“Don’t worry. You don’t have forever. You don’t even have six months. You have three months before you have to go to court and the divorce sails through whether you want it to or not. Then she gets a ring from this other guy welded to her finger. I’m not saying you don’t come back and do your swami guru lady thing next week, but right now? You don’t know when your temper is going to explode, do you? Do you have any control over it? No. So get it under control long enough to figure out how to get it under control forever, or time to do the rest of this octagonal training or whatever it is . . . Are you tracking with me?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m just saying, this octagon thing sounds like it’s been around for a long time and will probably be around for a long time, but this shot with Coach? It’s going bye-bye unless you jump on it now, and it ain’t ever coming back.”
Four days later, late on Friday morning, Toren cruised down 405 on the way to Sea-Tac Airport and tried to choose a winner in the debate going on inside his head. Call Eden? Or just not show and explain things to her when he got back from Florida? The right choice was to call her. But he didn’t need that battle right now, her telling him he needed to come to Friday Harbor instead. Yes, in a perfect world he’d be there. But Quinn was right. Odds were pretty high that the octagon wasn’t going anywhere, and neither was Eden. It wasn’t as if she’d refuse to let him come see her even if he was a few days late.
As he pulled into the airport parking garage twenty minutes later, there was still no clear victor. He shut off his engine and stared at his phone. Call. Don’t call. Call. Don’t call. Wasn’t there a middle ground? Yes, there was. And for the moment, it was the best choice. He’d call her tomorrow, when there was no going back. For the moment, he’d make it short and sweet.
Toren picked up his phone and pulled up her number.
Eden, this is Toren. Something’s come up that I have to do this weekend. No choice. I’ll call you tomorrow to explain.
By the time he’d checked his bags and sat at gate N17, waiting for Alaska Airlines to wing him to Miami, the little voice inside him had sung the same refrain at least ten times: he’d taken the coward’s way out. If he knew with conviction he was doing the right thing going to Florida, he’d have no problem talking to Eden about it on the phone.
“Shut up!”
The elderly man two seats down raised his eyebrows and scooted a few inches away.
“No, sorry, I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to myself . . . I . . .”
The man returned to his book without glancing up at Toren. Toren glanced at his watch. The plane was supposed to start boarding in five minutes. Too long. Once he got in the air, the struggle would be behind him. The choice made. But the next half hour wouldn’t be easy.
Ten minutes later he was settled into his seat, watching the other passengers board, willing them to move faster. Just as what looked like the final stragglers boarded, his cell phone buzzed but he didn’t look. He knew. A text message, had to be. From Eden, telling him the mistake he was making. But whose life was it? Hers, or his?
Toren fought the urge to look until the flight attendants finished their safety routine, then he pulled up the text. He read it. Looked at the picture that came with it. Once. Twice. Three times. Heat shot through him and he unbuckled his seat belt.
“I have to get off the plane,” Toren said to the flight attendant standing near the cockpit door.
“What, sir?” The attendant leaned forward, a frown on her face.
“I have to get off. I can’t take this flight.”
“Sir, I’m sorry, we’ve already closed the cabin door and been cleared for takeoff.”
“I’m the one who’s sorry to put you through this trouble, but I absolutely have to get off.”
As Toren strode back through the concourse ten minutes later, he studied the text again and again. It wasn’t from Eden. Not from Coach, or Quinn, or Sloane.
It was from his daughter. It was from Callie.
CHAPTER 44
Toren reached the door to the octagon at noon on Saturday, knocked once, then stepped inside, still not sure if he’d made the right choice. But when the Spirit surged inside, when hope shot through him, when he saw the look in Eden’s eyes—one of radiant joy for him—all doubt shattered and faded into nothingness.
“You’re here,” she said.
Eden didn’t say it as if she were surprised, but as if she knew with absolute certainty he would be standing in front of her on this day, at this hour.
“Yes.”
“Why?” She strolled toward him, hands extended. When she reached him, she took his fingers in hers, squeezed once, let go, and repeated her question. “Why did you choose this over your dream?”
“How did you know that’s where I planned to go?”
Eden invited him to sit with her at the table. After he’d sat down, she repeated her question for the third time. “Why did you choose this?”
“Callie.”
“Oh?”
“She sent me a text. On her mom’s phone. I didn’t even know she knew how to do it.” Toren pulled out his phone and pulled up Callie’s message. “I was on the plane, doors shut. Decision made. My phone buzzed. I thought it was you arguing why I had to come here—I wasn’t going to look at it till we were in the air—but for some insane, not-insane reason, I couldn’t stop myself, and I looked down and there it was.”
“I see.”
“For her fifth birthday I made her a wooden box.”
Toren had given it to Callie that night after her party was over, after he and Sloane cleaned up the cake crumbs and sticky fingerprints, after friends and family went home and the stillness in the air was thick and warm with memories.
He walked into her room to tuck her in and settled on the edge of her bed.
“I have something for you.”
“What is it, Daddy?”
“For you.” Toren pulled the box out from behind his back and set it in front of her.
