He stopped and turned to her, his eyes pleading. “I’m not like those others, Ava. How do I prove it to you? How can I make you believe me?”
“That’s just it,” she said. “You can’t. I’m sorry, Caleb. This is why we can’t be together. This is why it has to end.”
Chapter Ten
She’d got what she wanted. Caleb had laid his cards on the table, each and every one of them, and she’d thrown not only the deck, but the table in his face. That was the risk he’d taken.
He’d known the odds and he’d accepted them.
It was done.
But it didn’t mean he had to like it. He hated it. Each and every bit of it. He hated that she had suffered so much at the hands of her own parents. He hated that she had been taken advantage of when she had so desperately needed reassurance and love and the chance to rebuild her shattered life.
No wonder she was so self-protective, betrayed first by the people who should have loved her the most, and then by an agent who’d cheated and lied to her. No wonder she set boundaries and made rules.
But he hated that she couldn’t see that he would never hurt her.
Restlessly, Caleb paced the confines of his flat. It didn’t take long to do a lap. There weren’t that many rooms and there wasn’t a hell of a lot to see. He stopped in the spare room and looked over his collection of bikes. He should take one of them and go for a spin. Later. He stopped in his bedroom, but all he could see was the bed and all he could think about was Ava, and the fact she’d never lie in it again and felt a physical pang that he’d never get to make love to her again. He ended up back in the lounge room but all he could see was that damned picture she’d given him that he’d propped up on the shelf. Of the frangipani flowers he’d given her, their petals bright and bold.
He picked it up and thought about the woman who had painted them. Ava, just as bold and beautiful as those perfect flowers.
And, ultimately, just as fragile.
His phone buzzed from the kitchen where he’d left it charging and for the moment it took him to sweep it up in his hand, he thought that maybe...
But it was Dylan. They hadn’t talked since before the bushfire, since that night at the Maylands. Barely a week but it felt like an aeon ago. He picked up, his brain mentally changing gears so he wouldn’t sound as hangdog as he felt.
“You sly, bloody dog.”
Caleb dragged in a lungful of air and pinched the bridge of his nose. Hard. Clearly his brother wasn’t ringing to compare notes about the bushfire. But he supposed this had to come sometime. “Well, hello to you too, Dylan. How’re they hanging?”
“Forget my bits, bro. You let me bang on about Hannie the other night, and all this time you never let on.”
“About what?”
“I didn’t believe it you know. Richo sent me this daft picture—”
Caleb turned to the magnetic “To Do” list on his fridge. Scrubbed off milk in number one place and wrote “Kill Richo!”
“B—but I didn’t believe it could be you, not in a million years.”
“Good thinking. You know what Richo’s like. Always making something out of nothing.”
“Nice try and I might have believed you once upon a time. Before I saw the story in the local paper today. The one with the heading, Firefighter Bares All for Charity”.
Jeezus! In the pressure cooker conditions of the last few days, he’d forgotten completely about the photo. After the blow up with Ava, it hadn’t seemed important any more. “Actually, no,” Caleb said, feeling tension building in his head. “I must have missed that.”
“You ought to get yourself a copy. It’s a keeper. Although I would have called it, Firefighter Bares Ass for Charity.”
“Ha-ha.”
“And don’t fret, I’ll be sure to pick one up for the folks just in case you forget to get one for Mum’s scrapbook. I’m sure she’ll be happy to show all her lady friends at the retirement village.”
Caleb growled. God, he hadn’t thought about his mother and all her cronies seeing it. “I never figured you to be so considerate. Anyway, thanks, bro. See you later.”
“Oh, before you go...”
“What?”
“When’s the happy day?”
“What happy day?”
His brother did a rendition of the wedding march over the phone. A really bad one. Caleb rubbed his brow, which was really starting to pound.
“There isn’t going to be one.” And most definitely not now.
“What? I got the impression from Richo that you and this artist are pretty tight.”
“You know I’m done with the ball and chain route. Once bitten, twice shy, and all that. Get it through your head, she’s a friend, that’s all.” Though now, not even that.
“A friend who paints you in the buff after what looks like it must have been some pretty hot sex.”
“So I’m a good actor.”
“Good thing, because you’re a shit liar.”
“Goodbye, Dylan.”
“Hey, don’t be like that. You’re my baby brother! I’m worried about you, that’s all.”
“I stopped being your baby brother when I beat you in that hundred metre race in year six, remember? So go worry about something else.” He killed the connection before his brother could further extend the inquisition and went and dug out his favourite road bike.
He wanted to push himself and feel the burn in his muscles from a gruelling hills ride, but the roads were still scarred and littered with debris from the fire, and besides, it would take him closer to the woman who didn’t want to see him, so he turned his road bike for the beach. Fast and furious would have to cut it.
He pushed himself hard, dodging parked cars and orange Metro buses as he pedalled hard down Magill Road towards the city, the cogs in his mind turning just as fast.
He’d
