I roll my eyes. “That’s such a lawyer thing to say.”

  He chuckles. “You can take the man out of the courtroom, Son, but you can never take the courtroom out of the man.”

  “You’re such a cliché, old man.”

  “Hey, enough of the old thank you very much.”

  I bury my head in my hands and groan. “It took her six years to tell me, Dad. It’s not like she never had the chance to say something before then … she’s been in our lives the entire time.”

  “That part I don’t agree with, you had a right to know, but it doesn’t seem like something Cassie would do intentionally. Despite her upbringing with those poor excuses for parents, she’s a sweet kid with a big heart. It doesn’t make sense. There must be more to it.”

  “She left me a letter before she ran away.”

  “And what did it say?”

  “I didn’t read it.”

  “Son,” he says with disappointment in his voice.

  “I wasn’t ready. Sue me.”

  “I’m a lawyer, I could do that.”

  “So am I remember,” I say as my lips slightly turn up at the corners. “I could countersue.”

  “On what grounds?”

  “I’d think of something.” We both laugh … I needed that. This inner pity party I’ve been throwing myself is draining.

  “Are you not interested in seeing what’s in the letter? You might find the answers you’re seeking.”

  “Maybe,” I say, bringing the beer to my mouth.

  My dad reaches across the table and places his hand on my arm. “For what it’s worth, Son, I’m sorry about the baby.”

  The baby. Those words have a lump rising to the back of my throat. Cassandra is the only woman I’ve ever envisioned myself having kids with, and it stings to think that could’ve been a possibility. I’d be a father now of a child not much younger than Blake if it had survived. That realisation is a total mind fuck. We were young back then, but in my heart, I know we could’ve made it work. I would’ve made sure of it.

  Unfortunately, my time at my parents comes to an end far too quickly. I know I have to return to work, but I’m not looking forward to stepping back inside that apartment.

  I extend my hand to my father when we arrive at the airport, but he pulls me into a hug instead. “It was good to see you again, and we’re here if you need us.”

  “I know and I appreciate it.”

  “I love you, Son.”

  “I love you too, Dad.”

  I’m not sure why I’m feeling emotional, but I am. It’s been nice spending time with them, and having my mum dote on me again. I’m blessed to have the most loving parents, there’s nothing they wouldn’t do for me or Jacinta. It’s a shame Cassandra can’t say the same about hers, but that’s still no excuse for what she’s done.

  I move to my mum next and fold her in my arms. “Bye, Mum,” I say, placing a kiss on the top of her head.

  “I always love having my baby’s home,” she sniffles into my chest, “I hate it when you or your sister have to leave.” She draws back and cups my face in her hands. “If you need us to come to Sydney, just say so. We’ll be on the first plane out.”

  “Thanks, I love you.”

  “I love you too, sweetie. It may not feel like it now, but it will all work out in the end. Just give it time.”

  “I hope so,” I reply, but I have my reservations. I may be able to accept this in time, but as for me and Cassandra, the damage she’s caused is irreversible.

  After I move through security, heading towards my gate, my phone rings. As much as I’m trying to ignore everyone in an attempt to distance myself from this mess, I still pull it out. It’s from an unknown number again. Bradford Lewis? Maybe. And for that reason alone, I answer it. As mad and disappointed I am in his daughter, there’s still that part inside me that’s terrified something bad is going to happen to her.

  “Hello.”

  “Connor.”

  “Yes, Mr Lewis.”

  “I’m still trying to get in contact with my daughter. It’s been over a week and I’m beside myself with worry. I’m thinking of contacting the police and reporting her as a missing person.”

  “She’s not missing, Mr Lewis.”

  “Bradford, please. Has she returned to Sydney?”

  “No, but she’s been in regular contact with my sister.” If you could call a vague text here and there regular contact. If it wasn’t for that illegal tracker Jaz put in her luggage, I’d probably be freaking out too.

  “Okay, well that’s something I suppose.”

  “I’ll let my sister know you called. Maybe she can pass on a message.”

  “That would be great. I’d appreciate it.” I’m not even sure if she’s heard from Cassie since the goat picture, because I haven’t asked, but my sister would’ve spoken up if she was concerned for her friend’s welfare. “I spoke to my wife about the pregnancy.”

  A wave of panic engulfs me when he says that. Part of me wants to know what he has to say on the matter, and the other part wants to hang up before he speaks another word. “You did?”

  “She said she has no knowledge of a pregnancy.”

  “Oh.” That is not the reply I was expecting. From the little Cassandra said, that makes no sense.

  “I don’t believe her though.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No. I’ve been married to that woman for twenty-six years, so I’d like to think I know my wife. However, given recent developments, I’m not sure if I do. When I mentioned it to her she went off on a tangent, which isn’t unusual for Amanda, but it was her initial look of guilt that made me suspicious. I need to get to the bottom of this, Connor. I feel like I’ve been kept in the dark long enough … through no fault but my own for being absent over the years, but I love my daughter. I’ve only ever wanted what was best for her.”

