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IT’S IRONIC REALLY. Four years ago, I didn’t intend to fall in love. But I did. Hard. Fast. I loved him with every part of me. Back then I would have given anything for him to feel the same. Now, he tells me he loves me and I’m on my knees, sobbing into my hands with Rachel’s arm around me, because he only thinks he loves me.
Today, those three words hurt me more than if he’d never said them. Love can’t undo the past. Maybe that’s what I’m crying over now, the past. It certainly feels like it. That same, crippling agony, striking me in my head, my chest, my heart. It flows with my blood, searching for its source, the one wound that can be clotted and plugged. But there’s more than one wound, there are too many to heal.
Rachel pulls me to her and holds me. She just lets me cry until my tears run dry. I’ve hidden the true depth of my scars from everyone except Doctor Holland for so long. Now, in less than twelve hours I’ve cried on two people I lo—I shake my head, killing that dangerous thought.
“Okay?” she asks, sitting me up and rubbing her thumbs under my eyes.
“I’m sorry. This is ridiculous.”
“Do you want to talk about it now?”
I rub the wet patch I’ve made on the shoulder of her silk pyjamas and let out a short, miserable laugh. “Really don’t.”
“Alright then, let’s get some breakfast, and I’ll tell you how good Spencer is in bed.”
I gasp as she holds out a hand to help me stand. “You didn’t.”
She shrugs and leans her head to one side.
“You did. Cougar!”
“I’m not that much older than him,” she laughs.
“You’re such a tart,” I say, nudging into her side as we head downstairs.
“Please, it wasn’t me who was banging down the walls all night. I mean, really, did you two get any sleep?”
I wince. “Too soon, Rach.”
“You know, I thought that as the words were leaving my mouth.”
We find everyone in the kitchen. I try not to look the others in the eye, knowing our little soap opera probably woke them up.
“Coffee?” Teddy asks.
I see the two now-cold cups Clark had made sitting on the side, one of which was supposed to be mine. “Please.” My need for caffeine just went up ten-fold.
As Teddy sets about pouring me a drink, I see Clark through the lounge window, sitting on a wooden chair on the porch, his legs wide, his elbows on his knees. He rakes one hand through his hair, holding his mobile in the other. Connie.
I have no one but myself to blame for the anguish that takes hold within me.
Teddy and Matty start reading the Sunday papers on their iPads. Amy and Tim head upstairs to get dressed — they seem to be feeling the after-effects of too much booze less than everyone else and they want to hit the slopes early. Spencer appears to be playing something like Tetris, lying back on one of the sofas, his legs across Rachel, who’s talking to Yvette about the difficulty of finding knee-high boots that don’t gape around the calf. Me, I’m pretending to watch a Sunday morning food-cum-talk show, while trying not to keep looking at Clark. He’s off the phone now, but he’s still on the porch, and he’s been staring out at nothing for a while now.
I wish I knew what he was thinking.
I have to stop this. I’ve got work to do if I’m going to pull an alternative bid for the well into some kind of a plan that might actually work and submit it by Friday.
“Rach, did you change my Dubai flight?” I ask. I know she’ll have done it right after I asked her to yesterday, but I’m feeling a little apprehensive. And a lot like I need my new plan to come off.
She nods. “I pre-booked your seat, but I’ll check you in online shortly.”
“Thank you.”
I unfold my legs from beneath me. As I take my empty coffee cup to the kitchen, I realise I’m still wearing Clark’s clothes. The front door opens and closes, then Clark is standing opposite me. He drops his phone onto the kitchen island between us.
He looks tired.
“Okay?” I ask.
