couldn’t bring himself to smile at the middle-aged waitress, but he did leave her a tip. The food was tasteless and the coffee too strong, but he didn’t care.
He didn’t stop again until later that night, at a cheap motel on the side of the highway. The tiny room reeked of cigarette smoke but it hardly registered. He lay down on the bed fully-clothed and stared at the ceiling, wondering for the hundredth time what awaited him at the end of this road.
In the twenty-four hours since he had learned of his father’s death, he had come to the terrifying – and, if he was completely honest with himself – slightly liberating conclusion, that it was now or never. He had to fix this. His father had been right, only he had been too damn scared and stubborn to see it.
But he was firm in his resolve now. He hadn’t been strong enough to come home while his father was alive and that would probably haunt him for the rest of his days – but he still had the chance to do the right thing by Ally, and he needed Callum to know that he was sorry. It was highly likely that whatever he said would fall on deaf ears, but he had to try. He would make his father proud of him.
But if they refused to talk to him – or to listen – then what? He shifted irritably on the bed, uncomfortable in his own skin. His muscles burned and he felt every split and bruise as if his body was on fire. He had to try to make them understand – which would be a lot easier if he understood it himself.
No matter which way he turned this, it never came out in his favour. He was fairly certain that Callum would knock seven bales of shit out of him, which is exactly what he deserved. But he couldn’t help but hope that, at some point, they would also be able to talk.
The ceiling blurred in front of his eyes. He didn’t even have the energy to reach over and switch off the light behind his head. As he lay there, the smell of stale cigarette smoke already fading, his concentration began to wane and his eyes slid closed. The day took its toll on him as he gave in and allowed his body to shut down.
Callum helped himself to a fresh cup of coffee. “Sure you don’t want one?”
Ally shook her head, her hair falling loosely over her shoulders. He had spent the night on the couch, because it didn’t feel right leaving her alone. Movie night had been forgotten as they gathered in Ally’s living room and tried to process Tom’s death. After a lot of discussion, Callum picked up Tom’s cell phone from the table and walked out into the back yard to call Jack. It was one of the hardest things he had ever done and he wished to hell the responsibility wasn’t his. Ally had argued that he could ask Father David to do it, but Callum had an ulterior motive. Jack not only needed to know about Tom’s death, but he needed to know that if he chose to come home for the funeral, he better keep his distance.
He stood in her backyard after the call, slipping Tom’s phone into his pocket. Just hearing Jack’s voice after so long had rattled him. He had no idea if he would come home or not – Jack himself didn’t even seem sure at that stage, although Father David had since assured him that he was. He would do everything within his power to protect Ally. He wasn’t going to stand by and let him rip her apart all over again.
And yet here she was, the very next morning, fidgeting with her grandmother’s ring, clearly not having slept a wink. The haunted look was back in her eyes. Losing Tom was bad enough but knowing Jack was coming home was making everything worse. He pushed his anger into that box in the corner of his mind that bore Jack’s name and slammed the lid on it.
Turning to lean back against the sink, he sipped his coffee. “How’d you sleep?”
“Crappy.”
“Ditto.”
“Sorry,” she raked a hand through her long dark hair. “My couch isn’t exactly super comfy, I know. Thanks for staying though. I really appreciate it.”
“It suited me,
He didn’t stop again until later that night, at a cheap motel on the side of the highway. The tiny room reeked of cigarette smoke but it hardly registered. He lay down on the bed fully-clothed and stared at the ceiling, wondering for the hundredth time what awaited him at the end of this road.
In the twenty-four hours since he had learned of his father’s death, he had come to the terrifying – and, if he was completely honest with himself – slightly liberating conclusion, that it was now or never. He had to fix this. His father had been right, only he had been too damn scared and stubborn to see it.
But he was firm in his resolve now. He hadn’t been strong enough to come home while his father was alive and that would probably haunt him for the rest of his days – but he still had the chance to do the right thing by Ally, and he needed Callum to know that he was sorry. It was highly likely that whatever he said would fall on deaf ears, but he had to try. He would make his father proud of him.
But if they refused to talk to him – or to listen – then what? He shifted irritably on the bed, uncomfortable in his own skin. His muscles burned and he felt every split and bruise as if his body was on fire. He had to try to make them understand – which would be a lot easier if he understood it himself.
No matter which way he turned this, it never came out in his favour. He was fairly certain that Callum would knock seven bales of shit out of him, which is exactly what he deserved. But he couldn’t help but hope that, at some point, they would also be able to talk.
The ceiling blurred in front of his eyes. He didn’t even have the energy to reach over and switch off the light behind his head. As he lay there, the smell of stale cigarette smoke already fading, his concentration began to wane and his eyes slid closed. The day took its toll on him as he gave in and allowed his body to shut down.
Callum helped himself to a fresh cup of coffee. “Sure you don’t want one?”
Ally shook her head, her hair falling loosely over her shoulders. He had spent the night on the couch, because it didn’t feel right leaving her alone. Movie night had been forgotten as they gathered in Ally’s living room and tried to process Tom’s death. After a lot of discussion, Callum picked up Tom’s cell phone from the table and walked out into the back yard to call Jack. It was one of the hardest things he had ever done and he wished to hell the responsibility wasn’t his. Ally had argued that he could ask Father David to do it, but Callum had an ulterior motive. Jack not only needed to know about Tom’s death, but he needed to know that if he chose to come home for the funeral, he better keep his distance.
He stood in her backyard after the call, slipping Tom’s phone into his pocket. Just hearing Jack’s voice after so long had rattled him. He had no idea if he would come home or not – Jack himself didn’t even seem sure at that stage, although Father David had since assured him that he was. He would do everything within his power to protect Ally. He wasn’t going to stand by and let him rip her apart all over again.
And yet here she was, the very next morning, fidgeting with her grandmother’s ring, clearly not having slept a wink. The haunted look was back in her eyes. Losing Tom was bad enough but knowing Jack was coming home was making everything worse. He pushed his anger into that box in the corner of his mind that bore Jack’s name and slammed the lid on it.
Turning to lean back against the sink, he sipped his coffee. “How’d you sleep?”
“Crappy.”
“Ditto.”
“Sorry,” she raked a hand through her long dark hair. “My couch isn’t exactly super comfy, I know. Thanks for staying though. I really appreciate it.”
“It suited me,