Just the Thought of You

© 2014 Brunne

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Okay, lovely readers -- some more of Stephanie and Jarod's story (chapter 2 of 3).

For those reading for the first time, you will want to go back and read:

* PART ONE - 'Under My Skin'

* PART TWO - 'Deep in the Heart of Me'

...otherwise not much of these chapters will make much sense!

For those of you who have waited all this time to read more and have kept me going with your encouragement - thank you. You are awesome.

x Brunne

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

STEPHANIE

The bustle and murmur of the other girls finishing off for the day shook me back to some awareness of the world outside my own head. Was it really time to go home already? I'd absorbed myself in anything mindless and tedious, and the time had started to flow around me instead of against me. The only sensation I had besides the empty-shell feeling was a flutter of relief. Another day gone. Another day's distance. A day survived.

The screen darkened as the computer shut down, and I gathered my things together with the slow movements of the truly weary. I mentally turned down the wine-glass option. It just made me feel worse and take inadvisable baths that got cold. Maybe I'd stop by the shops on the way home. Find something new to read. I longed for that deep-reading-oblivion, where I got to be in someone else's head. To go live in someone else's shoes for a little while, and not in mine.

I was so concentrated on mentally cataloguing the authors I'd look out for, I completely forgot where I was in the corridor. That I was passing the turn to his office.

"Stephanie."

Oh god. My heart kicked and began to pound, knocking the breath out of my chest. The thrill of my name being said by his voice burst through, bringing with it the painful prick of tears in my eyes. Why,

why

could he not leave me

be

? This was already so damned hard. Did he not know that? I whirled towards his voice, my anger coming to my rescue.

"What?"

He blinked at the sharpness of my tone.

"What do you want, Jarod?" I asked again, keeping my voice steadier this time. Civilised.

"I...will you come in?" He gestured towards his open office doorway.

Walk away, walk away

, but no. I followed the direction of his hand. I stepped through and into the sacred ground of his office, and heard the door click closed behind us. Only the desk lamp gave the room any light, and his presence behind me seemed to fill the entire space. Somehow this, his office, his inner sanctum, felt so much more intimate than his apartment had ever done. I wrapped my arms tightly around myself, hugging tight, and turned to face him.

"Aren't you worried about someone seeing us?"

Perhaps there was a little more acidity in my tone than I'd meant. He seemed to flinch a little under my gaze. Shaking his head, he seemed to come back to himself.

"I don't give a fuck what they think." He waited for my reaction to that, his hand still on the door handle, as if to hold me here.

"So?"

"So, come with me. This weekend."

There it was again. The beseeching. The edge of arrogance.

"Jarod, I can't, okay?" I pulled my arms tighter, holding back the lurch of need to change my mind.

"Why not? Why can't you? The other day - it was a mistake and I regret it. Every moment since, I've regretted it, Steph."

"There's no point. No sense in-"

"In what? In talking to each other?"

"What's there to talk about?"

He seemed lost for an answer to that. He turned and walked past me to his desk and back again, pacing. Just as I'd seen him before. As he'd done just before making declarations that had made my heart sing. Hand thrust into his hair, the same tortured look on his face. The deja-vu was making me dizzy. I reached out for the edge of the desk to steady myself.

"Are you okay?" He was at my side, alarm clear in his face.

"I'm fine," I said, trying to keep my breaths slow and steady and calm the racing of my heart. He was so close. Smelling-his-aftershave close. Dying-to-fall-into-his-arms close. I took a small step back from him.

"There's nothing to talk about," I half-whispered, my voice sounding small and insignificant.

"But Steph...I was an idiot, okay? I didn't want to face it. I don't know why I couldn't see it before."

I pressed my hand to my forehead. What was he saying? My mind just felt so muddled, and the room so close and airless. I just needed to get out...out.

"Steph, will you just listen to me..."

I slipped around him and reached for the door handle, but was pulled short. His hand gripped my wrist, fingers encircling, thumb sweeping in an slow arch over the back of my trembling hand. The tears welled in my eyes, the sobs rose with every breath in my aching chest.

I tugged my arm out of his grasp, pulled the door open, and fled down the corridor.

* * * * *

JAROD

So that was it then. He had his answer. She'd shut him out, utterly and completely. His hopes fell away into the darkness just as surely as the light had once engulfed him. The last feel of her soft skin against his fingers lingered there like a remembered kiss. She was gone.

