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I’ve been home ten minutes when a knock sounds.
My heart thuds heavily.
I know it is Jack.
My eyes fly to the mirror opposite. I am still pale, but I brushed my hair this morning, and at least I’m dressed in something other than ill-fitting pyjamas.
‘Open the door, Gemma.’
My heart twists. I have never doubted my strength in all my life, but now...I don’t know if I can do this. Can I look at Jack, knowing I can’t touch him? That it is over? That we are over?
‘Gemma? I will stay here all goddamned day if I have to.’
I don’t doubt the sincerity of his statement.
Sympathy for my neighbours has me wrenching the door inwards.
And the sight of him causes me to suck in a huge breath. Because he looks so much like himself—so strong and powerful, so confident, so unaffected—that any lingering hopes I’ve nurtured of his being as destroyed by this as me die an immediate, suffocating death.
He’s staring at me. His dark eyes are haunting my face, dragging over my cheekbones, my lips, down to my throat and then back up again. He blinks as if to clear his thoughts.
‘You’re home.’
I frown, keeping my hand firmly tethered to the door, holding it in place as if my life depends on it. ‘Yes.’
He bends down and lifts the flowers. A pool of dark brown has formed on one s
ide of the waxed paper, where the overnight dew has set in. I look at the once-cheery blooms and am sorry for them. Sorry I gave them such a cold reception.
None of this is their fault.
I narrow my eyes, my heart pounding and breaking at the same time, like one enormous wrenching storm inside my chest. ‘What do you want, Jack?’
I see his throat bob as he swallows, and I resist the urge to make this easier for him.
‘May I come in?’
Just the question alone sets fire to my veins. It’s so unlike Jack that I am surprised enough to consider relenting. But I don’t.
I have seen his dark places. All of them. And he has birthed new ones in me.
‘No.’
Exasperation flickers on his face. ‘I reacted badly the other day. I’m sorry.’
He did. But it doesn’t change the facts. Perhaps at another time he might have found a softer way to let me down, but nothing will alter the truth. I love him completely, and when I told him he made it obvious he just wanted me to go.
The memories strengthen my spine and fire my determination.
‘It’s fine,’ I say, even managing to dredge up a smile. ‘Let’s just chalk it up to life’s experience and move on.’
He groans and shakes his head. ‘I don’t want to move on.’
‘And yet you ended it.’ I swallow, afraid I’m going to cry yet again.
‘I didn’t fucking end it.’ His eyes are earnest as they meet mine. ‘I didn’t mean to end it.’
My heart screws down inside me. ‘You freaked out when our story went into the papers.’
