If You Can't Stand the Heat...

by Joss Wood

  Oh, God, how was she supposed to resist such a naked, emotion-saturated statement? But she had to. There was too much at stake.

  ‘It’s not enough for me, Jack. It really isn’t.’

  ‘Ellie—’

  Ellie held up her hand. ‘Wait, let me get this out.’ When she spoke again her voice was rich with emotion. ‘Over the past couple of weeks I’ve come to realise—you taught me!—that I’m worth making sacrifices for. I think you are worth making sacrifices for. But the reality is that you’re the one who would always be leaving. I can’t force you to change that, I can’t force you to need me, and I certainly can’t force you to love me. All I can be is a person who can be loved, and I am. I know that now. I want it all, Jack. Dammit, I deserve it all!’

  ‘You’re asking me to give up my career—’

  ‘I’ve never asked you to do that. I’m asking you to look at your life, to adjust it so that there is space for me in it. I’m asking you to make me a priority. I’m asking for some sort of commitment.’

  Jack’s voice was low and sad when he spoke again. ‘I need to be able to move, Ellie, breathe. I can’t live a humdrum life. I can’t be confined—even by you.’

  ‘It’s not good enough, Jack. Not any more.’ Ellie felt her heart rip out of her chest. ‘I can’t be with someone who thinks life with me would be humdrum, tedious, boring.’

  ‘I didn’t mean—’

  ‘Yes, you did!’ Ellie shouted, suddenly pushed beyond her limits. ‘You want to think that a life with me would be unexciting and dull because anything else would mean that you would have to get emotionally involved, take a stand, make a choice that could lead to pain. Don’t you think you’re taking this protecting-your-heart thing a bit too far? You’ve stopped living, Jack.’

  ‘Of course I’m living! What the hell do you think I’ve been doing for the past seventeen years?’ Jack roared, his eyes light with fury.

  ‘That’s not living—it’s reporting! Living is taking emotional chances, laughing, loving.’ Ellie shoved her hands into her hair. ‘I’m in love with you and I’m pretty sure that you’re the man I can see myself living the rest of my life with. Would you consider loving me, living with me, creating a family with me?’

  He stared at his feet, his arms tightly crossed. His body language didn’t inspire confidence.

  ‘This is emotional blackmail,’ Jack muttered eventually, and Ellie closed her eyes as his words kicked her in the heart. And here came the pain, roaring towards her with the force of a Sherman tank.

  ‘I’m sorry that you consider someone telling you that they adore you blackmail. Goodbye, Jack.’ Ellie turned away and folded her arms across her torso, gripping hard. ‘Lock the front door behind you, will you?’

  ‘Ellie—’

  Ellie whirled around, fury, misery and anger emanating from every pore. ‘What? What else is there to say, Jack? I love you, but you’re so damn scared of feeling anything that you won’t step out of that self-protecting cocoon you’ve wedged yourself into! Of the two of us, you are the bigger pansy-assed coward and I am done with this conversation. Just leave, Jack. Please. You’ve played basketball with my heart for long enough.’

  She heard him pick up his pack, jog down the stairs. From behind the curtain of the bay window Ellie watched him storm to his car, his broad shoulders tight and halfway up to his ears, his arms ending in clenched fists.

  I love you, she wanted to say. I love you so much it scares me. I wish you knew how to take a real chance, how to risk your very precious heart.

  But two sentences kept tumbling over and over in her head. Please don’t leave me. Please come back.

  But he didn’t stop, didn’t turn around. When she saw his car back down her driveway and watched the tail-lights disappear down the road and out of sight, Ellie sank to the floor and buried her face in her hands.

  It was over and she was alone. Again.

  TEN

  Five days after he’d left Cape Town Jack and his cameraman were standing next to a pile of rubble that had once been a primary school on the outskirts of Concepción, Chile. What had originally been a black car was buried under a pile of rocks. A massive earthquake had hit the region and Jack had been asked if he’d like to report on it. He hadn’t even left transit at Heathrow. He’d just caught the first flight he could to Chile.

