Page 13 of Into These Eyes

Jamie

I watch his back, realising that although my father’s earth-shattering revelation has left me numb, it’s the opposite for Gavin.

I’d seen it on his face. Awe and relief all at once.

When tears he couldn’t hold back spilled over his cheeks, the enormity of his suffering spiked through me like a spear.

I’ve never given a thought to the incredible pain he’s experienced.

Why would I? But witnessing his tangible, physical reaction ruptures my heart.

An innocent man, hated by everyone. So much so, his own father testified against him.

The media, like sharks, tore strips off him piece by piece, used him for ratings like he was some sort of carnival freak.

Then there’s the loathing he must have seen in everyone’s eyes in that courtroom.

And I’d been the worst of all.

As my own tears spill, his body shudders and I can’t miss the sobs he’s trying to stifle. Overwhelmed by the news, he needs to physically release the pain he’s been carrying all these years.

I should leave, give him privacy. He’s clearly trying to control himself because I’m sitting here, invading this personal, highly emotional moment.

As I slide toward the end of the bench seat, a rumble comes from somewhere deep inside him. I freeze, confused by the sound. It’s not a hitching breath or a sob.

It’s a … laugh?

And it comes again, comes from his core with such force it fills the whole caravan.

He reaches out, steadies himself against the kitchen counter, and doubles over as laughter rolls through his body and tumbles from his mouth.

I stand. I should go. This is his time. He deserves to experience his joy privately.

But my feet refuse to move, the intoxicating cadence of his laughter rooting me to the spot. Before I can check myself, I’m smiling, his sheer happiness a contagious virus that slips right into my body. And suddenly, I’m laughing, too.

Gradually, he gains control of himself, his laughs becoming chuckles, his chuckles tapering off to delighted sighs. Turning to face me, he swipes at the tears on his face.

When our eyes lock, my laughter explodes into sobs as everything that’s happened today crashes into me.

Embarrassed, I bury my face in my hands, and just like Gavin Lake, I try to control the whimpers that scorch my throat.

Then his strong arms encircle me and hold me protectively against him. I’m not scared. I don’t think I’ve ever been afraid of him. Just hateful and angry. All built on my father’s lies.

But I don’t need to be hugged, to be held, to be cared for. I’m strong, resilient. I don’t need his comfort. Yet I can’t pull away.

What can it hurt to give myself just one moment of vulnerability?

Sliding my hands from my face, I lean into him and wrap my arms around his waist. It feels so fucking good.

And so foreign. I struggle to remember the last time I was held.

Apart from Anika’s hugs when she was little, I realise it’s been almost as long as Gavin spent in prison.

That thought alone releases something entombed deep inside me. It crawls out of the dark and floods every inch of my being. And I let it.

Burying my face against his warm chest, the sobs shudder through my body, through my soul. His only response is to tighten his hold in an effort to offer more comfort.

Who is this man consoling me when he should hate me? At the very least, resent me. I can’t even comprehend what must be going through his head right now.

And here I am, destroying the elation he should be experiencing.

“I’m so sorry,” I gulp against his chest, slowly regaining control of myself. “I’m so, so sorry.”

He gently rubs my back. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry about.”

I shake my head. “Yes, I do. So much.” Sniffing, I take a deep breath. “I don’t … I’m not usually … And now I’m ruining this … moment for you.”

“You haven’t ruined anything,” he assures me. “Christ, Jamie. You gave me this moment. Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve laughed? Because I literally can’t remember. I’ll never forget this. There’s nowhere on earth I’d rather be right now than here with you.”

His words steal my breath. I look up into his face, into those dark blue eyes. “Me?”

He gives me a sweet smile. “Why wouldn’t I want to share this with someone who has such integrity and strength? You just gave me the best news of my life, and here you are … after getting the worst news of yours. You have every right to cry, Jamie. You should cry.”

Of course, his gentle, kind words send me whirling into uncontrollable territory again. I bury my face against his chest, my fingers fisting in his t-shirt at his back. This time, I really let loose, so grateful to have someone to hold on to.

By the time I calm down, the only sense I have of time passing is the ache in my feet and the trembling in my knees. And I notice something else then, too. He’s making slow, soft circles with his fingers at the nape of my neck.

