Just My Luck (Escape to New Zealand #5)
Page 34
She was surprised to find Mac at the gym when she showed up. He usually didn’t come in until ten or so. She murmured a hello, went to stash her gear behind the counter where he was standing.
“Need to have a chat with you,” he said. “My office.”
Oh, boy. Ally followed him into the tiny space, moved a few file folders off the straight chair, and sat down as he seated himself at the metal desk opposite. Maybe he was giving her a raise. Yeah, right. He wasn’t giving her a raise.
Mac cleared his throat, reached for an envelope sitting next to his computer. “I wanted to tell you that I’m letting you go.”
“You know,” he hurried on at her look of shock, “it’s winter, and there just isn’t enough work to go round.”
“I’ve been here the longest, though,” she got out. “And I’m the most reliable. I’ve never missed a shift. I’ve never even been late. And you need a woman on staff.”
“Think I know what I need better than you do,” he said curtly. He handed the envelope across, and she found herself taking it. “Here’s your final statement. Your pay’s already been transferred into your account.”
“This has to do with those photos,” she realized. “Doesn’t it?”
“Nah,” he said, shifting a little in his seat. “Like I said. Staffing.”
“It does,” she insisted. “It totally does. Those pictures were taken without my consent. I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m the victim here. I know who posted them, and he did it either to embarrass me, or more likely, to embarrass Nate.”
“But it doesn’t matter anyway,” she went on, and hated the pleading tone in her voice, “because Nate and I broke up. So this is a nine days’ wonder, that’s all.”
“This isn’t open for discussion,” Mac said. He stood, gestured for her to stand as well. Ally obeyed, found herself moving to the door. Mac reached for her bag under the counter, handed it to her. And in another minute, she was standing outside the gym. Fired.
Darkness had filled her bedroom by the time she heard Kristen’s key in the lock. She thought for a fleeting moment about getting out of bed, then abandoned the idea. It just seemed way too hard. She registered the sound of Kristen moving around the flat, managed to turn her head when she heard the tentative “Ally?” from the doorway.
“You OK?” Kristen asked with concern, coming across the room to perch on the edge of the bed beside her. Laying the back of her hand across Ally’s forehead. “Are you sick? No wonder, you poor thing.”
Ally closed her eyes and swallowed against the lump in her throat. She’d thought she’d done all the crying a human possibly could, but it seemed she was wrong. She felt the ticklish tears inching into her hair, dripping into her ears. “I got fired,” she got out.
“Fired?” Kristen asked incredulously. “When? Today? Because of the . . . the thing?”
Ally nodded, tried to stop the tears. “As soon as I got in. I’ve never been . . . I’ve never been fired. And it hurts so much.”
“Oh, Ally,” Kristen said, and the sympathy in her voice just made Ally cry harder. Kristen reached for her, pulled her up against her, and Ally let it all go yet again.
She’d walked back home, still numb, and booted up her laptop. Had spent hours unable to keep herself from endlessly refreshing, morbidly fascinated as the hits increased. Reading the blog posts and comments, many of them vindictively pleased and downright vicious. “Skanky” was particularly favored, she’d found. She hadn’t realized how unpopular the new All Black captain’s association with yet another North American would be in certain quarters, but she sure knew now.
The pain of knowing that she was adding to Nate’s burdens made her feel even worse. The posts that talked about his poor judgment, blamed the team’s losses on his lack of focus. She’d longed with an overwhelming ferocity to respond, to defend Nate, to defend herself, to explain. Had had to force her fingers away from the keys to keep herself from doing it, because she was pretty sure that would only make things worse.
And then there was the rage at Devon, boiling over at intervals throughout the day like lava, red-hot and corrosive. And, to a lesser extent, at Mac. So much anger, and nothing to do with it, no place for it to go. She’d found herself wanting to call her mother, to crawl into the security of her love and concern, but the thought of her parents seeing those pictures, how horrified and disappointed they would be . . . No, that hadn’t been an option.
