Well, we've seen how Chris dealt with Things. This time, we see how Things went for Jayne. According to lawand_disorder, you might want to hold on to something. She sent this back to me with the direct quote 'whoa. In the best way, but whoa.'

So . . . there's that. I had - well, I exorcised some demons myself writing this chapter, so the intensity is amped up a little.

Okay, it's amped up a lot. So, uh . . . enjoy?


Foreshock

May 11, 2012

"How did he do?!"

His partner's excited question made Chris smile and shake his head in fond amusement. Even after all these years, her childlike enthusiasm for new things still surprised and delighted him.

Not that he was foolish enough to say that to her, mind. It took a lot for anyone else to make her angry, but he had a talent for pushing her buttons. And when they competed, that was one of their greatest assets. Pissing her off just so he could laugh at her, however adoring that laughter was?

Yeah, no.

So he kept his mirth to himself and answered her rapid-fire questions with a level of detail that would have bored even Jill, until Jayne was completely satisfied that she might as well have been there herself and had a mother's pride in Sam's second-place finish, which advanced him to the final elimination round.

And then came an awkward pause that was so rare in their relationship, they both wondered for a minute if they'd slipped into some backwards alternate universe. Jayne recovered first and, knowing Chris so well, just dived right in.

"So, what happened with Karen?" she asked with absolutely no preamble, causing her partner to choke a little.

"Umm . . ." was his eloquent response, which made Jayne smile a little sadly. For him to be caught so off-guard by a question he knew perfectly well she was going to ask didn't bode well, but she said nothing else. Chris was not a person who liked to be prodded, even by her, so she waited with hard-earned patience and a handful of M&Ms for him to collect himself.

"We broke up," he finally replied, sounding . . . she frowned once she processed both what he'd said and his tone of voice. That was odd; he didn't sound upset at all.

No.

No, he sounded . . . wow. She actually couldn't read him right now, which was another rarity in their partnership. So instead of asking any of the obvious questions, she chose to come at it from an angle.

"Okay," she said as airily as she could, having only just correlated his words with the fact that she hadn't heard from Karen at all since the tour — no, since she and Chris had talked and ended things, which, again, wow — and that was odd. Karen was her best female friend, so the fact that she hadn't contacted Jayne even once was more than a little disturbing. "So, do I need to call Karen?"

This time there wasn't a pause at all, and that made her blink.

"I wouldn't recommend it," was all he said, and Jayne blinked again.

"O-okay," she finally replied, sounding as bewildered as she now felt. "Do I at least get to know why?"

"No," he said gently, and she could see the rueful smile curling his lips. "Not yet. I think — for everyone's sake — it's best to let her reach out to you."

Jayne took some time to process that, feeling at an extremely uncharacteristic loss, and then hesitantly asked, "When will I get to find out what's going on, Chris?"

He blew out a heavy sigh and for the first time, he sounded troubled.

"I don't know," he told her, pulling another frown to her lips. "It's going to depend on how . . . well, if she th—"

He came to an abrupt halt, but Jayne needed no further explanation. She loved Karen deeply, but she'd known her as long as she'd known Chris, so she was well-acquainted with her friend's penchant for drama. And tantrums. And while she didn't know everything that had been going on in her partner's head for the last two weeks, it didn't take Sherlock Holmes to know that Chris had been the one to end things.

It was the reason why that she couldn't quite grasp. As far as she (or anyone else) knew, Chris and Karen had been happy, so his news came as something of a shock.

After a few seconds, though, she decided not to ask anything else. Chris would tell her when he was ready, and given her own reasons and reluctance to provide details about her . . . discussion . . . with Phil that same night, it was only fair to leave him be. Especially since he was going t—

"So how about you?" he continued in an obviously-determined-to-sound-normal tone of voice. "What happened with Phil?"

—o ask any second now.

Jayne took a second to be thankful she'd known this was coming, so she already had her answers prepared. For his sake, she needed to keep those answers vague, though she was well-aware that the reckoning would not be pleasant when she did finally tell him. They were equally protective of each other, yes, but Chris had an extra level that seemed to come from being male, something that had only intensified after her near-fall. It had taken her two days to realize that, unless they were in Narnia for a quick change between routines, Robin Cousins was the only man in the entire company who was allowed within about ten yards of her . . . and another day to see that he was actually helping Chris maintain this 'neutral zone'.

