“So I was distracting you?”
He bent his head to run a hand through his hair, his eyes twitching in irritation. “Yes,” he huffed.
My throat tightened and prickled with tears that really wanted to surface. But I wouldn’t allow them to. The man was already riddled with enough guilt and thoughts of himself as being irreparably broken. I couldn’t add my own distress and sorrow to the load he’d willingly taken upon himself.
I frowned, knowing that it took two to start something. And I’d been perfectly aware of his brokenness long before we’d started our romantic liaison.
I’d gambled that he’d get better, maybe. Or maybe I just had made the fatal mistake of not thinking things through.
I’d gambled, yes. And I’d lost.
“So now you want to talk about me moving out,” I finally said in a low voice.
His troubled brow smoothed, and he darted a look up at me and away.
“But,” I continued, “there’s the problem that I’m expected to stay here and keep you from relapsing. Tolan expects it. My father and the other investors expect it.”
I saw that strange wince and flash of anger again before he quickly looked away, as if forcing himself to calm down. For lack of anything better to do, I grabbed my soda and sipped at it. He stared off into space for a minute or two before visibly shaking himself and turning back to me.
“I have house guests coming next week,” he said quietly.
Well, that wasn’t what I’d expected to hear. I hesitated, nodding for him to clarify.
“Karen Freed. She’s also a consultant on this new film, and the studio asked her to come out for interviews. When she told me, I invited her and AJ to stay here. And since the little guy doesn’t have school for another month and a half, they’re going to be here a while.”
I opened my mouth then shut it and then opened it again. “That’s great. I’m so glad that you’re in a place where you can…” My voice unexpectedly faltered, though not quite into a sob. That place he was at where he could reach out to Karen was the exact same place he was at when he had dumped me and was now giving me my packing orders.
Fighting the tremble in my emotional control, I swallowed my own grief. I could be happy about this big step in his progress. “It’s good that the two of you are talking again.”
He looked down at the table between us and I noticed how tightly his hands were balled into fists, knuckles whitened. He had the most attractive hands. Large, long fingered, defined veins. I blinked before I allowed myself to go down the primrose path of remembering what those hands could—and did—do to me.
Because it was over. With all of this, he was reassuring me of just that. There was no hope. This would not resume.
I blinked. “I have a feeling you aren’t just telling me this so I can clear some space on the bathroom counter for your other guests.”
He shook his head. “I think there’s a lot you can be doing for the program. And you have your own life to get back to.”
Another weight dropped into my gut, a sudden, heavy loneliness instilled by those words. Your own life. My life…without him in it.
“You’re thinking that Karen can fill in for me?” I asked softly. His brow looked puzzled, and I gestured jerkily with my hand as I clarified. “I mean for keeping you from, uh, relapsing on your lifestyle.”
He said nothing just held my eyes with his piercing gaze. He had that look again as if trying to solve a difficult puzzle. Then he slowly nodded.
I took a deep breath, overwhelmed with a mixture of emotions. I had no real strong desire to stay here and continue the awkward evasion we’d been managing over the past few days. But I didn’t want to say goodbye either.
I didn’t want this to be the end.
And I sure as hell didn’t want to keep sitting at this table and continue this conversation.
I stood. “I’ll talk to Tolan in the morning and see if that will satisfy him.”
“I can do it. You don’t have to—”
I held out a hand to stay the argument. “I’m fine. I’ll do it.”
His eyes fell to the table again. Before I said or did something I regretted—like dissipating into a blubbering puddle on the floor—I put the can in the recycling bin and returned to my room.
To lick my wounds in silence and with my well-practiced stoicism.
At first, open wounds are raw and vulnerable, susceptible to the elements. But soon, according to the body’s natural pattern of healing, a scab forms, protecting the mending skin underneath while scar tissue formed. Soon the tissue is as good as new, if a little worse for wear. And eventually the scar tissue is less sensitive than the original skin it has mended.
