Love Me Love Me Knot

by Deb Lee

  “But, Dad—”

  His dad held up a hand. “Just listen a minute. I’ve had great care in Paris going the natural route, but I need serious intervention now. I’m terminal, and if I want to prolong a few years, I need advanced treatment.”

  Terminal? God that word was like a hot iron down a man’s throat. “Geez, Dad. Why didn’t you say something?”

  His dad pulled in a deep breath, and Ryan watched his eyes fill. Suddenly he knew exactly why his dad didn’t tell him sooner. “Because you made it. Everything I ever told you was wrong. I couldn’t let my health stop you from moving toward your dream.”

  That gut shot hurt. Apparently, he’d set himself up to become a soulless ass. He’d buried himself in work, just to prove his dad wrong. And now? Now his dad was pointing out the very thing Red had. The very thing Sophie had. What did work matter when you wake up thirty years later and find yourself alone? It reared its ugly head with Sophie and had ground in with his dad. What could he say? “And now?”

  “And now I’m making my amends. I can’t fix what I did or said to you before, but I am telling you now that I screwed up. I’m sorry. And though they are just words, I plan on spending the last bit of time I have here between treatment and my new job.”

  Ryan felt his brows furrow. “Job?”

  “I’m volunteering at the Institute of Astronomy Academy as a mentor to young astronomers.”

  Ryan about lost his balance. “Wait, you’re going back into astronomy? I thought you gave that up for good.”

  A shadow of a smile draped across his face. “You never give up a passion, son. I merely lost my vision on what was important and stopped trying. But there’s a whole new generation of kids who get all their science from social media, and I intend on promoting this program to fix that FUBAR.”

  Ryan laughed. “Nice, Dad.”

  “Well, it’s not like I have another ten years to screw up again.” He paused and sighed. “I cannot express to you how wrong I was. Your job matters. What you do matters. The difference you make in journalism matters. Even if it is just about funny-shaped balls and bad referee calls.”

  Ryan forced a grin. He didn’t need to tell his dad his own FUBAR to know he had some work to do. He didn’t need his rocket-scientist father to guide him. Forgiveness was a process, not a drive-through, have-it-your-way request. He needed to sit down and have a serious conversation with his dad. And Nicole, apparently. But that was for later. His dad was here. Trying. And if a man with a terminal disease with nothing to gain by tucking his tail between his legs could admit he was wrong, then Ryan could take a page from dear old Dad’s book.

  “Dad, I have to go.”

  His dad’s eyes met his. He got it. “Then go.”

  Ryan tossed his dad a room key. “I’m staying at the Grand Bella Suites. It’s a two-bedroom suite.” He looked his dad over. “Why don’t you call concierge and have that suit cleaned? And I’d say help yourself to the mini-bar, but don’t. I’d like a chance to maybe check out a constellation or two with you.”

  His dad’s smile warmed him. If decades-old pain didn’t kill a man, then maybe it wasn’t too late with Sophie. He grabbed his cell and scrolled numbers until he found one he hadn’t dialed in over ten years. Barbara Dougherty’s home number.

  Chapter 37

  Sophie stood in front of Chicks ’n’ Slicks’ bar top, staring at the café’s hand-made sign. She would miss the charm of this place. And the memories. But nothing more.

  Chicks ’n’ Slicks closing was not Ryan’s fault. She knew that. No matter how many times she crunched the numbers, the rent was impossibly high, even for San Francisco, and without Over the Top’s stipend, it was in financial stasis.

  Her chest gripped as she remembered the surprise in Ryan face when she’d seen everything in his cabin. He was shocked. But not because she learned about the merge, but because he’d hurt her—that much she could see from his expression. She knew he didn’t mean to hurt her. And then he made her face some truths about herself. So much so, that back at the office, Sophie had quit without a second thought.

