South Coast Son

Preface

And End All

I don’t believe in happy endings. I believe in endings, but that’s because they happen so regularly. After all, every single day, there is an ending. Sunrise, sunset.

But then there are the other endings – relationships, dreams and my favourite, respect.

Everything ends. There is no denying it. What goes up must come down. If you want to bet on anything, bet on that.

Knowing this and believing this doesn’t make me a negative person, though. In fact, it makes me somewhat positive. It allows me to live every day to the fullest, to make the most of the time I have with people and fight like hell to make my dreams come true while I have the power to.

As for respect, well, that’s something that doesn’t have an expiration date, but once it’s gone, it’s generally gone forever.

I might sound as if I’m brimming with sage wisdom, but the truth is I only discovered all of this as a result of my own ending or endings.

“Samuel, this isn’t the end. It can’t be.”

Yes, it can. Yes, it is.

“Sammy, you need to keep trying.”

No, I don’t.

“Sam, you can’t give up.”

But is it giving up when it’s inevitable?

I did try. I fought hard. But sometimes it’s high time to accept that it’s healthy for some things to end. Sometimes you need to move on with life and find a new girl or a new dream, a new you.

In the end, you only really find out who you are and what you have when you lose it. It’s only then that you can focus on rebirth, rebuilding, and reinvention.

Tomorrow’s sunrise.

But sometimes… sometimes when things end, they end for good.

Sometimes you’re really only left with nothing.

Nothing but a sunset.

I

Of the Round Table

She sighed, and I frowned.

“You’re quiet today,” Paige murmured, glancing up at me through her long eyelashes. She didn’t smile. Paige hardly ever smiled, but it didn’t really make a difference. She was beautiful either way.

“I’ve got a lot on my mind,” I answered. It wasn’t really a lie, but my silence had more to do with the guilt I felt because I knew what was coming, and it wasn’t going to be pleasant.

“Okay.” She nodded, her cloudy blue eyes searching the silver and navy coloured cafe we sat in.

I liked it at Lunar; it had the best burgers in South Coast. I picked at my hot chips.

“Do you have training this afternoon?” Paige asked, letting the spearmint milkshake drain from the black straw as she lifted it out of the glass.

“No, it’s Tuesday,” I replied. “Training is on Mondays and Thursdays.”

“Right,” she sighed, dropping the straw back into the thick liquid.

I never understood why girls did that – ordered something, then let it sit there until it’s no longer consumable.

“And Wednesdays, I guess, if you count basketball.” I shrugged.

She nodded, reaching out to run her soft index finger down my thumb.

I liked Paige when she was like this – all introspective and considerate. But as strange as it may sound, sometimes I wished she would just tell me what she was thinking. Her eyes were sage and wise, complex, like her mind was always ticking. She was intense and guarded, but then there were times when those walls came down, and it was just her and me. No thoughts, no defence. Some of my mates didn’t understand Paige because they never saw that side of her. Lately, that carefree Paige seemed to all but disappear, and after almost a year, those walls were getting harder to break through.

I cleared my throat, dusting the salt off my hands.

“Okay, there’s something I need to say,” I said, ripping off the proverbial bandaid.

Paige looked up, and her cloudy eyes were wide and deer-like. I nearly lost my nerve. What was it I heard recently? Six percent of guys broke up with girls over the telephone? Or maybe that was propose. No, wait, it was propose. Crap.

“What’s wrong, Sam?” she asked. “You look… weird.”

I looked down. Apparently, she wasn’t going to make it easy for me. Not that she really ever had. I tried to love her, to be with her, but Paige never needed me. She had this bizarre way of shutting people out, and at first, I found it refreshing because, unlike other girls, she didn’t feel the need to talk about everything. But then I realised she just didn’t talk about it with me. It was Liam Archer she turned to, her ‘friend’ from when they were young. I was supposed to be her boyfriend, so why did she shut me out? I took a steadying breath.

“I think we should break up,” I answered. My words, though only slightly above a whisper, seemed to sound loud in my ears. The silence that followed was unnerving, and I looked up to see if she’d heard me.

Paige blinked in confusion before running her fingers through her brilliant red hair.

“You want to break up,” she repeated.

“Yes.” I nodded.

There was no going back now. The words were out.

She exhaled. “Why?”

“It’s almost been a year.” I shrugged. “And nothing has really changed between us. I just don’t see a future here.”

Paige bit her lip. She looked incredibly sexy when she bit her lip. I dropped my gaze back to my chips.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you,” I murmured. “I hope we can still be—”

“Don’t,” she sighed. “Don’t say it, Samuel.”

I looked up. Crap, she was crying. Paige hardly ever cried. Why do girls do that? To make us feel worse? Mission accomplished. So how do I make it stop?

“Paige—” I started, reaching across the table for her hand. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with it, but it didn’t matter. She pulled it away.