  Behind them were mounds of bricks and twisted iron and the half-walls of the decimated school. Since the quake had struck early in the morning most of the children hadn’t arrived yet for lessons, but Jack knew from talking to the family members who stalked the site that there had been an early-morning staff meeting and there were still a few teachers unaccounted for. Their relatives were still digging through the rubble, slowly moving piles of bricks to find the bodies of their loved ones. Few held out any hope for their survival. The devastation was too widespread, too intense, for hope to survive for long.

  Jack rubbed his hands over his face as he prepared to link live to New York. He didn’t want to be here, he thought. He wanted to go home to that bright house with its eclectic art and two rambunctious dogs. He wanted to run with the dogs on the beach, stretch out on the leather couch, listen to the sea at night and the wind in the morning.

  He wanted Ellie.

  But Ellie would mean giving this up, Jack reminded himself. He couldn’t...this was what he did, what he was. He needed to work.... Jack blew out his breath. But was that just years of habit talking? He couldn’t avoid the truth...he needed her. As much as his work. More.

  Jack leaned back against a dusty car and lifted his head to the sunlight. He’d been seventy degrees of dim that last night in St James. He’d thought he was so strong, so in control. While she’d launched those emotional arrows at his soul he’d kept telling himself that it wouldn’t hurt, that he’d be fine. Now, five days and too much horror later, he felt as if he’d taken a series of punches to his stomach and heart. He was doubled over in pain.

  He was generally level-headed and unemotional, and in truth he’d never been a crier. He could count on one hand the amount of times he’d wept since he was a child. Even the bleakest times of his illness, the fear he’d felt when he’d had the transplant and the relief of being normal again had never reduced him to tears, but the fact that he’d lost Ellie had had him choking down grief more than once or twice. The early hours of the morning were the worst; that was when he felt as if his heart was being physically yanked from his chest.

  What was he going to do? Sacrifice his job for her? Sacrifice her for the job? Be bored with a normal life with Ellie in it or miserable with an action-packed existence without her?

  He didn’t know—couldn’t make a decision. All he was certain of was that he missed her, that his world had gone from bright colours to monochrome, that he was plodding through each day feeling adrift without his connection to her. He was fine physically. Mentally and emotionally he was a train wreck. He felt as if he’d been stripped of all his internal organs—heart included—that he was just a shell of a man, marking time.

  Ted, his cameraman, told him he was about to go live so Jack stood up straight and waited for the signal. He greeted the anchorwoman and launched into his report. Death, destruction, the cost of rebuilding people’s lives...

  Jack was midway through when a commotion from the decimated building behind him caught his attention. He knew that noise—it was an indication that someone had been found. Still live to New York, he bounded with Ted over the rubble to where a lone man, his face ravaged with grief, was furiously tossing bricks and stones off a pile. Jack recognised his look of terrible excitement, of despair-ravaged hope. He’d found someone he loved...

  Jack, forgetting that he was live on international TV, picked up his pace and scuttled across the rubble to where the man was sinking into a hole he’d dug. Jack saw a strand of long black hair flowing around a half-sheared brick and his heart stopped. He swallowed. It was exactly the shade of Ellie’s hair...

  The young man was sob
bing as he yanked debris away from her. ‘Mi esposa, mi esposa,’ he muttered frantically, tears streaming down his face.

  His wife. All he could see was his wife’s hair...

  Jack swallowed and jumped into the small hole with him, started to throw bricks, planks and stones away from where he imagined her head and body was. The problem was that her hair was so long—she could be lying in any direction.

  Minutes felt like hours and his back muscles and biceps were screaming in pain. His shirt was soaked onto his body but Jack refused to quit. There was no sound coming from the victim but Jack knew that didn’t mean she was dead. He refused to believe she was dead...

  What if this was Ellie? How would he be feeling? The thought kept hurtling through his brain. Desperate, out of control, terrified. He wouldn’t be able to live without her...

  Jack lifted a board up and away and there she lay, her beautiful face unmarked by the falling building. Her eyes were open, glassy, but Jack didn’t need to check her pulse to see that she was still alive. The hand lifting up towards the young man was a solid enough hint.

