CHAPTER ELEVEN

Ainsley

I stared at Drake. Oddly, my first thought on seeing that handsome face was that I was wearing my old faded tracksuit and scruffy old trainers. I felt my face flush with embarrassment.

“Drake,” I said. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

My heart fluttered. Just looking up at him I was suddenly flooded with memories of the memorable night we'd spent together yesterday. “I... what a surprise to see you here,” I murmured.

He nodded. “You can say that again.” He flashed a grin at me. “I'm just jogging,” he added, though that was self-evident from the running clothes.

“Me too,” I said shyly.

“I guessed.”

The silence stretched between us. The park was cool with evening. Here and there, people stood and chatted or jogged. A dog ran to greet another one, the noise of their barking spilling out across the sunset-bright lawns.

“Lots of people,” I said.

“Mm.”

I turned away a moment, not sure what to say next. On the one hand, I was really pleased to see him. On the other hand, I felt desperately uncomfortable. I hadn't made my mind up about him yet and I really wanted to confront him about his role with Steelcore. I just didn't feel like confronting anyone when I was wearing a stained t-shirt and faded Adidas bottoms.

“It's a good evening for a jog,” I said.

“Uh-huh.”

“You finished work early,” I commented.

“So did you.”

“Monday's my half-day,” I explained, stretching my other leg while I did so. I felt my calf-muscle pull – a combination of the day's tension and the early-evening cold – and focused on the sensation instead of thinking about what I should or shouldn't be saying to Drake.

“Oh. That's nice.”

I stopped stretching and looked up at Drake. “I wanted to ask you something,” I said candidly.

“Oh?” he frowned. Was it just me, or did he look nervous? Must be my imagination. Why would he be?

“It's about your work,” I said. “With Steelcore.”

“Oh.”

He looked at his hands and this time he really did look nervous. He held the fingers of his left hand with his right, stroking the skin in a nervous habit I remembered from eight years before, when he was waiting to go into an exam or give a seminar. I smiled.

“I'm not the police, Drake,” I said with a chuckle.

His eyes narrowed, to my surprise, and then he laughed too. “Well? Fire away,” he said with a watery grin.

I sighed. “I wanted to ask why. Why them? Why Steelcore, of all places? If you had to be a corporate lawyer, couldn't you have just, you know, worked for a better corporation? One without, you know, such a shady background?”

He closed his eyes. His hands stayed where they were, locked together, fingers intertwined nervously. When he looked up, he was quite pale. “Ainsley,” he said softly.

“Mm?”

“Would you mind if I don't answer that question? Not yet? It doesn't...it doesn't come with an easy answer.”

“Okay,” I said cautiously. “Now I'm really curious. But okay. You don't have to tell me. If you don't want to.”

He let out his breath in a long, wavering sigh. “Thanks,” he said. “I appreciate it.”

I frowned. What was this all about? I looked away over the parkland, distracting myself from my sudden worrying thoughts. Watched a woman walking a poodle over the lawn, its pom-pom tail wagging jauntily. The sight stilled my anxious mind. What was Drake doing at Steelcore? Why couldn't he tell me?

Is he ashamed of what he's doing there?

That seemed the most likely conclusion I could draw. Probably he'd had to draw up a dodgy contract or something. There was something, certainly, he'd been made to do that didn't make him proud. I couldn't hold him responsible for that. He was employed there. He did what he was told to do.

But why sign up for that in the first place? That was the not-understandable part. I sighed.

“You finished with your run?” I asked, shrugging a shoulder. Whatever this was, I was probably best out of it. I should walk away now while I still could.

“Just starting, actually,” he said with a grin.

“Oh.” I paused. “I guess I'll see you around, then.”

He looked disappointed. He didn't move.

“Ainsley?”

“Yeah?”

He reached out to take my hand. I let him. His fingers closed over mine and my heart ached. Oh, Drake, I thought sadly. I wish you weren't part of all this...other stuff. I wish we could just be like we were again.

“Can I ask you to promise me something?” Drake said, surprising me.

“Maybe,” I said curiously.

He grinned. “I can't say fairer than that, can I. Okay. I want you to promise that, whatever I do, you'll stay safe. Okay?”

I frowned. “Okay. But...Drake?”

“Mm?”

“What's this about? Why can't you tell me something? You can trust me, can't you?”

He gave a lopsided grin. “Maybe,” he said.

I was surprised by how hurt I felt at that. I tensed and he let go of my hand. “What's that mean?” I asked, swallowing the lump that had risen, unbidden, in my throat. “If you don't trust me, then what are you even talking to me for?”

“Ainsley...” he protested. He looked up at me with big, sad eyes.

I was mad at him now. It felt as if the eight years of being ignored and discounted, all that pain and sadness suddenly floated to the surface; unspoken words finally reaching my lips.

“No, dammit, Drake. I am not promising you anything,” I said loudly. “If you don't trust me and you can't even tell me something – like where you are going for eight years, or why you've changed so much now – then why should I confide anything in you? Why should I trust you? You betrayed me.”

I was crying, without even realizing I was doing it. I reached up a hand as my nose started running, messily, onto my chin. But the tears wouldn't stop. I turned away, shoulders shaking.

“Ainsley,” he whispered. A hand touched my shoulder. I shook it off angrily.

“Go away,” I said. I fished in my pocket, found a Kleenex, and blew my nose. “Just go, Drake.”

Why did I feel so weird? It was like a dam had burst inside me and I couldn't stop it. Couldn't stop the tears from coming out.

He sighed. He stood behind me for a while. I knew he was there because I hadn't heard him walk away yet. After a long moment, he turned and walked away. I heard his trainers crunching on the frost-crisp grass.

Good.

Only when I'd heard him go did I turn around again. I'd managed to get my tears to stop, then, though one or two passersby gave me sympathetic looks. I sighed. It's not as bad as it looks, I wanted to say. In truth, it was as bad as it looked. I was miserable.

I sat down on the bench, feeling totally drained. I looked around the park with little interest. Children were still playing – I could hear yells as they climbed from the monkey bars or swung on swings. Dogs were chasing each other round now, making jagged lines across the grass with their paw-prints; black etchings in the frost.

“Drake,” I sighed. “What is all this?”

I looked between the trees, trying to see if I could spot him on the path, but by then he was long gone, jogging out of my life.

It seemed a sad sort of symbol to me, those footsteps on the path, walking away. He had done that twice, now. The first time, when he'd gone away and left me no explanation, no rationale for not coming back. The second time, when he'd refused to let me into his life again. Always secrets! I sighed.

“At least something's stayed the same,” I told myself dully. He was consistently secretive, consistently unable to tell me the truth, or to open up.

I stood and spent a moment rubbing weary hands down my biceps, driving out the cold. I walked over to my car. No point in staying around – he wasn't going to come and explain himself to me.

The sad part was that despite it all – the mistrust and secrets, the lying – I still loved him. I couldn't help it.

I jogged the two blocks back to my apartment, my eyes hazed with the slow fall of tears.