RUST - Chapter 11 - A Polin Fic
Chapter 11 – Reflections of a Rusted Soul
The tears started falling before Colin even reached his room.
By the time he shoved the bedroom door shut behind him, he was scrubbing impatiently over his face with the sleeve of his jumper, his breath shuddering out of him as though he’d run the entire length of the house rather than merely walking a few yards down the corridor.
Damn, his chest hurt.
Not in the aching way he’d grown accustomed to over the years whenever something unpleasant slipped beneath his carefully maintained composure. But piercingly. Deeply. Like he’d been totally ripped open and left exposed to the cold.
He stood there for a long moment in the middle of the room, feeling strangely adrift as the reality of the last few minutes washed over him in slow, sickening waves.
What had he just done?
Christ.
He ran a hand though his hair and pulled hard on the ends, but the sting did nothing to ease the panic that was swiftly rising.
He’d actually said it.
Love.
And of all the ways it could have left his mouth, it had happened like that. In the middle of frustration and hurt and her questioning something he’d never been more certain of in his life.
Penelope’s reaction slammed back into him all over again and he angrily dashed away more unwanted tears as every awful second continued replaying itself mercilessly in his head.
The flinch.
The rejection…
And when he’d pushed her on it, she’d just…looked at him.
Humiliation twisted queasily in his stomach and suddenly, he had to move. Had to get out of there before he came apart completely.
He crossed to the wardrobe and pulled his case out before throwing it onto the bed and wrenching it open. Then he started grabbing clothes. From his dresser, off hangers. Shirts, trousers, anything within reach disappeared into the case in quick, jerky movements whilst his thoughts crashed relentlessly into one another.
Because her silence had been telling.
That was the part now clawing viciously at him, no matter how hard he tried to push it aside.
His jaw clenched as he shoved another armful of clothes into the case, cramming them down mindlessly.
Just what in the hell had possessed him?
He’d spent years burying his emotions down so deeply he barely even recognised them in himself anymore, and then one stupid argument had been enough to rip them straight out of him anyway.
And he felt like a complete bloody idiot, because he’d gone and done it again, hadn’t he?
He’d let himself get swept up too quickly in the certainty of it all, in wanting something so badly that he’d convinced himself it was reciprocated.
The thought made him feel sick.
He pulled the lid shut and leaned heavily on his case, dragging in several slow, rasping breaths. It did little to ease the nausea rolling around in his stomach.
He needed to leave.
Needed air. Distance. Anything other than standing there trapped in the aftermath of a conversation he couldn’t seem to escape.
He straightened abruptly then grabbed his coat from the chair before zipping up the case and hauling it off the bed. It landed on the floor with a dull thud and he headed out of the room, not even bothering to close the door properly behind him.
The corridor beyond was quiet, the warm glow from the wall sconces stretching long shadows across the floorboards. The house appeared settled for the night. Then the sound of a door opening in the direction he wanted to go startled him and he instinctively stepped back.
Bloody hell.
He couldn’t see anyone. Not now. Not looking like this.
He turned and hurried toward the narrow back passage used years ago by servants and deliveries, the route tucked away from the more lived-in parts of the house. The staircase there was steeper and dimmer, the old wood creaking loudly beneath his feet as he descended with one hand gripping the banister and the other wrapped tightly around the handle of his case.
Even in his flight, his thoughts refused to still. Every few seconds yet another fragment of their argument came rushing back, making his stomach lurch all over again.
By the time he reached the lower corridor his breathing had turned shallow once more. He paused and took in a shaky breath before fumbling his phone from his pocket with unsteady fingers.
He would call a cab and go back to London then try and figure out how to survive the embarrassment of ever facing Penelope again.
His thumb had only just unlocked the screen when the door to Anthony’s study opened and his brother stepped out.
Colin froze and stared at him in mortification.
Anthony looked equally startled for a second, his hand still on the doorknob before his expression changed into something almost sheepish.
“Ah,” he said lightly, casting a quick glance back into the study. “If Edmund starts asking where his drumsticks are tomorrow morning, I trust you saw absolutely nothing.”