Experiences seemed to work the same way.
And heartbreak.
I made two promises to myself: I’d try my best to get over hating him for breaking my heart. I’d also fight to get over hating myself for giving him the opportunity to break it in the first place.
Time will heal this, a voice told me at the back of my head. The voice of my reason. My thinking self.
But deep down, I knew it wasn’t as simple as that. Not when it felt like a part of myself was missing. And the wound it had left behind was raw and sore.
Chapter 7
Gray
On my way to work the next morning, I got a phone call from my dad. Since I was still slogging through morning traffic on the 22 freeway, I answered the phone through the buttons on my steering wheel.
“Dad, hi. I’m on the way to work. What’s up?”
“Dinner’s at my house this week. Saturday night if you can make it.”
“Sure, sounds good.” I laughed and couldn’t resist a tease. “You cooking?”
“I’m inviting a guest. Remember Aaron Thiessen? He called me last weekend and wanted to chat. I remembered how well the two of you hit it off when we ran into him at that frou frou restaurant last month. He was asking you all those space questions, so I thought it might be fun to invite him to our dinner. We can chat about old times.”
I tensed, smelling a set up. And I hardly had many “old times” to talk about with Aaron. I’d been at college most of the time when Dad was his mentor. It wasn’t at all like that close friend-of-the-family relationship I had with Tolan.
I frowned. “Uh, okay. What do you want me to bring?”
“Just your beautiful self,” Dad replied as if he’d been anticipating the question.
This was so unlike him. He usually kept his nose out of my personal social life—especially my love life which, until recently had been next to nonexistent. Weird.
We chatted for another couple minutes before I hung up, puzzling over the strange new development, but also relieved for something to get me out of Ryan’s tension-filled house for an evening.
Because now, it seemed we were just counting down the days until Karen Freed and her son arrived and I left, pending XVenture’s approval, of course.
I found myself having that discussion over lunch that day, after texting Tolan the moment I’d arrived at work. I’d offered some Chinese takeout from one of our favorite nearby restaurants as an incentive for him to pencil me in, and he’d agreed to meet with me while we wolfed it down.
Making it past his assistant with the warm and fragrant bags of food, I almost laughed when I noticed Tolan waiting at his desk, chopsticks already in hand. The only thing that would have been funnier would’ve been finding him wearing a big bib over his knit shirt.
His chopsticks were slightly different, metallic and flat Korean chopsticks. It made sense that he’d prefer them, because his mother was Korean—and possibly the most adorable woman I’d ever met.
I pulled out my wooden disposable chopsticks from their paper wrapper and held them out, fencing style. “En garde. Winner takes all the wontons?”
“Hell no. Cough them up, girl.” He snapped his two chopsticks together loudly, imitating hungry jaws. In response I plopped the bag onto his desk, and he started diggin
g through the white cartons to find his favorite dishes.
“Don’t snarf down all the spring rolls, please. Save at least one for me,” I huffed.
He already had one box open, lo mein noodles bunched between his chopsticks just inches from his mouth. “I’m sorry. Did you actually want to talk? I was just planning to pig out.”
We spent the next few minutes happily consuming our food with lots of lip smacking and murmurs of approval coming from Tolan’s direction. He was a brilliant man—one of the smartest and most visionary that I knew—and I’d been acquainted with a lot of smart people.
But Tolan had nurtured a vision since his early years, brought himself up from a middle-class background, an immigrant to the US as a young teen. Despite our fifteen-year age difference, we’d bonded when he’d studied as a mentee under my dad. We’d both been space freaks and had attended space events together—lectures at the planetarium, a couple shuttle landings at Edwards Air Force Base, astronaut memoir book signings, even several space exploration conventions.
He’d taken me out to Florida to watch the very last launch of the space shuttle Atlantis at Cape Canaveral in 2011. Having impressively pulled strings, he’d been able to get us seats in the VIP section to observe it.