Now that I’m not losing it, I become aware of his body pressed against mine, how tall he is, the firmness of every part of him I’m touching, and the contradiction between his strength and the tender way he’s holding me, caressing my bare skin.

It’s almost as if he knows me intimately.

I tell myself I’m only noticing these irrelevant things about him because I’m trying to distract myself from the new reality of my life.

Except, now that I’m quiet, I can hear his heart thudding against my ear. It’s not the slow, strong beat I expect from a physically fit, relaxed man. It’s beating fast. Much too fast.

Jolted back to reality, I uncurl my fists from his t-shirt and drop my arms to my sides.

He instantly releases me. Frozen to the spot, I watch as he takes a couple of steps toward his bed, then return with a box of tissues.

Grabbing a wad, I quickly wipe my eyes and give my nose a blow, completely aware that I must look utterly frightful.

Mortified, I avoid his gaze and stare at his chest, only to discover I’ve left wet patches on his t-shirt.

Reaching out, I press my fingertips to the dampness, realising too late that I’m deliberately touching him, that he’s watching me deliberately touch him.

“Sorry,” I mumble, pulling my hand back into my own space.

He gives me a grin and shrugs. “I think I’ll live.”

I grab more tissues and blot at my face, knowing it won’t do any good. “God, I’m so embarrassed,” I murmur.

“Me too,” he says in that deep, gentle voice. “So, I guess, since we both are, we cancel out each other’s embarrassment. That’s how it works, right?”

“Me too,” he says in that deep, gentle voice. “So, I guess, since we both are, we cancel out each other’s embarrassment. That’s how it works, right?”

Surprising myself, I huff out a laugh and let the tension leave my muscles. Who is this guy?

When I meet his gaze, I find that reassuring calmness I noticed during our meeting in prison. Only this time, I allow myself to sink into it.

“Well,” I say, clearing my throat. “I suppose I should get go—”

“How about a drink?” he interrupts.

God, I’d just about kill for one right now. Better it be with him than alone, I suppose. “That might be nice. But just one. I have to drive home.”

He scratches the back of his head and gives me an apologetic look. “Sorry, I don’t have any alcohol. Not while I’m on parole. I was thinking a Coke, tea, coffee …”

“Of course. I ah … tea would be great.” Seems like I’ll have to drown in grief on my own once I get home. After I’ve told Anika. There’s still that to deal with.

As he turns on the kettle, I think about how the poor guy can’t even have a drink to celebrate, and I suddenly realise something else. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even think … do your parole conditions include no contact with the victim’s family members? I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“No. I was actually surprised it wasn’t on the list.” He gestures toward the table. “Take a seat.”

I do just that, grateful for the relief after standing in my heels too long. As he busies himself with mugs and tea bags, I can’t resist the urge to kick my shoes off under the table, freeing my feet from the torturous devices I loathe.

“Sugar? Milk?” he asks.

“Just one sugar, thanks.” With his back to me, I study his smooth movements, the way his muscles ripple and flow beneath his tight t-shirt and, with his head mere centimetres from the ceiling, how imposing his size is in this small space.

I close my eyes to stop the thoughts. My father just died. My father, the man who killed my mother and kept it a secret for sixteen years. My father, who willingly allowed an innocent young man to go to prison. That’s what I need to think about. Nothing else.

After resting my tired, puffy eyes for a while, Gavin places a mug of black tea in front of me and takes the seat opposite, his bare knees briefly brushing against mine. He frowns slightly and looks under the table, and I realise he must have touched one of my shoes.

“Good,” he says simply, and takes a careful sip of his tea. “Do you have someone, Jamie? So you’re not alone tonight?”

“I … No. Not really.” His curious stare sends heat crawling up my neck. “I work a lot,” I explain, though why I need to explain anything to Gavin Lake is a foreign idea, but I don’t seem capable of stopping myself. “Raising my sister and building a career takes up a lot of time.”

He nods with understanding, though he has no idea what my life’s been like.

“And your sister’s away, training?”

“She’s down in Goulburn at the Police Academy. Only has a few more weeks until she’s finished.”

“So,” he says, turning his mug around and around, “you’re alone for the first time in your life?”