Page 12 of Into These Eyes

Gavin

A fter slathering my freshly popped toast with butter and a scraping of Vegemite, I turn it over, take a huge bite and let the salty explosion rest on my tongue for a moment before I chew.

As much as I hate my new accommodation, I love the freedom to eat whatever I want, whenever I choose.

Hot toast was a rarity in prison, but hot toast with real melty butter, that was non-existent.

Just as I pop the last bite of toast in my mouth, a sharp rap comes from the door. Confident it’s Benny, who was released on parole only a few weeks ago, I continue to chew as I swing the flimsy caravan door wide.

And almost choke.

A woman dressed for the corporate world—not this lowly caravan park filled with ex-cons on parole—stands in strappy high-heels two steps down from me.

When a wolf whistle lets loose from another caravan, she turns her head in search of the source.

But I don’t. My attention remains pinned on her.

The blazing sun highlights dark red notes in the few loose strands of hair that have made an escape from her severe ponytail.

While her eyes aren’t on me, I take in her large sunglasses and the fitted green business dress clinging to every curve of her body.

When it ends several inches above her knees, my gaze drifts down her smooth, naked legs to pretty, manicured toes.

I shouldn’t be checking her out, but fuck, I’m enjoying the view. She’s hot, and the last time I’d been privileged enough to be in the vicinity of a sexy woman, had been at the Restorative Justice meeting.

Unfortunately, she’s clearly got the wrong caravan.

Turning to face me again, I think she’s looking me over, but I can’t be sure with her eyes hidden by those large, impenetrable sunglasses.

“What?” I almost bark as I swallow the last of my toast.

“I was told this is where I’d find Gavin Lake.”

Okay, so she is here for me. On edge, I’m unsure why someone like her is standing on my non-existent doorstep. One thing I do know, is it can’t be for anything good.

Then she takes off her sunglasses and squints at me.

Holy fuck .

No wonder I think she’s hot. I’ve always thought so.

Jamie Evans.

No doubt about it.

I should’ve known by the colour of her hair, but I’ve never seen it set ablaze in the sunlight.

“Miss Evans?” I ask, stunned.

Her eyes narrow in confusion. “How do you know my name?”

She doesn’t recognise me. I shouldn’t be surprised. Six months ago, she saw a prisoner with a shaved head and an unkept beard. That’s who she’s expecting. But I don’t look like that guy anymore.

“Because I’m Gavin Lake,” I tell her.

Her eyes widen with surprise. Then she stares into mine, searching, assessing, identifying. Shoving the sunglasses back on her face, she crosses her arms.

“Oh … I … ah … Sorry. Can we talk inside?”

Of all the people in the world, she’s the last one I expected at my door. This is going to be anything but pleasant.

“Why’re you here, Miss Evans?”

A wolf-whistle pierces the air again. Darting my gaze across the dirt track and grass that separates the caravans, I spot scum-of-the-earth Jake Fletcher sitting on his steps, dragging on a cigarette.

“Gotcha self a high-class hooker there, Lake?”

Shit.

Stiffening slightly, her fingers dig into her crossed arms. “I have some information I think you’ll want to hear,” she says quickly. “But I’d feel more comfortable talking to you privately.”

The woman who’s hated me for the past sixteen years, now wants to be alone with me in a cramped space? It makes no sense at all, but I suppose there’s only one way to find out what she wants.

As I step back to let her in, Fletcher calls out, “Fuck her hard, man. I wanna see that tin-can rockin’.”

Fucking prick.

Retreating to the kitchen, I lean my hip against the counter, hoping to God she puts my red face down to the stifling heat. As much as I’ve fantasised about fucking her hard—and every other possible way—I most certainly don’t want her to know that.

She enters slowly, letting the door spring shut, heels clicking on the cheap linoleum as she takes a few steps inside. With the door closed, the dimness forces her to remove her sunnies.

I wait, and while I do, her uncertain eyes flit around the tiny space, taking in the bed behind me and the small table to the right.

She shows no disgust, no reaction at all as far as I can tell.

Apart from the way she’s clutching her handbag to her stomach like it’s some sort of barrier between us.