Under any other circumstances, Colin probably would have laughed.
Instead, he just stood there gripping the handle of his case even tighter whilst his pulse continued hammering wildly.
Anthony’s faint smile faded as he finally looked at him properly, taking everything in. His case, his coat…his red rimmed eyes.
“…Everything okay?” he queried cautiously.
“Fine,” Colin replied far too quickly.
Anthony’s brow furrowed slightly and he carried on watching him in silence for a moment, probably seeing far much more than Colin wanted him to. Then his gaze darted down to the case and back up again.
“Going somewhere?”
“London.”
“At this hour?” his brother demanded in surprise
Colin couldn’t hold his gaze.
“I just need to go.”
The words came out hoarser than he would have liked and an awkward silence fell between them. When he eventually glanced back up, Anthony was looking at him with open concern now.
His eyes flicked once more to the case before he gave a small nod toward the room behind him.
“How about a drink before you disappear into the night?”
Colin opened his mouth automatically, a refusal on the tip of his tongue, but Anthony turned away and walked back into the study as though certain he would be followed.
Infuriatingly, Colin found he still could not quite ignore his brother when he used that tone, even when it wasn’t really an order at all.
With a resigned sigh, he pocketed his phone and followed him inside.
The study was warm and dimly lit, the fire burning low in the grate with the last embers of the day.
Colin left his case by the door and dropped his coat on top of it before moving further into the room. He lowered himself into one of the armchairs opposite the desk whilst Anthony crossed over to the small table beside it where a decanter sat waiting, alongside a set of crystal tumblers.
The clink of glass sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet as Anthony poured a generous finger of whisky into two of the tumblers before turning and holding one out to him.
“Thanks,” Colin murmured as he took it.
Anthony gave a brief nod before taking his own seat behind the desk. The green leather creaked softly beneath him as he leaned back in the chair and lifted his glass in a faint salute before taking a sip.
Then, he simply sat there watching him with that steady, assessing stare of his. The one that always uncomfortably reminded Colin of the solitary time he’d ended up in the headmaster’s office, after bunking off school with a mate when he was fourteen.
He shifted slightly in his seat and cleared his throat before taking a swallow of whisky that burned all the way down.
The silence dragged on.
And on.
Long enough that his already shredded nerves couldn't take any more.
“What?”
Anthony’s eyes didn’t leave him.
“You look like hell.”
“Thank you, brother,” Colin retorted sarcastically.
“I’m serious.”
Colin exhaled slowly and stared down into his drink, watching the amber liquid swirl lazily.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Colin shook his head and gave him a very terse, “No.”
“It might make you feel better,” Anthony suggested, not remotely deterred by his brother’s refusal.
A humourless bark of laughter escaped Colin before he could stop it.
“I very much doubt that.”
Anthony took another sip of whisky, still watching him over the rim of the glass in that maddeningly calm way of his.
“Well,” he began, waving a hand in the direction of the case, “whatever this is, do you really think running away is the answer?”
Colin bristled.
“I’m not running away.”
Anthony raised a brow at that, clearly unconvinced, and the expression irritated Colin almost as much as the question itself.
“Oh really?” his brother challenged mildly. “Because from where I’m sitting, slinking off in the middle of the night with your suitcase and coat does rather suggest otherwise.”
Colin looked away, staring instead at the couple of barely glowing coals left in the grate.
“I just need some space to think, okay?”
“Mm.”
God, that sound was aggravating.
For a few moments Anthony said nothing else, then, in a much quieter voice than before, he asked, “Did something happen between you and Penelope?”
Colin’s head jerked back toward him and he felt his cheeks flush hotly at the question.
“Why would you think that?”
Anthony gave him a faintly disbelieving look.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he countered sardonically. “Perhaps because she resigned completely out of the blue three days ago and ever since then the two of you have been behaving strangely enough that even Gregory has started noticing it?”
“Pen just has things she wants to do with her life,” Colin replied defensively, ignoring the rest of what his brother had said entirely.