He recalled the need to breathe, inhaling with a gasp that sounded loud in his ears. It caught on the painful lump in his chest, and he had to press the heels of his hands against his eyes. Crying like a lost schoolboy. Dammit. Shaking his head, he tried to clear his throat.

He turned to close the door and found Richard standing there, hands in pockets, regarding him intently. His stomach instantly plummeted. How much had he heard? How much had he seen?

"Richard! I didn't see you there. I-"

"Jarod," Richard said, gesturing in the direction of Jarod's desk. "Can I come in?"

"Sure, I mean-" he trailed off, moving to close the door behind the older man. When he turned again to face him, Richard was leaning back against his desk, regarding him sternly.

"Look, I can explain-"

"Jarod, I'm not here for explanations."

He stood staring at Richard for a few heartbeats before straightening. "I don't want this on her. I initiated it completely, and she-"

"Jarod." Richard was shaking his head. "You misunderstand me."

All he could do was stand there, allowing all the possible scenarios to race through his head. That she get fired for fraternisation. Or would it be him? There wasn't a strict policy, but why else would Richard be standing in his office looking so grave, right after walking into the middle of their heated conversation?

"How long have I known you, Jarod?"

Floored by the question, he had to turn his head away, struggling to think straight. He clutched at a number. "Seven years, sir? Eight, maybe?"

Richard nodded, eyes lowered as if weighing his words. "You've always been one of the steadiest. Cool in the face of a crisis and all that."

Jarod nodded and swallowed, bracing for whatever would come next.

"I've thought for some weeks that you've not been yourself. I thought it was stress. You said it was, remember?" Richard blinked a few times as if in thought, catching Jarod's gaze with his own.

"Angela tells me you and one of her girls..." he nodded in the direction Stephanie had fled and cleared his throat. "That Stephanie and you have been seeing each other?"

"Yes-"

"Well, I couldn't help overhear just now-"

"Richard, there's nothing to say," he protested, cutting Richard off. "It's over. You must have heard that."

"Yes, yes," Richard answered, shrugging. "These things can take time." He pulled a hand out of his pocket and pointed a finger at Jarod. "But I've never known you to be like this. And I know you've seen some women. Yes," he seemed to say to himself more than to Jarod. "Angela tells me you'd booked some days off?"

Jarod nodded, not trusting his voice.

"I suggest you go ahead. Take some time off. Clear your head."

"But-"

Richard waved a hand at him. "Oh, I don't mean like that. You're one of the good ones. I couldn't do without you. I just know a man at the end of his tether when I see one," he said, smiling wryly to himself. "Angela will keep an eye on her for you, don't worry. She'll be fine."

With that, the older man shuffled out of the office, granting Jarod a rare twitch of a smile before he closed the door behind him.

Jarod could only stare at the blank face of the door, stunned.

* * * * *

STEPHANIE

I was turning the keys in my front door by the time I remembered I'd planned to go to the shops. My head sank and my eyes closed. So much for making sure I had something to distract me from the hellish ache in my chest. Sort of like when you have a tooth extracted. That very particular combination of dull and sharp pain that makes your head fuzzy and every thought a grinding agony. I pushed on the door latch with my last bit of strength. When it swung closed behind me with a rattling clank, I just stood there, handbag trailing on the floor. The pain behind my eyes finally resolved itself into the slow seeping of tears.

I let my head fall back, gripped my hands into fists. The angry noise that came out of me was half groan, half growl. The anger gave me some strength back, and I used it to drag myself in slow, stomping steps up the stairs to my bedroom. How dare he make me feel like this? Why did I have to be the sensible, strong, rational one?

And what fucking game was he playing, dragging me...okay,

asking

me, into his damned office? I rubbed at my forehead again. It had all gotten a bit fuzzy then. What had he said? Did it even matter?

Something about having to talk. And I'd said...there was nothing to say.

I toppled onto the bed, rolling over onto my stomach, pillow dragged over my head. I pounded my fist once, with futility, against the mattress. It just hurt my hand. That was dumb. I forced myself to take deep, cleansing breaths, eyes half-closed in the dark of my pillow head-igloo. You'll be fine, Steph. You've gotten through worse, right?

