Absolution (20 page)

Just as she felt herself giving in to him completely, he pulled away. She stared at him breathlessly for several moments, her mind struggling to ascertain fact from fiction.

“Am I dreaming?” she whispered, her head spinning.

Jack’s thumb caressed her jaw. “Nope. Not dreaming.”

She blinked, afraid he would disappear. His hand slipped from her cheek and he looked nervous, leaning away from her as if putting some distance between them would help.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean to do that… I shouldn’t have done that.”

Her heart raced. “It’s okay. I wanted you to.”

He glanced at her anxiously. “I think that maybe… ”

She smiled, her inhibitions leaving in an all-out stampede.

Whatever he was about to say vanished into the ether and he smiled back at her, amused. “I think that maybe we need some coffee. You definitely do.”

She shrugged, still tasting his lips on hers and feeling like her grip on reality was slipping a little. For a change though, it didn’t worry her. In fact, she liked it.

“Okay,” she smiled, as he got up and headed for the kitchen.

Jack waited impatiently for the coffee to brew. He glanced through the kitchen door at Ally, who was still sitting on the couch, getting comfortable.

Why did I do that, why did I kiss her? What was I thinking?

He had taken advantage of her, which only served to make him feel like more of a fraud. He had to tell her. Only now, there was so much more at stake, which made everything that much worse.

God, how he wished his father were here. He would know what to do.

The coffee finished brewing and as he poured, his phone began vibrating. He frowned, digging it out of his pocket and staring at the screen for a second before declining the call.

“New phone – first thing tomorrow,” he muttered to himself, shoving it back into his pocket.

He picked up both cups of coffee and made his way back to the living room. “Here we go. Nice and strong, just what – “

She was asleep. She had slumped back into the couch, her head resting against the over-stuffed cushion behind her, breathing heavily.

He sighed. “Great timing.”

He put the coffee cups back on the kitchen counter. Walking over to sit down on the couch beside her, he picked up her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Ally? Hey – time to wake up.”

She didn’t even stir. He looked down at her hand in his. It was smaller and paler, but stronger, too. He turned her hand over and ran his fingers gently over the calluses at the base of her fingers. Infinitely stronger.

Glancing towards her bedroom, he debated his next move. He couldn’t just leave her on the couch and go home. He stood up, gathering her into his arms.

“Come on,” he murmured. “Time to sleep it off somewhere a little more comfortable.”

As he stood with her in his arms, he could feel her braces digging into him. There had been times tonight when it had felt like nothing had changed between them. Then there had been the times when he was acutely aware that things were so different now.

Dancing with her had been one of them. The way she held onto him, the weight of her body against his, the knowledge that she was completely dependent upon him to keep her safe. The realisation was a sobering one. His reasons for wanting to dance with her were selfless, spurred on by the longing he had seen at Barneys. But when they were actually dancing, he had realised the magnitude of what he had done. It had reduced her to tears. He almost felt guilty that he had enjoyed having her so close to him.

And now, as he held her in his arms again, it was very different. Her small frame had been divided into two distinct parts; the strong shoulders he cradled in one arm, and the slight legs draped over the other. It wasn’t only her body that had changed, though. The inner strength she exuded seemed completely at odds with her delicate frame.

He carefully pushed her bedroom door open wider with his foot. Sidestepping the wheelchair next to her bed, he set her down on top of the covers. She stirred and he knelt beside the bed, waiting to see if she would wake.

“Dreamt I was dancing,” she smiled sleepily, eyes still closed.

His heart melted. “It wasn’t a dream. You
were
dancing.”

“I like dreams like that, better than the other ones,” she murmured into the pillow.

He brushed her hair tenderly away from her face. “What other ones?”

But she didn’t answer and after a few moments, her breathing became heavier. Maybe it was better he didn’t know. He sat there for a few minutes, watching her. She had said something about secrets earlier, and he wondered what she meant. Her secrets or his? He thought about everything he had put himself through over the past four years. How much of that did he actually want her to know? What would she think of him if he told her he had been fighting strangers for money? No – that part of his life was over. Knowing how he had spent the past year would only hurt her. This was a fresh start. And as for the other secret, the one that had driven him away from her in the first place, he promised himself he would tell her when the time was right. 

He pulled the covers from the other side of the bed over her and stood up. Taking a step back, he almost tripped on her wheelchair, reaching out to stop himself from falling. He winced, waiting to see if she would stir, but she remained blissfully unaware.

He let go of the wheelchair, then frowned, reaching out for it again. He pushed it backwards and forwards a few times, surprised at how light it was. Leaning to the side, he inspected it closely. The seat back was much lower than he thought it would be, and there was a deep foam cushion on the seat, but no sides or arm-rests. Now curious, he sat down in it, a quick glance assuring him that she was still sound asleep. Hesitantly, he put his feet on the foot-rest and grabbed the push rims, propelling himself forward and then backwards. He pulled on one rim, turning, but not in the direction he had thought. After turning himself around in circles a couple of times, he was hit by an overwhelming sense of shame.