“Don’t touch me,” she snapped. That was more like it. That was more the Paige I knew.

“I’m sorry,” I said helplessly. What else could I say?

She shook her head. “Sure.”

I rubbed my forehead.

“Is this about that girl? The brunette?” she asked suddenly.

I looked up, feeling the blood drain from my face. “Who?”

“Don’t play dumb, Sam, you know the one,” she sighed, sounding more fed up than angry. “The princess with blue eyes who’s been texting you.”

“Have you been going through my phone?” I frowned.

“You’re really going to get mad at me when you were the one cheating?” she replied flatly.

Fair call.

“I wasn’t cheating,” I answered. “It wasn’t like that. We never—”

“I don’t really want to know.”

I blinked in confusion. “Why didn’t you say anything then? If you suspected something, why didn’t you just talk to me about it? You never talk to me. I bet you spoke to Archer about it.”

“Seriously, Sam…” she muttered, starting to gather her things. She pulled some money from her pocket and threw it on the table in front of me.

“Paige,” I groaned.

Paige stopped mid-step and raised her eyebrows incredulously at me before leaving without another word. Independent to the very end. Why wasn’t I more surprised?

I scratched my forehead and peered around the diner, but everyone else was wrapped up in their own worlds. At least they hadn’t caught the show. I glanced down at my phone and saw I had two missed calls from my best friend Marcus Saxon, also known as Sax, and a text from Isobel. I wasn’t sure what Marcus was calling about, probably something to do with the fact it was student night at Crescent, which was one of the bars near uni, and he needed a wingman. Sax didn’t study at South Coast Uni with me, but he made sure he completed a unit a semester at TAFE to qualify for a card just for discounted beers once a week. I wasn’t sure whether to shake his hand or shake my head.

I opened the text from Isobel and frowned: “Good luck today, let me know how it goes. Ix.”

Isobel. I did not see her coming.

It was true that I’d broken up with Paige because she was too guarded, and it was that distance one evening that had led me to confide in Isobel. I never planned on falling for her when I was already with Paige, but Isobel opened up to me in a way that Paige didn’t. Maybe now that I’d broken up with Paige, she might be compelled to break up with her boyfriend, and we could finally be together without the guilt hanging over our heads.

I hit reply as my phone rang again and listened as the score to Darth Vader, The Imperial March, began to play. Arthur Saber. Good old Artie, I wonder what he wanted.

“Dad,” I sighed. “What’s up?”

“Samuel, where are you?” he asked. All business as usual.

“Out, why?”

“When will you be home? The reporter from South Coast Courier will be here in half an hour. They want to interview the whole family, which includes you.”

“Uh ha,” I sighed.

“I’ll expect you to walk through the door in ten minutes,” he finished.

My father didn’t believe in negotiation. As the mayor of South Coast, most people tended to compromise with whatever he wanted.

“I’m more than ten minutes away,” I answered. “So, just a heads up.”

“Samuel, don’t get smart with me,” he snapped. “Everywhere in South Coast takes ten minutes. I’ll see you at five-forty.”

I glanced at my watch. “That’s in eight minutes.”

“Stop wasting time then.”

The line went dead, and I shook my head. I pulled my wallet out of my back pocket and threw a twenty next to Paige’s ten. That would more than cover the meals and give a decent tip for the staff. Tipping wasn’t a custom around here, but I got some kind of satisfaction in throwing away my father’s money. He took enough away from the noble citizens.

“Leaving so soon?” a voice called as I stood.

I turned and smiled at Demi, one of Lunar’s wait staff, as she cocked a black eyebrow at me.

“Where’s your friend?” she asked.

“She had to leave,” I answered as she sauntered over. Her black skirt was just that little bit too short to pass off as a uniform for the place, but who was I to complain?

“She didn’t look too happy.” Demi smirked, tucking her red pen behind her ear as she leant over to clear the table.

Her skirt hiked up her tanned thighs, and I tipped my head back in silent appreciation. Demi had great legs.

“She wasn’t,” I answered, snapping out of it.

“Aw, Sammy.” Demi pouted, her blood-red lips plumping. I forced a smile and grinned, tucking the cash into her apron. “Thanks for the tip. I knew there was another reason why I liked seeing you here.”

I laughed.

“Do you have to leave?” she asked. “I knock off at six. We could grab a drink somewhere if you like.”

“Would love to, but duty calls. Raincheck?”

She closed one eye. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

“Sure.” I laughed, raising a hand to wave. “See you next time.”

“As always, Mr Saber, it was a pleasure.” She smiled.

I nodded and glanced down at my watch as it ticked over to five-forty and made my way down the street to my 1962 almond-green coloured Morris Minor 1000. Artie tried to buy me another car a few months ago, but I knew it bothered him that I drove a vintage car rather than some slinky new hybrid sedan like he insisted on my mother and sister driving. Well, driving was a relative term considering the chauffeur was usually the one behind the wheel.

