How many years had she been coming here? She knew this house as well as her own. It was unnerving, the thought of walking inside knowing that Tom wasn’t going to be there. Drawing herself up straight, she tried to put him out of her mind. It was Jack she was here to see. The revelation brought a torrent of renewed anxiety with it.
She paused briefly at the bottom of the few steps leading to the porch that swept across the front of the house. Slowly, she began to climb. It only took her a couple of minutes, but by the time she got to the top, all the bravado and determination she had felt in her kitchen half an hour ago had evaporated. What was she going to say? Where should she begin?
You can do this. He owes you some kind of closure. Even if he says nothing, you have things you need to say to him. Just knock on the door.
“Hi.”
She looked up to find Jack standing in the doorway. She froze. She had been lying to herself, she realised too late. She wasn’t ready for this, not by a long shot.
“Come inside,” he said, his desperate gaze holding hers. “Please?”
He had changed out of the torn shirt and jacket, and stood before her in jeans and a dark blue t-shirt. He looked very much the worse for wear, his eye swollen slightly, an angry-looking cut on his cheek.
Her heart pounded against her ribcage. She fought the impulse to turn and make her way back to the car. He moved aside and she maneuvered herself over the doorstep and into the hall. She wanted to cry. It felt wrong, like they were trespassing somehow. She wished like hell that Tom was there.
“I wasn’t expecting you,” Jack said quietly, closing the door behind her. “But thank you, for coming.”
He stood facing her, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. Had his eyes always been that shade of green? They seemed darker, heavier somehow. God, what was she doing here?
“Ally… ”
Her hands gripped the handles of her crutches even tighter. The questions bolted out of her before she could stop them.
“Why’d you do it? Why’d you leave like that?”
The silence seemed to buzz in her ears, seconds stretching out.
“Why do you think?” he whispered, his eyes brimming with tears.
“That’s not good enough,” she shot back, tilting her chin in defiance. “I need to hear you say it – you owe me that.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “You’re right, I’m sorry. Look, I… this could take a while. Come through to the living room, I’ll get us something to drink.”
She frowned, afraid of losing her resolve if she moved any further into the house. Before she could answer though, he walked into the living room and she had no choice but to follow.
She had last been here two weeks ago, for dinner. The house looked exactly the same, except for the glaringly obvious fact that Tom was missing. Her heart ached for him. If he were here, he’d be the buffer she felt they desperately needed now. Without him, it was too raw.
Jack poured the drinks, his back to her. To his left, on the side table, was an almost-empty glass that he topped up. Clearly, it wasn’t his first drink today. She couldn’t blame him.
He turned back to her, holding a glass in each hand, indicating the couch. “Shall we sit down?”
She ignored the couch and headed for the small dining table at the end of the room instead. She wanted to put something solid between them, hoping it would help her concentrate. She could feel his eyes burning into her back as she lowered herself into a chair, leaning her crutches against the table beside her. He set the glasses down on the table and pulled out the chair opposite her. She cringed as the chair’s legs scraped against the hardwood floor. Silently begging her trembling hands not to betray her, she reached for her glass and took a quick sip.
Tom had been the one to teach her about whisky – the good, the bad, the difference between blended and single malts, when to have water with it and when to have it neat.
“What do you remember about the accident?” Jack asked quietly, dragging her back to the present.
A black void where her memories should be.
She stared into the glass she held with both hands on the table in front of her. “Nothing. I don’t remember a thing. Callum told me what happened, after.”
“What did he say?”
“That it wasn’t your fault.” Why did she sound so frightened? She cleared her throat, mustering up the courage to look across the table at him. “He said there was nothing you could have done, that the other car came out of nowhere.”
He nodded slightly, his expression guarded. She waited for him to elaborate but he didn’t. She seized her chance, before she lost her nerve completely.
“I want to know why you left like that, if it wasn’t your fault. Was it because of what happened to me?”
He shook his head and she tried to distance herself from his obvious pain. She couldn’t afford empathy if she was to get through this. She needed answers.
“Was it? You were gone when I woke up from surgery, Jack. You knew what happened to me. Did you leave because of that, because you didn’t want to be with me? I want the truth. I can take it,” she lied.
He shook his head, swallowing back tears. “No.”
“You’re lying.”
“No, I’m not, I – “