  Amy reported that Ryan’s downcast eyes matched his solemn mood. Sure, she and Donovan stayed on with Jazz as their day job, and were cordial to Ryan, but ultimately, she knew this was her calling—even if it did mean she was moving back in with Grandmoo for the interim.

  Sophie shook the thought. It had no place in her mind tonight. No, tonight was their last night as a family. Scratch that. It was the last night they would be at the café as a family. After this meeting, she would lock the door one last time, and Slumlord Sam could have his precious, run-down building to do with as he pleased. They may have to meet in a parking garage or something for a while, but that was okay.

  Today, it became official. Grandmoo, who was a long-time colleague and close friend of Jonathan Bosson, the newly appointed attorney general, not only walked into his office without an appointment—as anyone who knew Grandmoo kept an open-door policy—but spent an hour with him.

  “Okay, ladies,” Sophie said, feeling as giddy as she did nervous. “You all know I have been working on a secret project, and this is the moment we have been waiting for. I just got the call.”

  The room fell completely silent. The girls, who had helped pack up and spent the afternoon reminiscing about their many shared memories, had all eyes on Sophie.

  Her smile could hardly contain her excitement. “As of 3:54 p.m. the attorney general has formally signed the required document cementing our status as a not-for-profit organization.

  “I don’t have a new location secured, I don’t have the start-up funds raised, and I don’t have a clue how this is going to go, but our board members are in place.” Sophie winked at Amy and Donovan, and then nodded at Jenny’s mom who helped recruit the rest of the bodies. “We have the passion and know-how to run this, and we have each other.” Sophie’s eyes filled and threatened to spill over. “I want you, my family, to be the first to see it. Drum roll . . . without further ado, I introduce to you Fierce Magazine!”

  Sophie ripped the sheet from the tripod stand holding the cardboard cutout of the new magazine’s look, this one complete with a recent picture of Charlie on the cover and lots of clip-art from her word processer. The room exploded into varying degrees of joyful tears, hoots, laughter, and a smidgen of disbelief.

  “Calm down. Let me finish.”

  The girls obeyed, though a few snapped pictures on their phones and began tapping away.

  “This is not just a magazine, but the Bay Area’s only magazine that focuses solely on combating negative body image for teens while offering an entire online forum to express triggers and how to overcome them. Every month, the top ten stories from the forum, as well as editorial guidance from professionals in their field, will be featured in print.”

  Over the span of five years, Sophie hoped to expand the magazine, both geographically and editorially, allowing teenagers to have a voice and support each other without having to live in shame or fear. That way, thousands of teenagers who struggled with eating disorders, bullying, body image, and an array of other hurts and hang-ups would have a place to find help. She also planned on setting up an anonymous eight hundred number for struggling teens who needed help right away. “Girls, this is innovative. It will be a teen-inspired, teen-driven initiative.”

  “Can I go first?” Deidra’s hand popped up.

  “We will all have a part in this,” Sophie answered.

  “Yeah, but can I go first?”

  “Of course you can.” Sophie filled her lungs and looked around. No matter how beat up this building was, she and the girls had made it a home. So much so Deidra finally fessed up as the one who brought in the pet rats because she read they were a good-luck omen for businesses. Luckily, thanks to her friend Bob Jamison, they made their way to a pet store. But
now it was time to let go and let her girls spread their wings. They would always have each other, and now they could be a part of something bigger.

  The girls peppered her with more questions.

  “How will we do this?”

  Sophie answered, “One day at a time.”

  “When will it release?”

  “I expect in the next couple of months.”

  “What will I wear to my photo shoot?” Diedre asked.

  “Clothes, I hope,” Sophie said on a laugh.

  “Can I have a corner office?” Charlie rubbed her hands together.

  “Sure. Would you like that overlooking the bay or are you okay with city view?”

  Charlie sneered. “You don’t have to be snarky.”

  “Well,” Sophie said, “come back down to reality and I won’t have to be.”