  Jack yelled at Ted to call for the medics and was surprised to see that Ted was still filming. Why wasn’t he helping them? Surely the woman was more important than the story? He felt sickened by Ted’s callousness, the fact that he could just observe and not participate, to report but not become involved.

  Then again, he couldn’t blame him either. Wasn’t that what he did, story after story, situation after situation?

  Jack caught the bottle of water someone threw down, cracked the seal and gently poured a tiny bit of water into the woman’s mouth. He didn’t want to lift her neck, he had no idea what injuries she had, and her legs were still pinned beneath the debris. Her husband had his face buried in his hands, sobbing uncontrollably.

  Jack gently dripped water from the bottle into her mouth and they waited. The young man was now talking to his wife, and Jack felt the lump in his throat grow as he watched them interact, listened to their conversation. It was blindingly obvious that they loved each other so much, that they were ecstatic to be given a second chance.

  All his life he’d avoided love, thinking that it equalled confinement. That he’d lose his freedom. That a love affair would hamper his individuality and compromise his independence. He now realised that, compared to losing Ellie, none of it meant a damn thing. His feelings for her scared him, but he knew he was a better man for loving her and that she was worth any emotional risk. He’d been so careful to control every aspect of his life and it was a revelation to discover that being out of control was the best feeling in the world. Being in love felt marvellous. He loved the way it made him feel...

  With her he’d found the place he most wanted to be—the home he’d thought he didn’t need. She was the one person, the one place, where he could be truly intimate and feel safe. Secure. Looked after. Loved. She had given him the gift of balance and stability and his throat swelled with emotion. He needed to get back to her...

  Jack wet the corner of his T-shirt and wiped the victim’s face. He saw relief and gratitude in her eyes.

  ‘Muchas gracias,’ she whispered between dry and swollen lips.

  Jack swallowed, nodded and ran his hand over his head as he heard the rescue workers and medics approaching. He sent her a quick smile and backed away, lifting himself out of the small area to allow for medical assistance.

  It was only as he walked away from them and Ted that he realised that his face and cheeks were wet with tears.

  * * *

  Across the world Ellie worked in her bakery, waiting for her staff to come in to work. Her heart was haemorrhaging, she decided, as a lone tear dripped off her chin and landed on the pale pink wedding cake beneath her. It had been nearly a week since Jack had left and she missed him with an intensity that astonished her. The memory of the night he’d left was on constant replay in her head, and she relived the moment of her heart ripping apart on a daily, hourly basis, causing pain to shoot through her system. There was no relief from the memories. Every room in the house made her think of Jack, and she hadn’t been able to eat at her kitchen table since he’d left.

  She wasn’t eating, wasn’t sleeping, wasn’t thinking. Her hands shook. She felt constantly cold. Ellie looked at the tiny tearstain on the cake and felt grateful she could cover it with a sugar rose. Idly she wondered if she should be making wedding cakes with a scorched heart. Wedding cakes should be made with love and hope, not with sadness and regret.

  Ellie looked up to see Merri in front of her, dressed in a bright pink apron. ‘Reporting for duty, ma’am.’

  Ellie just managed to smile. She’d totally forgotten her threat to fire her if she didn’t arrive for work, and now a part of her wished Merri hadn’t come back, so that she would be so busy she’d never have to think, feel, again.

  ‘It’s about time,’ Ellie muttered, and held out her arms for a hug.

  She stepped into her friend’s arms and hung on. After a while she stepped back, felt Merri’s hand between her shoulderblades and turned her head to look into her deeply concerned face.

  ‘You okay?’ Merri asked.

  ‘Jack left.’ Ellie shook her head and wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron. ‘I can’t seem to stop hurting. I think I’m okay, then it sneaks up on me and wham! Dammit—I’m dripping again.’

  ‘God, El, how long have you been like this? Why didn’t you call me?’

  Ellie winced, feeling the headache pounding between her eyes. ‘I couldn’t—can’t—talk about him.’ She bit her lip. ‘I feel like I’ve been eviscerated with a butter knife.’