That delicious scent of Jasmine and spring reaches me as it fills the caravan, spiralling me back to my meeting with her six months ago. Awakening that feeling of coming alive after being dead inside for so long.

Then her gaze is on me, taking in my bare feet, khaki shorts, red t-shirt, my throat, my lips, and finally my eyes. She’s never looked at me the way she is now, and this new look has all sorts of nerves jolting through my body and mind.

Worse still, I catch a tremble in her chin. Is she about to cry?

I clear my throat. “Are you okay?”

Her eyes quickly drop to my chest. “No … yes … actually, I have no idea.”

I'm baffled by her response. She’s always come across as self-assured, not this lost, bewildered woman before me. What can she possibly be here to say that has her so disconcerted?

“Would you like to take a seat?”

She quickly shakes her head, her chest expanding, then contracting before her eyes sweep up to mine.

“I know you’re innocent,” she says softly.

I wait for her to correct herself. Clearly, that came out wrong. But all she does is watch me.

“I’m sorry, Miss Evans. I’m not sure I understand—”

“I found out a few hours ago,” she says, a noticeable quaver in her voice. “You’re innocent.”

I understand her words, but every ounce of my being rejects them. Continuing to stare at her, I wait for a punch line that’ll allow me to make sense of what she’s doing here.

“Say something,” she says.

“Miss Evans, I don’t know—”

“Please stop calling me that.” She takes a step toward the table. I don’t miss her slight wobble as she places a hand on the surface to steady herself. Then she slides onto the bench seat, puts her handbag aside and releases a long breath. “I think I do need to take that seat after all.”

She places her palms on the table in what I presume is an effort to keep them from shaking. Something earth shattering’s happened to her, and it has something to do with me.

As I take a seat across from her, the brush of my bare knees against hers sends a jolt of electricity straight to my dick. Christ . The first woman I’ve touched in sixteen years and it’s Jamie Evans. Repositioning myself, I break the contact. I need to get it to-fucking-gether.

“Miss— Jamie. As of a minute ago, there were only two people on this planet who believed in my innocence. Me, and the man I shared a cell with for fifteen years. Explain to me why you deserve a membership to our exclusive club,” I say with a small quirk of my lips.

What the hell’s wrong with me? Why the fuck am I making jokes? This is serious. Only, more than anything else in this moment, I want to make the incredibly sad woman across from me smile.

She doesn’t.

“I don’t just believe you’re innocent. I know it to be a fact.”

Refusing to get my hopes up, I sigh. “Okay. Why? How?”

There’s that tremble in her chin again, and this time, tears pool in her eyes. I watch as she blinks fast, getting them under control before they can fall.

“I just heard a dying declaration.” She takes a deep breath and stares at her hands. “He said he killed my mother.”

The shock of her words rock me to the core. This time, there’s no resistance, no disbelief. Someone confessed. “And you believe this person because?”

“Because he’s my father … was my father.”

I fucking knew it .

Her eyes meet mine again. We sit like that for a long moment, letting the weight of her words hang between us. And then it clicks.

“Wait a minute,” I say. “Did your father die? Today? ”

She nods. “But you’re missing the point. You’re innocent. And now that I know, something has to be done about—”

“Jamie,” I interrupt. “Slow down. Let’s back up a bit, okay?”

She releases a breath, her stiff shoulders drooping.

“It’s only lunchtime, so tell me … where were you this morning?” I ask, hoping I can get her to concentrate, to focus on a timeline rather than what’s clearly a jumble of emotions she’s barely containing.

“I was at the hospital. My father’s been ill with cancer. So, this morning the nurse called me and said I needed to get in there …”

I study her hands on the table, the way her fingers press into the chipped surface as if searching for a way to anchor herself. It takes a great deal of restraint not to reach out and hold them so she can squeeze something human, something that can offer comfort.

“So, you went to the hospital,” I prod.

“He was refusing the pain meds until he spoke to me. I honestly don’t even know how he had the strength … Once the nurse left …” She moves her shaking hands into her lap under the table, takes another breath, and focuses on my chest. “Then, he just said it.”

My heart rate accelerates, but I remain silent, waiting until she’s ready.

