Absolution (30 page)

She glanced down at her own legs. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her crutches on the ground next to her chair. Suddenly the fantasy was over and reality crashed into her.

Why couldn’t things have been different?

She pushed the thought aside, trying to convince herself that this was all she wanted, that being near him was enough. She should be grateful to finally have that. Glancing over at him again, she found him staring back at her curiously. Not wanting to ruin the moment, she forced a smile. “What?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “You tell me?”

She shook her head and mentally wiped her mind clean, just in case her thoughts were written all over her face. With the way he was looking at her, she wondered if it was too late. “It’s nothing, I was just thinking.”

“I could see that. Do you want to think out loud so I can follow along?”

The habits of the past few years were quick to make an appearance. Distraction. Sleight of hand. Re-direction. A burning question that wouldn’t go away.

“Can I ask you something?” she asked finally.

“Sure.”

A single word, swimming in a sea of anxiety. She picked up on it immediately, but she didn’t let it stop her. “Where have you been, all this time? Where did you go?”

His jaw clenched, as if locking up the words, afraid they would leak out. Tearing his gaze away from hers, he stared at his boots. She watched his chest rising and falling with each breath. “Does it really matter? I wasn’t here. Isn’t that enough?”

He was right, it didn’t matter. And yet, in so many other ways, it did. And it wasn’t enough.

The leaves rustled overhead but it was no longer soothing. It reminded her of static electricity and it seemed to charge the air around them.

“What are you so afraid of?” she asked.

He waged a mental war with himself, so obvious she could feel it from where she sat. Part of her wanted to take it back – to reach up and grab the question out of the air between them and crush it with her bare hands. Another part of her begged patience. She needed this.

“I’ve done some things I’m not proud of.”

She willed her heartbeat to slow. “You’re not alone there.”

He pulled his knees up, resting his elbows on them, his jaw set. “Okay,” he said finally.

She tried to prepare herself but she had no idea where to begin. He swung his legs over the side of the lounger and rested his elbows on his knees, searching the ground between them as if it contained all the answers. She felt far away from him then, as if he stood on the other side of a deep chasm, shouting across at her. Things were spinning out of control again.

Consciously, she closed the gap. She lifted her legs off the lounger and mirrored his stance, reducing the space between them to a mere couple of inches, their knees almost touching. He stared at her anxiously and she reached across to squeeze his hand.

“Whatever’s freaking you out, I can take it,” she said, with more conviction than she felt. “I won’t run away screaming – figuratively speaking, that is.”

A weak smile ghosted over his lips and she withdrew her hand, waiting for him to continue.

“I don’t really know where to start,” he shrugged. “I mean, when I left here, left you… that was the biggest mistake of my life, the thing I’m most ashamed of. I just wanted to hide – from everyone. When I finally stopped, I had almost run out of money. I had to work, so I grabbed the first job I could find. After that, I did whatever I could, wherever I could. Mostly construction jobs, because they were easy to get. As soon as I got enough money together, I moved on. I just kept moving, kept working.”

“What about friends?”

He shook his head. “It was easier on my own.”

It sounded so far from the Jack she knew that her mind had trouble making the connection. Her heart ached for him and the loneliness she heard screaming out at her from between the words. She couldn’t imagine having gone through the past four years alone.

“It wasn’t exactly a rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle, but it was what I deserved,” he continued. “If I couldn’t come home, then I couldn’t complain.”

“You could’ve come home.”

He shook his head, glancing up briefly before his gaze fell to his hands. “No, I couldn’t have. The longer I stayed away, the worse it was. I just kept thinking about you – about everything.”

This was a million miles away from what she had imagined. “How long are you going to punish yourself?” 

He shook his head, staring at the grass between them, head bowed. A sudden cool change in the breeze sent a shiver down the back of her neck.

“You’re home now, it’s over. You need to let go, Jack. It’s time.”

He stared at the grass for several long, agonising moments. She tried to conjure up the right words to tell him that it was okay, to make him believe her, but her heart hurt so much, it was difficult to think straight.

Finally, he looked up. The pain in his eyes stole her breath, the same way it had when they had talked for the first time, after Tom’s funeral.

“How do you do it?” he asked. “How’d you get to be this strong?”

“Me?” She nearly laughed out loud, the idea was so ludicrous. “I’m not – I mean, how could I be, after what I did?”

“I’m talking about what you do every day – you really don’t get it?”

“Get what?”

“You’re a walking tower of strength – literally. You do the impossible, and you don’t even seem to know you’re doing it.”