“It’s so pretty.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
Callie sat forward in bed, her pink covers bunched up around her like snowdrifts. “Is there anything inside?”
Toren laughed. “Why do you think there’s something inside?”
“There has to be something inside pretty boxes. Everyone knows that.”
“Why don’t you open it up and see?”
Callie lifted the lid and pulled out twenty or so folded pieces of paper. “What are these?”
“They’re promises. From me.”
“What kind of promises?”
“I’ve written something on each piece of paper. Some are silly, some are serious. Some are for now, some are for when you get older. But the important thing is, you get to decide when the things written on the papers get done.”
“So like when I want to, I give you one of the papers and then you read it and have to do what it says.”
“Yes.”
“Can I look at some of them now?”
“Sure!”
For the next ten minutes they read through a few of the coupons together.
•I promise the biggest milkshake you’ve ever had, ever, ever, ever!
•I promise a super-long bike ride together.
•I promise to make sure any boy who wants to take you out is worthy of you.
•I promise to let you stay up two hours past your bedtime.
•I promise to always be available to talk about anything you want to talk about.
•I promise a movie night together with popcorn and way too much butter and salt and whatever movie you want to watch.
•I promise nighttime prayers and morning tickles.
•I promise to teach you how to drive a stick shift car.
•I promise an overnight campout together in a tent in the backyard.
“Can I make you promise to do a promise tomorrow, Daddy?”
“Of course!” He laughed.
Toren pulled him
self away from the memory and fixed his gaze on Eden.
“There were a few times when she gave me one of those papers and I meant to make it happen, but I kept putting it off until . . .”
“You broke the promise.”
Toren nodded.
“But this time you are going to follow through.”
“Yes.”
Toren pulled out his cell phone and looked at Callie’s text message again. A picture of one of the papers he barely remembered writing filled his screen.
I promise to ___________________. (You get to fill in the blank, Callie, with whatever you want.)
She’d saved it. And filled it in, in green pen: I promise to love Mommy again more than anything else with God’s help.
“I am thankful to Callie for sending that text,” Eden said. “I believe by the time you leave the octagon today, you will be as well.”
“I already am.”
“May I offer a thought before you face him?”
“How do I face him? I don’t even—”
Eden held up a finger. “Trust.”
“Yeah.” Toren ran his fingers through his hair. “Sorry, what were you going to say?”
“There is nothing that can separate you from the love of Christ. Nothing. There is no storm that can harm you, for you are hidden in Christ. There is no fear that can overtake you or even touch you, because the love of Christ is perfect and it casts out all fear. All.”
“Thank you.”
“I love you, my dear brother.”
Eden nodded and stood. “I have to leave you again now, Toren. This is another part of your journey you must take alone, but know that I am with you as your sister in Christ, and since he is in me and I am in him, I am also in the Christ part of you.”
Toren gave a soft smile. “Someday I think I might even understand that.”
“This will not be easy.”
“That part I do understand.” He paused. “But do I get any clue how I’m supposed to do this?”
“The Spirit will lead you. Trust, Toren. Trust him. Trust who you are in him, trust who he is in you.”
They stood together in the silence until a noise from the far end of the room shattered it like a stone against glass. Toren heard a voice he knew far too well.
“My main man! Yes! It’s rematch time. You wanted the rematch, you got the rematch. Rock and roll, baby.”
Letto Kasper strode out of the room at the back of the octagon, muscles twitching, a sick grin splayed on his face. Toren’s heart hammered and he shook his head in disbelief.
“You have got to be kidding me. What are you doing here?”
“Here we go, brother, here we go now. Ready, Toren? You wanted this, remember? Rumble time. Battle of the ages. But doesn’t look like Quinn could make it. Pity. Jus’ you and me.”
He stopped his bobbing and weaving and shuffled over to a chair near one of the far windows that overlooked the water, sank down into it, and waved his fingers.
“Take your time, say good-bye to the guru, give her hugs or whatever it is you do, no rush. We’ll start whenever you’re ready.”
Toren’s adrenaline kicked into fifth gear. He jabbed his finger at Letto. “Stay right there. Do not move.”
“Okay.”
Toren spun and in six long strides reached Eden, who had moved to leave the room. He took her by the shoulders. “What have you done? Why did you invite him here?”
Eden reached up, took his hands in hers, and slowly lowered them between them but did not let go. She glanced to where he’d pointed, at Letto, then turned kind eyes to Toren. “Your oldest friend will help you with what you must do to Hyde. I promise you, this is the way.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am.”
“He’s not my friend.”
“I see.”
“So I’m missing the part where he’s going to help me. At all.”
Eden squeezed his hands and whispered, “Remember your greatest weapon.”
She let go of his hands, walked through the door of the octagon, and shut it tight behind her. The sound of the door shutting resounded like the shot of a cannon. He stared at the door. Closed his eyes. Prayed for wisdom, strength, and control. But all he could think about was how unprepared he was, no matter what Eden said. Toren turned and faced Letto. If his help had to come from a man he now fully detested, so be it.
“Eden says you’re going to help me face Hyde. Is that true?”
