by K. Bromberg
“Goodbye, Grayson.”
I can barely get the words out as I hiccup over the sob. He’s going to save someone. He’s taking a risk.
Just not on me.
I force myself to drive. I turn south to head out of Sunnyville, a woman so very different from the one who drove into the town a little over five months ago.
“What’s this?” I pull a white bag out of Luke’s backpack as I empty out his stuff. Luke’s grin grows as he runs over to me and snatches the bag from my hands. “Whoa, dude, where’s the fire?” I laugh before falling onto the couch with a sigh.
It’s been a long ass day. First the shift. Then getting Luke from my parents’ place. And now the whole bedtime routine.
Oh, yeah, and trying to avoid thinking about Sidney when all I want to do is drive over there and see her. But . . . clean break. It’s best this way. For both of us.
Maybe if I keep saying it, I’ll start to believe it.
“Miss Sidney brought this to me today at school.”
“She what?” Now that got my attention.
“She came to say goodbye.”
I rise from my seat as if in protest. “She what?” I repeat, not wanting to believe my ears but definitely hearing the sudden rush of my pulse in them.
Luke gives me a funny look. “She said she’ll be back for the party but that she had to go for now.”
I stare at my son and wonder how he’s taking this news better than I am.
She left? For like good, left?
“Oh. My. God. Holy. Cow.”
“What?” His utter astonishment pulls me from my confused thoughts as I look over to him and see his eyes wide and jaw lax. “What is it?”
“She . . . she had a Block made just like me.”
I feel like I’m walking through a fog.
She left.
“A what? Luke, what are you talking about?”
“She had a Minecraft figure made to look just like me. A Steve Block, but I guess it’s a Luke Block.” His laughter makes me hurt even more. “It even has a shirt like my favorite one.”
She left me.
“There’s something in here with your name on it, Dad. Do you want it?”
She left us.
I grab the letter from Luke more forcefully than I should have, but I don’t think twice before tearing it open to find her handwriting.
Grayson,
I wasn’t sure how else to leave, but I knew I couldn’t go without saying goodbye. I figured this might be the best way since we all but said goodbye the other night at the hangar.
Walking away is probably one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, but I know it’s probably for the best. You aren’t ready to forget your past, and I’m not willing to give up my future on the chance that you might. You aren’t ready to make that choice and choose me. We were good together, though, weren’t we?
I learned so many things about myself in the time I spent with you, and I’ve left a changed person. For that, I owe you.
Thank you for the time we shared. For the memories we made. For the friendship you gave me even though I know sometimes you looked at me and saw someone else.
And thank you for Luke. He’s one hell of a kid and deserves the world, just like his dad does.
I meant what I said the other night. All of it. You are worthy of love. You are worthy of a life with a woman who can make you laugh every day and who never reminds you of her. She’ll be a lucky woman when you find her. Make sure to take the risk.
Please take care of yourself.
Love,
Sidney
I stare at the letter. At her penmanship, which is curvy and perfect just like her. I read it over again and have to turn my back to Luke so he doesn’t see what it looks like for a woman to bring a man to his knees like Sidney just did.
Holy shit. She really left.
My first night back in my penthouse, and it feels nothing like when I left it.
It’s cold.
It’s empty.
I curl my knees up into Grayson’s shirt that I took with me, and I cry myself to sleep.
Him texting me was inevitable, but when he finally does three days later, it’s crippling.
Grayson: You left without saying goodbye.
I stare at his text for the longest time, trying to figure out how to take it. Is he angry? Is he surprised? Is he disbelieving?
Me: I thought we had already said goodbye.
Grayson: You didn’t even tell me you were leaving early . . . but you told Luke?
Me: I didn’t want him to think I abandoned him. That was very important to me. And you? It was just easier this way.
Grayson: Easier for who?
Me: You. Me. I don’t really know anymore.
Grayson: Neither do I.
I stare at my phone—so many words I need to say, his voice the one thing I desperately want to hear—and I close my eyes as I remember everything about him.
Me: I’m sorry.
Grayson: So am I.
Clutching my phone to my chest, I squeeze my eyes shut and don’t even bother to fight the tears.
Distance doesn’t make the heart grow fonder.
Distance makes you want the person more.
Distance makes you realize just what the hell you are missing.
That wrecking ball didn’t do me any damn favors.
Deep breath. This will get easier in time.
It has to because, right now, this sucks.
My chest burns.
I focus on my breathing. On the cadence of my steps. But it doesn’t matter how fast I run or how much distance I cover because her goddamn letter is on repeat in my mind.
Just like it was last night. And the night before that. And on and on.
Fuck.
She’ll be back in a week, my ass.
The Kraft house is empty. All her stuff is gone. The vase where she kept the dead flowers she didn’t realize I’d noticed has been emptied. The hose she’d always leave stretched across the drive is rolled up on its hook. The blinds on the house are pulled closed.