It was no use. I turned onto my back, hugging the pillow to my chest. I let my eyes trace the familiar outline of the stain in the ceiling plaster from some long-forgotten plumbing crisis. My mind searched for patterns, sense, rational pictures. I sighed. It was just a grubby ceiling.

I closed my eyes, rolling the memories backwards in my mind, replaying what I could remember of our aborted conversation.

I don't know why I couldn't see it before.

That's what he'd said, right? See what? What could he now see?

I didn't want to face it.

Face what? Us?

It was some heartbeats later that I sat bolt upright. Oh god. Oh god god god. Was that what he'd been trying to tell me? My shoulders sagged. No, it couldn't be that. Could it?

I pushed myself off the bed and moved to the small window that looked out over the back gardens and into the trees of the neighbouring courtyard gardens. The wind had picked up, dark clouds scudding low along the ridge of dark trees. I took a moment and just concentrated on breathing.

No wonder I'd felt that deja-vu feeling. The first time he'd paced like that, agonising, wretched, he'd told me he cared about me. Cared. The very next day he'd retreated completely. Licking old wounds. Putting up old walls. Retracting the sensitive underbelly he'd dared expose. To me.

That's what he didn't want to face. Being hurt, and rejected. Just as I'd just rejected him. Steph, you fucking fool.

I let my forehead fall against the windowpane with a clunk. The cool of the glass felt good against the burning heat of my skin. And I should be embarrassed. I was such an idiot. All the things I'd wanted him to say. He'd been ready to say them. And I'd shut him down. Walked out on him.

It wasn't Jarod who was running away from his feelings. It was me.

* * * * *

When I finally moved from my window, my body was stiff from standing so long. But I'd sifted through it all. Traced all the threads back to their origins. Underneath it all was sheer exhaustion, but it settled down on me as a sort of heavy peacefulness.

What had started as some crazy game had, somewhere along the line, turned deadly serious. Was it possible that he loved me too? Was that what had caused him to retreat, just like I had? The pieces shifted, finding their places. He hadn't been with anyone for years. Those things he'd said about playing games. That was the talk of someone badly wounded, at some time, by someone. And every time I triggered it, I got the cold, aloof Jarod. Every time I reopened the wound, he stepped back.

But god. It was the warm, laughing Jarod I loved. That slow smile. The naked intensity in his eyes.

If he could push past all that garbage and still reach out to me, I owed it to him to at least face him. Even if I'd completely blown it. Broken his trust. He deserved my honesty at least. Then maybe I could move on, and so could he.

* * * * *

I woke, groggy, out of a deeper sleep than I could remember having for quite some time. The kind that takes you about five minutes to climb out of just to remember what day it was. Eventually, it bubbled up in my brain. Friday. The day we

would

have gone down to the cottage together. If I hadn't gone and fucked it all up.

I crawled heavily from beneath the warm comfort of my blankets. Everything in me wanted desperately to stay horizontal. Permanently, if possible. I sat on the edge of the bed hugging my knees. I would have to face him today. There was no way around it. I wasn't sure how I'd get him on his own, but I had to say something to him. I didn't know just yet what that would be. I'd apologise, at least. Salvage what was left, if there was anything.

* * * * *

The office seemed unusually quiet. No wonder. I'd been so distracted I'd gotten ready for work in record time and it was still early. He always seemed to be in before me. Maybe I could catch him before all the other desks filled up with nosey, curious busy-bodies.

I dropped my things at my desk and started my computer up, quickly surveying the area between me and his office. I was the first one in. The coast was clear.

I approached his door, my heart pounding in great thuds in my chest, blood roaring in my ears. I still didn't know what I was going to say. Something. Anything. The door was ajar. I knocked lightly, too lightly, and tried again, louder this time. Nothing. I pushed gently on the door and it swung inward.

Other than some files stacked on one end, his desk was immaculate, his chair pushed in. Computer screens dark. He wasn't here yet. My heart began to return to a normal rhythm, and the relief filtered slowly through me. I peeked into the hall to make sure no one was coming. The last thing I needed was for someone to see me snooping in his office. I slipped back towards my desk, but pulled up sharply when I spotted Angela at her desk, taking off her jacket. Shit.

