Page 20 of The Game
After hearing the front door open and close a moment later, Alyssa hunkered down under the covers, seeking comfort within the cocoon she’d created, and cried more tears than she’d known she possessed.
Dean was right. She’d lied to him for her own selfish reasons. She’d hurt him, and as a result she’d lost his friendship. But as she drifted off to sleep, she wondered why it had hurt so much more to lose Dean after a matter of weeks than it had to watch Alastair walk away after six months.
Chapter 10
Dean pushed himself harder than he had in a long time. In the four days since Alyssa had ripped his heart out, he’d found that complete and utter physical exhaustion meant he had no mental energy to think about her or the lies she’d told. So he kept up the brutal pace now as he ran, eyes on the path ahead so he wouldn’t glimpse all the places along the shore where he’d spent time with Alyssa.
Kate had tried to talk to him before she’d flown back to Melbourne, but he’d been cruel and dismissive in his misery. Through some sixth sense, perhaps her womanly intuition, his sister had known he’d had a falling out with Alyssa. But he’d shut her out. He couldn’t talk about it, couldn’t face all he’d lost.
Almost at the grain terminal now, he turned around and kept going. He must have run five kilometres already, but he wasn’t yet tired enough to stop.
A thought hit him then, and he stumbled—actually stumbled. He quickly righted himself and ploughed ahead.
He’d always harboured so much resentment towards his father, thinking him weak and pathetic for seeking solace in the bottle. Alcohol had been his drug of choice to block out the pain he’d felt at being lied to and cheated on by the woman he’d loved. But was Dean’s handling of his own torment any different? Was he becoming addicted to physical exertion because it numbed his agony? Or was he pushing himself to excess as a punishment for falling in love, which he’d always vowed he’d never do.
He huffed out a savage laugh as he ran. It was a goddamn cruel twist of fate. He’d spent his whole adult life avoiding commitment, and the moment he’d made the decision to open his heart to someone, karma had reached in, grabbed it and ripped it from his chest.
I don’t want to be your friend, Alyssa.
The declaration echoed, over and over again, beating a rhythm in his head as his feet pounded the pavement. The memory of how he’d hurled the words at her, as if they’d burned his tongue like acid, had him running faster still. He’d spoken the truth. He didn’t want to be her friend. No. He wanted so much more than that. And he’d been close to having it too, only the opportunity had been taken from him. Alyssa had taken it from him.
But had she? Or had he thrown it away?
I don’t want to be your friend, Alyssa.
Before he knew it, he’d passed the strip of restaurants on the foreshore and decided to ditch the path in favour of running on the shoreline. Too late, he realised he was approaching the spot he and Alyssa had first run into each other, but he couldn’t avoid it. Fatigued, he dropped onto the sand and lay spread-eagled on his back, trying to catch his breath.
The sky was a vibrant blue, a smattering of wispy white clouds spread across it. It had looked much the same way the day they’d gone skydiving. He saw her, imagined her sitting in the doorway of the plane, her smile wide as she promised to kiss him once he’d landed. How she’d held him and told him she was proud. Despite Alyssa’s mistakes, shehadbeen a friend to him.
When his bottom lip trembled and his face crumpled, he put his head in his hands and let everything out, all the raw emotion. How could he move on from this? How did people who were brave enough to love cope when things didn’t go as planned? It hurt so damn much.
When he had nothing left to give, he sat, wiped his face with his shirt and, focusing on the water, let the sound of the waves wash over him. He put himself in Alyssa’s shoes, thought of everything she’d been facing. Yes, she’d lied—first by omission, then blatantly and boldly. He wished she hadn’t, but he could see that her lies had been misguided attempts to both live a normal life and to protect him.
And she’d apologised for hurting him. Not once had Dean known his mother to apologise to his father. No, Alyssa was not his mother, and if he’d been in her position, perhaps he’d have done the same thing.
He’d once told Alyssa that love wasn’t for him, that there were too many rules. Well, love had found him, whether he’d been looking for it or not, and wasn’t forgiveness one of the rules of love? He imagined never forgiving Alyssa, never seeing her again, and the pain he felt was palpable.
Despite everything, he didn’t want to lose her.
The thought sparked an ominous realisation. Even if he did forgive her, and ended up telling her how he felt about her, he might still lose her. She might even love him, too, might fight to stay with him, but at the end of the day, it could be her illness that drove them apart. She faced the greatest challenge of her life, and this was his shot to be there for her.
He stood, wanting to run to her despite his weariness. He’d tell her he understood why she’d lied. He’d tell her what she meant to him. And if she let him hold her, as a friend or more, then he would. And this time, he’d never let go.
Chapter 11
Alyssa stood at her bedroom window, eyes trained on the tiny triangle of sparkling blue just visible between the other houses. It was the most she’d seen of the ocean since she’d left the beach on Australia Day, since she’d told Dean she was heading back to Sydney.
Though she’d managed to get out of bed this morning, the first time since Dean’s fateful visit, she didn’t know if she was glad to be feeling more like herself, or whether she preferred the oblivion of exhaustion. At least when she was sleeping, she wasn’t haunted by visions of Dean’s pained expression, nor could she dwell on how much she missed him.
Catching a glimpse of the water brought back all the moments they’d spent together, yet she couldn’t look away. It was sweet torture, to recall his smile, his laugh, the teasing look he’d give her right before he kissed her.
God, she missed him so much!
But every time she yearned for him, she imagined him as she’d last seen him—the dejected slope of his shoulders, the pain in the creases and lines of his face, and the betrayal emanating from his eyes. It was enough to have her turning from the window. She didn’t deserve to remember the good times, not when Dean was out there somewhere, hurting because of the thoughtless and heartless way she’d treated him.
Her gaze travelled to her violin case sitting in the corner of her room. She hadn’t been able to play since she’d come home. Doing so would’ve only reminded her of how much she’d been forced to give up. But she knew, if she picked it up now, it would quell the chaos of her mind. Losing herself in the music would hopefully bring healing and clarity, and she could definitely use some of that right now.
She rose, crossed the room and grabbed her case. Now that she’d decided to play, her body itched with need. The need to create music, to be carried away on the notes she played.
