Back to You

by Claudia Burgoa

“I’ll talk to our lawyer. He’ll have the paperwork ready for you next week.”

  “Are you sure you’re not charging me a cent?” I frown, a little skeptical.

  “Just pay for my lunch and we’re even.” He extends his hand. “Shake on it before I regret it.”

  “You’re a terrible negotiator.” I meet his hand, laughing.

  “That’s why I have you and Wes.”

  — — —

  After lunch, Sterling drops me by the house. He has a few things to do in the gallery and a hot date. I want to rest a little and start planning my next steps, like registering my non-profit and asking Wes and Sterling to be part of my board of directors. Luna already agreed to sign on when I first started playing around with the idea. Linda would be a perfect addition, but I just don’t know if that’ll happen.

  I send a text to Wes after I turn on my computer, checking to see if he’s available to talk. Within a few seconds, my phone is ringing.

  “Hey,” I answer.

  “You called? Tell me your next wish, and it’ll be granted.” He sounds like a genie.

  “I’d say brownies, but I got those earlier today. Thank you.”

  “What can I do for you, Abby?”

  “I loved the lot. Are you sure you want to donate it? I feel like I should compensate you.”

  “You took Sterling to lunch. Apparently, that’s our payment.” He laughs. “I keep wondering how Ahern Inc. remains in one piece with him at the head.”

  “He’s not here to tease, so don’t pretend with me,” I say.

  “You’re right, I’ll save it for later. Hey, I was wondering, did you already register as a non-profit organization?”

  He gets right to business telling me everything I need for an NPO: an official name, a mission statement, the board of directors, and so much more. He’s well versed in the art of how to start a non-profit. Of course, I’m not surprised. Wes likes to take care of every detail when he oversees a project. The trauma and rehab center has suddenly become his too.

  “Would you mind if I help you with the set up?” he finally asks.

  “I wouldn’t mind, if it’s not too soon?”

  “Not at all. If we’re going to transfer the title to you, I’d rather do it through the non-profit. That way you won’t have to pay any taxes.”

  “Yes,” I prompt, relieved because I know how much that could cost me, and I can’t afford it. “What do we have to do?”

  “I’ll send you a list of requirements,” he says, a little out of breath. Then, I hear him call Oakley.

  “Am I interrupting a walk?”

  “No. Before I forget, you can call the architect and set up a time line for the project. The lot already belongs to you.”

  “Thank you so much for helping me.” I send an email to the architect to set up a meeting for next week. “I can move forward.”

  “I’m happy to hear that and thankful Dad had a few things up his sleeve.”

  We talk about the buildings on the property. I’m so excited to use what’s already there if it’s possible. Wes doesn’t tell me that it’s time for him to go or that he’s busy, but I can hear shuffling in the background, Oakley barking a couple of times, and then, the engine of his car. We lose the connection for a few seconds until his Bluetooth finds the call.

  “We should have an inspector check the main house,” he suggests. “If it doesn’t pass, you can always build something similar to it. I’d rather have a safe building than save a few pennies and regret the consequences in the long term.”

  “What consequences?” I ask curiously.

  “The structure being damaged, pests inside the house, or leakage?”

  “Have you ever been there?”

  “No, I have pictures. Sterling sent them.”

  “Did he mention that we have an even bigger plot of land in Pueblo? You guys own a lot of stuff that I might get to use,” I joke.

  “We plan on donating most of what’s not being used to your non-profit. But—” I hear a screech.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. Just a stupid driver who ran the red light,” he explains. “As I was saying, if you need money, please ask me. We have enough to finance your project.”

  “And sustain it?” I ask, but the worry I’ve carried for the past few months is practically gone. Wes has taken every obstacle away.

  “Yes, Abby.”

  Still, the worry about the state of our relationship doesn’t let me relax as much as I’d like to.

  “You’re overpromising. What if this ten-date experiment doesn’t work out?”

  “What’s the worst-case scenario? We can’t work anything out and you ditch me?”

  “Why am I the one ditching you?”

  “Because that’s the only way you’ll get rid of me,” he says sternly. “Stop interrupting. If that’s the case, I’ll still support your cause because it matters to you and it helps other women. Thanks to a place like it, you found yourself.”

  “Another amazing example of why you’re swoony.”

  He sighs. “I’ll be there tomorrow morning.”

  “Are you traveling in the morning?” I wonder when he’ll arrive from San Jose.

  “No. I’m about to fly to Denver now, but I’m spending the night with Sterling,” he informs me.

