Nick slept fitfully. His dreams of flying with Jennifer, of loving her and telling her so, of her flower-covered cottage and the enormous tree of the palace all morphed and shifted and he was back in Dane Majors' house all those years ago with Tahnee's blood staining the marble floors. He could practically see Dane beating her with that golf club and looking at Nick with his cold eyes of maniacal evil.
He bolted upright in bed. His heart was racing and he was sweating. Nick tore the covers off of himself and got up. He wished Jennifer were with him, to feel the soft brush of her wings and the warmth of her body and the calm of her magic. But in a way, it was best she wasn't there to see him get so upset over all this. He didn't want to talk about this anymore. He didn't want to explain his feelings, he didn't want to deal with bloody any of it. His career was over. He'd caused an innocent man to be locked up in prison for ten years.
Well, not innocent. Lest Nick forget what Dane did to Josh. Christ, Nick would not forget that story or the way Bernice told it—calm and quiet and voice cracking over her lost child—until the day he died.
Nick stripped off his pants and got into the shower. He should really go for a run, but the sun wasn't even up yet. Maybe he'd go later. After he…well, he had somewhere to be today.
As the water poured over his body, Nick tried to clear his mind. He tried not to think about Dane or Josh or any of it. His mind briefly flashed on being in the shower with Jennifer, seeing the droplets of water on her wings, the way her golden hair slicked down on her head when it was wet, the way she looked naked and flushed with arousal and whimpering in pleasure when he had her in the shower. But even that, he couldn't seem to use to make him feel better. He wished his mind would just go blank and leave him in peace. He hadn't even been able to escape in his sleep. Maybe there was no escape. Maybe there shouldn't have been. Perhaps he just had to live with this.
The sun was just starting to rise after he got out of the shower and put on some jeans and a jumper. He considered wearing a suit, but that was for when he was working. And he didn't want to be noticed today. Casual clothes would help him blend in better. Though his mouth was pretty black and blue now, thanks to Bruce Dalton.
He decided to put on his shoes later and jogged downstairs barefoot. He wasn't really in a hurry. But the house was far too quiet. He didn't like being there alone. Not just now. All he could hear were the screams of his own regrets in his mind.
Breakfast was the next logical step, but Nick paused on his way to the kitchen.
"I don't suppose you can help me?" he asked aloud.
The background singing hum of the wooden table got louder and something of a whistle to it. Though Nick made out no words, he got the understanding that the table wanted to make him feel better.
He smiled. "Well, thanks anyway."
If someone had told Nick a year ago that he'd end up talking to a table after resigning from the state police and sporting a fat lip thanks to Bruce Dalton who had then shot himself in the head, Nick would have thought they were off their nut. But that was exactly the direction his life had taken. He had fallen in love with a fairy and his whole world had been turned upside down.
Well, that wasn't exactly true. This mess with Dane Majors, that wasn't because of Jen. If he'd never met Jen, he might have been even more involved with Juliette Gardiner. She would have still gotten that source, still would have approached him at that press conference, still would have dragged him into the Majors case again after a whole decade. But without Jennifer, what would Nick be doing? He'd be going through this all alone. He'd be hopeless and alone with no one and nowhere to turn. Oh he had friends. His mother in Perth he called about once a month when he remembered. A sister in Brisbane and one in Sydney who he only ever saw at Christmas. But that wasn't really much of a life. It wasn't much of anything.
Nick shook himself. No use thinking like that. His life was perfectly fine. And it was all the better for having Jennifer in it. Time to have some coffee and get on with it all.
At just after nine, Nick got into his car and drove out to the prison. Dane was being released, and Nick wanted to see it. Wanted to catch a glimpse of the man whose life he'd ruined. A man who had brutally murdered his friend when they were children. A man who beat his wife. A man who preferred partying and catting around with women who were not his wife to actually doing a day's work. A man who brought Australia victory after victory in cricket. A man who had spent the last ten years in prison for a crime he had not committed, all because Nick was too bloody stupid and cowardly to do the right thing.
He parked a couple streets away and took his time walking over. There was already a huge crowd forming by the gates. Press and fans alike. Cameras and microphones and people with notepads at the ready. Signs and cheers in support of the cricket star. Nick kept to the back. He wanted to be there and see what happened, but he did not want Dane to see him. He did not want the press to notice him; that would be even worse.
The wind was kicking up a bit. It was already getting hot, and the warm air made his wounded mouth burn. Nick couldn't help but feel like he deserved it.
There was movement on the other side of the fence. The prison door opened. The people began applauding and holding up cricket kit and Aussie flags in support. Dane strode across the courtyard toward the gate with his head held high. The cameras started rolling and the reporters gave their intros.
As the gate opened, journos started shouting their questions at Dane as he paused and smiled in front of the adoring crowd. Nick heard mention of 'the cops who framed you' as a question to Dane and he hung his head in shame. There was a roiling of anxiety in his stomach at that.
"Dane, how does it feel?" one journo asked.
"How does it feel?" Dane repeated back to him.
"Yeah, mate, how does it feel right now?"
Dane looked around at the crowd. They went quiet to hear his answer, save for the snapping of camera shutters hoping to catch a good shot. "Like the first time I walked out onto the ground at the G for an Ashes test," he answered with a grin.
The crowd all cheered. Nick felt ill.
"It's great to see a crowd," Dane added.
There were more questions, asking him what his first meal would be—a beer—and how he felt about a retrial—that he'd be found innocent because he was innocent—and then Dane started to walk toward the car that would take him back home for the first time in ten years.
He was interrupted, however, by Graham Procter. Dane's former father-in-law was there, shouting that he was a liar and a murderer. Again, Dane insisted he was set up, and with that, got into his car.
Nick watched the whole scene, wondering why he'd bloody come. Was he hoping to feel better, seeing Dane go free? Was he hoping for some sort of absolution for his own mistakes that put Dane in prison to begin with? All he felt was guilt. Guilt and regret.
As Dane's car drove away, Nick turned and walked back to his own. As he did, he lifted his hand up to his mouth and the awful bruise there. He'd been lucky Dalton hadn't knocked his teeth out. Or maybe Bruce should have busted his nose or something. He deserved it. Maybe not from Bruce Dalton, but he deserved it nonetheless. Nick pressed his hand against the bruise, the physical pain of it filling him up and momentarily blocking out the pain that radiated out of his own guilty mind.