How can you become so attached to something with such limited contact? The answer is easy and unbearable all at once. I feel like Jack was made especially for me, and the fact that I can’t have him is cruel. Plain cruel. He is forbidden. I shouldn’t have had him the first time. I definitely shouldn’t have had him the second time. And I’m so mad with myself. I may have been misled in that bar, I may have given into his potency, but I knew full well what I was getting myself into last night. It’s unforgivable.
I lay in my bed mentally beating myself up all over again, the guilt returning tenfold. I tried not to allow myself to wonder if his lack of any fight on the phone with her was because of guilt. I tried not to imagine him being so subservient to her and accepting her rant, even if he deserves it. But Stephanie doesn’t know about me. So what is she yelling at him for? Simply being late for dinner?
I didn’t sleep a wink, my mind not shutting down, but I did reach one solid conclusion. This has to end now. Whether their marriage is struggling is of no consequence. I have no place in their lives. Their problems are not my problems, and I shouldn’t make them mine.
I’m better than this.
By 6 a.m., I’ve given up on sleep, so I put myself in the shower and ready myself for a long day at work. After getting my car sorted out with a local garage, I stop off for a large cappuccino and drink it while I make a few calls and e-mail the structural engineer to arrange a meeting to discuss the roof issue. He comes back to me quickly saying he’s free at two for a half hour. I have no choice but to take the slot and rearrange my diary.
I’m chewing on the end of my pen an hour later, working out some numbers, when my mobile dings the arrival of an e-mail. I snatch it up while jotting something down and glance at the screen. His name glares up at me, getting the usual expected reaction from my heart. Then the relentless flashbacks commence, too, except now there are more scenes, more feelings, more images. More words to hang on to. I read the first line of his e-mail and quickly establish that it’s in no way work-related. “Damn you, Jack.” I stop reading and delete it. We’ve crossed the line twice. It can’t happen again.
*
“Totally doable,” the engineer says, simple as that. “I’ll have the recalculations done and get them to you before close of day tomorrow.”
“You are a saint.” I give him praying hands. “Thank you.”
He smiles and gets his pad out, starting to make notes. As I pass the existing double doors that lead into the garden, I spot Richard pointing up at some branches of the horse chestnut tree. He spots me and waves me out.
“Annie, this is Wes. He’s gonna get rid of these branches.”
“Hi.” I shake his hand when he offers it.
“Which ones am a lopping off?” he asks, looking up.
“Lopping off?” I laugh.
“I’m all about technical language.”
“Right.” I catch Richard’s laughing eyes, too, as I point the branches out. “That one and that one.”
“And that one,” Jack says, appearing across the garden. I cringe on the inside, quickly looking away before I have the chance to admire how good he looks in his suit.
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” I reply formally. “Just the two will suffice.”
Wes and Richard look between the two of us. “I disagree.” Jack reaches us and points to the lowest branch. “If you remove that one, it’ll dislodge the one behind and the problem will still exist.”
I press my lips together, breathing some patience into me. He’s pissed off. I can tell by the bulge in his neck and his clipped tone. And I know why. I only peeked at each of the five e-mails he sent me, and I deleted them swiftly the moment I gathered they weren’t work-related. Therefore, I haven’t responded to any, and when he called, I rejected every single one. “And if we remove that branch, you’ll be exposing the garden to the buildings beyond,” I point out.
“Well.” His lips twist in annoyance. “I did e-mail you numerous times today regarding this, but you haven’t bothered to reply.”
I shoot him a shocked glare and open my mouth to fire a few choice words at him, but quickly force my gob shut when I remember we have company. He did not e-mail me about trees or anything work-related, and he knows it. “I’ve been busy,” I reply shortly. “But we’re clear now.” I walk away, leaving Wes and Richard with wary eyes, and Jack with a fuming face. “The branch stays,” I call.
Jack’s caught up with me before I make it inside. “Why have you ignored my e-mails?” he hisses in my ear, following close behind. “And my calls.”
“Because they were about us.” I swing around, infuriated. “And that back there was your way of punishing me for not answering you. By making me look incompetent in front of colleagues, just because I didn’t reply? Just because your ego is bruised?”
“You think this has anything to do with my ego?”
“Yes!” I hiss.
“You’re bloody deluded. The branch needs to go!” he barks childishly.
“It’s staying!”
He growls, advancing toward me, forcing my steps backward until I’m pushed into a corner. No. Oh, no, no, no!
“It’s easy to ignore me when I’m on the end of a message, isn’t it?” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “What now, Annie?” He grabs my hand and slams it over the crotch of his trousers. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
He’s solid. He’s angry and he’s fucking solid. I gulp, anxiety gripping me. He’s wrong. It’s not easy when he’s on the end of an e-mail. It’s not as hard as this, but it’s still a battle that I’m losing. Or have I already lost?
“And this?” He moves my hand to his chest and pushes it into his pec. The beats of his heart are crazy fast. Just like mine. “What do I do with this?”
“Why don’t you ask your wife.” I inwardly wince at my quiet retort, but Jack physically winces, dropping my hand and standing back, a look of pure disgust on his face.
He breathes in, slowly raising a finger and pointing it at me. “You don’t get to say that. Not after last night.”
“You forget.” My jaw could crack under the pressure of the bite on my back teeth. “I can say what I fucking like, because no one owns me. And definitely not you.”
His features twist, his disgust doubling, and he slowly places his hand on my hip. I jolt under his touch, and he smiles victoriously. “Really, Annie? Keep telling yourself that.”
“Um…Jack?” Richard interrupts us, definite awkwardness in his tone, and I quickly dip away from Jack, moving on shaky legs to the drawings.
“What?” Jack yells, pulling my shocked stare up.
Richard doesn’t even flinch. “I think you need to come out front, mate.” Richard’s face is full of apologies, and Jack’s is suddenly full of dread. Then I hear it: a woman yelling.