To her bemusement, Nick du Lac helped as well, even though Chris didn't let him close either. Despite more than a few eyerolls, she'd made no attempt to stop them, because she understood all-too-well just how traumatized her partner was, although he had done a truly amazing job of presenting an outward façade of calm, cool, and collected.

And while most people fell for that, they also knew how protective he was of Jayne, so no one made a serious attempt to push things, not even Karen. It became a touch ridiculous when the women skaters joined the club, but Jayne, after a wide-eyed look at the actual barrier of people between her and the world, would say this: never in her life had she had so much privacy on a tour, and she took full advantage of it. She might actually have been the first person in the history of live-touring to be more rested when they got home than when they left.

But that was neither here nor there, so she shook her head and gave Chris the answer she'd prepared, about how the conversation between her and Phil had been civil — intense, yes, but civil — and started her slow, careful journey through the minefield of giving him just enough. It was exhausting, because this was the first time in nearly forty years that she wasn't open with her partner, and it was unnatural. It was unnatural, it hurt, and it WAS NOT RIGHT. Yet again, she bitterly cursed Phil to the deepest pit of hell.

But she somehow managed to get through it, though she was beyond drained when they hung up, with a promise to speak in a few days because she needed to coordinate time with her kids first, something that had the virtue of being true while also being an excuse Chris would accept.

She had very carefully structured her answers to keep him from noticing the lack of actual informationshe'd given him about her conversation with Phil a few days earlier, though she hadn't lied to him. This was partly to keep him from worrying, yes, but mostly because Jayne still hadn't decided what she was going to do next. The thought of asking Phil for a separation had been so much harder than she would ever have thought, even as unexpected as it had been, and that was after what he'd said . . . what he'd accused her of . . . and what he had refused to let her tell him.

Actually asking for an official separation, however, had been shockingly easy, because she'd seen that it was a necessity for her, one that also provided her with some much-needed time and space to think . . . only all the thinking in the world didn't seem to be doing her a damn bit of good.

On the one hand, she didn't know how to stay with a man who thought that she'd been unfaithful to him for more than twenty years. He truly, genuinely believed that. And now that she'd been forced to acknowledge this fact, Jayne wasn't at all sure she could go back to that.

But . . . he was her husband, the man she'd loved so well and so deeply for so long. Life without him . . . just the thought was anathema to her. It was like thinking of life without Chris.

(the implications of this would escape her for a ridiculous length of time)

And there were the children. What would it do to Kieran and Jessica to suddenly have a broken home? And could she, in good conscience, do that to them?

But by the same token, if she stayed with him . . . would she ever be able to look herself in the mirror again? And what lessons would Kieran and Jess learn if she continued to allow Phil to treat her the way he did? Worse, what if he did something similar to Jessica when she started dating, or taught Kieran to expect to be cheated on?

On the basis of nothing.

But even more, she was suddenly hit by the understanding that not only did her husband genuinely believe she'd been cheating on him for the entirety of their relationship — from the day they'd met, apparently — but he'd also not once made any attempt to talk to her about it. It was only now, with the cursed blessing of hindsight, that Jayne finally saw that. Yes, Phil had made snide insinuations and veiled intimations and sarcastic allusions about Chris, but not once had he ever openly said anything.

Much less done her — and himself — the courtesy of actually asking.

So now that she had been stripped of the blinders that had crippled her for so long, Jayne Torvill found herself in the heartbreaking position of realizing that the last twenty-three years of her life off the ice had been, overwhelmingly, a papier mâché dream. Even worse, that lie hadn't remotely been based in reality. No, it had been perpetuated by one man's petty, unfounded, spiteful jealousy and his own actions had utterly tainted even the best of memories she shared with him.

But despite all of these revelations slamming into her like a lightning storm on Red Bull, she still didn't think she was ready to contemplate divorce.

And in the most hysterical bout of irony she'd experienced in her entire life (including the last ten minutes), Jayne realized that the one person she should talk to was the only person she couldn't ask.

In that moment of brutal understanding of what she'd just lost, Jayne Torvill hated Phil Christensen with a ferocity she would never have imagined. It was simply beyond her comprehension. But now? Oh, yes. Because he hadn't just taken away her marriage and the family she'd fought so hard to build with him.

