dinner tonight, my loves. Let’s go into town and have something to eat.” Both girls willingly agreed, and they trotted off to tidy themselves up and to throw on some decent clothes. Cameron did the same and scooped up the keys from the kitchen bench. He walked out onto the grassy expanse of the front lawn—which was actually the back lawn and driveway to the house—and climbed back into the driver’s seat of the SUV. He took a deep breath and held it. He breathed out slowly and repeated the process. Once again, for fuck’s sake, he muttered to himself, *How fucking long does it take to put some lipstick on?*

---

Chapter 5

The beast purred impatiently as they cruised at fifty kilometres per hour down the main street, Brooke looking and pointing out what had changed, amazed at how different but how similar it was. Jordan perched in her usual manner when they were together, leaning from the back seat, arms resting across the back of their seats with her head looking forward between them.

Being a Friday night, the town was dead, the mandatory fish and chip shop, pizza place, and an Indian restaurant that was new the only options on the road through town.

“Turn left,” Brooke ordered, as her recollection of directions from the old town came through. The lit-up building and sign, the cenotaph and obligatory old field piece out the front, met with his approval as he swung the car into the busy car park.

“We used to come here as kids,” Brooke said. “It was the only real treat of whenever we were here.” You could see her eyes reminiscing on those times, the times when they all got dressed up and they were taken to that magical place, where the adults would have their fill and they would get to eat an exquisite Chinese banquet and feel like grown-ups for just a short period of time.

“We used to get to sit at one of those big round tables with the big lazy Susan in the middle of it, that the food would spin around.” He could see her sense of excitement and recollection as they walked across the car park.

Jordan and Brooke signed in at the visitors book, attended to by an ancient hostess. When she passed the pen to Cameron, he just lifted up his hands and said, “Yeah, no need for that.”

They followed the tweenaged waitress to their table as he surveyed the room, split in two between the dining section and the tables for the regulars. The place was full, and he muttered to them, “So this is where everyone is.”

The waitress took their drink order as they perused the menu. Not a bad selection for a country RSL Chinese, and Brooke said it was just like she remembered. “Hopefully they’ve changed the oil at least once since then,” he teased, and they sat back and let Brooke do the ordering.

The food was good. As they sat back, having finished everything on the plates, she had ensured that they had extra garlic and extra chilli intermingled across each dish that had come out. She was still shocked at the sight of Jordan wolfing down the chilli beef that she’d ordered for Cameron. Jordan had always been a bit of a wimp when it came to eating new food, and she had smiled watching her, knowing that she was only eating it because their man was, not just eating it but actually enjoying it.

They sat contentedly around the table. Cameron ordered a last round of drinks. Jordan turned her head at the poker machine jackpotting and told them that she was going to have a quick game. She realised that her handbag was on the kitchen bench, and before she could say anything, Cameron’s hand was outstretched on the table, a crisp fifty-dollar note underneath his palm. She beamed and reached out to take it. “You win anything, you get fifty percent, but you have to split the other half equally between us.” She stood up and kissed him on the forehead. “Thanks, stepdaddy, it’s a deal!”

He watched her walking across the room, drawing the usual attention that she got in public. Thankfully she was wearing jeans and not her bloody shorts. She got a whistle from a group of locals propped up against the bar. She completely ignored them and settled herself onto the stool in front of the machine.

Brooke reached across. “You know you spoil her terribly, don’t you?” she said, as he turned to look back at her. “Of course I do. I often think of her as the daughter I always wanted but never had.” She gave his hand a squeeze and said, “I know exactly what you mean, my love.”

They sat discussing what they would do tomorrow, Cameron’s eyes drifting back to Jordan occasionally. She was bouncing on the stool, and he could see that the machine had lit up with a win. He turned back to face Brooke, and they looked into each other’s eyes. That’s when she saw it: she saw them turn from their deep dark brown colour to an ominous dead black.

She heard Jordan’s voice in the same instant: “Look, mate, fuck off,” shot across the room. They turned and could see a young bloke—mullet haircut, flannel shirt, dirty jeans—standing beside her with a schooner of beer in his hand. Cameron watched her press the collect button on the machine and take the receipt. He watched as the guy continued to talk to her as she stood from the stool, giving him a dismissive wave of the hand as she walked back towards them, crossing the floor. The sound of her warning had brought no other attention to the patrons within the club—just a typical outburst on a typical Friday night, he thought, as he watched.

Jordan sat back in her seat and drained the last of the wine bottle into her glass. Brooke asked if she was okay. Jordan dismissed the comment, saying she was fine, and then her eyes lit up as she held up the receipt in her hand proudly and said, “I just won eleven hundred dollars!”

The piece of shit walked across the room toward their table, coming up behind Jordan, and put his hand on her shoulder. “Sorry, love. I just wanted to dance. No offence.” Jordan shrugged his hand from her shoulder and said, “Are you fucking stupid? I told you to fuck off.” He just stood there with a dumb smile on his face, unsteady on his intoxicated legs.

Brooke looked up at him. “Look, mate, just piss off, will you?” This young dickhead looked at Brooke. “Fuck off, bitch, I wasn’t talking to you!”