He reached over to take hold of her hand. Warmth spread up her arm, cloaking her entire body. It was so familiar that, coupled with the look in his eye, she had trouble convincing herself that this was real.

“Do you remember me kissing you the other night?” he asked, the tenderness in his voice unmistakable.

She wanted to dive right into those gorgeous green eyes and damn the consequences. Something stopped her though, and she managed to drag herself back from the brink.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I also remember you pulling away.”

“That was because I knew you’d had too much to drink and I didn’t want to take advantage of the situation,” he paused. “Did you think that I didn’t want to kiss you?”

“I kinda thought that maybe you got carried away. That it was a mistake.”

“It wasn’t a mistake.”

Her vision seemed to blur around the edges, until all she saw was him, sitting inches from her, holding her hand, drawing her in. He squeezed her hand and leant forward as she felt herself doing the same, bracing herself on the lounger with her free hand. He reached up to cup her cheek and as their lips finally met, she closed her eyes.

It was as if the world had ceased to exist and she was falling through a hole in space and time, safe in the knowledge that she was with Jack and she was going to be alright.

Callum stood on Ally’s front doorstep, shuffling nervously from one foot to the other. He knocked on the door again, frowning at Jack’s car in the driveway. Where the hell were they? As it became clear that no one was coming to answer the door, he turned on his heel, took the steps off the porch two at a time, and headed around the back of the house. He tried to force down the bad feeling that rose in his gut. First the goliath mooching around Jack’s place, now Ally wasn’t answering the door? His brain conjured up a myriad of images, none of them pleasant.

He rounded the corner of the house and stopped dead. Jack and Ally were sitting on the yard loungers, kissing. He felt as if he’d been kicked in the stomach.

Slowly, they separated and, like a voyeur, he watched as Jack stroked her hair. The exquisitely sweet, shy smile on her face told him more than enough.

Ally glanced his way and her smile faded. She murmured something and Jack turned his way, too. Drawing himself up straight, he walked towards them.

“Hey,” Callum said, as Ally reached for her crutches.

Jack stood up, his expression just as guarded as his own. “Hey.”

“I knocked a couple of times, around front.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets and tried to act more relaxed than he felt.

“Sorry,” Ally fumbled with her crutches as she hurried to stand. “Guess we couldn’t hear you from out here.”

Jack was sizing him up, one eye on Ally, the other on him. It gave him a perverse sense of satisfaction that Jack was worried. Good – he should be. Which brought him back to the main reason for his visit.

“Sorry to interrupt but I was actually looking for you,” he addressed Jack. “Can we talk?”

Jack shrugged and threw another sidelong glance at Ally. Although he wasn’t thrilled with what he had stumbled across, Callum didn’t want to cause her any more distress.

“It’s okay,” he winked at her, conjuring up a wry smile. “I just want to talk. Promise.”

She nodded anxiously and he shifted his attention back to Jack. “Quick word, in private?”

Jack followed in silence as Ally looked on.

“I’ve just come from your place,” he murmured, as soon as they were out of earshot. “And there was some guy snooping around outside the house.”

Jack stopped still. “What guy?”

“A big guy.”

Jack reeked of anxiety, although he didn’t move. “Did you talk to him?”

Callum shrugged. “Well, I didn’t know who the hell he was and he looked pretty damn suspicious to me, so yeah – I asked him what he was doing.”

“And?”

“Said he was looking for you.”

“Me, personally?”

“Asked for you by name,” Callum said, getting slightly concerned at the tone of the conversation.

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him I hadn’t seen you for years. Offered to pass on his number if you showed up, but that seemed to spook him and he took off.”

“Was he alone?”

“He got into a car across the street, I couldn’t see the driver,” he frowned. “Did I do the right thing?”

“Yeah,” Jack rubbed a hand over his face. “I mean, yeah – probably.”

“What’s going on?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then guess,” Callum glared at him.

“Look, I don’t know, okay?” Jack snapped.

“Getting sick of your damn secrets, dude,” Callum shot back. “I need a straight answer for once – is there any chance this might have a knock-on effect for Ally?”

Jack scratched the back of his neck, glancing over towards the house.

It wasn’t exactly the response Callum was hoping for.

“
Friendship is like a glass ornament. Once broken, it can rarely be put back together exactly the same way.
”

- Charles Kingsley

One Year Earlier

The bar was like many others that Jack had happened on over the past three years. Dark and quiet, tucked away in a less-than-desirable part of town, with a bartender who looked like he was working out his final days until retirement. His boots had stuck to the floor slightly as he made his way to a seat at the far end of the bar, away from the door. Even the bar stool itself had seen better days.

