Page 40 of The Reality of Us
“High?” Alice’s hands gripped the table like it was a life raft.
“I would strongly advise you against making unfounded, slanderous accusations about my client. We’re done here.” Owen clenched his jaws.
Phoenix stood and sauntered towards the door, a satisfied smile on his face. “I think we all know the truth; maybe it’s time everyone else did too.”
Dean followed without a goodbye or backwards glance. His own version of a power move.
Owen waited until the mediator had also left to close the door. He’d barely turned towards Alice before she erupted.
Alice twisted her hands in her hair, pulling out her braid. Her canary yellow sneakers were next to go, kicked across the room. “If Phoenix thinks …”
What? That he’d get away with this. Why wouldn’t he?
He always had.
She’d covered for him for so long. Her throat squeezed painfully. What was that saying? Something about the elephant in the room? Well, the one in here was sitting on her chest.
“I can’t … I can’t …”
If she didn’t give in, Phoenix would show everyone those photos and tell them she’d been high when she stripped off and posed for those stupid, sexy pictures. The truth wouldn’t matter. She slumped forward, crumpling like a house of cards.
This was it.
Rock bottom.
Alice blinked furiously, trying to clear her vision, but the carpet fibres blended into a big grey blob. Dizziness overwhelmed her.
“Here.” Owen guided her to the nearest chair, his hand cupping her elbow. He knelt in front of her, tipping her chin up until their gazes met. His touch was featherlight, gentle … so different from how firm she’d imagined he would be.
“It’s okay. You’re okay. Big, noisy breaths. Like me.” He overexaggerated his breathing, the deep navy of his tie pushing towards her before pulling away in time with his breaths. She tried to mimic his movements, but all the neural pathways from her brain were broken.
“You can do it,” he said. His calm demeanour smothered some of the clanging noises in her head. “Like me, Alice. In and out. In and out. That’s it.”
She slumped backwards, and he reached across the table for a glass of water.
“Someone once told me to focus on the things I could control when everything was spinning out of control.”
“I can’t control anything!” Great, halting breaths punctuated her words.
“Focus on the little details. One for each sense. What can you smell?”
She looked at him blankly. What the hell …
“I can smell coffee.” Owen nodded towards the cups on the table. “And I can feel my palms sweating.”
She opened her mouth, but words were impossible.
“I can see a spot on the wall where I stuffed up the painting.” He pointed to a section near the door. She squinted, her heart rate slowing marginally. There was a long smear in the brushwork above the skirting board.
“Do you want to try? What can you smell?”
She nodded, her throat bobbing as she swallowed. Her lashes fluttered closed, and she tried to block out all the noise in her mind. There was a hint of something crisp. Clean. “Citrus. Your cologne, maybe.”
Owen smiled, the biggest one he’d ever given her. Alice wanted to put it in her pocket, keep it forever. His eyes had softened, his mouth relaxing like it was something he did all the time. And maybe he did, but she’d certainly never seen him like this before.
“What am I going to do?” she whispered.
“All divorces are a fight, Alice. Some are just nicer than others. But Phoenix is always going to steamroll you unless you try to burn his shit down.”