It would stand out as one of the most memorable events in my life.
“Ahh, that was so good,” Tolan said as he sat back a few minutes later. He was an unusually fast eater, for which he was teased constantly. He patted his belly. “I might have to undo my belt, Gray. Just warning you.”
I raised a brow. “Please wait till I’m gone and exercise a little self-control with your food consumption.”
He shook his head. “Not my fault. You’re the one who dangled Chinese food in front of me. I’m like Homer Simpson and donuts with Chinese food.”
I smiled serenely but didn’t say aloud what I was thinking. That’s what I’d been counting on, Tolan.
He reached out and wiped his mouth with a white paper napkin imprinted with the restaurant’s logo, name, and address in red. “So, what can I do you for?”
I shrugged. “Just wanted to chat and catch up.”
“How are things going with Ty? Any better?”
We hadn’t talked in-depth about the situation since those first few weeks when Ryan had been belligerent and very crabby about my ‘babysitting assignment.’
Tolan was not privy to all the goings-on since then, much to my relief.
“Well, about that…” I began slowly. “I was thinking we could ease up on how closely he’s being watched.”
Tolan did not seem surprised or even the least bit curious about this observation. He dropped his soiled napkin in the waste bin and reached out to sip at his water bottle. “Yeah, your dad more or less said something like that when I saw him last week.”
I blinked. Last week? Tolan had talked to my dad last week?
“Dad was here last week?” I’d have known, wouldn’t I? He definitely would have stopped by to say hello at the very least.
Tolan shook his head. “Not here. Across the street. We had a little meeting at Happy’s. Anyway, he was saying he was concerned about you not being able to finish up your clinical hours. Said he wasn’t as concerned about Ty now that he was going along with his fake relationship. He hasn’t mentioned that to you?”
Struggling to hide my reaction, I kept my features placid instead of showing my surprise. “Not yet. I have dinner with him on Saturday.”
“Well personally, I trust your opinion. We’ll give Ty a little breathing room if you think he’s up to it. Especially so you can get back to your own life.”
I almost rolled my eyes. Yeah, my big, fat exciting life. What a joke. Thousands of calories of ice cream consumed by the pint while listening to sad love songs. Couldn’t wait.
“So you know, Xander Freed’s widow and son are going to be staying with him starting next week. I think he’ll be in good hands with her. Besides…besides….”
I couldn’t even bring myself to say it.
“Is he doing better?” Tolan prompted.
I nodded slightly. “Yeah. No drinking, no partying.” We wouldn’t talk about the other stuff. The PTSD, the paralyzing fear of the dark, the lack of sleep. And the penchant to want to keep punishing himself for being broken.
Tolan nodded. “Good. Then why don’t you just stay until Karen Freed gets here? And please, will you invite her out here if she has time? I’d love to meet her and her son. I’ll give them a VIP tour.”
I nodded. “Yeah, sure.” My insides tightened up, and we chatted for a few more minutes about his life. Tolan and his girlfriend were starting to get serious, and he wanted a little psychology advice about some of the big milestones…like when to pop the “three-word phrase.”
Best advice? Don’t do it with a stack of fucking heart-shaped pancakes. I bit my lip to keep my comment unspoken and did my best, as usual, to provide the good listening ear.
The next day, I finally met up with Pari, whom I’d been semi-avoiding since Ryan had dropped the bomb on me the previous weekend.
I’d left her birthday cupcakes and a card on her desk early on Monday morning, and she’d left a gorgeous thank-you note on mine a day later.
But I hadn’t really wanted to talk about this mess with anyone. Not yet, anyway. Maybe deep down I’d been hoping it was temporary.
But Pari was unavoidable. We crossed paths, and I had to put on a fake smile, which she saw through immediately.