He'd taken Chris away from her.

And at that heartbreaking insight, the complete truth of her situation had crystalized and sent her beyond the point of no return on the path she didn't realize she'd already chosen.

Because from now until her marriage was settled, however that turned out, for her own protection and his, she would have to pull back from her partner, her best friend, the constant she had depended on for her entire life. Their daily calls would have to be spaced out to weekly or even longer . . . and she wouldn't be able to share this with him, much less seek any kind of comfort or anything but the most basic of support. She didn't dare because if she did, he would abandon everything in a heartbeat and fly back to England that day to be with her, support her, and she wanted that, needed that, so badly it actually hurt . . . but if he did, Phil would use it as further evidence of her 'adultery', which he would also take out on Chris as much as he could, if for no other reason than to settle the imaginary score that had so decimated his ego.

And when Jayne looked at it from that perspective . . . no, it wasn't a difficult decision at all. Not simple, no, and not without regret, second thoughts, and more than a few 'what ifs'.

But in that moment, it was easy.

In the wake of everything she had lost — and the losses that were still to come — she despised Phil Christensen with all the passion she possessed . . . which was considerable. And the more she thought about it, and the situation that had resulted from circumstances beyond anyone's control, the angrier she got. Because when she finally looked at it from a position that was as impersonal as she could be, the near-disaster on tour had only exposed how badly disintegrated the foundation of her marriage had become.

In a way, that was good, because it kept her from falling prey to the despondency that was trying to overwhelm her, since she hadn't grasped the fact that she had already made her final decision. And it was one that, even in the days and weeks of coming turmoil, she would not turn back from. Rage about, loathe, try desperately to find any other way . . . but she wouldn't change her mind.

A gentle knock at her door kept her from sinking further down into the black depths of rage that were rushing through her, though the brief spike of fear at hearing it wasn't any better. But that faded quickly since she knew it wasn't Phil . . . though she didn't have the slightest clue to who it might be. Her steps as unsteady as her breathing, she crossed her sitting room and checked the security camera on her door. Seeing Nicholas du Lac's face startled her more than a little, but she only hesitated a few seconds before letting him in.

He gave her an easy smile as she opened the door, but it faded the instant he met her eyes. There was a very long moment of silence, and then he said, "Hug, wine, dance, or scream?"

Jayne blinked.

And for the first time in three days, she smiled.

"Yes," she replied, and he laughed, opening his arms so she could move into his embrace . . . and was genuinely surprised at how comforting it was, and how natural it felt. His arms weren't home like Chris' were, or Phil's had been, but they soothed her in a way she would never have imagined.

After a little while, he began to hum softly in her ear, slightly off-key, but it was a song she knew well, and when he started to sway, she followed his lead easily and they circled her sitting room until the roughest edges of her anger had faded to a dull exhaustion. Neither of them realized until she stumbled just how tired she was, but Nick had learned long ago how well-honed her reflexes were. So when she tripped over her own feet, he muttered an oath and snatched her to his chest, keeping her upright but still supporting most of her weight as he took her to the settee and tenderly eased her down until she was half-lying against the arm, blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear her vision as he vanished in a flash of green t-shirt.

Her head was starting to feel clouded, though she made a valiant attempt to wake up when he reappeared, a glass of wine in one hand and . . . something she couldn't begin to guess at in the other. Her hands were trembling a little, which would have alarmed her had she been more alert, and she didn't resist when he helped her take a few sips before coaxing her to lay all the way down, nudging a pillow under her head and tucking a light blanket around her. Then he put the something in his other hand against the back of her neck. It was shockingly cold and she actually yelped at the unexpected sensation, waking up a lot as she gave the obnoxious man a glare that would strip paint.

The unrepentant grin she got in return made her want to slap him, but she just didn't have the energy.

"Hug, dance, wine, scream," was all he said, and she stared incredulously for a minute before shaking her head and letting it drop back to her pillow. Her neck landed on the ice pack and she moaned a little because she hated cold things against her body (a rather odd affliction to have, considering she was an ice dancer, but there it was), but it also felt very soothing against her tight, aching muscles and she sighed, letting herself relax as the ice did its work.

