Still, her voice is right.
I need closure for my resentment, and I know I’m strong enough to get it.
I open my car door and jump out. As I stroll to the house, I scroll my shoulders and purposefully relax my fingers, almost as if Ellie were watching me.
Even if she doesn’t know what step I’m about to make, I pretend like she does, and I promise myself that I’ll make her proud.
Chapter 33
(Ellie)
Chin propped in my palms, I stare at my boss’s screen with glazed eyes.
I don’t know how long I’ve been in this position, but if the strain in my lower back is any indication, at least a good forty minutes must have passed since I hit Send on Wyatt’s closing report.
My breathing’s even, but I know it isn’t a sign of serenity, and rather a manifestation of the hollowness yawning in my ribcage.
I tried to do justice to Wyatt’s incredible progress with my words, and I think I succeeded. His coaches won’t have any other choice but to allow Wyatt to participate in the training camp and next season’s games.
I’m glad I could do this for him.
Still, writing up the details of Wyatt’s mental and emotional metamorphosis drained me because I relived every session not only as a therapist but as a woman in love. Perhaps hiding my devotion so it wouldn’t come across on the page was the most challenging part of all.
I sigh and reach for the mouse to close the mailing app and log out of the clinic’s system.
A few clicks and the screen goes dark. The black color is more gloomy than ever, like a shadowy night sky without stars.
A squeaking “Ah, how adorable!” seeps in from the corridor, tearing me from my somber mood.
My eyes dart to the calendar on my boss’s table. Shoot, it’s Thursday. Another quick peek at my watch confirms that it’s past three, which means it’s time for Stephanie to arrive. She scheduled an informal unit meeting to introduce us to her baby boy.
I push back the chair, jump up, and comb my fingers through my curls while sprinting to the door.
There’s a small crowd in the communal room. I rush to the door and push my way through the chatting people.
Wearing a red wrap dress and perhaps looking slimmer than she did before getting pregnant, Stephanie stands beside an empty designer stroller, prattling with Henriette.
After Laia had sent me the baby shower list for her cousin, Eva, I’d gained some insight and knowledge of baby brands. I recognize the model as the newest release from the fancy Norwegian company, Stokke.
“After I got discharged, I went on the same diet as Gisele Bündchen,” Stephanie explains to Bill’s assistant with a confident smirk. “That’s how I dropped the weight so fast. It’s undoubtedly a miracle plan.”
“Wow,” Henriette moans admiringly, and her hand moves to her own curvy hips. “Maybe I should try it, too. But I heard it doesn’t allow coffee. Of course, you wouldn’t drink that anyway while you’re nursing.”
My boss’s face moves into a horrified grimace. “Ah, no. We went straight to formula so Frankie could take over the night duty.” She points at her husband, who, to be fair, looks much more like I’d imagine a parent of a newborn to appear—like a truck just ran over him.
He’s rocking their baby in his arms, accompanying the movement with short squats while he chats with Bill.
Though I’d much rather admire the chubby Frank Jr. with his adorable blond curls on top of his tiny head, I don’t want to approach Bill. He’s been a good sport about my decision to stay just colleagues—he even reiterated his offer to cure me with hypnosis—but there’s still an odd uneasiness between us.
Instead, I step over to Stephanie and Henriette to join the discussion on “how to drop thirty pounds in a day.”
As soon as my boss notices me, her eyes light up. She puts one freshly manicured hand on her chic stroller’s pale-blue canopy and one to her chest. “Ah, Ellie, here you are.”
“Here I am,” I say while trying to decipher whether my boss had time to read my closing report about Wyatt yet.
Her cherry-painted lips are pulled into a genuine smile, which might indicate that she hasn’t downloaded her emails today and therefore isn’t aware that Wyatt’s therapy ended earlier than planned.
My boss nods, then turns to Henriette. “Could you watch out to make sure nobody approaches our stroller? Especially with tinted beverages. Poor Frankie had to scrub the fabric for hours yesterday after some lady in the park dropped her coffee right beside us.”
