8:17 PM
Cam flicked the peep-hole shut. The State Trooper had been outside for the last four hours. Jon's friend had come through with that much protection at the very least. She didn't think she'd be able to physically accept any more blood on her hands. Todd Dufresne had died because he'd been smart enough to see through Lucas' lies. A complete stranger had tried to help her, and now he was dead because Lucas couldn't see reality.
And now that she'd defied him twice? She closed her eyes, pressing her forehead to the door. Helpless and hating it, she went back to her painting. Jon was on the phone again. Sometimes it was band business, sometimes it was Bruce and then finally, his family. The tone of his voice changed. The clipped businessman faded to a softer voice. Her chest burned as he talked to his children, and then to his wife. There was so much love inside that man. It was so often hidden under the cool facade he offered up to the world, but the minute he'd spoken to his children there was a lightness to him. A lightness that made her hate that he was here even more.
What was he thinking? He should be home with his babies, home with his wife. He shouldn't be messed up, yet again, in her situation. She felt the light tug of his fingers on her hair and his face in charcoal and newsprint blurred. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah, I just had to check in with the family."
"You should be home with your family, Jon. Or on tour, or doing whatever it is you do."
"I should be here, end of story." His voice had lost the cajoling and teasing tone. "My wife understands."
She dropped her chalk into the holder and turned around. "Really?" She crossed her arms. "Your wife understands that you're here with me? Well, isn't she the bigger woman?"
"Not really. She just knows this is something I have to do." He looked over her shoulder at the painting, then back to her. "You got some work in?"
Shrugging, she brushed off the worst of the charcoal on her pants and dropped onto her wide brown couch. "It's either work or strangle you. I prefer to keep things less violent under the circumstances."
He looked at the painting, his eyebrow quirking. "So, you just threw a storm behind my head."
Again, she shrugged. She couldn't stop the frenzy that his portrait had become. She preferred not to psychoanalyze herself. She'd had enough of shrinks thank you very much. "Art's subjective."
He sat down next to her. "I know you don't want me here, at least you tell me you don't--"
"I don't."
He sighed. "Look, Cam, I'm going to be here for the duration. We were heading into a break before the next leg of the tour and the kids are in school, so it wasn't like I was taking the family anywhere."
"No, you're just supposed to be with your family. The important part of your time off." She stood, heading into the kitchen for some coffee. It usually helped to calm her. The monotony and the smells eased her on anxious nights, but this was well beyond anxious. Between the idea of Lucas alive, and Jon back in her life again, she was about ready to scream her way over the cliffs. She couldn't deal with both of them, not again.
He followed her, his shoulder resting on the doorway. "Sure my family needs me, at least I'd like to think they do. But in all honesty, everyone has their own routine--they could give two shits if I'm around half the time."
"Aww, are you saying you're not valued at home, Jon? Really?" She slammed the coffee pot under the basket and flipped on the switch.
"No, I'm not saying that. I'm just saying they can do without me."
Watching the dripping dark liquid, she breathed in the scent of the dark roast and tried not to seethe. She didn't want him here, she didn't want to need anyone, she didn't want to be his pity responsibility. Again, came the tug on her hair. She flinched away from him, reaching for a mug to cover up the jumpy reactions. Longings that had been buried for so many years tugged at her, worked with the bubbling fears until she couldn't see her way through this undeniable mess. Splashing coffee into a palm sized mug she left him to make his own.
"Am I just supposed to chase you around the house?" he called after her. Instead of answering him, she took her mug into her room and slammed the door. She heard her television come on and the tinny sound of cheering. He'd found some sort of game. Fuck him, and fuck his help. She sipped the heavy coffee with the tang of dark chocolate and twisted the controls of her shower. What she really wanted to do was take a long walk outside, but it was pitch dark, so a shower would have to do.
She leaned on the heavy tile, letting the water beat on shoulders, her hair curtaining around her face until it was just the sound of the shower and her own thoughts. She didn't like anyone in her space, but this man? Absolutely not. And Lucas closing in on her again. Dead didn't mean anything evidently. Was he the next Michael Meyers or something? Just coming for her mindlessly? Crouching low into the corner of her shower, she lost a second round with the tears that had been coming all day.
She cried for the peace she'd finally found, for the woman she could have been, and for the man that wouldn't leave her--even now in her darkest hour.
A man that couldn't be hers.
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