A thunderous blow to the head saw him falling to the floor as the lights went out momentarily. He lay on the floor for what seemed like hours, his head ringing. Slowly, his vision cleared and he saw his father – standing inside the ropes, staring at him. Jack held his breath. Then he blinked and the image was gone. Scrambling to get up, he shook his head and tried to ignore the screaming crowd. This had to stop.
He shot upright, barely thinking about what he was doing, heading straight for his opponent, hands up, eyes focused. He didn’t even feel the first punch connect with his opponent’s ribs, but he saw him double over all the same. The next punch came straight out of the blue and into his opponent’s face, front and centre. The grief and guilt tore out of him at a hundred miles an hour and rained down on his opponent because he was there. For a split second, he felt sorry for him.
Catching him as he rebounded off the ropes, he slugged him again – and again, and again, until the man was a steaming heap at his feet.
The crowd roared, baying for blood. Slowly, Jack came back to himself. Realisation slammed into him. Adrenaline fired through his system as he frantically sought out Ben. It was like staring into the eye of a hurricane.
He bolted from the ring, fighting his way through the crowd, heading straight for the storeroom. He had been in more establishments like this than he cared to remember, and one thing he routinely did before the fight was check for possible escape routes, just in case. More than once he’d had to escape an unhappy crowd when the fight didn’t go their way. He snatched his bag, jamming a chair beneath the door handle. Heading straight for the small anteroom at the back, he tried to force the window open. When it wouldn’t give, he dug into his bag and pulled out his shirt, wrapping it around his fist impatiently and jabbing it into the window-pane, shattering the glass. He cleared the jagged glass around the edges of the frame and climbed through, glancing behind him once he was out in the alley.
Panting heavily, he ran along the alley, not stopping until he was clear of the building, steam pouring off him into the chilled night air. He jumped into his car and gunned the engine, heading for his apartment, blood pounding in his ears. Checking the rear-view mirror every few minutes, he looked for signs that Ben or his henchmen might be following him, thankful that – as far as he knew – they didn’t know where he lived. He took the long way, just in case, and bolted up the stairs to his second-floor apartment.
Throwing his meagre possessions into his duffle bag, he checked his cell phone battery and ripped the lid off the pizza box, jamming that in too. After giving the small apartment a quick once-over, he headed straight back to his car. There was no time to hang around. Ben would be looking for him.
Throwing his bag into the car, he glanced quickly up and down the street. He climbed in, pausing to take a deep breath. His lungs pushed painfully against his bruised ribs. His muscles screamed and his hands shook uncontrollably.
“I’m coming, Dad,” he whispered into the silence. “I’m sorry I’m late, but I’m coming.”
CHAPTER 2
“Regret for the things we did can be tempered by time; it is regret for the things we did not do that is inconsolable.”
- Sydney Smith
Six Hours Earlier
Ally hummed to herself, lowering her paintbrush and staring back at the canvas in front of her. A smile played on her lips and she found her concentration waning. She had tried to put this morning’s meeting out of her mind in order to get back to work, but the distraction tactic had clearly worn off. Giving up the pretense, she let her gaze wander to the workbench – more specifically, to the draft exhibition invitation on top of the workbench.
The exhibition – her exhibition – was really going ahead. Linda Frostmeyer wanted to exhibit her work – the proof lay in that invitation. It wasn’t a dream. Years of work, of pouring her heart and soul into her paintings, were finally coming to fruition. What had always been a private matter – a sanctuary for her, a means to channel her energy – would now be shown to anyone who cared to look. The thought made her slightly queasy but she pushed it aside. All artists went through this transition at one time or another, she reasoned. For once, she was no different.
The exhibition was three months away and she still had to finish the current painting she was working on – the last in a series – and make the final decision on the other paintings to be included. There was still a lot of work to be done. Ignoring the tasks ahead for the time being, she gave herself up to the moment and smiled with pure excitement. The Frostmeyer Gallery wanted to exhibit her work!