The last thing she remembered was a warm hand, comforting and soothing but not quite right, covering hers, and a familiar voice that she trusted despite it also being just a little 'off' murmuring, "Sleep, Jayne. Tonight, you are safe. I swear it."

His voice and his touch were something her mind and body recognized as 'safe', even if they didn't belong to the man who should have been with her, so she allowed herself to believe them and slowly but easily succumbed to the soft, beckoning darkness of sleep.

She would never know it, but as she drifted off, she breathed out a name.

And one of those unexpected truths came to light.


May 8, 2012

Jayne blew out a deep sigh of utter relief when she arrived at her flat and saw that Phil wasn't there. Good. Then he was still nursing the only drink he'd ordered at whatever manky pub he was at, which meant she should have enough time to actually take a shower instead of a hit and rinse and possibly make a sandwich she wasn't in the mood to eat.

As she strode with an unusual determination to her door, Jayne contemplated the somewhat startling fact that she was angry. It was a highly unusual state of affairs for her, and one that she didn't care for. Her entire life, when someone needed to be angry, she'd had Chris for that.

And if he knew what was really going on, both in her head and in her life, he would be positively incandescent with rage. The problem was that even if he had known, she wouldn't be able to let him handle it. No, this time, the responsibility rested solely on her.

Because yes, Phil had a legitimate reason to be upset about the last two weeks, but she had an equally good reason for avoiding him. She could have made more of an effort to communicate with him, even if just by text message, but she knew her husband well and thus knew that he wouldn't understand her sudden reticence about talking to anyone except Chris, Kieran, and Jessica — and that was literal. After everything that had happened in that initial twenty-four hour period, Jayne's world had been upended as much as Chris', albeit in different ways — and that wasn't taking into account her increased role in keeping her partner calm and . . . well, sane. And since Phil was one of those people who had to see it to believe it, he would never truly understand the danger she'd been in, much less Chris' . . . dramatic . . . reaction. Which was frustrating at times, of course, though she didn't hold it against him, because it was just part of who he was.

But that didn't mean she'd been in any shape to deal with it, especially with them smack-dab in the middle of the damn tour.

So yes: avoiding her husband could be seen as cowardly, but it had been necessary for her sanity. And he should know that, dammit, justifiable anger notwithstanding. At the very least, he should have trusted that she had a reason for not communicating with him.

But he didn't, which put her in the position of having to be the reasonable one. And that meant she needed to keep her cool long enough to explain things to him, even though she had the sinking feeling it was a losing proposition. Which only led back to the reason she was angry: she knew full well that while Phil would probably let her explain, the chances of him actually listening were slim to none. And in the normal course of events, that wouldn't bother her much. There had been very few times in their lives where the situation had been as serious as this one, so his refusal to listen could generally be worked around by both her ability to remain calm no matter the circumstances and the simple application of time.

Not today.

She was seething at the fact that he'd had the gall to shout at her the way he had earlier — and he'd done so in front of not just her partner, but also two of their peers and several of their employees, which only deepened her ire. This was coupled with the fact that Jayne had, for the first time, been faced with the knowledge of how little respect her husband held for her, at least professionally, and that was compounded by her disgust with herself, because she'd also come face to face with the realization that she should have put a stop to it the first time he'd done it, joking or not. Her non-combative personality being what it was, she'd just let it go, because it hadn't been a problem.

And now that she much-too-belatedly realized that yes, actually, it was a problem, things were too well-established.

So now that it had blown up so spectacularly in all their faces, Jayne was furious with Phil, annoyed with herself, and, bizarrely, frustrated with Chris, because he hadn't pointed it out to her.

She deliberately ignored the fact that if he had, she would have either brushed him off or put the fear of God into him for trying to interfere in her marriage. And no, it wasn't fair in the least, or even reasonable, but then, Jayne wasn't feeling remotely reasonable. Or fair. And had her partner been there, he would have rolled his eyes, flung himself down on the settee, and let her shout at him until she was shouted out or had pushed him past his own limits (which, when it came to her, were nigh-on inexhaustible as long as they weren't prepping for a competition).

But he wasn't here, and neither was Phil, which was probably a good thing, though it gave Jayne no outlet for her increasingly turbulent emotions. Her shower didn't help, and by the time she stalked into her kitchen, she was almost shaking, both with rage and the lingering horror of realizing just how perilous her situation had been that night, something she still hadn't had time to process.