She pulled me into an alcove. “You have been hard to get a hold of,” she said, nodding to me with expectant eyes and a wide smile. Then she lowered her voice. “How are things going in the astro-love pad?” She waggled her thick dark brows at me. “Or should I call it the launchpad?”
I shushed her. “It’s not going.”
Pari’s brows buckled. “What happened?”
I blew out a breath. “I don’t want to talk about it now, okay? I promise I’ll tell you everything this weekend, or better yet, come by my house next week. I’ll be back there then.”
Pari mulled this over for a moment before slowly nodding. “Are you okay?”
I bit my lip. “I will be. I’ll tell you later.”
Her face fell. “Okay. I’m so sorry.”
We hesitated, looking at each other, and then I took a step in the direction of the cubicles I shared with other members of the health team. It was almost quitting time, and I had work to gather so I could get it finished at home. “How about you? Are you okay?”
She nodded then looked down, a little smile on her face. I caught it all, halting in my tracks.
“What’s that smile?”
“Well, I was going to tell you what was going on with me, but I feel bad now for sharing good news.”
Staring at her expectantly, I folded my arms over my chest. “Spill it.”
“I listened to your advice and… Well, I summoned my courage and talked to Vic.”
In spite of my own misery, I smiled. I’d been hoping for a positive outcome between her and Victoria ever since she’d originally told me about their tryst. “I’m so glad. It went well, I take it?”
She nodded. “I think so. We’re going to talk some more over dinner, maybe this weekend if either of us gets a free minute.”
We turned to continue walking in the same direction. “Please let me know how it goes, if you want to share. And you know, don’t hesitate to tell me something good that’s going on with you, even if I’m sad, okay?”
She nodded, still eying me speculatively. “Promise me we’ll talk when you’re ready? You can’t be the one who listens to everyone else’s troubles and yet never gets time to talk about your own, you know?”
I returned her smile with my tight one. I’d hug her, but Pari was not a hugger and I respected that.
From work, I went to a nearby coffeeshop and did most of my side work there, avoiding going back to the house too early. Still smarting from Ryan’s “get out” talk, I didn’t feel like packing up my
things just yet, and I wanted to run into him even less.
On Saturday, I made the long slog to LA for dinner at Dad’s house.
And I found myself, quite awkwardly, on what could only be described as a surprise first date. I hadn’t been on many first dates, to be honest, but they’d never gone well. And a first date that my dad not-so-stealthily tried to set up was beyond the typical realm of awkward.
Dad owned three homes; one back in Peoria, Illinois, his home state, an apartment in Manhattan, and his California home, which was a modest ranch-style house in the upper-middle-class Los Angeles neighborhood of Los Feliz.
None of these dwellings gave away the fact that he was one of the richest men in the country. No ultra-modern smart home on a lakeside retreat like his acquaintance, Bill Gates. No flashy Frank Lloyd Wright replica on a waterfall like his good friend Mark Chandler, CEO of one of the biggest hedge funds in New York. And no sprawling San Fernando Valley ranch in Hidden Hills like his former mentee, Tolan Reeves.
Dad had purchased the LA home for our family when we’d had to move out here for my medical issues at the age of eight. I’d lived there through many of my formative years because it was near one of the best children’s hospitals in the country. My family’s moves—and many of the major incidents that had shaped us as a familial unit—had often centered around me and my health.
Aaron Thiessen was already at Dad’s house when I arrived with the freshly baked bread and bouquet of flowers for the table. And I knew I was in for a long night when Dad called me into the sitting room where he and Aaron stood in front of the wall of photos of me.
Yeah, that’s right. He had an entire wall of photos that had been taken of me throughout the years, from infancy through that wonderful period when I’d been cursed with the trifecta of braces, horrible skin, and thick-framed, break-proof glasses. There were a couple of hospital photos with some of my favorite doctors and nurses. And of course, there was the snapshot of my first trip to Disneyland after my last valve replacement, looking ready to take on the world after having finished my secondary education at sixteen.
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