Anthony gave him a long-suffering look.
“Yes, I’m aware,” he remarked and put his glass down with a thump on the desk. “But if it isn’t about Penelope, then what else could have got you this upset?”
“I told you, I’m fine.”
“Mm.”
For heaven’s sake, there was that bloody sound again.
“There’s nothing going on,” he insisted.
Anthony pursed his lips, clearly weighing that statement against everything else he’d witnessed over the last couple of days and deciding it was complete nonsense.
“Colin, I saw you very nearly kiss her in the garden yesterday, remember?” he pointed out wryly.
Christ.
Colin held his gaze for a moment, a denial ready on his lips when his phone suddenly went off with a message alert.
Almost before he realised what he was doing, he pulled the phone from his pocket and glanced down at the screen.
Pen.
Colin cursed under his breath, switched the phone off without even opening the message and shoved it back into his pocket. The thought of reading anything from her right now made his stomach churn all over again.
Then he looked up and saw the knowing expression on his brother's face. For a second there he’d completely forgotten that Anthony was sitting directly opposite him.
“I think you can probably stop pretending now that this has nothing to do with Penelope,” he stated drily.
“Just leave it, Anthony,” Colin warned, raising his glass to his lips.
He’d just taken a mouthful of drink when, with all the subtlety he’d unfortunately come to expect from his brother, Anthony asked bluntly, “Are you sleeping with her?”
Colin nearly choked on his whisky.
“For God’s sake,” he spluttered, glaring at him in disbelief.
“Well?”
“That is absolutely none of your business.”
“You’re my brother,” he pointed out curtly. “And Penelope has practically been part of this family for years. I’d say that makes it very much my business.”
Colin let out a frustrated breath, wishing desperately for this conversation to end before it got any more unbearable.
Unfortunately, his silence appeared to answer the question anyway. Anthony’s eyes narrowed and he sat forward, resting his forearms on the desk. Giving his brother a stern look, he demanded, “Is that the real reason she resigned?”
Colin looked back at him, genuinely puzzled.
“What?”
“Penelope and you,” Anthony clarified. “Were you sleeping together? Did something go wrong?”
“No,” Colin denied vehemently, the answer coming so quickly he barely thought about it. “It happened afterwards.”
Silence.
Colin blinked.
Oh, for the love of…
Heat flooded straight into Colin’s face again as the full realisation of what he’d just admitted caught up with him.
“Sodding hell,” he groaned, dropping his head into his hand.
“Don’t worry, brother,” Anthony dismissed, “I can’t say I’m particularly shocked. Ever since you got here, I’ve had my suspicions that you’ve finally caught up to what’s been right in front of you for years.”
Colin tensed, feeling unexpectedly exposed. Not because he hadn’t realised it himself already — he had — but because apparently Anthony had seen it too.
And somehow that made him feel even more foolish.
For a few seconds he debated what to say to that. Anthony already seemed to have worked out most of it anyway and, frankly, Colin himself no longer had the faintest idea what he was supposed to do next. It had been a very long while since he'd gone to his brother with something like this, but at the moment he was struggling to think of anyone better to talk to.
“We…argued tonight,” he said looking over at him at last, the memory still painful. “She doesn’t think I know my own feelings.”
Anthony’s eyes narrowed on him.
“And do you?”
“Yes!”
His brother seemed to relax slightly at the certainty of the answer.
“But I take it she didn’t believe you?”
Colin hesitated and dragged a hand through his hair.
“She thinks it’s all been too quick,” he said, a touch bitterly.
“Well…,” Anthony began slowly, “she’s not entirely wrong.” At his brother’s frown, he pressed on, “You do have to look at this from Penelope’s perspective, Colin. She decides to leave and then almost immediately afterwards the two of you sleep together.”
The younger man stared at him, aghast.
“That’s not…”
“For all she knows,” Anthony cut in again, determined to get his point across, “this could be your way of trying to keep her around.”
The words hit like a physical blow, sending his mind reeling.