  I decided to get an Uber back to my apartment, despite Mason’s offer to come and get me. I’m irritable and drained, and I just need some time to myself. My sister will find out soon enough that I’m back. I’m not interested in any updates. I hope Cassie’s safe, but that’s about all. I may be physically done with her, but I wish her no ill intent.

  Thankfully, I manage to slip into the building unnoticed, and head straight upstairs, locking the front door behind me … which is kind of pointless since my sister still has her key.

  Bradford’s call is still weighing heavily on my mind. None of this makes sense, and my lawyer brain is desperate to piece it all together, but the wounded part of me is hesitant to know the truth. Cassie’s father is right; there is definitely something off here.

  I head straight for my room, purposely ignoring the dining room table, and the letter that’s sitting on top of it, as I pass. I’m presuming Cassie hasn’t returned. When and if she does, she’s going to need to find somewhere else to live. I’d never kick her out on the street, but I can no longer live under the same roof as her. Seeing her will only be a constant reminder.

  I drop my bag onto the bed and strip out of my clothes. I need a shower, a bottle of scotch, maybe a pizza, and some mind-numbing TV. Anything that will stop my brain from constantly ticking over.

  Once I’m showered and dressed in a pair of sweats, my bare feet pad out to the main room, and I get a shock when I find I have company waiting. “The fuck.”

  “Welcome back.”

  “How did you get in here?” I already know the answer to that, but I ask anyway.

  He smirks like a motherfucker as he twirls the key around his finger. “Your sister thought you might need some company.” My best friend is balancing a pizza box in his other hand, and I spy a bottle of Jack Daniels tucked under the same arm. “The game starts soon.”

  Did he read my mind?

  “How did you know I was here?”

  “Your mum called to see if you got home safely. She tried calling you, but said your phone must be off.”

  It is. I turned it off after my call with Cassandra’s father.

  “Hmm,” I hum.

  “I see you’re on your period again.”

  “If you’re going to be a dick, you can leave.”

  “Nah, I’m good,” he says, chuckling as he takes a seat on my sofa and places his feet on the coffee table.

  “Are you right there?”

  “Just peachy, thanks. You wanna grab some glasses?”

  I mumble a few profanities under my breath as I turn and stalk into the kitchen, but in truth, I’m glad he’s here. I’d never admit that to him though.

  Chapter 19

  Cassie

  “Morning, Chris,” I say as I place my pink-booted foot on the bottom rung of the wooden fence to elevate myself higher. Once I’m in position, I lean over and tip the mixture of grain and food scraps from the bucket I’m holding into the trough.

  He gives me a quick appreciative snort before tucking straight into his breakfast. Chris is short for Chris P. Bacon and he is one of two, 350-kilo pigs that live here on Martha’s property.

  After stepping down off the fence, I place the bucket on the ground next to the other one and glance into the pen next door for Porkchop … Chris’s girlfriend, and she’s nowhere to be seen.

  “Porkchop,” I call out as I move towards the enclosure where she sleeps. “Porkchop.”

  Martha recently had to separate the pigs because Porkchop is expecting. I hope I’m around to see the piglets when they’re born, because if they’re anything like the baby goats, I know I’m going to fall head over heels in love with them.

  I’ll admit the first time I hand-fed one of the kids I got all emotional. It’s silly, I know, but it brought my past trauma to the surface and reminded me of everything that had been taken from me.

  When I reach the gate to her enclosure I get up on the tip of my toes and peer inside her stall. My heart drops as soon as I see her. She’s lying on her side half buried in the fresh hey we lined her enclosure with yesterday afternoon, and her back is to me.

  “Porkchop!” She doesn’t move when I call her name, and I’m already thinking the worst, but that doesn’t stop me from unhooking the latch on the gate and rushing inside. I come to a stop beside her and drop to my knees. My eyes are clouded with unshed tears as I place my hand on her. She’s still warm, but her breathing is laboured.

  “Porkchop,” I whisper, and when she gives me a little grunt, the first tear falls. Something is wrong with her, but I’m still new to this farming gig, so I have no clue what’s going on. “I’ll call Martha, she’ll know what to do,” I say, not sure if I’m talking to myself or the pig.

  Shit, my phone is still back at my cabin.

  Turning, I run from the pen and up towards the house. My hands tremble as I pull the keys out of my pocket and climb into my car. I leave a big cloud of dust in my wake as I speed down the dirt road towards the back of the property.

  I leave the car running as I dash inside to grab my phone from the bedroom. A few weeks ago, this device was attached to me like an extra limb, but I can’t say I’ve missed being without it. It’s been freeing.

  I’m shaking so much that it takes a few attempts to turn it on, but once I do, I’m heading straight back out the door. As I’m running towards the car, all I can hear is ding after ding as all the messages and calls I’ve been avoiding the past week come through in rapid succession. They are the least of my worries right now.

  My hands are still trembling as I pull up my Safari app and type in The Dancing Goat Café. My leg is bouncing up and down as I click on the call icon and wait. “I need to speak to Martha,” I say as soon as the phone is answered. “Something is wrong with Porkchop.”

  I have no idea who’s on the other end, but I hear them reply, “Okay,” before Martha comes on the line.

  “Cassie?”