None of this made any difference, though. This was exactly the kind of establishment that Jack felt comfortable in these days – somewhere he could blend in and have a quiet drink without causing anyone to take a second look.

He glanced up from his seat as the front door opened and a man in his late fifties walked in. He wore a trench coat, the likes of which Jack hadn’t seen in a long time. It reminded him of something Elliot Ness might have worn – beige, with a belt and epaulettes on the shoulders. He took a seat at the opposite end of the bar and ordered a scotch, neat. He was dressed like he was someone of substance, yet he looked weathered, as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. Jack looked closer, taking a sip from his beer. It was the eyes. They seemed dead, cold, hopeless. Something – or someone – had stolen the light right out of them.

Jack turned his attention back to his beer. He felt a kinship with this man that had nothing to do with anything other than the fact that he could see himself in him. An invisible weight pushed down on him, too, forcing him lower and lower until some mornings it took all he had in him just to get out of bed.

He rolled his shoulders as if to alleviate the metaphorical weight that rested there. On this day, more than most, it was harder to ignore the voices of the demons in his head. He gently touched his shoulder, as if pressuring them into silence. He imagined he could feel the ink seeping into his bloodstream, as if the mark itself was merging with his soul and making itself one with the rest of him. He had branded himself so that he would never forget. He wanted the marks on his body to match the ones on his soul, so that everyone would know what he had done. The fact that his skin was covered was mere happenstance – he knew if he wanted to, he could rip off his shirt and expose his sins for all to see. The thought comforted him, as if giving credence to the voices.

A guy near the back of the bar argued with his girlfriend, getting louder and more agitated as the minutes passed. The girlfriend, a pretty blonde wearing far too much makeup, locked eyes with him across the bar and Jack could see fear within them. He turned away, distracted by his own problems.

A few moments later, the guy started in again and Jack turned back to see what was going on. The blonde shook her head and tried to calm him down, but he would not be placated. She got up to leave but he grabbed her, yanking her back down into the seat again. Jack could see tears in her eyes and his heart raced. He mentally sized up the guy she was with and waited. The guy was about his height, maybe a few years older, and he had clearly had too much to drink. His face was flushed and sweaty and Jack could see his girlfriend was wasting her time – he was too far gone now to be soothed. He turned back to his beer but kept an eye on them via the mirror behind the bar.

The spectacle continued. Suddenly, the girl got up and ran, stilettos echoing on the sticky wooden floor. She got as far as the front door before the guy caught up with her. He grabbed her by the arm as she reached for the door handle, roughly spinning her around to face him. He pushed her back into the wall next to the door and leant in close, hissing something at her that Jack couldn’t hear. His moral compass screamed at him. What gave this guy the right? She stared over his shoulder at Jack, begging silently for help, and he couldn’t stand it any longer.

Temper rising, he got off his bar stool and marched over to them, grabbing the guy by the arm that held her and twisting it up behind his back. The guy was momentarily dumbfounded as Jack powered him through the door and out onto the street.

“Hey!” the guy slurred, struggling finally.

Jack spun him around to face him and punched him clean in the nose, just once. He went down like a lead balloon. The blonde came hurtling out of the bar and took one look at them both, then ran off down the street, her coat flapping behind her.

The guy stayed down, to his credit, his hand covering his face, blood seeping through his fingers. Jack stood back and waited for him to come at him but it quickly became clear that he wasn’t capable of it. Turning around, Jack jammed his aching fist into the pocket of his jacket and walked away, his head reeling. He couldn’t remember the last time he had physically hit anyone.

It felt good.

“Your housekeeping’s improved,” Jack said, giving Callum’s living room a quick once-over. “This place is positively tidy.”

It had been Callum’s suggestion that he crash at his place for a couple of days, just in case. The deal had been crystal clear – answers to what was going on, in return for keeping the real reason for their little sleepover from Ally. Under the circumstances, a little white lie seemed to be the least of their worries. Ally thought Tom’s place had a gas leak that was being investigated. What was really going on was another story entirely. Whatever it was, it was enough for Jack to accept his help with little more than a token effort at refusal, and that was reason enough to worry.

“Yeah well,” Callum handed Jack a beer and they both sank down into opposite armchairs. “Ally can’t navigate through crap all over the floor, it’s dangerous.”

They both took a swig of beer, silently sizing each other up.

“What happened to your van?” Jack asked, making an attempt at casual conversation. “I haven’t seen it since I’ve been back.”

Callum humoured him, for now at least. “I sold it.”