She’s gone for good.
And I’m running. I run. Because I’m being a dick to everyone around me, taking this out on Luke with a short temper when it’s no one’s fault but my own. When I’m the only one who can fix this. But I can’t until I make sure my head’s as straight as it can be.
I run until I can’t run anymore. Until the lactic acid makes my muscles seize and my lungs can’t catch air fast enough. It’s only then that I collapse on the side of the track of Sunnyville High School and just lie there with my arm hooked over my eyes and my body exhausted in every way possible.
“I haven’t seen you run in years.” I should have known he’d find me here. I should have known he’d be the one to notice. “Not since before . . .”
Not since Claire left me, he means.
“Leave it, Dad,” I huff, but I don’t uncover my eyes, even though I know he’s leaning over me, blocking the sun for me.
“Nah. Not this time. I’ve left it for too damn long.”
“I’m not in the mood.”
“Yeah, well, neither am I. I’m not in the mood to watch my son suffer any more than he’s already suffered when the answer’s right in front of his damn nose.”
“Christ.”
“You’re going to need a lot more than Christ, son, if you don’t straighten up and listen when I tell you you’re being a total dumbass for letting that woman walk out without a fight.”
“It’s none of your business, Dad.”
“Like hell it isn’t. You’re my business. Luke’s my business.”
“She left. Can’t fight for someone who didn’t stay.”
He mutters something under his breath, and I’m pretty sure he was calling me something. “Of course she left. I didn’t see you fighting for her. Did you ask her to stay?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It’s complicated.” I move my arm jus
t enough that I can peek up at him. He’s standing over me, hands on his hips, and that look that says, “I’m the chief of police, you’ll do as I say,” written all over him.
“That’s a bullshit excuse. Most of the time, life is complicated. Life is putting yourself on the line and taking your chances.”
I snort. “Been there. Done that. Been burned.”
“That was eight years ago. Don’t you think you’ve changed? Matured? Grown into a better man? Don’t you think you deserve a second shot at happiness? I think you do.” He sighs and shakes his head. “Look, it’s honorable that you try to be all Luke needs, but someday, he’s going to grow up, move out, have a life of his own . . . then where will you be? Alone.”
“Dad . . .”
“Stop wasting your chances. We’re all afraid of things. Hell, after all these years, I’m still afraid of your mom’s cooking some nights,” he says and smiles. “I still brave it because she’s worth the risk.”
Worth the risk. There’s that damn phrase again.
“That was supposed to make you smile, Grayson.”
“Thanks for the pep talk, Dad, but I’m just trying to figure things out.”
“You’ve already figured them out. Now you need to act on them.”
“Easier said than done.”
He holds a hand out to me. We hook thumbs, and he helps pull me up.
“Remember this—someone who really loves you sees what a mess you are and understands that you can be a moody son of a bitch but wants you anyway.”
“What’s your point?”
“I believe Sidney saw all that in you and still wants you. She just isn’t sure how to fight for someone when they refuse to see the same in themselves.”
Christ.
“It isn’t that easy.”
“A long time ago, someone once told me to find what I love and let it kill me.” He lowers his head for a moment before looking back up and meeting my eyes. “It’s okay if Sidney ruins you, Gray. Don’t be afraid of it, because she may also be the one to help bring you back to life. She may just be the air you need to breathe, the one you can’t live without.”
My dad holds my gaze and nods ever so slightly before he turns and walks back to wherever he came from.
I run a hand through my hair and know he’s right. About all of it. I’ve felt like shit the past few days. It’s more than just my missing her. It’s knowing I want her and somehow let her slip through my fingers.
It’s knowing she is the one risk I want to take, consequences be damned.
It’s knowing I was too damn scared to ask her to stay . . . and now that she’s gone, the answers are all clear as fucking day.
“I’m proud of you, Sid. Your work and dedication really had a chance to shine in this contest.”
“Thank you.” My words are muted, my mind elsewhere as I meet my dad’s gaze. He can probably see the confession of everything I did wrong.
Like fall in love with a contestant.
I clear my throat. “Numbers have definitely improved, and not just for the contest pages. The click-through to other articles has had a significant increase as well.”
“So the numbers show.” He flips through more pages of statistics and then looks back up at me, a proud smile on his lips. “Zoey came to see me a few months back.”
I whip my head up to look at him, utter shock blanketing my face. “You mean my friend Zoey, Zoey?”
He gives a measured nod. “Yes.”
“Okay.” I draw the word out, mentally scrambling to come up with a reason why she would do that and coming up with nothing.
“Why didn’t you tell me you missed the interview because you were helping her?”
Completely blindsided by this conversation, I open my mouth and then close it more than a time or two before I finally speak. “Because it didn’t matter. She asked me not to tell anyone and seeing as how it was her personal business, I didn’t. Even if I had told you, it wouldn’t have changed the fact that I screwed up. I needed to own up to it. I should have kept track of the time or called someone to let them know . . . and I didn’t.”