  “Yes,” I say, my voice cracking as I speak. “Something is wrong with Porkchop, she didn’t come out for her breakfast. I found her lying on her side in the pen.”

  “Do you think she’s in labour?”

  “You said she wasn’t due for a few weeks.”

  “That was just a rough guess.”

  “How can I tell?”

  “You’ll need to squeeze one of her teats and see if she’s lactating. That’s always a sign the piglets are due.”

  The Bluetooth has already connected to my car play, so I drop the phone onto the seat and move the gearstick into drive. “I had to go back to the cabin to get my phone. I’m heading down to the main house now.”

  “Take a deep breath, hun, I can tell you’re stressing.”

  “You think?”

  “You did the right thing by calling me.”

  “I’m scared, Martha,” I admit, biting my thumb nail.

  “It’s going to be okay; you’re doing great.”

  Who is she kidding; I’m a hot mess.

  I wish I had her confidence. The last thing I need is Porkchop’s demise on my hands. Running back into the stall, I find her just how I left her. Moving around her extremely large body, I squat down in front of her. I was so intimidated by these oversized animals when I first met them, but over the past week, I’ve relaxed. They’re actually quite sweet and have individual personalities.

  “I’m back, Porkchop.” She doesn’t lift her head or acknowledge me, but does give me the side-eye. “I’m sorry,” I say as I reach for one of her teats and give it a firm squeeze.

  “You have nothing to be sorry for,” Martha replies.

  “I was apologising to Porkchop for groping her teat.”

  Martha barks out a boisterous laugh. “There’s never a dull moment with you around, Cassie. You say the most random things.”

  “There’s milk,” I screech. “It’s a teeny tiny drop, but it’s there.”

  “Okay. Here is what I need you to do.”

  “I can’t deliver her babies, Martha, I’m not a doctor. Technically, my mother is a surgeon so I may have some medical genes floating around in me somewhere, but I’ve never watched her cut someone open.”

  She laughs again. “There’ll be no cutting anything open. I need you to go up to the house and get the box in the laundry … it’s on the bottom shelf. Everything you need is in there.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m texting, Hanna, the vet, as we speak, but if she’s at another job, she may not be able to come out straight away.”

  I gasp. “I can’t do this on my own, Martha.”

  “You can! Porkchop will do most of the work, all you need to do is supervise. I can walk you through it. Besides, you’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

  I’m not sure why, but her belief in me helps. I grew up with a mother that constantly reminded me I wasn’t good enough.

  “What do I need to do?”

  “Start by going and getting the box.”

  I’m not sure why I leave it behind, but I place my phone down on the straw and sprint up to the house. I’m puffing by the time I return with the large box cradled in my arms.

  “I’m back,” I pant into the phone after placing the box down by my feet.

  “Grab the heat lamp off the top and go and plug it in on the far wall. It will keep the piglets warm while she’s having the others.”

  “Done.”

  “The pile of clean towels are for you to wipe over the piglets as they come out. Once you’ve done that, place them under the heat lamp so they don’t get accidentally squished by Porkchop.”

  I wince at the thought. “Okay,” I say, pulling out the stack of towels and setting them down beside me.

  “Is there any sign yet?”

  “Of what?”

  “The piglets.”

  “Umm … this is going to sound dumb, but where do I look?”

  “At the rear … underneath her tail.”

  “Oh my God, Martha, I see an itty-bitty snout.”

  “Great. It’s all happening. I wish I was there.”

  “I wish you were too. I’ll try and get some video for you.”

  “I’d like that. Keep an eye on the time as the piglets are delivered, she shouldn’t go more than half an hour between each birth.”

  “What happens if she does?”

  “Hopefully the vet will be there by then.”

  I’m both nervous and mesmerised as I watch the entire head of the first piglet appear. “Good girl, Porkchop,” I encourage, gently running my hand over her side. I’m blessed to be here to witness this, but I also know it could go pear-shaped in an instant. I pray that it doesn’t because my nerves are already frazzled. “It’s out … the first one is out,” I squeal.

  “Do you remember what you need to do?”

  “Yes. Wipe it over with the towel and put it under the heat lamp so it’s warm and doesn’t get squished.”

  “Good girl. I need to get back to work, call me if you have any problems.”

  “Jazzie,” I sob as soon as she answers my video call.

  “Cassie, what the fuck. Are you okay? What happened to you?”

  “I need to show you something.”

  “Why do you look like you’ve been attacked by a wild animal?”

  “I do?”

  “Your face is covered in dirt, and your hair is sticking up all over the place.” I reach up, trying to flatten it out with my hand. “Is that a piece of straw?” she asks.

  I pull it out and drop it on the ground. “Don’t worry about how I look, it’s not important.”

  She gasps. “Since when is your appearance not important?”

  “Since this,” I say, swinging around the camera on my phone.

  “What’s that?”

  “The baby piglets I just helped Porkchop deliver.” I’m smiling through my tears as I look down at all eight of them. The vet has just left … she only got here in time for the last two births, but she’s since given both Porkchop and her sweet little babies a clean bill of health. Six girls and two boys. I basically did it all solo and I’ve never been one to toot my own trumpet, but I’m incredibly proud of myself.

  “Porkchop?”

 

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