Page 50

Willow

The second Jack’s head snapped back, I regretted my words.

His face shifted from hurt to furious. I suddenly forgot why I was so upset and focused on his hurt instead.

“Got it,” he growled.

His face hardened as the seconds passed, just as my stomach dropped. I wasn’t sure what my words had meant, but I had a terrible feeling I’d just cracked something inside of him. The same something that was cracking inside me.

He turned from me and slowly walked back in the direction of the house, his head hanging in disappointment? Frustration? Pain? A combination of all three and more, perhaps.

I was too stubborn and too hurt myself to figure it out.

He was the one to declare to others that we were nothing more than friends, after dragging me into seductive, private moments where the world stopped turning and I stopped breathing.

It could have been discussed privately to save me the embarrassment.

As he approached the tree, he dumped something on the ground – my coat. He’d brought my coat out to stop me from freezing. Tears stung at my eyes.

Even now, when I’d pissed him off and pushed him away, he still cared. I watched him round the corner, his feet moving him slowly and heavily, and felt my heart go with him.

Sudden weakness took over and I slid down the side of the skip, thudding to the stone and succumbing to the tears and heartache. Sobs wracked through me. I pushed my palms into my eye sockets, my elbows leaning on my knee caps and let it all out.

Somehow in the space of an hour, I’d gone from a good headspace – excited and hopeful about my future, about my relationship with Jack. But now everything was crashing down around me, and I’d hurt the one person who had given me every ounce of love and care I’d needed but never asked for.

A realisation hit me, and louder sobs shook my entire body. I was falling for Jack Lambert .

I had no idea when I’d started to fall for Jack.

It was long before the near-kisses, and if I was perfectly honest, it was long before my relationship with Cain ended.

It was half the reason I’d stayed in the role of his assistant, even if I never allowed the admission.

Confirming that would have led me down an even more dangerous path.

Lashing out at Jack was unacceptable, regardless as to whether his words hurt me. He’d never hurt me intentionally. He’d never hurt me at all. I hadn’t even given him the chance to explain.

Fuck. I had to put the effort in to fix this.

As my sobs lessened, I wiped my nose on the back of my hand and resolved to drag myself to bed. We could talk in the morning when we’d slept on it and had time to calm down.

I stood on wobbly legs, like a baby giraffe. Collecting the discarded cricket bat, and my coat from the ground by the tree, I followed the path Jack had taken ten minutes before.

Thankful he hadn’t locked the door behind him, I hurried inside, craving the warmth.

That wasn’t a Jack thing to do, he wasn’t Cain, and I had to stop comparing the two.

I flicked the lock and traipsed upstairs, feeling as sorry for myself as I did for Jack.

I passed his bedroom and found the door firmly shut, light seeping through under the crack.

Behind that door, he was hurting because of me. My fingers gently grazed the wood, tempted to push through the door, fall to my knees and apologise for everything I’d said. But something stopped me. He deserved better than the mess I’d turned out to be. Better than whatever I could offer.

I continued down the corridor and entered my room, shutting the door gently and pushing my back against the door, my head creating a soft thump. I had no idea how to fix this, for us to push through this.

I’d never fought with Jack. I’d never needed to fight with him.

It was like shouting at a child and I was wracked with guilt.

All I’d had to do was ask what he’d meant by ‘just friends’, but that had been too much for my naive, reactive brain to do.

I was so used to living in fight or flight that I hadn’t considered another option, but that was my fault, not Jack’s.

I stripped out of my clothes and opened the suitcase that Elle had packed for me.

I groaned, realising that Elle had only packed me thin pyjamas.

Bound in a cream bow, a navy satin Chelsea Peers camisole and shorts set stared up at me.

I unravelled them and held them to the light.

Along the cleavage and hem of the shorts, a sultry black lace trim.

With no other alternative, I pulled them on.

If I were in a better mood, I’d be able to appreciate the material against my skin.

The cool air caused my nipples to pebble, only for the silk to soothe them perfectly.

Huffing, I pulled the retro sweater I’d worn when we left Newcastle and continued with my nighttime routine.

After a final pee of the night, my skincare and brushing my teeth, I returned to my suitcase, ready to crawl into the comfy looking bed.

I felt bereft. Bereft at the argument, bereft at the prospect of sleeping alone for the first time in years, bereft of my once perfect platonic relationship with Jack.

I rummaged through my bag for the only thing that could comfort me in times like this.

I searched through the bag for the orange tuft, a soft beige hoof or velvety horns of Angus, but fell short. Panic rising, I tipped my bag upside-down, hoping to find him stuffed underneath a pair of jeans, but nothing. I whined with frustration.

It was the final thread of my anxious resolve to snap. Angus was my comfort blanket, and if I couldn’t have him there was only one thing that would work.

I looked towards the door and felt the invisible string pull me towards him.

I needed Jack. I really wanted Jack.