“How could Devon do that?” she asked Kristen when she could speak again, taking the handful of Kleenex she offered and doing her best to mop up. “What did I ever do to him?”
“Some people are just angry,” Kristen said, stroking Ally’s hair, smoothing it back from her tear-streaked face. “Everything’s somebody else’s fault. And I think Devon’s one of them. But it’ll be OK,” she soothed. “This’ll blow over, and you’ll get another job. Everything will be OK.”
“Oh,” she remembered. “I need to show you something.” She left the room, came back with her purse, pulled out her mobile. “A text for you from Liam.”
Ally took the phone from her, did her best to focus on the tiny characters.
Tell Ally: Kia kaha.
“It means, be strong,” Kristen said.
“I know. That was sweet of him. But, Kristen, if he sent you that . . . It means Nate probably knows too.” Which was the thought that had hurt most of all today, even more than being fired. Even more than the prospect of looking for another job, knowing that anywhere she applied, they’d know about this. If not as soon as they saw her name, at least as soon as they did a computer search for it.
But none of that was the worst. The worst was envisioning Nate going online and seeing her like that. Her mind shied away yet again from the thought. “Have you talked to Liam?” she asked Kristen instead.
“Not yet. We have a call scheduled for late tonight. So hard with the time difference.”
“I heard from Robbo.” Ally pulled herself up against the pillows and battled to shake off some of the cloud of misery that had enshrouded her all day. “He texted me, wants to meet me for lunch tomorrow. I probably shouldn’t, though,” she realized. “I need to save my money.”
She’d turned her phone off, she remembered. Reached under the pillow for it and checked. A string of voicemail messages that she wouldn’t be answering, the reason she’d turned the phone off in the first place. Journalists from both New Zealand and Australia, wanting her reaction. A text from Lachlan saying how upset everyone at the gym had been at the news, which was nice of him. And one from Nate.
I heard. Phone you as soon as I can.
Well, that was one conversation she definitely wasn’t having. Call her a coward, but she just couldn’t do it. She texted quickly back.
Sorry about it. Don’t call me. Good luck on Sat.
“Don’t tell Liam I lost my job,” she begged Kristen. “I don’t want Nate to know.”
“Ally . . .”
“Please. Promise me. It would upset him, I know, and what’s the point? All this is going to be hard enough on him, and it’s not like there’s anything he can do about it. At least don’t tell Liam until they’re back here. I mean, obviously it won’t be a secret at that point. Please? Wait till then?”
“OK,” Kristen said reluctantly.
“Thanks,” Ally sighed. “And that’s all the nobility I’ve got. Maybe by tomorrow,” she said, the tears closing her throat again, “I’ll be able to think of some alternative to just lying down and dying, you think?”
“Oh, sweetie,” Kristen said. “I know you will.”
Finding Ally
Nate tried ringing Ally again as soon as the plane landed. No voicemail greeting this time. Instead, a recording telling him that her number was no longer in service. Had she changed it, then? He shuddered to think of her humiliation, the harassment she must have undergone. He had a publicist who could say “no comment”—and had—but Ally didn’t have anybody. She certainly hadn’t had him.
At first, when Mako had broken the news, Nate hadn’t believed it. He’d been pretty gutted anyway, he’d had to admit, the entire time he’d been gone. Well, to be honest, before then too. Ever since Ally had left. Ever since she’d run away from him.
He’d thought about chasing her, that night. Had actually pulled over, got out of the car. Then stopped himself. What was he going to do when he caught her? Carry her back, fighting all the way, force her into the car? Kidnap her? She’d broken up with him. It was killing him to think about her running all the way home, barefoot and cold, this late at night. But it was his own bloody fault. He’d stuffed up with her about as badly as it was possible to do. Again.
And then there’d been all the time since. Each long evening stretching ahead of him, nothing but work to fill it. That’s what he’d thought he wanted, so why did it feel so . . . empty?