The sound of the door opening made her pause mid-reach for a water bottle and she took a deep breath, closed the fridge, and turned to face her husband. They stared at each other in a hard silence for a good three or four minutes before Jayne cleared her throat and said his name.

That was the only thing she got to say.

"Oh, so you can talk," Phil sneered, giving her a cold look that, unfortunately for him, did not have the desired effect. But he kept going before she could express her opinion.

"I can't tell you how relieved I am," he said with such blistering sarcasm, the linoleum in the laundry room peeled up at the corners. "Can I take that to mean none of your fingers have fallen off either?"

Jayne had to bite her lip to keep from responding, even as guilt stirred, stifled though it was by her fury. She said nothing because she was afraid that if she allowed herself to answer, to unload on him the way she wanted to, she would start screaming and not be able to stop.

"Seriously, Jayne, what the fuck?" he snapped, not appearing to notice her silence as he moved a few steps in her direction before veering off and beginning to pace a narrow circle in the small space between the island and the door. "You just disappeared for two fucking weeks without so much as a word. You could have been kidnapped for all I knew!" he added, spinning around to face her, his eyes blazing with anger. Guilt stung her again, but this time, she was able to answer him.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, sincerely, meeting his eyes. "It—I sh—"

And he just ran over her words; it was as though he didn't even register that she was talking.

"Of course, when Karen called me that morning to ask where you were, I knew. You'd just gone off to screw Dean again," he jeered, finally making the accusation directly to her, and sh—wait, what?

She'd almost — and Chris had — but she wasn't . . . had her husband really just accused her of cheating on him? She'd known for years that he didn't like how close she and Chris were, but — but cheating? Her? Chris?

He couldn't honestly believe that. He couldn't.

Because if he did, then . . . then their entire marriage, the whole of their life together was . . . it was an illusion. A lie. The destruction of almost everything she held dear. If Phil genuinely thought that she had been having an affair with Chris . . .

Jayne simply could not process that.

But the nightmare defied her desperate hope and refused to end, and she blinked back tears of frustration, shock, and the growing undercurrent of a very deep, dark anger while she tried frantically to make sense of this utterly unexpected turn of events. When she finally met Phil's gaze, the bitter contempt she saw made her breath catch in her throat and stopped her mental flailing at his accusation cold while a kaleidoscope of memories ricocheted through her mind and she heard again all those 'joking' comments about the time she spent with Chris, all the sneering references to how close they were, all the 'flippant' jibes that they couldn't possibly spend that much time skating, so of course they found other things to do.

The hard, unforgiving surface of the island was the only thing that kept her from crumpling in a heap on the floor as the undeniable truth overwhelmed her.

Phil actually thought that she would, could, and had cheated on him. For years. And the last spark of hope she still held that this was all just a hideous misunderstanding faded to ashes when she met his eyes once more.

What she saw there sent a shiver down her spine.

But it wasn't one of fear.

"How dare you?" she demanded in a low voice that was throbbing with rage, which caught him completely by surprise. But she was too furious to take any real notice of it. Her temper had ignited and there was no reining it in, even had she wanted to.

And she didn't want to. She had not the slightest desire to be calm and understanding.

However, she took the time for one deep breath and brought to bear the discipline she'd spent her life building, keeping her voice, her expression, and her body under complete control. She flat-out refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her lose her composure.

But that didn't mean she wasn't going to put the fear of God into him.

"How DARE you accuse me — and Chris — of being capable of that?" she said again, her words threaded with bitter disillusionment, though her voice remained even.

But Phil had already recovered and didn't miss a beat as he shot back, "Oh, I don't know. Maybe because you've been doing it for thirty years?"

And Jayne Torvill finally snapped.

"You did not just say that to me," she said so quietly but in a tone so venomous, he actually took a step back, looking shocked.

But not repentant in the slightest. In a huge feat of irony, this helped her calm down enough to think. And she realized again, with a vague sense of loss, that he wouldn't listen to her when she explained what had happened, and why, but like hell she was going to let him bully her in this. Also, some unnamed instinct made sure she refused to let him claim that she hadn't — or wouldn't — tell him.