I pulled up the driveway to our castle-like house at ten to six. The front door opened before I’d even stumbled out of my car.

“Samuel, you’re late. Your father is terribly upset with you,” my mother sighed. Angela Saber was, in plain terms, the closest thing to a living angel I’d ever met. Her patience and tolerance were golden.

“Sorry, I got caught up,” I replied. “I did tell him I was more than ten minutes away.”

Angela smiled weakly. “Come inside, please. The reporter will be here soon. They’re never late.”

I dragged my feet up, kissing my mother on the cheek as I passed, and swaggered through the living room. I could see three of my father’s men pacing the room and paid them the same ignorance they showed me.

“Samuel! Get changed and get back here!” Artie growled. “And for goodness sake, son, would it kill you to shave?”

I ran my hands over the stubble on my chin – stubble that had been there for several months and not caused an aneurysm before.

“Well, go on then, move!” he demanded. “God almighty, that boy.”

I continued through the house, yawning as I made my way up to my tower, and I ran my hands through my jaw-length hair. It could probably do with a wash, but I wasn’t going to push it. Artie was already on edge. Besides, if a clean shirt was all that would appease the man, I wasn’t going to argue. I was pretty sure that the housekeeper had ensured I had one of those.

I kicked open my door and stumbled over a pair of football boots I’d left on the floor, catching my shoe on another shirt that had fallen off my bed. At least the man still gave me my privacy, considering nothing was ever touched or cleaned in my room. As I straightened, my eyes were drawn to a coat hanger of clothes covered in plastic. Apparently, I was wrong about the former. On them was a note: ‘Samuel - Courier interview clothes.’

I sighed and pulled off the plastic, kicking off my shoes, and dragged my T-shirt off over my head. The blue shirt that had been picked out for me felt new and crusty, and the sleeves were a little tight for comfort over my upper arms. I’d been doing more weight training in the lead up to football season, and I guessed whoever chose it didn’t factor that in. At least the black trousers fit. I hated new clothes. I didn’t see the point in them. I got them every time Artie had some press thing on, and they were practically disposable. I’d picked out a small handful that I liked and didn’t really bother about others. I never really understood girls who had wardrobes full of clothes they never wore. It annoyed me to have excess crap lying around. There was enough of that already.

I heard voices downstairs and yawned again, heading out to the bathroom before making my way down for the show.

This whole day had felt like a show. Class, Paige… Paige. I could still remember the time when she had been responsible for making me smile, but lately, someone else had claimed that position and she didn’t even care enough to mention noticing it.

I rested my hands on either side of the sink and took a few deep breaths.

“Hi, Sammy,” my sister Amelia said.

“Hey.”

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked, appearing in the doorway.

I sighed. “Nothing. I broke up with Paige.”

“Really? I liked her.”

I looked up to find her face in the mirror. “No, you didn’t.”

She shrugged. “That’s because she moved my stuff in the shower all the time. I still liked her better than some of the other girls you’ve dated.”

“There haven’t been that many,” I replied, turning on the tap to splash some water on my face.

“Hm.” Amelia shrugged. “So, why’d you break up with her? I guess she was a bit pouty… and poor.”

“Be quiet, Millie. Don’t talk about her like that,” I answered.

“It’s true, and everyone knows it,” Amelia said unapologetically. I wish she’d keep her opinions to herself, but my sister seemed to think that she was entitled to be honest with everyone, despite her honesty being sometimes obnoxious.

“Not everyone,” I grumbled, reaching for the hand towel to dry my face.

She rolled her eyes. “You’re such a guy.”

I threw the towel at the rack and ignored the fact it didn’t stay. “So, do you know what this is about? The reporter thing?”

Amelia shrugged. “Something about that new entertainment complex Dad built in the city.”

“So why do we have to be here for it?” I frowned.

“United front. Family perspective. I don’t know. Who knows with Dad?”

“Sounds like a pile of crap to me,” I mumbled, heading out to make my way down. “What does South Coast need another entertainment complex for anyway? We need another sports ground. The one in Iris Cove is all beaten up and not even half the size of some of the grounds over east.”

“Don’t let Dad hear you say that,” Amelia said as she followed me downstairs.

“Say what?” Artie asked, painting on the most pleasant politician façade I’ve ever seen. “Alex Marrone, you remember my children: Samuel and Amelia.”

“Of course.” Alex nodded.

Alex had been with the Courier for over twenty years now. He worked in general news, so he often covered stories about my father. I was glad they sent him rather than one of the girls; it was embarrassing seeing them try and charm Artie, or worse, me.

“Something on your mind, son?” Artie grinned. I’d come to learn over time that this was not an invitation to speak, rather the opposite. It was a hard-learned lesson.

“Nope,” I answered, forcing a smile back. “Where do you want us?”

Artie had us well trained.

“Alex?” Artie asked. “Shall we go into my study?”