“Yes, it is.” Letto rose from his chair and started a slow bobbing shuffle, a half-speed version of the one he’d done during their fight in the parking lot.
“You can’t do it without me. Impossible. She understands that. I see by the stupid look on your face that you clearly have no clue about the truth of that statement.”
“Enlighten me.” Toren stepped toward him.
“Idiot.”
“Yeah, let’s say I am. Educate me.”
“I really am going to help you though this. I am. But not in the way you want me to. Or the way she wants me to. That part I’m guessing you have figured out. I’m going to kill you this time.” He grinned, his eyes flashing a darkness that shot through Toren like ice.
Blackness seemed to seep from the floor and ceiling of the octagon and from Letto. It met the light coming in from the windows as if a solid wall stood between dark and light. Fear snaked up Toren’s legs and arms, into his shoulders, into his mind.
He staggered back, his gaze locked on Letto, his eyes straining to see through the growing darkness. After another few seconds the darkness was complete and Toren saw nothing. The silence was so deep, the sound of Toren’s heartbeat filled his head.
“Kasper!”
No response. Nothing. But Toren felt him. Evil. Malevolence emanated from him in waves. How could he take Letto in total darkness? He couldn’t. Couldn’t take him even in the light of day. But he had no choice.
How long the darkness and silence pressed down on him, Toren didn’t know. Might have been minutes, although his mind screamed it had been hours. He didn’t risk stepping forward, not until his eyes adjusted. He’d seen how fast Letto was. And Toren had no doubt the man’s knife was already in his hand. So why hadn’t Letto moved? Already attacked him?
Toren stumbled farther back, his hand groping for the door to allow the light from the landing at the top of the staircase to fill the room. A few seconds later he found it and grabbed the knob, but his sweat-slick hand slipped off.
Toren wiped his palm on his pants, grabbed again, and twisted. It didn’t budge. No! Why would Eden lock him inside?
Letto’s voice slithered out of the darkness. “Come on back and play, Toren. What’s wrong with you?”
Toren closed his eyes and thought of Sloane and Colton and Callie. He could do this. Yes, he was willing to die if it meant saving them. Even if he had no idea what being here, fighting Letto had to do with it, and even though he couldn’t fathom what this battle had to do with facing Hyde. He would press on. He trusted Eden, trusted his heavenly Father.
Toren felt the air shift. Close by. Move! Too late. Letto’s steel fist slammed into his ribs. The air rushed out of Toren’s lungs as he keeled over. A slam to Toren’s head. He dropped to his knees as a groan eked out of his mouth.
“Come on, Toro ol’ buddy, you gotta do better than this. You did last time. Kinda sorta anyway. Yeah? Don’t be a pretty-please pansy boy like when you were a kid. At least take a swing at me.”
Rage surged inside Toren, and he flailed at the sound of Letto’s voice, snagged one of his legs, dug his fingers into his calf, and drove his shoulder into the smaller man’s thigh. But Letto slammed his other foot into Toren’s shoulder blades. His grip loosened.
“That’s better, Toro, but still, giving my leg a little tickle isn’t going to get you too far.”
Letto was dancing again. Had to be, based on his voice, the sound coming as if the man were circling Toren. In his mind’s eye he saw the mocking look on Letto’s face.
Wham! An elbow to the back, so hard Toren collapsed. Then a kick to his ribs. Felt like two broke. Maybe three. Then another boot to the same spot.
Father, I need you like I’ve never needed you before. I need your power.
An answer came an instant later. You have my power, for you have Christ in you. You are in him; he is in you.
Another boot to his ribs. This time the other side. Just like his father had done a thousand years ago. Hot pain. Worse than he’d ever felt on the field.
“Get up, big man! At least make it interesting. You’re a big football star. Let’s rock and roll, Toren!”
Toren closed his eyes even though it made no difference in the darkness and spoke with a belief that came from a part of him so far down in his soul he barely heard the word inside his own mind.
“Light.” He opened his eyes. “The light of Christ. Here. Now.”
Before he’d finished the last word, a dim light appeared in the far corner of the room. Miniscule, yet radiant and hot, it shot hope through Toren even as it illuminated Letto from behind, casting him in silhouette.
“Nicely done, Toro, baby.” Letto shook his head as if the accomplishment meant nothing.
Toren held no weapons, had no idea how this battle could be waged so he would win, had no thoughts other than the certainty that he had to beat Letto, and the certainty that it wasn’t going to happen.
“I love the way you think, Toren.” Letto’s thick laughter stabbed him through the darkness. “Beat me. Save them. Yeah, right. But you are right that you have no shot at beating me. I’m stronger. Faster. You want me to just get it over with? Put you out of your misery? Just give the word.”
Anger and fear buried Toren.
“Who are you?”
“You seriously cannot be that stupid, can you?”
“Tell me.”
More laughter. “I suppose you can be that stupid.”
“Tell me.”
“Think, idiot. Anyone else would have figured it out ages ago. I mean, yeah, maybe not back in junior high, but really? Even now?”
The Man He Never Was Page 25