Tom jumped to his feet with a renewed sense of vigour and retrieved his mobile phone from the counter where he’d tossed it with the rest of the contents of his pockets when he’d come upstairs. Within moments he was back on the couch staring at the small screen as he continued to debate calling Bailey. Before he could bring up his contacts, he was distracted by the blue Facebook app on his home screen. It only took a moment to launch the app, locate Bailey’s profile, and send him a friend request. He wondered how quickly Bailey would respond. He thought it was maybe one of Bailey’s nights out with the books.
Tom settled back into cushions and tapped out a text message.
TOM:Thanks for last night. Had a great time??
He looked at the screen for minute, as if staring at it would conjure up a reply.Stupid.
Tom forced himself to put the phone on the table. He closed his eyes again, thoughts buzzing until the words of the news presenter cut through his consciousness.
“Recent statistics show alcohol-related violence is on the rise. Last night’s bashing of a teenager in an alleged drug-related dispute is the third incidence in as many weeks. Opponents of Sydney’s mandated lockout laws are using this as evidence that laws aimed at reducing alcohol-related violence are failing and therefore unnecessary,” the announcer said.
Where previously he would have listened to this type of news report with mere passing interest, now he sat riveted to the television screen and the scenes of flashing lights and emergency services personnel outside a city pub. His blood ran cold.
Was this the sort of thing that Bailey was faced with every time he went out? Violence? The threat of injury?
Tom admitted he didn’t know Bailey all that well. They’d shared a couple of phone calls and been out a few times, and last night had been… well, something special in Tom’s eyes. But surely it was too early for this worry about Bailey to affect him like punch in the gut—but it did, like a knock to the solar plexus. And this visceral response confirmed to Tom that his feelings already ran deep.
Jesus.
He turned off the TV. The remote hit the coffee table with a clatter. The dull thud of his footsteps on the floorboards as he paced the room was loud in the sudden silence, but not loud enough to drown out the thoughts echoing through his head.
Tom had thought he’d been happy with the new path his life was on. But now he knew he needed more. He’d had enough of regrets and he wasn’t going to let the opportunity for happiness pass him by.
There was no going back. No going back to lonely nights, and definitely no desire for casual, meaningless hook-ups. No going back to a life without Bailey.