Henriette’s eyes widen. “Of course, but…why? Are you going somewhere?”
Stephanie puts a hand on my shoulder. “Yes, Ellie and I are going to step out for a second.”
My stomach tightens.
Jeez, I must have misinterpreted her expression.
I don’t even count my steps as we shuffle to the corridor.
It’s not luck I need for this conversation to go well, it’s self-confidence.
And I have that now, don’t I?
I might not have wanted to end Wyatt’s treatment so soon, but I’m confident he’s reached a better and more emotionally stable place in the short time we worked together. So I’ll stand my ground when Stephanie bullies me about my decision to sign off on him too early.
We reach the corridor then continue to my boss’s office.
As soon as we step inside, Stephanie raises her chin and sniffs. “Why does it smell different in here? So…clean and…plain?”
Oops.
I hurry toward the cupboard where I’d stashed my boss’s Spanish air-freshener after my first session with Wyatt. I remember the jolt Wyatt’s hot breath inflicted on my skin when he helped me open the window.
“I put your perfume bottle away because I aired the room just before coming over to see Frank Jr. I didn’t want it to break with a gush of wind,” I blabber while pulling out the glass container filled with the nauseatingly powdery fragrance and place it on its usual spot.
When I turn, Stephanie is at her desk. She leans her hips against it and crosses her arms in front of her chest. “So… I received an interesting call regarding Mr. Harrison just as we were heading over to the clinic.”
Her eyes move to my face.
Maybe it’s the new eye-shadow she’s smeared on which is darker than what she usually wears, or the realization that Wyatt’s agent must have called my boss to confirm she was all right with me releasing a closing report after only one and half weeks of therapy, but my belly knots.
“What did Mr. Nelson tell you exactly?” I ask, inching closer to her.
Stephanie’s lips twitch. “It wasn’t him who called. I spoke with Mr. Harrison himself.”
My jaw drops and my tongue goes numb.
Why did Wyatt call Stephanie? He didn’t tell me he would.
My boss studies my face with a severe expression, then tilts her chin forward ever so slightly. “It’d have been nice if you’d consulted me before discharging my client.”
I bite on my lower lip, then meet her gaze. “I’m sorry, Stephanie, but I thought Wyatt was my client. Plus, I didn’t want to disturb you on the last days of your maternity leave. In any case, I copied you on the email with his official closing report.”
“I know. I read your message. So, as Wyatt’s therapist, you felt entitled to decide whether he’s reached his therapy goals?”
“I did,” I admit bravely.
She shakes her head and breaks into a high-pitched giggle. “Ah, finally, Eloise Griffin. That’s the sass I’ve been waiting for.”
My eyes widen. “Sorry?”
My boss bobs her head. “That’s why I’ve been holding out on your promotion. I wanted to see you break through that veil of self-doubt you seemed to carry with you. It seems you not only accomplished a formidable task with Wyatt Harrison, but he also somehow helped you gain the poise you desperately needed.”
My heart accelerates. “Was Wya—Mr. Harrison satisfied with our collaboration, then?”
Stephanie adjusts her diamond earring. “I’d think so since he spoke in the highest praise about your capacity to catalyze beneficial behavioral change.”
OMG. “Did he really say this?”
“Yes. He even said I’d be a fool if I didn’t grant you a promotion, so…”
My intercostal muscles melt into a gooey mess as the meaning of Stephanie’s words settles in.
I only realize that she’s still speaking when she adds, “…once I return to the office, we must put together an anonymized athlete’s case study using your experience with Wyatt.”
“Sure.” I nod, but my mind is stuck on Wyatt’s kind gesture.
He really didn’t have to go through the trouble of calling my boss.
Why did he?
My boss continues, “We need to create a compelling document. We’ll use it for advertising our service to professional sports associations.” She gives me a warm smile. “You’ll be the person in charge of all the cases we receive.”
The room around me begins to turn.