“So you took the punishment without saying a word.”
“Yeah. I guess. I just did what I felt was right.”
For a second, I swear I see tears well in his eyes, but I know that’s not possible. Frank Thorton never shows emotion. Ever.
“Your work at Modern Family was incredible, Sidney . . . but I’m more proud of you for what you did with Zoey. For not making excuses and taking the assignment in Sunnyville with dignity. And for making the most of it.” He smiles as I fight back my own tears, his praise has always been hard won. “You earned it, kid. The spot at Haute is yours. You’ll have to learn some of the particulars here at headquarters, but after that, I’ll be more than happy to recommend you for the editor-in-chief position without any hesitation.”
He says the words I’ve waited to hear. Not just about the position at Haute, but that I’d done a good job. And yet, I don’t feel a single ounce of elation.
None. Sure, I love that I made him proud . . . but I feel like shit. I feel like I’ve betrayed myself by being here, fighting for this when I didn’t stay and fight harder for Grayson.
Maybe I am more like Claire than I’d like to admit.
Words are hard to come by and not because I’m ungrateful but rather because I didn’t stay and fight harder. “Thank you.”
“You say that as if you’re reluctant. C’mon—” He throws his hands up. “Get excited. You just worked your tail off and are going to reap the rewards.” His eyes narrow as he looks more closely at me. “It’s the party you have to go back for, isn’t it? Don’t go if you don’t want to. You’ve done your job; you aren’t required to be there.”
The thought of not going, of not seeing Grayson again, has me choking on air. “No, I want to go back.”
“That surprises me.”
“In fact . . . in fact, Dad, I don’t think I deserve the position at Haute.”
What am I doing?
He snaps his head up, stunned. “You what?”
“I, uh, I took a lot of credit that wasn’t mine to take. Your editor-in-chief of Modern Family, Rissa Patel is the one who helped me a lot.”
Did I really just say that?
“So, you didn’t do the work then?” Confusion etches in the lines of his face.
“No, I did. I did all the work . . . but I think someone else is more deserving of the position than I am. I think with her background and originality, she’d be a better fit.”
“I’m not following you, Sid.”
Fight for him.
“I want to stay in Sunnyville. I want to work on Modern Family. If Rissa wants the position at Haute—only if she wants it—then I would love a shot at her job at the magazine.”
“You’re telling me you want to stay in Sunnyville?”
I want to prove to him that he is what I want.
“Yes.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose as he tries to process what I’m telling him. That his daughter wants to leave her beloved city and stay in the suburbs. Willingly. The same place she stomped her feet at when she was told she had to go there.
“May I ask why?”
Because he’s worth the risk.
“Because I learned a lot about myself when I worked there, and I think there’s a lot more for me to improve.”
“I see.”
And because I like the woman Grayson makes me want to be when I’m with him.
Me: Text me when you get to town. We need to talk.
I hit send and then realize what a dick I sound like, but I can’t take it back.
Fuck. Can I do anything right?
All I have to do is tell her that she’s my choice. That I choose her.
It’s only been seven days, and I’m going fucking crazy without her. Seven days of waking up and repeating the steps without any color in my life.
I scrub a hand over my face as I stare at the s
creen and wait for a response. Any response. Something to let me know that she knows that her leaving was a mistake. Something to let me know she’ll be at the party tonight and that this—she and I—is somehow still on her mind. Is something she still wants.
Only, she doesn’t respond.
She doesn’t text back.
I end up sitting with my phone in my hand while Luke plays on the PS4, and I try to figure out how to fix something I broke.
How to prove to her that it won’t happen again.
“Dad! Someone’s at the door!”
“Who is it?” I ask as I jog down the stairs, less than thrilled at the high school and its never-ending fundraisers these days. We’ve already had two teenagers today selling mixed bags (whatever those are) and candy.
“Some old guy,” Luke says, and I stop in my tracks.
“That’s not nice.” The reprimand is instantaneous, but fear flickers through me just as quickly.
It’s the attention from the contest. He’s come back as a representative for Claire. He wants to see Luke.
“Dad? You okay?” Luke’s face is a mask of confusion as he stares at me.
“Yeah. I’m fine. I need you to go upstairs and play for a minute.”
“Dad?” Brown eyes narrow and question.
“Just do what I say,” I grit out and jab my finger to the stairs.
Feelings hurt, Luke eyes me again and trudges toward the stairs as every part of me wars against opening the door. It’s finally happening.
They finally came back for him.
My pulse rages in my ears.
Over my dead body.
Once Luke clears the landing so I can’t see him, I take a deep breath and steel myself for what I’ve always known I’d have to face someday, despite everyone telling me it would never happen.
Fuck you, Claire.
I yank open the door.
“What do you . . .” My words fade as I finish with a weak, “want?”