Absolution(84)

He could see the effect his words were having on Jack. He swallowed his pride and continued.

“She’s pushing you away, because she knows that sooner rather than later, she’s gonna have to start letting you in and it’s scaring her to death. You hold all the power here. You can walk away, or you can pick her up and never let her go. Do you understand what I’m saying? Do you get how serious this is?”

Jack nodded dumbly.

“So don’t you dare go anywhere.”

Finally, Jack found his voice. “I made her a promise.”

Callum glared at him over the table, willing his voice not to break. “And you better plan on keeping it.”



The next morning, Ally sat in her studio, staring at the unfinished painting before her on the easel. Her head pounded and even though she knew she should eat something, her stomach churned so much she felt queasy just thinking about food.

She didn’t know how long she had been sitting there, but it felt like a while. She braced her hands on the wheels and rims of her chair and straightened her elbows, pushing herself upwards to temporarily relieve the pressure on her backside. Holding the position for several seconds, she eventually let gravity win and lowered herself back onto the chair with a sigh, her shoulders burning. Maybe a workout would take her mind off things? Who was she kidding? She had no energy to eat, never mind work out.

Sullenly, she went back to staring at the canvas.

It was supposed to be the final piece in her ‘Evolution’ series – the piece that signified her triumphant return to life and the acceptance of everything that had happened to her. But deep down, she still felt in limbo. Jack coming home had highlighted that. She had thought that she’d accepted the accident and how it had changed her life, but Jack was such a huge part of that equation and she still had so many unanswered questions. She felt far from triumphant.

The anger she had wanted to unleash on Callum earlier had faded. In its wake was a morbid acceptance. All Jack had done was ask a question – that’s all – and she was unable to answer it without lashing out. None of that was Callum’s fault. It was hers. The weakness was hers.

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?