“Really?”

“This guy offered me a good price and I took it.”

“Wow. I have to say, I never thought you’d give it up, especially after all the work you did on it.”

“It was just a van, Ally wouldn’t be walking now if I’d been all sentimental about it.” Callum let that sink in for a few moments before elaborating. “I was the one who found the program that taught her how to walk. After what happened, it became really important that she had something positive in her life. Small price to pay.”

“She told me about that,” Jack said, clearly surprised. “But she didn’t say anything about you selling the van to pay for it.”

“That’s because we told her Tom paid for it.”

He could see the mention of Tom’s name struck a nerve, although Jack took a swift drink to try and hide the fact.

“We thought she’d take it better coming from Tom, but really, we each paid half. I told her that I sold the van because it wasn’t practical anymore, which was true – it was too high for her to transfer in and out by herself, so I had to lift her. She never said as much, but I knew she hated that. It made sense to get a car because it was more accessible.”

“I didn’t realise,” Jack mumbled.

“Well, four years is a lot of stuff to miss.”

Jack stared at the bottle resting on his thigh. “Look, I’m really sorry you got caught up in this. But thanks – for letting me crash here.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Callum leaned forward. “First, I want you to tell me what the hell’s going on.”

Jack nodded cautiously. “That was the deal.”

Callum placed his beer bottle on the coffee table between them and sat back in the armchair. “So, spill the beans – and I mean the truth – all of it, no bullshit fence-sitting. I think we’ve gone way beyond that now.”

Jack placed his bottle on the table, too. He sat forward, staring at his hands, grasped so tightly together his knuckles glowed white. “I got involved in some stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

Jack fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable. “Fighting.”

“What kind of fighting?” Callum hoped he wasn’t going to have to draw whatever this was out of him, one painful word at a time.

“The kind where large sums of money are involved.” 

“Underground fighting? Like cage fighting or something?”

“Something like that.”

Callum whistled softly. “Well, that explains a lot.”

It was Jack’s turn to frown.

“The thing with Andy,” he clarified.

“Yeah. I guess.”

“I’ve never seen you fight like that – ever.”

“Learnt a few new tricks.”

“No shit,” Callum eyeballed him over the coffee table as Jack massaged his knuckles absent-mindedly. “So how does the big guy I saw at your place fit into all this?”

Jack seemed to disappear into himself and Callum waited until he found his way back, curiosity giving him uncharacteristic patience.

“The night you called me, when Dad died,” Jack began carefully, “I was supposed to fight this guy. Ben – my manager, I guess you’d call him – he had money on it. He said he was setting me up for something bigger, but I had to throw this fight for it to all work out.”

“I’m with you so far.”

“But I didn’t,” Jack ran his hand through his hair, frowning. “I was distracted, and I kinda got carried away. I didn’t go down when I was supposed to. I took him out instead.”

“Shit.”

“I was pretty sure I burnt my bridges as far as Ben was concerned, so I took off, came back here.”

“Shit.”

If Jack was worried about this, it was serious. Serious enough for this guy to track him back here. Serious enough for Jack to crash at his place without putting up too much of a fight.

“I honestly didn’t think he’d find me. I never would have come back here if I thought there was even a snowball’s chance in hell that he could.”

“Yeah,” Callum rubbed a hand down his face, thinking. “Shit.”

“You can stop saying that anytime now,” Jack snapped.

“Sorry.”

Jack took a deep breath and released it slowly, sinking back into the chair.

“How do you think he found you?” Callum asked.

“No idea. He only had my cell number – I’m pretty sure he didn’t even know where I lived. Although he obviously knew more about me than I thought, or he wouldn’t be here.”

“So what makes you think it’s this Ben guy anyway?”

“It won’t be Ben himself, he doesn’t like to get his hands dirty,” he huffed. “He doesn’t need to, he’s got a posse at his disposal.”

Callum eyeballed him from across the table. He looked exhausted and Callum couldn’t help but feel for him. Putting that aside for the moment, his curiosity got the better of him. “How in the hell did you end up in the underground boxing circuit?” 

Jack sighed wearily. “Long story.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Jack reached for his beer and took a long swallow. Then he sat back and scratched his chin.

“It just kinda happened,” he shrugged. “I was having a quiet drink in this bar down the street from my apartment. This asshole started pushing his girlfriend around so I took him outside and punched him in the face. I just wanted him to stop, y’know? He was drunk, she was scared – it was just wrong, and no one else was doing anything about it. So I did. It felt good – felt like I’d done something right for a change.”