A mere twelve days ago, I’d have sacrificed anything to hear this phrase from my boss. Wyatt knew I wanted my boss to take me more seriously, and he’d granted me my wish. Suddenly I understand why he contacted Stephanie.
It was his parting gift to me.
My heart squeezes. I appreciate his thoughtfulness, I really do. The problem is, right now, I’d rather stay with Stephanie’s “pick up this, bring me that” if it meant that I could be with Wyatt.
But I can’t.
Not the way I’d like to be. I’ll never be his number one priority, so I might as well learn to live with the void in my chest. Forever.
Chapter 34
(Wyatt)
“I don’t even remember this visit to the zoo,” I murmur as I stare at the picture. It shows me as a seven-year-old holding a cone of giant ice cream with a furry monkey peeking out from behind me.
We’re sitting at Mom’s oval kitchen table, thumbing through an old photo album Mom brought down from the attic.
Dad leans forward and taps on the animal’s head. “This little fellow stole your treat in the next minute. You got so upset I had to buy you another one.”
His hairy arm covers the last embroidered word of the “We love because He first loved us” quote on Mom’s damask tablecloth.
I blink up at him. “You were there, too?”
He chuckles. “Of course I was.”
My brows furrow. “How come you were sober that day?”
A gulp and shuffling sound echoes to my right.
Mom, who’s been whisking up a pie at the soapstone counter, turns to me and gives me a ‘you were doing so great, don’t stop now’ look.
Mom claimed she absolutely needed to start on her pastry because the apples she found at the market were beyond mature. I know she was just using her baking as an excuse to force Dad and me to interact.
To be fair, her plan worked.
Our conversation started out rather laboriously, with Dad asking me questions, mostly about my work, which I’d answered monosyllabically, or almost. But somehow, as time passed, we got better at it.
Probably because Dad seemed interested in whatever bone I threw his way. He rounded up my answers, showing me that he knew the scores of all my past games, but more than that, had been following all the articles posted about my team. And, most importantly, every time I made a negative comment about our past, he didn’t jump into defense-mode and try to justify his actions. He reacted in the calm manner of someone who’s done enough soul-searching to know where he stands.
Even now, after my last remark, he only gives me a sad expression. “My addiction didn’t start until you turned nine, son.”
My eyes widen, and I flick my gaze to Mom.
She nods. “It’s true, hon.”
My jaw slacks, and I turn back to Dad. “I’m not sure why, but I could never remember you as anything but a…”
“…a violent, drunk dullard.” He nods.
“Yeah…” It’s incredible to realize that I’d cut out entire years of normal family life from my mind.
Ellie was right. My resentment had blocked part of my brain and deprived me of the knowledge that, for me too, there had been some carefree moments as a young boy.
“What I did to you and your mom,” Dad scratches his chin, and I note the sprouting hair is almost entirely white, “was so terrible, I can’t blame you for forgetting about the good times we used to have before I lost my way.” His tone is sincerely regretful, but not so cheesy as to appear false.
I’m glad he doesn’t argue my right to the fury I used to harbor. And even happier about not being bogged down by the bitterness I used to feel.
There are still wounds in my soul that my dad cut, and they’ll probably always stay there. Still, if I keep meeting my father, and if he keeps acting like he does today, they might just get cauterized.
Mom steps over to us and puts a hand on my shoulder. “We have an exceptional son, Mason.”
My father smiles. “I know we do. It’s not to my credit that he turned out the person he is, but I promise I’ll do my best to help him stay on the right course for the rest of his life.”
For the next few hours, we continue to page through the album, reviving memories and addressing subjects I never thought I’d ever speak about with my father.
Dad tells me about his own childhood and the cruel ways he and his brother would get disciplined by his old man—a grandfather I’ve never met. His tale doesn’t sound like an attempt to rationalize why he too used his belt to teach me manners. Instead, it’s a tentative step to make me see him as a person instead of an evil stick figure.
I think I need this reminder.
