Page 47 of The Player (Close Quarters 5)

But I can’t stop now, even though I know I’m so close to the edge that falling is only a matter of time.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Rowan

Three weeks later...

EMERYANDIhave found a rhythm. One night at my place, then one at hers. We separate in the morning, with lingering kisses and grasping hands. Our workdays feel long and the highlight is coming home, to one another. I’m skipping important parties and dinners, shirking the networking, business development, client-wooing part of my job.

People are starting to wonder what’s happened to me. I’m different. Lacking in focus. My drive for my business is evaporating in front of my eyes.

It’s causing problems.

“Last night was...” I shake my head. “Honestly, I was stunned.”

Dom and I sit around a table at the café a few doors down from the gallery. They have a cute little courtyard out the back with small round tables and metal chairs. The floor is littered with yellow blossoms from one of the trees hanging overhead.

I cradle my cappuccino. “It was by far the lowest turnout we’ve ever had.”

The artist showing had been pissed. He wasn’t a huge name, but he was up-and-coming and we’d convinced him that our gallery was the perfect place to showcase his latest series. But you could have rolled a tumbleweed through the opening last night. I’d called up one of the private curators this morning and got the distinct impression that another gallery had been luring him away while I’ve been distracted by Emery these past few weeks.

Dom watches me, his big hands dwarfing the cup containing his macchiato. He’s quiet, like always, contemplative. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, I’ve been...busy. Mum’s show is taking up all my energy.” It’s next week. During my workdays, all cylinders are firing. But at night...

“It’s not that.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “You do this show every year and every year it’s stressful. This isn’t any different.”

“I don’t normally have Dad hounding me every week with his complaints. Not to this level, anyway.” I sigh and lean back in my chair. He’s started calling all the time, wanting to talk. Wanting to rebuild our relationship. Wanting to do all the things I’d hoped for as a little kid...and gave up on a long time ago. “It’s exhausting.”

“It’s only exhausting because you keep brushing him off,” Dom replies with a frown.

Of course, my soft-hearted brother is giving the old man the sympathy he wants. That’s Dom in a nutshell. He is always ready to please the people around him, always ready with an ear and a smile.

“It’s not his fault Mum died.”

I freeze at Dom’s words. We’ve never spoken about this—about the resentment I’ve harboured against my father for the last five years, letting it grow like weeds in a field, killing everything good and beautiful in its wake.

“I didn’t say that,” I reply.

“But you thought it. You blame him.” Dom nails me with the kind of unwavering stare that only someone who knows you deeply can give. “You hold him responsible and you keep him at a distance because of it.”

“It was an accident,” I croak the words out. But I can’t deny Dom’s statement; Idoblame him in some ways. “One that could have been avoided.”

“Don’t you think he blames himself? The man has been living like a recluse for the last five years because he can’t bear the thought of us holding him responsible.” Dom rakes a hand through his hair.

“He’s always been a hermit. That happenedbeforeshe died. It was part of his ‘creative process’ as he used to put it. Like seeing any of us would ruin the spark he had for his work.” I can’t help the way my lip curls at the memory. “He never wanted us around.”

“People change. In the face of something awful happening, it’s possible for priorities to shift,” Dom replies. “That’swhy he wants an invitation to the gallery. Not because he needs one to enter the building. He wants to know he’s welcome.”

I stare at my brother. “Why should I forgive him simply because he’s decided it’s time to rebuild the relationship?”

“Are you going to hold that grudge forever? I know that’s not you,” Dom says, reading me like a book. “Trust me, I get it. I was there before I met Glen. Angry, resentful.”

“I don’t need love to save me.” I hold up my hand. “No offence.”

“No, you don’t need love to save you. You need love to point out why you’re going down the wrong path.” Dom frowns. “You need something to be passionate about. To care about. Whether that’s a person or something else, it doesn’t matter. But right now you don’t care about anything.”

“That’s not true, I care about the show.”

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