He’d never been lonely before this year, but it was different now. Now he kept finding himself wishing he could text Ally, could see the cheerful, saucy replies that always made him smile, gave him a little lift. That he had her funny, sweet emails to read at night, before he went to sleep. That he could phone her, no matter how inconvenient the time differences were, hear her voice, just have a chat. He hadn’t realized how much he’d come to count on that simple contact, but he had. He definitely had, and it had made him begin to wonder if he’d made a mistake after all. Especially when he remembered her face. How devastated she’d been. How she’d cried. How she’d run. Every time he thought about it—and he thought about it much too often—he ached.
He’d tried to set it aside as something to think about later, once the two tough matches were behind him. Had gone through the motions of the various outings and PR moments, called on his considerable willpower to focus on the training sessions, the game plan. But when Mako had showed him those photos on Thursday night in the hotel, forced at last to do it when nothing less would convince him . . . there was no amount of discipline in the world that could’ve helped him, those next few hours.
“Sorry, mate,” Mako had apologized. “I wouldn’t have told you at all, not till after the match, but I was afraid somebody else would mention it, specially some journo, and you wouldn’t be prepared. And the other boys . . . some of them will’ve heard. Well, to be honest, probably all of them. Thought it was better to let you know now, give you some time to process.”
Nate had texted Ally that night, seen her text in return the next morning. Had tried to phone all the same, and got her voicemail. Had left a message that she hadn’t answered. Mako had told him she wasn’t doing too badly, and that had helped a little, but not much. Going out for the Captain’s Run on Friday, preparing for the game the next day had been the greatest test of his self-discipline he’d ever faced.
He’d done it, in the end. Had compartmentalized with everything he had, channeled all his anger into his performance, tackled with a ferocity to match the Pumas’ own, and somehow, probably through his teammates’ efforts rather than his own, come out with the win. And afterwards, had been so shattered that he’d barely managed the postgame interviews, the journey back to the hotel.
It hadn’t been until he was on the plane again that it had all really hit him. When there was no game to prepare for, no distraction from the anger and the pain. And the concern for Ally, so strong now that he could barely hold still, let alone sleep off the post-match aches and fatigue as most of his teammates were doing.
He’d slept, finally, hadn’t been able to deny his body the rest it needed. But his dreams had been chaotic and troubled, and he’d woken still heavy-eyed and unrefreshed, had gone through VIP Customs in Auckland like a zombie, operating on remote, his responses automatic. Had sat in the Koru Lounge in the Auckland Airport drinking one coffee after another, trying to wake himself up. By the time the attendant had told the four of them that the rest of the aircraft to Wellington was loaded and they could board, he’d been some kind of bizarre mixture of fatigue and jitters. And now he was home.
He still hadn’t showered, hadn’t changed out of the clothes he’d been wearing now for—what?—nearly twenty-four hours. His body was heavy, aching with fatigue from the restless flights, the residue of the match. But he couldn’t waste any more time. He needed to find Ally. So he trotted down the steps, back into the garage. Climbed into his car, and headed to her flat.
He stood for minutes in front of the building, ringing the bell. At first he’d thought she was ignoring it. But after the tenth or twelfth time, he had to concede that she must not be home.
At work, he realized, could have smacked his forehead at the dullness of his thought processes. Of course. It was the middle of the afternoon, and she was at work.
Back in the car, down to the CBD. The frustrating circling to find a spot in a carpark, then jogging to the waterfront, along to the familiar door. Ally’s photo wasn’t on the notice board anymore, he realized. Why was that? Mac taking it down because of all the publicity? He was just as glad. He hated to think of blokes coming in here to have a squiz at her, after seeing . . . that.
He stepped inside, looked around. Couldn’t see her, but maybe she was in the back. He noticed Mac at the front desk, saw the smile of recognition, and went to meet him.