  “Huh, you’re his hot date.” I laugh.

  “He told you he had a hot date?”

  “Yep. He assured me it was a pretty hot date that he couldn’t even discuss with me.”

  “We’re going to catch up on the pre-season games and grab some dinner afterwards,” he clarifies.

  “It’s mid-August. Who is playing?” Wes is the only person who keeps me up to date in sports. I only follow hockey.

  “The Broncos against the Bears. I should arrive almost in time for the kick-off. Do you want to join us?”

  “Nope. You know I’m not a Broncos fan. Invite me to a game when hockey season begins.”

  “The Avalanche suck,” he growls.

  “Which is sad and pitiful. I’ll move to San Jose with you,” I suggest. “At least they have a good team.”

  “Don’t joke with me, Abby.” His tone sounds like a warning.

  That’s when I realize what I said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that literally.”

  “I know, but I had to warn you.”

  “How are we going to manage this relationship if you don’t live here?” Here we go again, talking about serious stuff when we haven’t even been on a date yet.

  “We have ten dates to go on first. Afterwards, we’ll figure it out, don’t you think?”

  “I have the center,” I remind him “You have so many things to handle.”

  “Nothing is impossible,” he says with conviction. “You’re skipping a lot of steps and giving yourself an anxiety attack.”

  I blow out some air, moving some strands away from my face. “There are things that I can’t help. I just like to plan ahead.”

  “Stay with me, and focus on the present. I’ll pick you up early. Be ready.”

  “Have a safe flight, Wes,” I say before hanging up.

  Twenty-Two

  Wes

  I’ve heard that the best fans in America are the Broncos’ fans. I have to agree. Everyone wears orange on game day whether or not they are planning on going or are watching it from home. When there’s a home game, downtown is full of chaos. The rush of a touchdown, the spirit of the game, a hot dog and a pop—that’s heaven for all of us.

  “I could never play football,” Sterling says as we make our way out of the stadium.

  “Not even peewee,” I agree with him. “You were good at baseball and lacrosse.”

  “They were fine, although I just practiced them because Mom made me. I’d rather pull on my jersey and join the throng. That’s a lot more fun than, you know, getting hit.”

  “I guess Mom’s the only reason we played any sports,” I frown, remembering my afternoons.

  They were filled with a lo
t of activities. We didn’t get home until seven, and then we had to eat and do our homework.

  “I talked to Mom,” Sterling says as we climb into my car.

  “After the opening,” I add. “She mentioned it.”

  “No, she called me earlier today.”

  I turn on the engine and get in line to leave the parking lot. “Is she okay?”

  “Fine. She began the conversation with Greece. She wants me to visit, but she ended it with Abby. I think she’s fishing for information about her rehab center.”

  I frown at him. “Are you going?”

  “Dude, eyes on the road.”

  “The place is packed. I doubt we’ll get out soon.”

  He shrugs. “Fine. I wouldn’t go to Greece. I’ve already traveled a lot. In a few years I might take off again, but for now I’m happy here. Maybe she’s feeling lonely and wants one of us nearby. Has she invited you?”

  “Nope.” I shake my head.

  “Maybe it’s because of Abby, or she thinks you have important shit to do and mine doesn’t matter.”

  “It does.”

  “Only you agree with that. She doesn’t take me seriously,” he continues.

  “Or maybe she wants to see you,” I add. “What if she’s having problems with Antoine?”

  “Her boyfriend is fine,” he disregards my comment.

  “Mom never travels alone. She’s either with her sister, her friends—”

  “Or Abby,” he adds.

  “We should sit them in a room and have them work their shit out,” I suggest.

  “Do you think they loved each other?” Sterling asks.

  “I want to believe that they did,” I say, thinking of them as a couple.

  When we traveled as a family they seemed happy, carefree.

  “It’s easy to lose track of yourself and be consumed by your work,” I say, sighing when the line begins to move. “When Dad died, it happened to me. I was so focused on the company that I neglected Abby. The silver lining of our separation is that I learned to recognize what my priorities are. My loved ones should come first. Always.

  “Are you moving back?”

  “What’s with the twenty-questions game?”

  “Hey, you travel a lot, but she’s my constant. I might have friends and people I can hang out with, but Abby and I are tight now. Just like you and me.”

  “I can live and work wherever. It’s a decision that we’ll have to make when the time comes. The final decision is hers. We’re taking things slow. I’m not planning on rushing her. I just hope that she accepts me.”