She didn’t see him move, but in an instant Cameron was on his feet, towering above the village idiot standing with his schooner glass in hand. He saw the deadpan expression on Cameron’s face. The skinful of beers ensured that his inflated sense of bravado overtook any shred of common sense, and “What’s your problem, cunt?” dribbled from the idiot’s mouth.

She watched as his arm reached out and attempted to shove Cameron in the chest. She watched as his mulleted head snapped back and his legs jellified, and the half-drunk schooner glass fell to the floor, followed by the collapsing form of his body. She looked at Cameron. He hadn’t moved an inch.

He focused on the two figures approaching them from the bar, sizing them both up: one a big burly farmer-looking guy, and the other one around the same size as the piece of shit that lay at his feet.

She saw him take one step to his right, away from the table, as they approached him. She watched as the bigger one threw a wild roundhouse swing, his fist clenched towards Cameron. Her eyes stared at him, but he was just standing there, his shoulders relaxed, as the ham-hocked fist sailed in his direction. And then, within an instant, it was over. The other two that had showed up with such bravado had joined their friend on the floor.

The room had gone silent, all eyes affixed on their table—some watching with their mouths open, some whispering between themselves.

He turned and faced the girls, who both were sitting there with the same expressions as most of the people within the room, and just said, “Come on, loves, let’s go.”

He walked to the bar. The barman stood, his eyes wide, as he approached. Cameron fished out five hundred-dollar notes. He held them so everyone in the place could see before placing them on the bar. “For the meal and the drinks,” Cameron said unemotionally, “and whatever’s left, throw over the bar for the inconvenience caused.” He turned and looked at the three who were recovering on the floor and said, “And give those three something a little stronger. They’re probably gonna need it.” He turned and walked down the bar, the girls standing with the same look on their faces.

He saw the silver bell hanging from the end of the bar and reached out and rang it twice. The chime announced the bar was open, but most heard what it really meant: announcing that the fight was over, as a result of three TKOs.

They followed him to the car. He did not say a word. They drove towards home in silence. They saw the red and blue lights peeling down the highway at speed towards them, and then passed them. Jordan turned her head to watch and saw the brake lights illuminate, certain they were about to turn around and follow them, but they didn’t. They continued on, no doubt to the RSL.

He followed them into the house, still not having said a word. He walked to the kitchen and cracked the seal of his bottle of rum. He poured himself two fingers and walked out in silence to the patio.

Jordan and Brooke stood there, and Brooke felt Jordan’s fingers interlock with hers. “We should—” Jordan began, but Brooke cut her off. “Just leave him be, little one. He’ll come back to us when he’s ready.”

The girls readied themselves for bed, and Brooke looked out onto the deck where he remained, the glass still in his hand. They crawled into bed together, but neither of them spoke. Jordan rested her head on Brooke’s chest and eventually said, “You saw that, right? You saw what he just did. He folded those three like they were nothing more than a wet napkin.” Brooke whispered back, “I saw it, my love,” and she wrapped her arm around Jordan’s shoulder and lay there as she fell asleep in her arms.

She slipped quietly from the bed and trod quietly down the hallway to check on him. He was still out there on the chair, looking out across the ocean. She watched him for a few minutes before heading back to bed. As she climbed back in, Jordan snuggled beside her.

She thought one thing and one thing only: that for however long he was going to be in their lives, they would never have to worry about their safety. He was their rock. He was their protector, and she’d never felt so safe in her entire life.

---

Chapter 6

Brooke had risen early, as she had done every morning in that place. She looked at him as he lay sleeping on the lounge that had accommodated countless relatives and kids over the years, and thought at least he was comfortable.

Jordan trotted down the hall, her kimono wrapped around her. She bent over the lounge, looking at him, and Brooke's eyes watched her round arse cheeks poking out as she watched him.

Brooke signaled her to leave him alone, and Jordan walked across to the kitchen where Brooke had brewed coffee and was preparing breakfast.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee aroused him, and he opened his eyes and lifted himself from the lounge. The girls were in the kitchen, Jordan propped up on a stool eating scrambled eggs and bacon while Brooke stood there watching him as he walked towards them.

"Good morning, my loves," he whispered.

Jordan looked up. "You didn't come to bed last night."

He looked at the glass on the bench. "No, sorry, little one. I had a few too many, and I knew my snoring would disturb you both."

Brooke glanced at the rum bottle still sitting on the counter, still with the same amount in it as the night before. She handed him a mug of coffee, which he gratefully accepted. "Here, you look like you could use this."

They finished breakfast, and Brooke suggested an early morning swim. The girls headed off to change, and Cameron fetched a pair of shorts from his bag that remained where he had left it yesterday.

They walked the short path to the water's edge, both girls wrapped in their towels and Cameron's towel over his shoulder.

Jordan peeled off her towel, revealing a G-string swimsuit, and skipped to the water's edge. Cameron's eyes stayed fixed on her arse. Brooke stripped off her towel, wearing a one-piece that her tits almost fell out of.

"You joining us?" she asked.

