one’s going to promise you a ring before you even begin exploring who you are as a couple, George.’
His words cut deep. But she stayed strong. ‘You’ve ruled a commitment out right from the start. Why would I set myself up for that?’
‘Because of what we have?’
‘What do we have? Cracking chemistry? Intellectual compatibility?’ She started packing up her gear. ‘You’re either condemning me to still be waiting for you to throw me a bone when I’m eighty or a courteous breakup in two years when you tire of me. Either way I lose.’
‘You’re losing now.’
It wasn’t conceit. She absolutely was losing. ‘I’m cutting my losses.’
‘So that’s it? New improved Georgia wants all or nothing?’
‘No.’ She looked up at him. ‘I definitely want it all. But I’ll choose nothing if I have to.’
He stared, thinking. ‘Maybe I’ll change my mind?’
‘Really, Zander? Based on what? Give me some criteria for what will mean you can get over what happened to you in the past.’
His lips thinned.
‘Because otherwise you’re expecting me to just limp along hoping I’m being the kind of girlfriend that a man like you changes his mind for. That I’m saying the right things, doing the right things, wearing the right things. Dying a thousand deaths every time I find that maybe I’m not.’
‘George—’
‘I’m not negotiating, Zander, I’m explaining. I’m telling you why I’m choosing nothing, because everything is not on the cards with you.’
He hissed his displeasure.
She took a long breath. ‘I’ll come back for the Valentine’s show but you should have enough audio to carry you through Christmas and January. I’m done rediscovering myself. I’m done with classes.’
‘You still have twenty thousand left—’
‘You can keep the change.’
In more ways than one.
‘Wait...’ But he had nothing to say after that.
She took a breath. Took a chance. Exhausted from holding it in. And lying to herself. ‘I love you, Zander. I love your dedication to your sport, I love your hermit ways, I love your big, pointless garden, and the joy I saw on your face in Turkey. I want it all with you. What are you going to do about it?’
His eyes flared. He stared.
But said nothing.
Her heart crumpled inwards as if it were vacuum sealed. ‘And there we go.’
She picked up her bag and moved to the door. He stopped her with a hand on her arm. Gentle. Uncertain.
‘So that’s it? I’m not going to see you again?’
‘Isn’t that how you prefer your life? As empty as your house? Surely it must be easier to keep yourself from forming relationships that way.’ She curled her fingers around his. ‘This isn’t judgement, Zander. This is my choice.’
He stared, then dropped his eyes to her fingers as she used them to unclasp his from her arm.
‘Goodbye, Zander. Good luck.’
And then she walked out. Straight. Steady.
Just as an arrow through the heart should be.
February
There was only so much thermal a man could wear and still run comfortably. February meant he moved most of his outdoor exploits indoors. He hit the treadmill instead of the highways, and he did endless laps of his grand staircase and reacquainted himself with his friendly neighbourhood indoor-climbing facility in lieu of hiking.
It kept his event fitness up and his time occupied. In body if not in spirit.
‘Mr Rush,’ the guy belaying his stack said. He’d been coming here every winter for the last six years but still he was Mr Rush to them all. He’d never invited them to call him anything else.
It’s Zander...he imagined saying.
How hard could that be to say? Just a few short syllables. But the words were an overture for something else, something he wasn’t in a hurry to have. Acquaintances. God forbid, friends. You told a guy your Christian name one week and you were helping him move house the next.
Georgia had accused him of having a hundred ways of keeping her at an emotional distance. Maybe that kind of thinking was just one of them. Most people would be too polite to push past that kind of passive resistance. And only some people had what it took to sneak past it.
Georgia had it. Straight in under his skin. Between his ribs. Into his thoracic cavity where his heart hung out.
He’d never imagined that having all his time back just for himself would be such a burden. He’d whinged long and hard to Casey about Georgia’s endless classes, the impost on his time, and she’d tutted and said all the things a boss liked to hear—Yes, Mr Rush. I’ll see to it, Mr Rush—yet, somehow they’d snuck up on him and started to feel normal. So that when they were gone he felt...
Bereft.
As if a part of him were missing. Yet it was much bigger than the sum total of the hours he’d put in at class.
He smiled at his spotter as he finished fixing his rigging. ‘Thanks, Roger.’
See...Roger. How hard was that? But still he didn’t say it. Call me Zander.
He forced his mind off his bloody social skills and onto the stack ahead of him. Newcomers climbed the left—hard but civilised—regulars got the fierce alignment. A good brutal climb was definitely in order.
It worked for about six minutes. People thought the point of indoor climbing was to spider monkey up the fastest, like some kind of country-fair attraction. For a free stuffed elephant. To him, the point of indoor climbing was stamina and endurance. Taking it slow and making it hard. Making it hurt.
Pain had a way of putting everything else into perspective.
Except today. Today it wasn’t working.
Isn’t that how you prefer your life? she’d said. As empty as your house?
No, actually it wasn’t. He liked it quiet. He liked it predictable and undemanding. But he didn’t actually choose empty. Empty chose him. When you worked as hard and as long as he did, when you had the kind of responsibility the network had entrusted him with and the kind of income they offered, then there really wasn’t a lot of room for anything but empty.
Of