“He said he killed my mother. That he knew about her affair, and he followed her. Stabbed her.” She swallows hard and blinks fast again. “He almost took the truth with him. Ten minutes later he was dead.”

“Jesus,” I whisper. “Fuck.”

She meets my eyes. “Yeah. Fuck.”

We stare at each other for a long moment.

I need to absorb what she’s told me, what it means to me, but while I’m looking at her, the only thing my mind’s consumed with is the fact that she’s sitting here, giving me the best news of my life, when her world’s just been shattered.

The fact that she’s alone with me in this tiny caravan is no longer a mystery.

She’s too distraught to even recognise the danger she might have put herself in had prison turned me into a real monster.

Even so, what sort of person puts their grief aside to share brilliant news with someone they hate?

“Jamie,” I say softly. “I’m so sorry … for your loss.”

She waves a dismissive hand at me. “It’s fine.”

“I’m sure it’s not.”

Her gaze snaps to the table. “Stop being so nice to me.”

“No, I won’t stop.” Resting my forearms on the table, I lean forward as her surprised eyes meet mine. “What’re you doing here, Jamie? Shouldn’t you be with family right now?”

She shakes her head. “It’s just me and my sister. She’s away, training for her career. I know I have to tell her. But I’ll wait until she’s finished for the day.”

“So, of all places, you came here?”

She nods. “You deserve to know. If I was in your shoes … well, I’d want to know as soon as possible.”

Dropping her gaze, she slowly traces the Formica’s fake woodgrain.

Two things cross my mind. One, she’s here because she’s all alone.

And it’s better to be with anyone—even me—than to be on her own.

Two, she didn’t have to tell me about her father’s confession.

She could have kept it to herself and no one else would ever have known the truth. But she hadn’t.

And that makes my heart ache. The woman sitting before me is truly special. As I’ve always suspected. Now I have confirmation.

“Jamie?” I wait for her to look me in the eye. “Thank you. I know you didn’t have to tell me.”

She frowns. “Of course I did.”

“No, you didn’t,” I say, shaking my head. “Some people would just let things lie. It can’t be taken back, can’t be reversed. It’s over with. The only way is forward. Why dredge something up that won’t change a thing except cause more trouble? That’s what some people might think.”

She studies my face with confusion. “But I would never … that’s not who I am.”

“I know. Or you wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

“Then why even say that?”

The urge to hold her hand is so strong I drag mine off the table and place them on my thighs. “So you know that I understand what a big deal it is that you’ve gone out of your way, made yourself uncomfortable—at a time when you’ve lost your father—to tell me the truth.”

She shrugs, fixing her eyes on my chest again. “Well, it’s important.”

“It’s been the most important thing in my life for the last sixteen years.”

She slowly meets my gaze, a soul-crushing sadness right there in her eyes.

Then the truth sinks in, washing over me like a tsunami. And as it does, I discover I’m now the one who has to blink fast. But for me, the blinking isn’t working, and the tears overflow, spilling down my cheeks.

Embarrassed, I slide free of the table and turn my back to her. I’m on the edge of losing complete control of this enormous rush coursing through me. While I know it’s inevitable, I don’t want it to happen in front of Jamie Evans. She’s got enough to deal with without me falling to pieces.

I lean against the narrow opening between the kitchen and my bed as more tears course down my face.

My throat constricts with the effort to keep the emotion from bursting free.

It does anyway. My whole body shudders as a sob escapes.

Followed by a sharp, hitching breath. And another sob.

There’s no way she’s not hearing this, seeing it. It’s fucking mortifying.

But there’s nothing I can do. All this time, being hated by her for something I didn’t do … and for her to come to me with the truth right after the confession that must have destroyed her world … it’s more than overwhelming. Her selflessness is staggering.

Then, as a million thoughts scatter through my brain, something unexpected happens.

An explosion of euphoria blasts through my entire being.

My heart, my shoulders, my chest, suddenly feel light.

Almost like I’m floating. I’d never realised that the burden of carrying that guilty verdict inside my head, has also been weighing down my body.

But now, it’s fading, and I feel a hundred kilos lighter and ten years younger.

Because Jamie Evans believes me.