And maybe a pig would fly by and he'd actually listen to her.

"The reason I didn't call is because I almost die—" she began after taking a deep, bracing breath — only to be cut off immediately.

"I don't care, Jayne," he said dismissively, which actually rendered her speechless.

His eyes were cool and shielded, so she couldn't see what he was thinking . . . and it occurred to her that him shutting her out like this wasn't new, though she hadn't recognized it for what it was until now. But his words told her everything she needed to know in that moment and she realized, with a lot less surprise than she should have felt, that she . . . she couldn't be around him. She didn't want to be around him. Not right now. The thought that it might not be just a short-term separation flashed through her thoughts, which did shock her more than a little. And then it lodged in her mind, making her look at the situation in a different light as things progressed.

"You don't care?" she repeated slowly, just to make sure they both understood what he was saying.

"No," he replied, his voice now as cold as his eyes. "Because it doesn't matter. I've let you fuck him for our entire marriage because you've at least been discreet, so I think I have the right to be upset when you tell the whole world what you're up to."

Jayne actually felt her heart splinter when she processed his words, and some of her love for him died.

He honestly thought that she — that Chris — that they would do that to him, to Jill, to each other. To themselves.

She wasn't just angry now.

She was heartbroken.

She was disillusioned.

She could no longer deny the ugly truth.

And she had just reached the limit of her restraint.

"I have never fucked Chris," she said in a very, very even voice, watching with vicious satisfaction when he flinched, looking startled again. "I have never screwed him, slept with him, or had sex with him."

This was a completely true statement — at least for her and Chris. It wouldn't be for Karen or Phil (or anyone else, honesty compelled her to admit), but given what he'd just accused her of, she wasn't about to tell him what had happened, because he would refuse to understand and like hell she was letting him shame her for taking care of her partner, who had danced the razor's edge of madness that night because he thought he'd lost her — and it still scared her to know just how close he'd come to letting himself fall.

Chris had made love to her that once because it truly had been the only way to pull him back from that edge and keep him sane, and it had been just that: a single act of love and affirmation of life. They had been together the entire night after the show, yes, but those interminable eight hours had held very few words, because he had literally been unable to tell her why, which warned her against asking; most of it had consisted of Chris holding Jayne like she was the only thing keeping him anchored to the earth, and Jayne in return soothing and reassuring her partner through the nightmares that tormented him on the few occasions he'd been able to drift off.

His derisive snort at this made her temper flare dangerously high and her eyes flashed a warning that he foolishly didn't heed.

"Sure you haven't, Honey."

He said it so condescendingly that it brought tears to her eyes. But she refused to let them fall. Not for him.

"Sure I haven't," she repeated quietly, almost thoughtfully, as she really took that in, and his eyes narrowed. She noticed and stiffened in renewed anger, her eyes narrowing back in a silent challenge that he, for whatever reason, chose not to take.

A long, fraught pause ensued, broken only by their heavy breathing.

Phil finally ended it after more than five minutes. He had a chance, in that moment, to salvage the situation. Had he been able or willing to look past his own prejudices and see the truth in his wife's eyes, things could have turned out so very differently.

But he wouldn't.

Perhaps more importantly, he didn't want to.

So when he spoke again, he sealed his fate.

"I'm waiting for your apology, Jayne," he said bluntly, radiating smug superiority, his head cocked insolently. The combination almost literally knocked Jayne off her feet and she couldn't do anything but blink stupidly at him as she again caught the work station for support.

"I—I'm sorry?" she managed to choke out, her eyes wide with shock for too many reasons to count.

"Are you?" was his snide response, and that snapped her back into the moment. And once she was in that moment, she realized that she was done. She was just . . . done.

"Get out," she said firmly, stalking past him and making a very obvious effort to keep from touching him. She even twitched her sleeve to keep it from brushing his jacket, only to find herself dumbfounded yet again when he looked offended by that.

Dear God. How had she missed this for twenty-two years?!

"What do you mean, 'get out'?" he demanded, sounding so incredulous she finally lost the battle to keep her face under control and rolled her eyes so hard it hurt, her anger momentarily stymied by his honest bewilderment.

He really, genuinely didn't understand how she could be upset about being accused not just of being unfaithful to him for decades, but causing Chris to be unfaithful as well.

