Frustration and embarrassment mingled with the overriding fear that he might not be able to handle it – handle her. How could she be honest with him when she didn’t trust his reaction? And why should he be honest with her in return? Honesty was a two way street and she was throwing up road-blocks and detours. Her heart felt physically heavy, as if it might fall out of her body altogether and smash into a million pieces on the floor right in front of her.
The phone rang again. Irritated, she turned slowly and wheeled over to the studio door, pushing it shut. Silence engulfed her and she turned, rolling toward her iPod on the workbench. She scrolled through until she found what she was looking for – Pearl Jam’s Ten – and slotted it into the dock, turning the volume up to the max. Something had to drown out the voices in her head. The opening bars of Once filled the space around her and she closed her eyes, trying to give herself over to the music. She rocked backwards and forwards slightly in her chair as the music took her away from her thoughts, then turned around in circles as the first verse slammed into her senses.
Rocking harder, she turned in the other direction and pushed herself backwards, hanging on to the fantasy of being somewhere – anywhere – but here. She crashed into something. Her eyes flew open as she turned again and saw the unfinished canvas land face up on the ground. She stared at it for a moment. Frowning, she rolled forward for a closer inspection. Anger building out of nowhere, she tilted her chair backwards and slammed her front castors down on top of it. The music masked the sound, but she stared down at the ripped canvas with a sense of satisfaction.
Tilting her chair to remove the castors from inside the frame, she spun in a half-circle and clumsily knocked the easel to the ground. She watched it fall with a muffled sense of detachment. Curiously, she rolled over to the workbench and swiped her arm across its surface, sending tubes of paint, brushes, bottles and supplies flying to the ground. Again, no sound except the chorus of the song blaring through the room.
Jack stared at the phone he had slammed down on the mantelpiece earlier. He itched to pick it up and hit the redial button. Ally didn’t want to talk to him. He should understand that. He had given himself a million reasons over the past several hours that would explain it, so why couldn’t he just let it go? He spun on his heel and paced back across the room.
She deserved to know everything that had happened, from the night of the accident to now – God knew, she had every right to ask. He owed her that, and so much more. He stopped, sinking down into the couch. Where to begin, was the question. She didn’t trust him, he didn’t trust himself. Where did that leave them?
“You want to know where I’ve been?” he mumbled into the empty room. “Well, here it is: I’ve been everywhere but here. I’ve been hiding because I hate myself for what I’ve done to you and I can’t fix it or forget it.”
Pent-up frustration escaped in a huff of breath that left him feeling light-headed. He looked up, his gaze settling on the framed photographs on the mantelpiece. Dragging a hand down his face, he hauled himself to his feet and walked over to stand in front of them.
Looking over the photographs as he had several times in the past couple of weeks, he had never felt more alone.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts and he practically ran to the door, hoping it was Ally. Instead, Maggie stood on the doorstep.
“Hi.”
He couldn’t help but feel disappointed. “Hey.”
“I need a favour. Your Dad has a key to Ally’s place. Can I have it please?”
She had a frown line between her eyes, just above her nose. That couldn’t be good.
“What’s going on?”
“I just need it.”
Okay. Not budging.
Maggie followed him down the hall to the kitchen, to the keys that hung on a series of hooks next to the doorway.
“So, are you gonna tell me what the deal is here, or am I expected to guess?” he asked, over his shoulder.
No answer.
He sorted through the key rings until he found one with Ally’s name on it. He had no intention of releasing it to her just yet, though.
She reached out to take it from him.
“Not until you enlighten me.”
“I don’t have time for this,” she snapped.
“Then I suggest you start talking.”
The tension mounted as she appeared to think it over. “She’s having a meltdown.”
He frowned, shaking his head.
“A bad day, or whatever. Y’know, not answering her phone, or the door. I’ve just come from her place, she’s got music blaring so loud I’m surprised the neighbours haven’t complained.”
Ally’s penchant for drowning out the world with loud music when she was upset came flooding back. The wound inside began to fester, breaking open. Was this because of what happened between them last night? He slid the key into the pocket of his jeans.
“We had a fight last night.”
“I know, Callum told me.”
“So maybe she just needs some time out?”
“What the hell would you know? Give me the key,” she snapped, holding out her hand.
“What’s the big deal, what am I missing?”
“Y’know what? Keep the key. We don’t need it.”
She turned on her heel and marched back down the hall.
“Hey!” He jogged after her, grabbing her by the arm. “I don’t know what the hell’s going on here, but I’m coming with you.”