This wasn’t a toy.

He stood up and walked to the door, pausing for one final check to satisfy himself that she was sleeping soundly.

He sank into the couch in the living room with a heavy sigh. Part of their conversation in the bar earlier that evening came back to him.

“Everyone makes mistakes, nobody’s perfect. The key is learning what not to do next time, then moving on. You can’t wallow. It’ll kill you – trust me, I know.”

Leaning back into the cushion behind him, he stared at the ceiling. What would it feel like to not be able to stand up and walk away from that wheelchair like he had just done?

His heart hurt, a physical ache, not just an emotional one. Exhausted, he closed his eyes.

Three Years Earlier

“Have you talked to her?” Callum asked, pacing his kitchen. “I can’t get her on the phone – landline or cell.”

Tom sighed and he imagined him taking off his glasses and running a hand down his face as he had seen him do so often.

“No. I’ve been calling too – no answer. I went over there yesterday and her car was there but she didn’t answer the door. I thought she might be sleeping or something, so I didn’t push it.”

Callum paced his kitchen. “So when do we panic? Because it feels like now might be a good time.”

“Just – “

“Something’s wrong, I can feel it. I was over there on the weekend and she was really weird. She spent most of the time in the studio – she had a real bug up her ass about something, she wouldn’t say what. I went in there to check it out – have you seen the state of that room? It’s like someone stirred it with a stick, there’s crap everywhere – a hell of a lot worse than usual.”

“I noticed that too. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t worry me, but you know how she gets sometimes. Maybe she’s just taking a few days to work it out of her system.”

“It’s been going on for longer than just a few days,” Callum snapped. “She hasn’t been herself for a few months now. I knew the anniversary would be tough but she seemed okay, y’know? But she’s not okay now. Something’s wrong, I can feel it.”

“Do you think it’s got something to do with the appointment with Pavlovic? What happened on Monday, at the check-up?”

Callum frowned. “What check-up? She hasn’t had it yet, she’s still waiting on the appointment coming through.”

“Well when we had coffee last week, she said the appointment came through and it was for Monday.”

“Monday this week? Are you sure? That doesn’t make any sense – why the hell didn’t she tell me?”

“The more pressing question is why did she lie to me about it?”

“What?”

“I asked her if she wanted me to go with her but she told me there was no need because you were taking her.”

“What the hell is going on?”

“Damned if I know, but I don’t like the sound of this.”

“I’m going over there.”

“Good idea. I’ll meet you there, and I’ll bring the spare key. Maybe between us we can get the truth out of her.”

Callum shoved his cell phone in his jacket pocket, snatched his car keys from the counter top and headed for the door.

Ally dreaded the appointments with her neurologist, that’s why he went with her, for moral support. She said it was like sitting an exam she had never studied for. Her behaviour over the past few weeks made more sense now. She had been withdrawn, almost introverted, recently. When he saw her on the weekend, her emotions seemed to see-saw from one extreme to the other. One minute it was like she was going to burst into tears, the next she was smiling and fobbing him off. He slammed his palm against the steering wheel. He should have known something was wrong.

The drive to Ally’s house took a lot less than the ten minutes it should have. He pulled into her driveway and parked behind her car, jumping out as soon as he cut the engine. He gave her car a cursory glance as he jogged up to the front door, taking the steps in two long strides. Pounding on her door, he called out her name, but there was no response.

“Ally!” he tried again, pounding harder. “Ally, if you’re in there, open the door!”

He stopped to listen, his ears straining for any kind of sound within. He thought he could hear music, but he wasn’t sure. He pounded again, more desperately.

“Ally! You open this damn door, you hear me? I’m not kidding!”

Nothing.

“If you don’t open this door, I’m going to break it down, I swear to God!”

Silence.

Anxiety grabbed him by the throat and he pounded on the door even harder. Frustrated at the lack of response, he started to think outside the square. He peered in the window into the living room but could see nothing. He tried to budge it but it was locked tight. Tom was taking far too long.

He struggled out of his jacket, wrapping it tightly around his fist. Angling his body away, he punched through the living room window, stepping back to avoid the falling glass.

“Ally!” he called through the window, clearing a space to climb through.

There was no response. He climbed in and the first thing that hit him was the smell – paint. Pearl Jam was playing on her iPod, which was docked in the living room, but she was nowhere to be seen. He strode through the house, calling out to her as he headed for the studio. The room was a mess, and in the middle of it all, a canvas lay on the floor, surrounded by tubes of paint – some open, which accounted for the smell – along with brushes and rags. He wrinkled his nose and closed the door behind him, his concern mounting.