Read Online Emily's Cowboy by Donna Gallagher - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Donna Gallagher
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landscape. But for Emily—inside Emily—the fire still burnt strong.
He needed space, needed to get away from her before it was too late, if that moment had not already sailed past. He pushed her away with hands that had been roughly gripping her, shaking her as his fury built and his words flew at her like barbs. He couldn’t stand the pain of it anymore. The futility of loving her. It wasn’t enough…she would never let it be enough.
Gareth grabbed the first clothing he saw—tracksuit pants, runners and a shirt—and dressed on the run as he fled his room, with just enough presence of mind to pick up his keys as he raced out of the door. Down the stairs he ran until he was in his car, heading he didn’t know where, just away. He had just destroyed his life. He cried no tears. He felt nothing. Hollow, empty. Directionless.
Then the pain hit, sledgehammer-hard, right in the guts, followed by soul-wrenching sorrow and frustration, anger and finally regret. The full gamut of emotions bombarded him as he struggled to survive the onslaught. He’d known it was coming, had had to be away from Emily before it hit, thus his speedy escape. He did not want her to share this with him. If she could push him away, he could do it to her in return.
“What the fuck have you done?” he screamed, banging his fists on the steering wheel. “What the fuck have you done?”
It took a few minutes, parked safely beside the road, for Gareth to calm down enough to continue driving, and he headed for the only place he had left. He headed to the Jets’ training ground, to the gym, hoping that maybe if he worked out until his body was in physical pain, it would outweigh the emotional agony ripping him apart.
Chapter Ten
Emily had waited for Gareth to return for hours, but he hadn’t appeared. At first she had been furious with him, at the way he had spoken to her, accusing her of just feeling sorry for herself, making light of the terrible scars on her as if they didn’t matter, as if she could just forget that they were there. But then his other words began to rattle around her head, the descriptions of the children, and Emily began to see. Began to realise that he was right—she was hiding. The fire that had failed in its attempt to kill her with flames was close to victory nonetheless, because of her own actions.
She had stared at her reflection, using Gareth’s mirror—stared at it for a long time. It was bad, ugly, but not quite the grotesque vision she had let herself believe. Turning to view her profile one way, Emily could not see any disfigurement at all, no trace of the fire’s wrath. She spun around to view the damaged side of her face and neck. Yes, it was damaged, but it was still her face under the scar tissue—still Emily. Gareth’s Emily. He hadn’t been repulsed by the sight of her—that had been her own reaction. If he could still love her, what more was there? Why did anyone else’s reaction matter? Emily groaned as the full impact of her actions over the last few years sank in. She had been an idiot.
“I have to get him back, have to prove to him how much I love him, how much I want us, all the plans we made…the dreams. I have to show him they’re possible,” Emily sternly told her reflection, not allowing her damaged side to contradict her. She refused to acknowledge that warning voice in her mind that whispered, If it’s not too late already.
Emily dressed, called a taxi to collect her and left Gareth’s home. She visited with her father, relieved to find him resting comfortably. Self-pity and anger were not consuming his every thought. Mac was too busy being happy and thankful that he was alive and relatively in one piece.
They talked long into the afternoon and early evening. Emily told her father how she had pushed Gareth away and why. She admitted she still loved him and feared she had finally pushed one too many times and succeeded in driving him away, even though she now
He needed space, needed to get away from her before it was too late, if that moment had not already sailed past. He pushed her away with hands that had been roughly gripping her, shaking her as his fury built and his words flew at her like barbs. He couldn’t stand the pain of it anymore. The futility of loving her. It wasn’t enough…she would never let it be enough.
Gareth grabbed the first clothing he saw—tracksuit pants, runners and a shirt—and dressed on the run as he fled his room, with just enough presence of mind to pick up his keys as he raced out of the door. Down the stairs he ran until he was in his car, heading he didn’t know where, just away. He had just destroyed his life. He cried no tears. He felt nothing. Hollow, empty. Directionless.
Then the pain hit, sledgehammer-hard, right in the guts, followed by soul-wrenching sorrow and frustration, anger and finally regret. The full gamut of emotions bombarded him as he struggled to survive the onslaught. He’d known it was coming, had had to be away from Emily before it hit, thus his speedy escape. He did not want her to share this with him. If she could push him away, he could do it to her in return.
“What the fuck have you done?” he screamed, banging his fists on the steering wheel. “What the fuck have you done?”
It took a few minutes, parked safely beside the road, for Gareth to calm down enough to continue driving, and he headed for the only place he had left. He headed to the Jets’ training ground, to the gym, hoping that maybe if he worked out until his body was in physical pain, it would outweigh the emotional agony ripping him apart.
Chapter Ten
Emily had waited for Gareth to return for hours, but he hadn’t appeared. At first she had been furious with him, at the way he had spoken to her, accusing her of just feeling sorry for herself, making light of the terrible scars on her as if they didn’t matter, as if she could just forget that they were there. But then his other words began to rattle around her head, the descriptions of the children, and Emily began to see. Began to realise that he was right—she was hiding. The fire that had failed in its attempt to kill her with flames was close to victory nonetheless, because of her own actions.
She had stared at her reflection, using Gareth’s mirror—stared at it for a long time. It was bad, ugly, but not quite the grotesque vision she had let herself believe. Turning to view her profile one way, Emily could not see any disfigurement at all, no trace of the fire’s wrath. She spun around to view the damaged side of her face and neck. Yes, it was damaged, but it was still her face under the scar tissue—still Emily. Gareth’s Emily. He hadn’t been repulsed by the sight of her—that had been her own reaction. If he could still love her, what more was there? Why did anyone else’s reaction matter? Emily groaned as the full impact of her actions over the last few years sank in. She had been an idiot.
“I have to get him back, have to prove to him how much I love him, how much I want us, all the plans we made…the dreams. I have to show him they’re possible,” Emily sternly told her reflection, not allowing her damaged side to contradict her. She refused to acknowledge that warning voice in her mind that whispered, If it’s not too late already.
Emily dressed, called a taxi to collect her and left Gareth’s home. She visited with her father, relieved to find him resting comfortably. Self-pity and anger were not consuming his every thought. Mac was too busy being happy and thankful that he was alive and relatively in one piece.
They talked long into the afternoon and early evening. Emily told her father how she had pushed Gareth away and why. She admitted she still loved him and feared she had finally pushed one too many times and succeeded in driving him away, even though she now
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