Finding peace, p.21
Finding Peace, page 21
I call Barbara after I assume the dinner rush is past. “Hey Barb.”
“Anica,” she says. “I hope you enjoyed your week off.”
I worked breakfasts for a week and then took last week off. “Here’s the thing.”
“It’s that guy, I know it.”
“Excuse me?”
“He kind of skulks past every day about three times, peering in the windows.” She grunts. “Loser.”
My heart takes wing. “Has he ever come inside?”
“Is your phone broken?”
I laugh. “No.”
“Well, then, does it matter?”
“I suppose not.”
“He hasn’t come inside,” she says. “And it’s ridiculous that a man that fine would be afraid to call you. He must’ve done something very bad.”
“Not to me,” I say. “But I suppose the principle is the same.”
“Please don’t quit your job over him,” she says. “I’ll keep you on breakfasts as long as you want.”
“Oh, fine,” I say.
“See you tomorrow morning?”
So much for late night writing. “Only three days a week.”
“Why?”
“I’ve been writing, Barb. I need time for that. I can do three five hour shifts a week, no more.”
“I’ll take it.”
Now time to pick an agent. With a finished manuscript in hand, I interview each of them. I ask them about how they would have handled the Ashes situation. Two of them have no idea and splutter and make excuses. One says she’d have done the same as Henri. I appreciate her honesty, but she’s not for me either. Honesty isn’t enough on its own. I want a real advocate—someone who tells me the truth and still does whatever she can to help me, even when we don’t agree.
“I wouldn’t have shopped your first book,” Phoebe says. “I’d have told you my opinions on that one, and on the new one, because I’d have wanted to know if I were in your situation. Think of all the time you wasted on that project.”
“I forced myself to reread my last book too, and it was just as bad.”
“It was,” Phoebe says. “It’s a travesty that Henri didn’t tell you that. It was sold on the basis of your name, and it devalued your brand.”
“Thanks for being willing to do hard things.” I think about how, instead of asking me for the full, or offering representation, she called her friend, Henri, and asked if I was available. She clearly approaches things head on. I value that.
“I have a question for you,” Phoebe says, “while we’re covering hard truths.”
“Shoot.”
“What made you realize the book sucked? Why are you recommitting to chick lit?”
“I guess I’m doing it for my sister,” I say. “I’ve been a little confused about what matters, but her husband set me straight.”
“He sounds like a good guy to have around.”
It’s bizarre for me to be so involved in his life, perhaps, but she’s right. He is a helpful, smart, caring man. It’s almost like, in losing a sister, I gained the brother I never had. “I plan to keep him close.”
“I look forward to hearing what you decide. I may have already mentioned to a few editors over drinks last night that there may be a new Maggard manuscript in the world soon, and I have two who are already salivating.”
“You’re hired,” I say.
“Are you sure?”
“Send me the agreement, but assuming it’s standard, yeah. I’m sure.” I open up my laptop. “I can send you the full manuscript, too. I finished it today.”
“What wonderful news all around.”
“This has been a weird and roundabout way to signing a new client, I’m sure,” I say. “Like we’ve done the whole thing backward, but I appreciate your understanding and I like that you called Henri first.”
“I never do anything underhanded.”
“I appreciate that,” I say. “And I look forward to more conversations in the future.”
“As do I.”
With everything in my life coming up Anica, I should feel amazing. But instead, I can’t stop thinking about Ethan skulking by the diner. Why would he do that? What does it mean?
I’m not sure what it says about me that I can write romances that agents are dying to represent, but my own love life is a disaster.
Too bad I can’t write myself a happy ending.
17
Ethan
No matter how long I spend staring at spreadsheets the next day, none of the numbers make sense. I decide to hold the staff meeting early. At least that won’t require my brain to analyze data. It has, apparently, called in sick for the day.
“Hannah,” I say. “Let’s move the staff meeting up.”
She blinks at me. “Excuse me?”
“Instead of doing it at ten a.m., let’s do it now.”
“Um, Mr. Trainor, it’s eleven-thirty,” she says slowly, like I’m suffering from a traumatic brain injury. “When I came to remind you of the time, you waved me off without looking up from the computer.”
I groan. Stupid spreadsheets. “Fine.” I wave her off without thinking, and then it clicks. I remember doing that earlier. When I was contemplating whether I need to call Phillip and tell him I was wrong.
I pick up my phone again, but I can’t do it.
It’s not that I don’t believe Anica. She’s right, I’m sure. Phillip is a terrible person—or at least, he was. I don’t know him at all now, and I’m not sure whether murdering the woman you’re supposed to love is forgivable. I’m not sure whether his excuses—alcohol, past abuse, anger issues—absolve any part of his culpability.
But she’s undeniably right that my anger doesn’t hurt Phillip.
It hurts me.
Now that she’s said it, it’s clear as day. The long runs, the surfing, the fighting, all of them merely dealt with the fallout. None of them ever addressed the cause. When she looked me in the eye and said that it wasn’t my fault—that I can’t take any blame for my bio father’s actions—I knew she was right about that too, but it has never sunk into my soul.
