The Man He Never Was

by James L. Rubart

  As he walked the long tunnel that led to the octagon the next Sunday, a sliver of hope stirred, then died just as quickly. God was moving. Toren was changing. But it wouldn’t be enough. Maybe Eden was right—he would find a way to destroy Hyde, but to what end? Without Sloane, what was the point?

  After he caught her up on the recent explosions in his life, Eden poured him a cup of tea as they sat at the table in the center of the octagon and began speaking.

  “We cannot love till we know we are loved. You’ve heard this many times, I’m sure, Toren, but hearing is vastly different from knowing it in the core of your being. And we cannot truly love till we believe that perfect love casts out fear. Not some fear. Not ninety-nine percent of fear. All of it.”

  Toren set his cup on the table. “You told me the story of the prodigal son earlier. And ever since then all I can think is that I’ve never known that kind of love. Not even close. My own father? Well, he was the type to beat fear into a kid and then, for a bonus, brand it on his back.”

  “And so you have made God in your father’s image,” she said. Toren frowned. “You think God is no better than your earthly father?”

  “No, I know he’s better. Way better.” Toren squeezed the back of his neck.

  “Where do you know it?” Eden pointed to her head. “Here?” Then pointed at her chest. “Or here?”

  “You know what I’ve done. Who I’ve been. I’m never going to measure up to what God requires. At least not for a million years or so.”

  Eden leaned back in her seat. “Was that the nature of the love you experienced in that room?” She pointed at the door to the sacred space. “Think. If you fear God, if you are scared of him, then you do not know his perfect love. If there is even a shred of your consciousness that feels the need to perform, or come through, or measure up, or do all the right things, then you feel your father’s wrath, but that father is the one of lies, not the one who rushes toward you when he sees your silhouette on the horizon, not the one who kills the fatted calf, throws the robe around your shoulders, puts his ring on your finger, and rains kisses down on you.”

  Eden paused again, allowing time for her words to sink deep.

  Toren pulled in a deep breath and let it out slow. “It’s too good to be true.”

  “Only if you believe it to be so. In which case you will reject it.”

  “I can’t possibly deserve that kind of love.”

  “Who said anything about deserving?” It looked like Eden was stifling laughter. “Did the prodigal deserve his reception?”

  Her words sparked fresh hope in Toren’s chest. “So how do I do it? How can I believe that love is for me?”

  Eden tilted her head to the side. “Perhaps begin by forgiving yourself for believing the lie that this love is not for you.”

  Eden continued speaking, but most of her words flitted out of Toren’s reach, his mind turning over that word again and again: forgive. And as the ferry pulled away from Friday Harbor that evening and chugged across the dark-green water, he had an idea that had never occurred to him.

  Toren pulled out his cell phone and stared at it. Thirty seconds stretched into forty-five and then into a minute thirty. He asked himself why he was waiting to make the call. He wanted to. Deeply. Which surprised him. Maybe he was waiting to see if the desire would wear off. Nah, he knew without question it wouldn’t. Which surprised him even more. And then it didn’t surprise him at all.

  He finally tapped in the number he hadn’t dialed in almost a decade. The man had probably moved, or disconnected his phone after all this time. Five rings. Six. Nine. No answering machine kicked in. Twelve rings and Toren was about to hang up, but halfway through the thirteenth ring, the phone on the other end of the line was picked up.

  “Yeah?”

  Toren’s heart slammed against his chest. “Dad?”

  “Who is this?”

  “It’s Toren.”

  A pause.

  “Ain’t funny.”

  “It’s me, Dad. Really.”

  His dad’s heavy breathing was the only sound for ten seconds.

  “You . . . you died. They tracked me down . . . told me.”

  His dad’s voice was raspy. Weak. Toren listened for a hint of the old fire and anger that had been in his dad’s voice every minute he’d known the man. Wasn’t there.

  “No, I didn’t.” Toren swallowed. “I was away for a while, and they thought I had. But I’m alive.”

  “Oh.” His dad coughed. “That’s good, I suppose. I mean . . . it is good to know that. Really good.”

  Tenderness? Maybe it was just Toren’s imagination. Didn’t change what Toren wanted to say.

  “Something’s happened to me, Dad.”

  “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “For the first time in my life I’m starting to figure out what love is. Real love.”

  “Huh?”

  “And I wanted to let you know I forgive you for what you did to me. What you did to Brady and Mom.”

  “I didn’t ask for your forgiveness,” his dad growled. But the growl had little strength behind it.

  “I know you didn’t ask.” Toren smiled. “But I needed to tell you that. I realize maybe you just didn’t know how to be the dad you wanted to be. Or didn’t think you deserved forgiveness for not being that man.”

  A loud cough. Then, “Anything else?”

  “Yes.”

  “Spit it out then.”

  “I love you, Dad.”

  A silence began between them that lasted for more than twenty seconds. Finally, Toren’s dad broke it.

  “Even after all these years, huh?” A rasp of laughter.

  “Uh, Dad, I’m not . . . What do you mean ‘after all these years’?”