While the pie is baking, Mom joins us. With her present, the conversation becomes lighter and sunnier. I can honestly, and surprisingly, say we’re having a good time chatting.
By the time I finally remember that I still have a long journey ahead, we’ve eaten two-thirds of the pastry Mom prepared, and it’s already getting dark outside.
“I really should go now,” I say, blinking at my watch.
Mom shakes her head. “In the dusk? Why don’t you sleep here and continue your trip tomorrow?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I don’t mind driving in the dark. I’d prefer to get back to Atlanta as soon as possible.”
I keep quiet about the fact that even if I stayed, I wouldn’t be able to sleep. Every time I close my eyes, Ellie’s face pops into my head.
Mom sighs. “Fine, then. Let me just run over to Martha’s and tell her you’re leaving. She insisted on saying goodbye to you, too.”
Mom hurries out the back entrance that leads directly to our garden.
Dad and I both straighten. When I glance at him, I catch him observing me.
“What’s the matter?” I ask.
He swallows, as if afraid to speak up, then clears his throat. “Son, I know I can’t claim to know you well. Not after the many years we’ve spent apart. But your voice had an odd undertone when you said you wanted to drive back to Atlanta.”
I jerk back. “Odd, how?”
My dad shrugs. “Don’t know. Like your heart and mind were split. Like you don’t really want to go but feel compelled to do it.”
My throat dries out. “That’s exactly how I feel. How did you know?”
He sighs. “I know a lot about a life that isn’t aligned with your soul’s desire.” He shakes his head, then taps me on the shoulder. “I’m far from being your confidant, but I’ll gladly listen.”
I’m not sure why I do, but I tell him about Ellie.
My description is succinct and factual, especially when I touch upon how I landed in anger management therapy. Still, Dad seems to discern the essence easily.
“So you’re in love, son?”
“I am. But Ellie isn’t ready to give me a second chance. She says she’s over us.”
My father twists his lips from left to right. “That gi
rl seemed anything but over you when we met at the dance. She looked worried sick about you.”
“That’s because she was my therapist. She—”
“Ah, nonsense.” My dad waves. “I’ve been around enough shrinks while detoxing to recognize when a person is invested emotionally or is only performing his duty. Our sweet Ellie wasn’t just preoccupied about the impact our meeting would have on your treatment. She feared for you. That, my dear boy, is a sign of love.”
Love? No, not possible.
Then again, hadn’t Devon said the same thing?
“Her brother said she lied to me about her feelings. Dev thinks Ellie’s just too afraid of getting burned again.”
“It sounds much more plausible to me.” Dad nods.
The memory of the kiss I shared with Ellie floods my mind.
If I’m honest, I, too, felt that Ellie still cares for me deeply. I tasted it in the way her lips melted with mine. That’s why I didn’t even factor in Bill when I dared to ask her my question.
Could my friend and my father be right?
Was her lack of faith the real motive for pushing me away?
“If Ellie isn’t over me but still doesn’t want to be with me, it’s even worse,” I mumble. “It means I’ve hurt her so deeply she can’t trust me.”
My father clicks his tongue. “Or it means that she’s a cautious one. Just like you.”
When I raise my brows, my father chuckles. “What was your first reaction when you heard I’d like to re-enter your life. Never again, right?”
“Pretty much.”
“Still, we’re here now, aren’t we?” He smiles. “Ellie needs to realize that she has nothing to fear.”
“I told her I’d never hurt her again!” I exclaim. “Still, she didn’t want me.”
“Told, yes.” My father nods. “But showed?”
I gawk at him while my heart jumps to my throat.
He catches my bewildered gaze and says, “I’m not kidding myself, son. I know that today doesn’t mean we’ve instantly become two peas in a pod. Or that your mother is ready to take me back as her husband. If I want those privileges again, I must build my way back to them. Brick by brick.”
Law #3: Don't Fall for the Athlete: Sweet Second Chance Romance (Laws of Love) Page 26