Because somewhere amongst all the hurt and humiliation and panic of tonight, he’d been so wrapped up in protecting himself from rejection that he’d hardly stopped to consider what any of this must have looked like from Penelope’s side at all.
“Jesus, Anthony,” he protested in stunned disbelief. “What kind of arsehole do you think I am?”
Something in his brother’s expression softened.
“One that spent years retreating so far into himself that the rest of us started wondering if we’d ever again see the brother we knew,” he told him plainly. “That’s why I asked Penelope to help at the office in the first place. She was the only person you still let even remotely close to you.”
Colin looked away at that, blinking hard against the unexpected sting of tears before tipping his glass back and draining the rest of the whisky in one go, welcoming the intense burn of it.
“When the hell did you become so bloody perceptive?” he muttered.
Anthony’s mouth curved upwards.
“Kate,” he replied without hesitation.
A ghost of a smile pulled briefly at Colin’s mouth despite himself.
Of course.
“It’s good to have you back, by the way,” Anthony added after a moment.
Colin glanced over at him and swallowed down the lump that seemed permanently lodged in his throat.
“I would say it’s good to be back, but it bloody hurts,” he retorted gruffly.
Anthony could sympathise.
“Yes, I’m afraid that rather comes with the territory.”
Colin snorted and sank back into his chair with a shake of his head.
“You know, for someone supposedly trying to make me feel better, you’re doing a God-awful job.”
Anthony gave him a rueful smile then leaned over to grab his tumbler before standing up.
“For what it’s worth,” he said as he crossed over to the decanter and put the empty glasses down, “I don’t actually think Penelope believes you were deliberately trying to manipulate her.”
Colin felt some relief at that, though it changed absolutely nothing about the mess he knew he'd made of things.
“But,” Anthony continued, turning back to him, “I do think she’s frightened of what all this means. And frankly, I don’t blame her for that. You can’t spend your entire life trying to avoid being hurt, Colin, because that’s not living.” He paused briefly before adding pointedly, “That’s just surviving.”
Colin had no argument for that.
He’d spent years surviving. Using work as a shield to keep everyone and everything at a distance. And now that he was having to face the stark reality of risking the one person he couldn't bear to lose, he felt like he was losing his mind.
The confession sat heavily on his tongue for several seconds before he finally blurted it out, “I’m so bloody scared, Ant.”
His brother was quiet for a moment.
“Of what?”
“Oh, I don’t know, take your pick,” Colin retorted with a hollow laugh. “That she’ll never believe me? That she’ll never forgive me? That I’ve already ruined this before it’s even begun? That I’ll never be the man she deserves?”
For the first time since they’d entered the study, Anthony looked surprised.
“Nothing is ever guaranteed, brother, especially not when it comes to love,” he told him with a frown. “But if you leave tonight, what exactly do you think that tells her?”
The question hung heavily in the room.
Colin stared down at the floor whilst the answer rose almost immediately, brutal in its honesty.
That he was a coward.
That the second things became difficult he’d fallen straight back into old habits and tried to run before he could be hurt any further.
And worse…
That perhaps Penelope had been right to question him after all.
Because if he truly meant what he’d said to her, if he really loved her the way he now knew he did, then leaving Aubrey Hall in the middle of the night without even trying to fix this hardly suggested he believed in them enough to stay and fight for it.
The realisation landed with sickening force.
Anthony could see the play of emotions on the younger man’s face and waited a moment before finally crossing the room to him.
Colin glanced up as he stopped beside the chair and rested a hand on his shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze.
“I can’t tell you what to do, Colin, but whatever you decide next, just be sure it’s not driven by fear, okay?” he advised seriously. Off Colin’s slightly bemused nod, he gave him a quick smile and stepped back. “I’d better go up. It’s late and Kate will be wondering where I am.”
Colin nodded again and Anthony headed for the door, pulling it shut behind him. He stood outside for a moment, staring at the dark wood before finally turning away and walking slowly down the corridor.
For the first time in years, Colin seemed willing to let people see what was underneath all that armour. His one hope as he began climbing the stairs, was that his brother hadn’t come this far only to run when it mattered most.