Knowing that I didn’t do something and not blaming myself for my failure to change the result aren’t the same. This time I pick up my phone, and I actually dial.
“Ethan?”
“Hey, Geo. I have a strange question, and I’d like to ask you to keep this between us.”
“Okay,” she says. “What do you need?”
“Your fiancé Mark died, right?”
“He did.”
“I’m sorry to bring it up, but did you ever talk to anyone about it?”
“About his death?”
“Yes. Or . . . I don’t know. Any of it. I never talk about it, but I lost someone too. I’m beginning to wonder whether I ought to discuss it with someone professional.”
“I have the number for a wonderful grief counselor.”
That may not be quite right, but it’s a start. “Can you text it to me?”
“I’d be happy to,” she says. “And Ethan?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m proud of you for asking. That’s the hardest part. Honestly.”
I hope she’s right.
But when I finally meet with her psychologist, I know immediately that he’s not quite the right fit. He asks me a looooot of questions. I talk and talk and talk. And we haven’t even covered anything beyond the night of the incident when the hour is up. “We didn’t make much progress,” I say. “We’ll go a lot faster next time, right?”
Dr. Thayer stands up. “It takes as long as it takes, Mr. Trainor.”
“That’s not very medical,” I say. “I do better with deadlines.”
“You can’t put a timeline on emotional healing.”
I don’t groan in front of him, but I decide right then and there to skip my next appointment.
And then I find myself creepily peering inside Golden Gloves. Twice. I decide maybe I ought to go, even if it is a waste of time. It keeps me away from the diner. At my second appointment, we don’t talk about my mom’s death at all. We talk about forgiveness, and it turns out Dr. Thayer agrees with Anica.
It helps me gather the strength to go to the next meeting.
And the one after that.
I’m headed to my fifth appointment when Dad shows up. “I’ve got bad news,” he says.
I sit down and send a text to Dr. Thayer. NOT BLOWING YOU OFF. SOMETHING CAME UP AT WORK.
“What now?” I ask.
“The court ruled against us.” The set of Dad’s mouth is grim.
“What does that mean?”
“The news comes out tomorrow that based on our preliminary figures and pending official audit results, we’ll report a half million dollar loss this quarter.”
I close my eyes. “What will that do to the stock price?”
Dad harrumphs. “Nothing good, but it’s been soaring since your last fight.”
I open my eyes abruptly. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“I called Harrison. He said you’ve only been training three days a week.”
“Without another fight set up—”
“He said Dana White has offered you three.”
I swallow.
“You didn’t think you ought to talk to me about it?”
I shrug. “You’re not my manager.”
He slams his hand down on the table. “You beat that Russian guy, and then you completely freak out and dump your girlfriend, and now I hear you’re going to a shrink. Annelise insisted that I give you space, but I think it’s time you tell me what’s going on.”
“Dad, I traded my Porsche to Phillip in exchange for his agreement that he’d completely cut Adriana off.”
His eyes widen. “That’s brilliant. And it worked? Did you get it in writing?”
I shake my head. “It wasn’t brilliant. It was bad, Dad. I never should’ve done that.”
“Darn right, you shouldn’t have. Because I should have done it first.” He squeezes my shoulder. “And don’t worry—I’ll get you a new car.”
I stand up, shaking his hand away, because for the first time, I get it. I’ve turned into him—the consuming inferno inside of me left me no perspective. “Dad, are we done here? I have a call to make.”
“Look, the real news I needed to tell you is that I set up another fight, with a boxer this time. It’s going to be huge. He’s ranked near the top, and the media will go crazy for it. The UFC has agreed to wait to announce it until I give them the go-ahead.”
“Are you really suggesting that I fight someone way out of my league to distract from our bad business break? I’m your circus sideshow now?”
Dad rolls his eyes. “Stop painting me to be some kind of villain. You’re a natural, he’s not out of your league, and you’ll get paid a ridiculous amount for agreeing to do this. Besides, if this generates the buzz we’re convinced it will, then we’re in the clear. Once the bad news hits, we release word of the fight, and boom. It’s forgotten. Our stock rebounds, and you can step into leadership as a conquering hero—literally and figuratively. I honestly thought you’d thank me.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“That’s not what leaders, do, son. They march into battle and slay the demon.”
I ball up my fist to punch him in the nose. And then I think about forgiveness—it’s for me, not for him. So I let my anger go, and I walk out of the office. I’m late, but I make it to the last thirty minutes of my appointment.
“Are you going to do the fight?” Dr. Thayer asks. “Or will you refuse?”
I run my hand through my hair. “I want to refuse, but I also want to accept.”
“Why do you want to refuse?”
“Because he shouldn’t be able to manipulate people that way!” Fury floods me.
“That’s how your sister felt,” Dr. Thayer observes quietly.
It hits me like a two-by-four. My actions might even have been right. Phillip may have posed a threat, but it wasn’t my call. I stole that choice from her, just as my dad stole the decision from me. He didn’t ask. He ordered, and I’m not a solider or a child.
“I’ll call Phillip today.”
“Good, but before we end our session, I’d like to hear you articulate the reasons you want to do the fight.”