  ‘Oh, sweetie. You’re fathoms deep in love with him.’

  Ellie nodded.

  Merri sat down on the chair next to Ellie’s table and sent her a sympathetic look. ‘I’m sorry you couldn’t make it work, but sometimes love just isn’t enough.’

  ‘It’s supposed to be,’ Ellie whispered.

  Merri’s voice was laced with regret and loss. ‘In books and movies. In real life...? Not so much.’

  Ellie stared past Merri’s head. ‘I’m worried about him. My imagination is in overdrive.’

  ‘Jack knows how to look after himself.’ Merri put her arms on the table. Her face was uncharacteristically serious. ‘Ellie, I’ve never seen you so unhinged. I’m worried about you.’

  ‘So is my mum.’ Ellie stared at her flour-dusted shoes. ‘She keeps telling me that I can’t live like this, that I have to do something about him...but what can I do? Nothing! He’s gone and he isn’t coming back.’

  ‘You need to try and relax. Get a decent night’s sleep and find a way to work through this.’

  ‘I’m trying—’

  ‘Try harder. If you carry on like this you’ll be on anti-depressants in a month, in a loony bin in three months.’

  ‘I know that I’m a mess.’ Ellie gripped the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. ‘I feel like I am marinating in pain.’ She flipped Merri a tiny smile. ‘Does that sound desperately melodramatic?’

  ‘Yes, but you’re entitled.’

  Merri draped an arm across her shoulder and they both looked down at the wedding cake. Merri tipped her head so that it touched Ellie’s. ‘Sweetie, I’ll be here to hold your hand every step of the way, to talk to you and to cry with you. But this cake...?’

  ‘What’s wrong with it?’

  Merri picked up a swatch of fabric off the table and held it against the cake. ‘Wrong shade of pink, honey.’

  * * *

  Jack shoved his hands into his coat pockets as he left the church where Brent’s memorial service had just ended. It was over, and yet he didn’t feel the relief he’d expected to. He’d delayed his return to Cape Town to be here but he wondered if he’d ever manage not to feel guilty for being alive. He needed to get to Ellie. She’d understand, help him work through this.

  Now he needed to avoid the Sandersons if he could. What could he say to them? He was sorry? He was...but it s
ounded stupid, seeing that he lived because Brent had died. There they all were—Mrs Sanderson hugging his mother by the gate, Mr Sanderson, his eyes pink from cold and tears, talking to his dad.

  He should say something. Anything... But he really just wanted to walk away. They couldn’t—wouldn’t—want to talk to him.

  Jack had made it halfway to his car when he heard his name being called.

  ‘Jack!’

  He felt the hand on his arm, turned and looked down into Brent’s mother’s elegant face. He winced internally.

  ‘Where are you rushing off to?’ she asked.

  Jack, guilt holding his heart in a vice grip, looked around for a means of escape. ‘Uh...’

  ‘I’m so glad you came. We’re so glad you came.’

  Oh, Lord, now Mr Sanderson had joined them. Any moment his parents would join the party and he’d be toast. Jack forced himself to put his hand out and shake Mr Sanderson’s hand. ‘Sir. It was a nice service.’

  ‘We’re very happy you made it, Jack. And call me David.’

  ‘I’m June.’

  Oh, this was getting to be fun. Not. Jack jammed his freezing hands back into his coat pockets and reluctantly nodded when David asked him if he’d take a short walk with them through the cemetery. Jack sent his mother a miserable look over his shoulder and followed Brent’s parents to Brent’s headstone. June dusted some snow off the face of the stone and rested her gloved hand on top.

  ‘We’ve wanted to talk to you for a while. We’ve been following your career,’ David said. ‘You’ve made quite a name for yourself.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You didn’t want to come today,’ June said. ‘You didn’t want to see us. Why not?’

  Jack looked at a point beyond her face. ‘I thought it would hurt you too much.’

  ‘And? Come on—spit it out,’ June coaxed.

  Her eyes encouraged him to be honest, and for a moment he felt as if he was seventeen again and terrified.