  Amy and Donovan passed out packets explaining how a magazine ran and for the next thirty minutes, the girls asked more questions. They even bounced around a few good ideas for fundraising.

  And then it was over. Everyone had left in a chattering bustle of excitement, promising to see Sophie in a few days. The café stood silent, empty. The end of an era. Sophie let a few rogue tears fall. A healing, struggle-filled, hard, amazing, era. Charlie was the only person left, since Sophie was giving her a ride home.

  “Are you all set?” Amy waited by the bar.

  Sophie wiped her wet cheeks. “Yes. I release you back into the wild.”

  “Good. I’m off to see Mark. He wants to watch a movie or something domestic tonight.”

  “Ugh, that sounds fun,” Sophie said.

  “I’d invite you, but you tend to turn green when we start playing tonsil hockey.”

  “Gross. Get out. And don’t forget your promise to name your firstborn after me. Get busy on that.”

  “Right away. Oh, and by the way. I set you up a GoFundMe account for the new project.”

  “You what?” Sophie said, not sure she agreed with asking for money at this stage.

  “Well, I am the treasurer. And it’s more of a Kickstarter for non-profits, and supporters get an ad in our magazine as long as they meet the approved guidelines.”

  “Wow,” Sophie said, taken aback. “How’s it doing?”

  “I’d say pretty well after Ash-face donated five thousand dollars.”

  He actually donated the money? No sexual favors required?

  Interesting. “Oh, so his ice-cold heart warmed a few degrees.” Sophie’s spiteful words held no remorse.

  “Could be. But good riddance now that he’s up north with that news affiliate.”

  “Good riddance, indeed. And I’m going to go ahead and veto any ad request he has. But we’ll keep the non-refundable donation. It’ll be good to clean the tar from his black soul.”

  Amy laughed, and Charlie raised her plastic champagne glass they had used to toast the evening. Well, sparkling cider impersonating champagne, but details.

  “Also,” Amy said, a hint of enticement in her voice, “there’s also a hefty donation from a donor named Mr. Sapphire.”

  Sophie’s jaw dropped.

  “But we’ll talk about donations in the morning.”

  “Amy Aaliyah Reedy. Don’t you drop a bomb like that and walk out of here as if nothing happened.”

  “Tomorrow. I promise.” She blew Sophie a kiss and turned to Charlie. “Later, smaller version of Sophie.”

  “See ya, Hair.”

  After the door closed behind Amy, Sophie stood with her hand resting on the doorknob. Mr. Sapphire? No, it couldn’t be. She’d purposely held back the magazine details from Ryan because she couldn’t handle it. No matter how many times she stitched her heart back together, anything concerning him threatened to rip it back open. She couldn’t risk it again. Not with the new magazine.

  The front door pushed open and startled Sophie mid thought. In the half second it took to recognize the face in front of her, she’d expected it to be Amy, but hoped it would be Ryan, she froze. If she could backtrack five seconds, she would have locked the door. Because the face in front of her was flaming red. His nostrils flared, and his breath reeked of alcohol.

  “James Tomilson? I didn’t expect to see you until tomorrow. What can I do for you?”

  “You can pay me the seven thousand dollars you owe me.”

  Sophie turned her head enough where she still had an eye on her landlord, but wanted Charlie out of there. “Charlie, please wait for me in the kitchen.”

  “No,” Charlie said. “I’m not leaving you.”

  “Charlie,” Sophie said, calm but firm as not to scare Charlie. “Please do as I say.”

  Charlie slowly rose and pushed her chair under the table. She hesitantly backed into the kitchen. Once she was safely out of sight, Sophie stepped deeper into the dining area, if only to put some distance between herself and the foul smell that came from her drunken landlord. Former landlord, that is.

  “Mr. Tomilson,” Sophie started, “I emailed you almost two weeks ago that we were not renewing our lease.”

  He staggered closer, forcing Sophie to step back. “I know, sweetheart, but that doesn’t mean you don’t still owe me for back rent and for all the damage this place has sustained.”