“Good to see you, mate,” Mac said. “Didn’t realize you were back. Congrats on the win. Pretty convincing. Good to see the squad fizzing again. You had a good game, too.”
Nate brushed the greeting aside. “Ally here?” he asked, not caring if he sounded abrupt. And saw the shift in the other man’s eyes, the way he looked down at the papers on the desk, lifted a binder and put it down again.
“Nah,” Mac said. “Not working here anymore, mate.”
“Since when?” Nate demanded.
“Been a few days now.”
“Where did she go, then?” Nate pressed. “Another job? What?”
Mac shrugged. “Can’t help you, I’m afraid.” And, Nate saw, he really couldn’t. He turned in frustration, headed for the door again.
“Nate.” He heard the low voice, turned to see Robbo, sorting out harnesses.
“Looking for Ally?” Robbo asked, not looking up, his hands still busy.
“Yeh. Know where she is?”
The young Australian shook his head. “Got the sack,” he said economically. “Himself,” he said with a jerk of his head toward the counter, “thought she was hurting the gym’s image. And since he knew you’d broken up with her . . .” He shrugged. “Said she was a liability.”
Nate felt sick. Everything seemed to catch up to him. His part in all this, his responsibility for it weighed him down like a 115-kilo prop lying on top of him in the breakdown. And he couldn’t shove it off again.
“Cheers,” he said blankly to Robbo. Headed for his car again.
Kristen, he thought. Kristen would know where she was. Bound to. Ally might have taken refuge with Hannah and Drew, he thought suddenly. That would have been like them, to offer her a place. Yeh, that could be it. He just had to find Kristen and ask her. And then go after Ally.
“What d’you mean, you don’t know?” he asked in frustration half an hour later.
He’d leaned on Mako’s doorbell till he had finally answered, wearing nothing but a pair of pajama bottoms and appearing as menacing as only an enraged Maori could, short on sleep and interrupted in the middle of making up for lost time with his fiancée. If Mako hadn’t been his best mate, Nate would actually have been a bit scared. As it was, Mako had finally taken pity on him, allowed him in as far as the lounge, then disappeared to get Kristen, who was sitting on the couch now beside Mako in her dressing gown, hair disheveled a
nd looking a bit worried herself.
“I mean I don’t know,” she repeated. “I’m sorry, Nate. She got fired from her job, and she was in pretty bad shape. I tried to get her to stay here, in the flat I mean, in Wellington, because I didn’t like the way she looked, but she said no. Then I suggested that she go up and stay at Hannah and Drew’s bach for a week or two, give her some time to decide what to do. Hannah offered,” she explained, giving Nate another stab of guilt to go with the arrows that were piercing him everywhere now. “But she said she had to go. That there was nothing left for her here. That it was just too hard.”
“So she flew back home,” Nate said. “Home where? To Calgary?”
“No,” Kristen said. “To San Francisco. The Bay Area, where she was living before. She thought she could get a job there.”
“But where’s she staying?” Nate pressed.
“I don’t know,” Kristen insisted.
“Don’t know?” Nate barked. “Or won’t tell me? I need to know. Tell me.”
“I—” Kristen started to say, but Mako was there first.
“She doesn’t know.” He had risen to stand in front of Kristen, was glaring down at Nate. “Talk to her like that again and you’re out of my house.”
His voice wasn’t any louder than usual, but the look on his face couldn’t have been clearer.
“Sorry,” Nate said, raising his palms. “Sorry. I’m just—I don’t know where I am. I don’t know what to think.”
And that’s when it hit him, like the hardest blow to the chest he’d ever received. It literally took his breath away. He was in love with Ally. He wasn’t just concerned about her, or feeling guilty that this had happened to her, or even feeling empty and forlorn, as he had before, because he’d had an awesome girlfriend and now he didn’t. No, he felt like shit because he loved her, and he needed her, and he’d thrown her away. And she was hurting now, paying the price for being involved with him, and he couldn’t see how to fix it. And he was afraid he’d never get her back.