“Because Dad’s right—it would fix our problem. This tax thing isn’t a big deal—except that it hasn’t been required in the past so we haven’t paid it over the past eighteen months. That means it’s a blip on the radar in the long run. Anything we can do to instill confidence in our brand with the shareholders is wise. Also, I kind of want to see whether I can compete at that level.”
“You could be badly injured.”
I shrug. “Maybe, but I doubt it. Fifteen years ago, probably, but they have rules now.” Besides, my heart is already slag. What does it matter if I break a rib? Or a jaw? Maybe drinking through a straw for a few months would give me time to think and work through everything.
“You’ve made marvelous progress,” Dr. Thayer says. “And for the record, I credit that young woman, Anica. She was spot on in what she said, and you obviously cared enough about her to listen. That’s usually the key.”
“I love her,” I say without hesitation.
“I believe that,” Dr. Thayer says.
I stand up. “Do you think I should fight?” I ask. “Or refuse on principle?”
He grins. “If you do anything ‘on principle,’ you’re handing your power to another person.”
By golly, he’s right. “Thanks.”
“I’m alright taking a few weeks off, unless you need me,” Dr. Thayer says. “If you need to focus on training.”
“Thanks,” I say.
“But definitely send me details.” His sideways smile surprises me. I’d never have guessed that buttoned-up Dr. Thayer likes UFC.
“Will do.” I shake my head as I leave.
Spending a few hours every day pounding a heavy bag helps me not to fixate on Anica. Knowing that I’m not good for her and staying away aren’t quite the same. As the fight nears, I thought it would get easier.
It gets harder.
The day before the match, I wake up thinking about how she came over last time and made me breakfast. A loud banging on the door floods me with hope like I haven’t felt in ages. I race to the door, tripping over Partner and falling against the side of the sofa. “Ouch,” I mutter. “Partner! Watch out, goofball.”
She wags her tail and yips.
The banging resumes.
“I’m coming,” I say.
But when I swing the door open, it’s definitely not Anica. I haven’t been this disappointed about something since she told me we were breaking up. My face falls and I sag against the doorframe.
“Whoa, who were you expecting?” Trig asks.
I don’t even bother closing the door. I turn around and shuffle back to my bedroom.
He follows me inside. “Nice place.” He snorts.
“Dad picked it out.”
“He bought you a suburban cookie cutter house?” Trig lifts one eyebrow.
“Some of us don’t collect mansions all over the world.” I cross my arms. “What do you want, Trig?”
He purses his lips and sighs. “If I didn’t love Geo so much, I wouldn’t be here at all, so try not to be such a complete jerk about this. I know that’ll be hard for you.”
“You’re the expert on being insensitive,” I say. “So maybe you can tell me.”
“Dude, I know I can’t fight you, but you don’t want to cross verbal swords with me.”
I flop into a huge red armchair. “Geo told you I asked for a referral?”
He sits on the edge of the sofa, tiny lines forming between his eyebrows. “Wait. A referral for what?”
I sit up. If Geo didn’t tell him about Dr. Thayer, then why is he here? He said he came for her. “Never mind.”
“Look, I’ve been really dumb in the past. Not often, but it’s happened. I know sometimes we can get in our own way, alright? So when Geo mentioned that Anica was upset and that it was your fault, I found myself agreeing to come talk to you.”
Anica’s upset? For some reason my heart soars when I hear that, and it makes me feel even crankier. Like I need Trig here to help me deal with my emotions. Please. “I’ve got a big day tomorrow, and I have some work to do today. Get to the point.”
“I’m going to assume you’re being such a jerk because you’re hurting. I’ve been there, but my patience has a limit. I’m just going to say what I came here to say.” He stares me in the eye. “You’re blowing this, dude.”
“Blowing what?”
“Everything with Anica.”
“There isn’t anything to mess up. In case you hadn’t heard, she dumped me.”
“She loves you.”
I try not to blink or look half as panicked as I feel. “I screwed up.”
“We all do,” Trig says. “Now fix it before it’s too late.”
“It’s already too late.” I shake my head. “Trust me, she’s better off without me.”
“If you’re this big of a pansy, maybe she is.” He snorts. “For a fighter, you’re kind of a dud.”
“Why exactly are you here, again?”
“I’ve watched, patiently, while that girl got her life back on track. It’s been hard for her, but she’s a good person. She’s blossoming again. It makes Geo happy. It makes all the wives happy. Even Luke’s giddy.”
“Great.”
“And now, they’re sick of watching her mope around over losing you.”
“Okay.” I cross my arms.
“So they’re setting her up.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re not the only good looking guy in Atlanta, Ethan. The past few weeks, she’s been miserable, but last week, she didn’t just laugh half-heartedly, she actually made a few jokes at game night.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” I lie.
“You moron, that’s a bad thing. It means she’s moving on, and you better believe the whole group noticed. Geo asked me if you’d said anything.” He shrugs. “About what? I asked her.”
“Huh?”
“She wanted to make sure you weren’t interested—she said she thought you’d figure out you were an idiot and try to win her back.” Trig shakes his head. “I told her I didn’t think you had any plans.”