  Sophie took offense. “Ohhh no you don’t! This place was a rat’s nest when we moved in. In fact, we used our own money to fix the floors, the walls, and update the fixtures. All of which you are legally bound to do.”

  “I never received a request.”

  Sophie eyed Mr. Tomilson closely. He was plastered. Any chance of a decent or even partially civil conversation would not be happening tonight. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  He slid further inside. “No, I don’t think so. I want to know how you intend to pay me back. I have debts I have to pay, and you have to pay yours. Okay, honey?”

  Sophie pointed at the exit. “You are technically on my rented property until tomorrow morning, as indicated by our rental agreement. So, I’m asking you to leave or else I will call the police and have you escorted off the property.”

  “Listen, honey. I own this hole-in-the-wall and will take payment in full right now. Collateral payment is fine too.”

  “Collateral?” Sophie asked, almost to herself.

  “Yes, I have my eye on that vintage custard machine, and I will take that for now. You can work out the rest of the payment with my property management tomorrow.”

  The custard machine meant more to Sophie than any earthly item she owned. And it would follow them wherever their outreach took them. Because the custard machine represented Suzie, who’d died fighting something so much bigger than her seventy-three pounds. “Not a chance in hades that you’ll ever get your hands on our custard machine.”

  “I’ll have you arrested for fraud, little lady. I know that custard machine is worth a pretty penny. I’ll give you two thousand in credit for it.”

  “Over my dead body,” Sophie said firmly. “Now, if you don’t get out I’m going to call the police.”

  Tomilson’s bloodshot eyes narrowed. He picked up a chair and slammed in on the ground. “Go ahead, princess.”

  “Get out,” Charlie’s voice echoed over the linoleum. She had the baseball bat Sophie kept in her office for moments just like this. Except they’d never had a moment like this, and no matter how prepared you think you are, when someone’s threatening you, you’re not always bat-ready.

  “Charlie, no!” Sophie yelled.

  “You know what you’re doing with that thing, girl?”

  Charlie raised the bat over her head. “Get out before I show you.”

  Tomilson looked directly into Sophie’s eyes, his intent was clear. “You heard her. That was a direct threat, and I’m gonna defend myself.�
��

  “No.” Sophie shoved Mr. Tomilson just as he lunged past her, grabbing her arms and thrusting her into a table. Sophie slid off the table and rolled onto the ground.

  She sat up, about to charge forward, but what she saw stopped her breath.

  Mr. Tomilson had somehow snatched the bat from Charlie and had it cocked back, ready to strike. Charlie lay on the floor, hands raised in defense.

  “Stop!” Sophie screamed.

  A blur of a long, gray coat flew past Sophie and tackled Mr. Tomilson. Ryan?

  Ryan’s one arm wrapped around Tomilson’s neck, and his other did some sort of twist move.

  The slumlord dropped the bat. It echoed as it hit the ground. “You want to pick on a kid?” Ryan shouted in his ear.

  Mr. Tomilson unleashed every curse word known to mankind in the few seconds it took for Ryan to escort him to the door like he was nothing more than a doll. The last sentence Sophie heard before the front door closed behind them was something about a lawsuit.

  Sophie muttered, “Go ahead and try,” and then rushed over to Charlie.

  A few moments later, Ryan came back in. Sophie’s heart kicked into high gear and she knew she owed him everything, yet didn’t know what to say.

  Ryan’s eyes searched every inch of Sophie’s body. “You okay?”

  Physically, yes she was. She nodded.

  “Your, uh, visitor won’t be bothering you again this evening. But just in case, I’ll hang here if you need anything.” And like a true gentleman, Ryan pulled out a chair from one of the only tables left and planted his too sexy, heroic butt in it.

  “Thank you, Ryan,” she managed.

  ~ ~ ~

  An hour later Ryan quietly knocked on the office door. “Can we talk?”