  More hacking laughter. “Even after growing up big and playing football in the pros, underneath all your he-man muscles, it turns out you’re still just a wussy, pretty-please pansy boy. Aren’t ya? Huh? Yeah, that’s what you still are!”

  His dad laughed once again, then swore. A second later the line went dead.

  Heat smothered Toren. He dropped his phone, and it clattered to the floor of the ferry. He bent over and pressed his fists into his forehead and drew hard breaths through his teeth. That’s what came of forgiving? That was the way of love? A second later he lost it.

  Toren rose up and slammed his fist against the window of the ferry three times as hard as he could. Then three more times. The glass shook. Boom! Boom! Boom! The sound filled the back of the ferry. Followed by a scream of anguish that lasted more than ten seconds.

  By the time security arrived a few minutes later, his rage had settled. Toren apologized profusely and gave a lame excuse for his behavior. They let him off the hook after studying his driver’s license, taking down his information, and giving him a stern warning.

  The rest of the trip he stared at the water with one thought. It was over. He couldn’t love. Wouldn’t ever be able to. Wouldn’t ever get control of Hyde. No matter how many times he met with Eden and heard her words of wisdom, he was never going to change. Sorken was right. Sometimes the dark dog wins.

  CHAPTER 42

  Monday morning, Toren’s cell phone rang at six thirty. He rolled over and groaned. He hadn’t slept, felt like he’d been run over by a dump truck. He was still sore from the pounding Letto had given him and exhausted from the emotional tsunami of recent days. He glanced at the caller ID and didn’t recognize the number, ignored it. But he was awake. He rolled out of bed and took a hot shower. It helped. A little. He studied his body in the mirrors. He looked ripped, but his ribs were still painful and right now he needed a serious pain reliever along with a shot of java. After his first cup of coffee, his cell rang again. Same number. Same reaction from him. If I don’t know you, I’m not answering. But when the third call came in five minutes later, sheer curiosity made him answer.

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you ready?”

  Toren knew the voice. Was it . . .

&n
bsp; “Eden?”

  “Yes, are you ready?”

  “This isn’t your usual number.”

  “I know that. I’m calling you from the store.” She sounded irritated. “Are you ready?”

  “For what?”

  “To become truly free. Not in man’s way, but in the way of your infinite Father.”

  Truly free? It wasn’t possible. That was the truth. Last night proved it. And the truth had not set him free.

  “There’s no point, Eden.”

  “With God, all things are possible.”

  “It’s over. I called my dad, and he—”

  “Did you forgive him?”

  “I tried.”

  “Did you or didn’t you?”

  Toren bit his lower lip, then whispered, “I did.”

  “Then it is not over—it has just begun,” Eden said. “You forgave him. Do not dismiss that act lightly. You have done well, dear brother.”

  Her words somehow stirred a hope he didn’t know was still inside. “Pretend I believe you. What would I have to do?”

  “You know what you must do.” Eden’s voice dropped to a whisper so soft Toren had to strain to hear the words. “It’s time. You must face him.”

  “Who?”

  “You know who, Toren.”

  “Hyde. But I don’t know how to face him.”

  “It is the only way.”

  “Why?”

  “Again, you know the answer. At The Center you were led to believe you could destroy Hyde—or at the least, bring him under full submission forever. Through your power. Your will. Your determination and sacrifice. But you cannot control him. This you know. He will reemerge. Always. No matter how hard you try, how far down you press him, he will find a way to escape.”

  “Yeah.”

  She paused to let out a slow breath. “You’ve seen him recently, haven’t you?”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Where?”

  “A reflection. In a window.”

  “It is time. I told you it would come, and it has.” Eden’s voice sounded tired. Older. As if she hadn’t slept for days.

  “So I have to kill him.” Toren spoke the words more to himself than to Eden. “Starving the dark dog is not enough. He will never fully die that way. I must kill him, destroy him once and forever.

  “I have to fight the Hyde inside me.” Toren whispered the words to himself. “I have to be willing to die to myself to have any hope of destroying him.”

  “I believe in you, Toren.”

  “But I don’t know what that means. I don’t know how to do that.” Toren stood and went to his window, fixed his gaze on the dark clouds rolling across the sky. “What do you mean I must face him? How?”

  “You know exactly what I mean, and it scares you because you don’t know if you’ll win.”

  “I don’t know how to fight someone who doesn’t exist except inside my soul.”

  Eden sighed. Not with judgment, but as if she’d heard that said many times before. “Now you understand why I said few people finish the journey. It is not an easy one. The end of this journey is for you, yes. But it is for Sloane as well. It is for Colton. It is for Callie.”

  “Will I live?”

  “I don’t know.” A long pause. “The better question is, are you willing to die? It is not easy to surrender one’s life.”

  They sat in silence as the question echoed in Toren’s mind. Was he willing to die? Surrender all that he was in order to have the chance to destroy his dark half once and for all? But there wasn’t a choice, not really. Toren would face him.

  “I hate him. With everything I am, I hate him. He’s destroyed my life, and now I will destroy him. Where does this battle take place?”

  “It happens in a place of peace, a place of triumph, a place of solitude. A place where you will not be disturbed.”

  “The octagon.”

  “Of course.”

  “When?”