But since there was zero reason to open that can of worms, she only gave him a cold, contemptuous look.

"I mean 'leave'. I mean 'go'. I mean 'exit this house immediately before I call the police'," she replied, her voice as snide as his had been just a minute ago while she opened the door with a very carefully controlled force that was a great deal more alarming than slamming it into the opposite wall would have been.

"I'm not going anywhere!" he snapped back, eyes flashing with self-righteous anger as he stopped in the middle of the sitting room, looking so much like a toddler on the verge of a tantrum that things actually fell over the edge of 'ridiculous'.

Jayne stared at her husband, the man she'd loved and lived with for more than twenty years, and saw only a whining, sniveling, spoiled brat who was actually pouting because she had the audacity to be upset at his accusations. The sight should have been inconceivable, and yet it made so much sense that she felt danger rising once more as the last thread of her temper began to fray. She didn't bother saying another word to him, because there was clearly no point. And frankly, she wasn't sure she could keep from slapping him if he responded the way she suspected.

Instead, she fished her mobile out of her pocket and dialed 999. He watched scornfully, hands on his hips and rolling his eyes while heaving a giant 'I'm being so patient with the wife's theatrics' sigh . . . until she asked the operator to send a police presence because there was an unwanted man in her home. His jaw dropped in utter astonishment, but it wasn't until she started to give her address that he realized she was completely serious.

Resentment, disbelief, and anger fought for dominance on his face even as he threw his hands up in surrender and stormed past her, glaring hatefully as he went, but — amazingly, considering the last hour — proving that he wasn't stupid enough to push her any further. Once he was two steps past the threshold, his eyes never leaving hers, she asked the operator to wait and started to close the door. He caught it before he lost sight of her face and quietly told her, "This isn't over, Jayne. We're not over."

She just gazed expressionlessly at him for a second, then, with an ease and complete lack of hesitation that would dumbfound her when she finally had a chance to absorb everything, said, "I want a separation. I don't want to see you until I think I can look at you without getting sick. And don't call me."

Without further preamble, she shut the door in his face, very deliberately but very calmly, and held her breath. To her stunned disbelief, she heard him leave immediately.

"Ma'am?" the man on the other end of the phone said hesitantly, and she shook her head, coming back to the moment and realizing dully that she was trembling.

"Yes, it's alright now," she said, scrubbing her right eye in a vain effort to stem the tears.

"Do you still need us to send an officer out?" he asked carefully, and the concern in his voice was her undoing.

It was only due to her tremendous, hard-won discipline that she kept her sobs under control long enough to assure the man that she was fine, the danger had passed. Once she was off the phone, she was no longer able to keep her reactions at bay and she dissolved into tears before just . . . blacking out. When she came back to herself more than an hour later, it was to discover that she'd made a fort in the very back corner of the sitting room, using the cushions of the settee and what looked like every blanket she owned.

Her phone was still clenched in her hand and pure, unfettered instinct had her pulling up Chris' number . . . only to come to a horrified stop as the implications of what she'd just done began to sink in. And then she cursed Phil so viciously, she surprised even herself. Thanks to his blind, irrational jealousy, which had directly led to her asking for a formal separation, she couldn't call Chris. For the first time in their lives, she and her partner were unable to share their troubles. Or give the other comfort or succor. Jayne had to stay silent, had to stay separate from him, because until the . . . until she had seen things all the way through, one way or another, she had to deny Phil any new fodder for his absurd accusations of adultery.

And then she damned him to eternity again because Chris was alone now, other than her, and very few people realized (and none truly grasped) that her calm acceptance of . . . well, of Chris, was one of the main stabilizing factors in his life, and being robbed of that was going to be devastating for him, especially since she couldn't tell him why. Oh, she would give him the bare bones, and she knew he would understand a lot of what she couldn't say, but still. The support, strength, friendship, and enduring love that formed the cornerstone for her and for Chris had just been wrapped in electrified barbed wire — and there was no way to tell how long they'd have to endure this new purgatory, no way at all to see when their suffering would end.

With another surge of bitterness, she realized that Phil had finally achieved the goal he'd worked to attain for twenty years: he'd successfully separated her and Chris.

She would never know it, but with that insight, Jayne Torvill made her choice.