He smiled. "In a minute. I just want to sit here and watch the view."

She knew he wasn't talking about the water. She strutted down the sand, jiggling her arse for his benefit.

He watched as they walked hand in hand out into the water and dove in. Jordan's scream from the cold water scared the seagulls a hundred metres down the shore.

It was such a beautiful place, totally isolated except for the lone dog walker well away. He watched them as they frolicked and played in the water. He'd never wanted either of them to see that side of him, but they had, and there was nothing he could do about it.

His concentration was broken by the sight and smell of a wet dog with a tennis ball in its mouth, bounding in front of him and dropping the ball at his feet. The owner, a woman in her mid-to-late sixties, walked up apologising as Cameron picked the ball up. He stood, the dog's eyes transfixed on the ball, and looked at the lady.

"Do you mind?"

She shook her head. "God no, saves me having to throw it."

He pitched the tennis ball in a perfect arc out into the water and watched the dog barrel in after it, the ball landing perfectly between the girls as they splashed around. He saw the churning waves as the dog beelined straight towards them.

He could feel the lady looking at him, trying to figure out where she'd seen him before. She then cast her eyes at the two women in the water who were now patting her dog as he swam around happily.

As the dog returned to the shore and ran up to its owner, she reached down and put a leash around its collar. She stood up and smiled. "Thanks for that. Oh, and also, those three deserved it."

He watched as the girls walked back in from the surf line, Brooke's breasts bouncing magnificently as she walked up. They grabbed the towels and dried themselves off.

"You should've joined us," Brooke said.

"There'll be plenty of time for that," he replied.

The girls threw themselves under the outside shower and disappeared to change. They emerged fifteen minutes later, and Brooke came up and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"Lunch?"

Jordan was her excitable self as he let her drive into town, letting Brooke ride shotgun and watch on, shocked at how much the little one's driving had improved. She swung the beast in front of the fish and chip shop that Brooke had pointed to the night before. She looked back at him and smiled.

"Let's grab some fish and chips and head down to the pier."

He smiled back. "Whatever you would like, my love."

The shop wasn't busy. Brooke approached the counter, looking up at the board. She placed their order and then asked the old man who was writing what they wanted, "Do you still do the battered oysters and potato cakes?"

Cameron's eyes rolled. The old man looked up at her. "Yes, still fresh and still the best anywhere along the coast." His eyes narrowed in slight recognition of the woman standing before him. He turned and handed the order to the woman hovering beside him, then asked, "Do I know you?"

Brooke smiled. "Maybe. I used to come here thirty-five years ago."

The light of recognition sparkled in the old man's eyes. "Oh my God, are you Bill and Lorraine's daughter?"

Brooke beamed. "That's me," she said, and reached out to shake his greasy hand.

Cameron watched as she chatted to the old couple while Jordan stood before the refrigerator, trying to decide what she was going to have to drink. He watched as they carefully dumped the contents of the frying baskets onto the butcher's paper and wrapped them with precision.

Cameron stepped forward to pay as the old man handed Brooke another separately wrapped package. "Two dozen of the best oysters in town. Say hi to your mother and Samuel for me."

Cameron stepped forward to pay, and the old man held his hand up to stop him. "Not needed, my friend. Not just because of who you are with, but because of last night. Those three Tobin brothers had it coming for years. And because, well, let's just say when the bell rang, it was a great night. Put it away, you've already paid."

Cameron took the hundred-dollar note and slid it into the Surf Rescue tin next to the refrigerator. He said thanks and headed out to the car.

Jordan peeled the SUV from the sidewalk, causing Brooke to swear as the heat from the paper wrapping landed on her bare legs in the front seat.

They headed to the pier and found a table under a tree facing the water. Brooke unwrapped the food, and he could see again that look of nostalgia in her eyes, no doubt picturing her mother doing the same a lifetime ago.

The food was delicious and the oysters magnificent. Jordan, who apparently hated them, munched on two at a time.

Brooke leant across the table and held his hand as Jordan tossed a chip to a solitary seagull waiting patiently. He saw Brooke look past him, and she squeezed his hand. He read her expression and saw the BMW SUV in the reflection of her glasses, the unmistakable decals of Victoria's finest down the side.

He watched Jordan as her one friend had turned to ten. He could see the solitary figure walking across the grass.

He stood at the end of the table. "Good afternoon," he said, and introduced himself in a jovial tone. Local sergeant, old school. He turned to Brooke and said he was a fishing buddy of Marcus and her dad's, and he'd heard she was in town and wanted to say hi. Cameron sat there and smiled contently at her.

He said his goodbyes, then turned and added, "There was some trouble at the RSL last night, but not to worry, about the inconvenience," chuckling as he said the word. "Idiots deserved it. Just wished I'd been there to see it. But their CCTV system was pretty good." He gave Jordan a wave as she was still being chastised by the seagulls.

They took a walk along the pier, doing the normal touristy things around town, then headed back to the beach house. Brooke's hand rested on his leg as they drove, Jordan perched between them.

She looked across at their man, and she knew right there that they both were going to ravish him tonight.