  “I’ve been praying for you, Toren. All night.”

  “When?”

  “You do not have much time.” The sound of her labored breathing came through the phone. “Six days from now. Saturday. Noon.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Eden didn’t respond.

  “Did you hear me? I said I’d be there.”

  “I hope so.”

  As Toren pulled into the gym parking lot two hours later, his cell phone rang again and his pulse spiked. This time he knew who it was. Coach.

  Tell me something good.

  “Hey, Torrent. Want some great news?”

  “I don’t want it. I need it.”

  “You’re in.”

  “The tryout?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “They’re not giving me the tryout? I thought you said—”

  “Yeah, they are, but that’s the great news. The blow-your-mind kind of news. The workout is nothing more than a formality. They’re bringing in a few of the guys. They’ll watch you put a few hits on ’em. Hard hits, please. Not the time to hold back, you hearing me? They need to see you rock some bells on those boys. Just like old times.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “They’re going to invite you to training camp. Doesn’t mean you’ll make the team—not even close—but you’ll get a decent shot, a legitimate shot to show why you deserve a spot on the roster.”

  “Unbelievable.”

  “I’m not saying it’s all ’cause of me, but it’s all ’cause of me.” Coach’s laughter echoed through the phone. “And yeah, you owe me like you’ve never owed anyone in your life.”

  “Are you . . . What are . . . they . . . Why . . .”

  Coach hacked out another thick laugh. “Spit it out, man!”

  “I’m stunned. I mean, I thought it was possible, but now that’s it happening . . . I’m . . .”

  “Yeah, I get it. Like being a rookie all over again. Like I said, this is only a shot. Even if I was head coach, you’re going to have to rock it out of the park to make the team.”

  “I don’t . . .”

  “Know what to say? Here’s what you gotta say. You say, ‘Coach, if the sun rises, I’m standing in Florida on the day you tell me to be.’”

  “If the sun rises, I’m there.”

  “Excellent. Glad you’re ready to rock and roll.”

  “When?”

  “Sunday.”

  “What?” Heat buried him. No, not this Sunday. Couldn’t be.

  “This Sunday?”

  “Yeah, you fly out Friday afternoon. That’ll give you Saturday to acclimate to the time change, get a little rest, and be ready to destroy the world on Sunday.”

  “Coach, I . . .” Toren trailed off.

  “You what?”

  “I don’t know if I can.”

  “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that. Whatever it is, you cancel it and get your butt down to Florida.”

  Eden’s call echoed in his mind. You do not have much time.

  “I have to—”

  “Are you high? This is your dream. This is my neck. Way out there. Stuck it out there for you.” Coach’s voice was just under a roar at this point. “And you’re saying you don’t know?”

  “I’m in the middle of—”

  “I don’t care if you’re in the middle of the Amazon jungle with malaria and three broken legs, you get down here.” Through his phone, Toren heard Coach spit, and he didn’t have to imagine the look on the man’s face. “Friday.”

  The line went dead.

  CHAPTER 43

  “Quinn, call me back!”

  Toren tossed his cell phone onto his passenger seat and gripped his steering wheel like he was choking Letto in a rematch. He had to talk to Quinn, get someone other than Eden or Coach to referee the most insane decision of his life. How ironic that the one person he wanted to get counsel from more than anyone else was the woman who still had his whole heart and was in the process of shattering it forever.

  He
glanced at his speedometer. Sixty. In a forty. Not good. He slowed, and just as he was about to pick up his phone and try Quinn again, his cell rang. Quinn. Yes. Maybe God really did like him.

  “I need your counsel on how to make an impossible choice.”

  “Talk to me.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Having lunch.”

  “Where?”

  “At Sassy’s.” Quinn chuckled. “Where else?”

  “I’ll be there in seven minutes.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Quinn smacked his palms on the table. “Why would you even consider not going?”

  “You don’t get it. My time is this Saturday. Eden says—”

  “No, your time is not this Saturday. It’s this Sunday. Under the Florida sky. You getting your dream back. You getting your destiny back.”

  “I trust this woman. She—”

  “I get it, Toren.”

  “No. You don’t.”

  “Yeah, I do. We all have a dark side. Even me. And you want to destroy this imaginary Hyde person dark side of you. Good. Way to go. You call him Hyde, I call him your temper, whatever, huh?”

  Toren blew out a sigh.

  “You do this, you’ll be able to get control of your temper while you’re figuring out the other thing. That’s good, right? This is your answer, Tor! The outlet! You go down there, hammer some guys, you’re back to being you. The old you. But not the old you, because, whatever that Center place did for you, you have control of your temper most of the time, right? A flare-up now and then is about it. So this is perfect. Now you’re gonna get that outlet for the little flare-ups and be right back where you belong.”

  The idea struck Toren like he’d been blindsided by a pulling guard. Quinn was right. If he could get back on the field, hit some people, he could get control.

  “I don’t know.”

  “I do. So do you. I can see it in your eyes.”

  “I get control for a time. Maybe. But think.” Toren slapped his chest with both hands. “This thing is aging. Fast. Even if I make the team, I can’t play forever. Three seasons, maybe four if I’m extremely lucky.”