I hung a right and headed for the kitchen instead. Nothing wrong with a person going to get a cup of tea, right?

* * * * *

I was practically getting whiplash from looking up and around from my desk every time my peripheral vision caught someone moving in the hallway. It was after ten in the morning, and still I hadn't seen him. Damn it, where was he? Here I was, ready to grovel and apologise and he was nowhere to be found. I couldn't shake the feeling that he'd pop out of nowhere right in front of my desk and frighten me half to death.

I gave my email in-box another futile glance. I wasn't able to concentrate on anything worth a damn. Maybe another cup of tea, and I could walk past, just to see if maybe he'd come in around the other way.

I clutched my empty mug, nerves fizzing in my stomach. I still hadn't a clue how to start, and just one look from him was usually enough to render me speechless in the first place. I started to feel decidedly more ill, the closer I got. Darting a look around me, I turned down the short corridor to his office once again.

The door was still as I'd left it. I pushed it open slowly just to confirm my sinking suspicion. Everything was still dark. He wasn't here.

"Are you looking for someone?"

I nearly jumped out of my skin, my nerves were that on edge. I spun towards the voice.

Angela stood, poised, a stack of post in her hand. I felt the blaze of heat creeping up my cheeks.

It took a few swallows before I got back my ability to speak. "I was just-...just needed to speak to..." I trailed off, mind racing, frantic. Oh god. What could I say?

"Jarod's on leave today," she said, pinning me to the spot with just the look in her eye.

"Oh," I nodded, shifting my weight from one foot to another, my embarrassment reaching excruciating heights. "Thanks."

She looked down at the letters in her hands, lacing her fingers together thoughtfully underneath them. When she spoke again, her voice was lower, and I had to strain to hear her.

"If I recall correctly, he said something about taking a few days. Staying at a cottage, I believe?"

I stood, silent, dumb, under her all-seeing gaze. All I could do was nod. And let the information trickle through into my struggling brain. He'd gone. He'd gone to the cottage anyway. I'd missed my chance. Disappointment pulled me downward, towards deep, muddy darkness.

I turned back to look into the empty stillness of his office, almost oblivious to the fact Angela still lingered at the doorway.

"Come see me at my desk in five minutes, will you?" she said, then turned in her brisk way and disappeared along the hall.

It wasn't a request. It was her commanding tone of voice, and not one to be ignored. Shit. Now I was in trouble as well. Fine. Great. Well done. I needed a new job anyway.

I spent the five minutes in a bathroom stall, going over in my mind what I could say in my defence. But my heart wasn't in it. It was far away on a grassy moor.

* * * * *

Shoulders straight, I told myself. Chin up. I approached Angela's desk. She was busy typing, so I hovered by one corner of the desk, trying not to look troublesome.

She swivelled in her chair with alarming quickness, her piercing gaze regarding me steadily over those damned glasses of hers.

"Here," she said.

It took me a few seconds to register that she was holding something out to me. I took it, staring at it blindly at first. I blinked. It was my holiday form. An entry for today and the following Monday, with her signature of authorisation glaring up at me from the page.

"There should still be plenty of trains heading to the West Country today if you're quick about it," was all she said before turning back to her computer.

But-"

She spared me one last look over her shoulder. "Stephanie, I am neither blind, nor stupid. Off you go."

* * * * *

I practically ran most of the way home, a print-out of the cottage details clutched in my hot little hand. Even in the bus I couldn't sit, but stood at the doors the whole way, willing the driver to go just a little bit faster.

What did I think I was doing? Just because Angela thought it was a good idea to send me on a wild goose chase didn't mean this was going to end well. He'd gone to the cottage anyway. Without me. The only thing that screamed out was that he wanted very much to be alone. That meant it was even worse than I previously thought. The further he retreated from me, the less likely it was that we could ever piece together what we could have had. What we could have felt. I fought the tears that stung and threatened to spill over. No, I had to have some hope. Even if he turned me out. Turned me from the door and I was stuck out in the middle of nowhere on a moor with the sheep and so much gorse.

My keys almost got stuck in the door, I was rushing so much. Come on, damn you! I wrestled them free and the door finally sprung open. What on earth was I going to bring? I wasn't ready for a weekend away. But then, it might not be a weekend. It might just be a really long return journey, with my broken heart tied up in a hankie in my pocket.