He takes a step toward me, but I just shake my head. "Jane. Please. We have to talk."
I can't--I can't process it. I can't deal with it. Not the fact that he is at the heart of something I find so reprehensible. Not the fact that he kept it a secret. Not the fact that I thought I knew him better than anyone, and now my whole world is crashing down around me.
"Jane," he repeats. "Jane, please."
"No." It's the one word I can say. And when he takes another step toward me, I turn and race up the stairs.
I'm breathing hard when I get to my car, gulping in air as I struggle to get the key into the ignition. I shouldn't drive--I'm crying too hard--but I take off anyway and then park on the shoulder in front of a neighbor's house until I can get my shit together.
Or, at least, together enough so that I can drive without killing myself.
I don't know how long I sit there, half-expecting Dallas to pull up behind me. He doesn't, and I can't help but laugh at the irony. He knows me well, after all. And that means he knows I need to be alone right now. Or, at least, I need to not be with him.
The truth is that I don't want to be alone, and as I head back to the city, I dial Brody. But I only get his voicemail, and the message I leave is garbled because the moment I try to speak I burst into tears again.
I'm such a fucking mess.
I'm exhausted by the time I reach the townhouse. Too little sleep, too much adrenaline, and now I've crashed and burned.
I stumble into the house, grateful for the exhaustion. Maybe I'll just pass out. Maybe I'll sleep without nightmares.
Maybe I'll wake up and the world will be sane again, and I'll realize that this is the nightmare.
I head into the kitchen to get a glass of wine to take to bed with me, and let out a shriek when I see both Brody and Stacey sitting at my breakfast table.
"What the hell?" I demand, as Brody leaps to his feet and comes to my side.
"Are you okay? I tried to call you back, but it just went to voicemail."
I shake my head, confused, and realize I must have turned my phone to silent. I glance at it quickly, half-expecting to see a missed call from Dallas. But there isn't one, and I'm not sure if I'm relieved or disappointed.
"Dammit, Jane, I was worried. What happened?"
"Dallas," I say. "I think--I think it may be over just when it's finally begun."
Just saying those words--those horrible words--makes me queasy. I slide into one of the chairs at the table as Stacey rises. There's an open bottle of wine on the counter--and they each already have a glass. She brings a fresh glass and pours it for me. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asks gently.
I shake my head. "Actually, yes. But I can't. It's--it's hard. It's personal." I can't tell them about Deliverance. Despite the fact that Deliverance represents something I abhor, I can't share that secret.
My eyes flick to Brody, who looks confused. He knows damn well that between the two of us, very little is too personal.
"Was it the room? Did it freak him out?"
"No. Yes. No," I decide. "That just triggered it. There are issues. Things in his past. Things that are his to share, you know. But--"
"But it's coming between you," Stacey says. "Fair enough."
I take a sip of wine, so grateful my friends are here even though I can't really tell them what's going on.
"Can you work through it?" Brody asks.
"I don't know," I say honestly. How the hell do you work through such a fundamental difference?
"Bullshit," Stacey says, her voice mild, but her expression fierce.
"Excuse me?" Despite everything, I'm amused. That is not a Stacey-like response.
"If Dallas were to die tomorrow, would you regret every single day that the two of you stayed apart for whatever the hell reason there is?"