  “She will,” he says with a convincing voice that gives me hope. “Every time someone asks her out, her excuse is the scars, but I know deep down it’s you.”

  “Me?”

  “That woman is your perfect match.” He lowers his voice. “Your soulmate.” He chuckles. “I can’t wait for you two to get married and have children that I can corrupt.”

  “You’re planning way too far in advance,” I stop him before he designs the invitations. “I don’t even know if children are part of our future.” I glance at him. “You should stop worrying about us and worry about yourself.”

  “I’m still young.” He waves his hand around. “Maybe when I’m old and famous I’ll start a family.”

  “You’re already famous.”

  “If I settle down, I’d be out of the dating pool.”

  “You contradict yourself a lot,” I sigh, exasperated with the traffic, but glad that we’re only a few blocks from Milagros. “Either you believe in soulmates or you don’t.”

  “I believe some people have them and others are just on standby fulfilling the fantasies of those who haven’t found their soulmate.”

  “You’re the latter?”

  “Indeed. There’s no match for me. I’m just a placeholder, and I’m totally fine with that.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I am. Because if I weren’t, I’d be waiting for the impossible,” he says firmly. “I only believe in possibility, Weston. Let’s focus on dinner, and be my wingman while I score some sweet little ass.”

  Twenty-Three

  Abby

  Waking up can be harsh, especially if your dreams are better than reality. Slowly and reluctantly, I uncover my face. I blink, close my eyes, and blink again. I check my clock, and it’s almost five in the morning.

  “Who is disturbing my sleep?” I groan.

  “Ruff, ruff.” Chester jumps out of bed.

  I sit up, dragging my feet off the bed. I stretch my arms above my head and yawn. I grab my phone from the nightstand and open the Ring app to check who’s at the door.

  “One second,” I say connecting the microphone.

  Wes smiles at the camera. Right next to him, Oakley sits regally. I hear Chester’s barks in stereophonic. I rise from the bed and climb down the stairs. Swinging the door open, I glare at him.

  “Is this your idea of early?” I sneer at him.

  “Well, I assumed you’d be walking Chester. I thought, why not walk them together?”

  “You’re lucky that I’m asleep or I’d be maiming you for waking me up. Can you open the back door for Chester, please? I’m going upstairs to change,” I request, dragging myself all the way back up the stairs.

  “Yes, boss,” he says, but I ignore him.

  It’s way too early to deal with his happiness and energy. I need coffee. I change and put in my contacts. When I come downstairs, Wes stands by the door with both dogs on a leash.

  “You three are ready?” I look back at the kitchen in need of my coffee. I sigh, knowing that my impatient dog won’t like me if I make him wait. “Let’s go.”

  “Hey, can I teach Chester how to fetch his leash?”

  I growl. “Oh God, your dog can fetch her leash too? She’s perfect, like you. What else can she do? Mine just sits when I have a treat and … well, that’s about it.”

  When I grab his leash, I add. “He’s an amazing therapy dog. He’s there for me at night. Chester wakes me up when I have nightmares and soothes me when I’m anxious.”

  “Do you take anything for the anxiety?” Wes asks.

  “I take CBD capsules sometimes,” I shrug. “The psychiatrist in New York tried several medications, but I was either allergic or they didn’t work for me. Chester helps me a lot. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

  “Oak is pretty good at helping manage my anxiety.” Wes rubs her ears.

  “You have anxiety?” I ask surprised.

  “Yes, since the kidnapping. I have nightmares.”

  I stop and grab his hand, squeezing it. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s terrifying to think what could’ve happened if …”

  “Did I ever thank you for contacting the guys at HIB?” We keep our hands together while we walk.

  “You were pretty upset about it,” he reminds me.

  “I hate to think what could have happened if you hadn’t call them …” I don’t finish because there’s no point in doing so.

  “Hey, don’t be sad. They got there in time.”

  “Those guys are pretty amazing,” I add as an afterthought.

  My comment is the perfect opening for him to tell me about the guys. He’s really good friends with Mason, Hawk, Harrison, and Tiago. Mason, who is a geek like he is, has helped him with his gaming software, and they’re creating a console too. He’s met their families and joins them when they have parties.

  “Hawk’s children are cool,” he continues.

  “I remember Luna mentioning them. Twins, right? A boy and a girl.”

  “Yes, it’s fun to watch Hawk with them.”

  “Wow, that must be adorable. I can’t imagine tending to two children at the same time.”

  “I’d help,” he offers.

  I halt in the middle of the sidewalk, mouth agape. “What? Wait,” I stop him, though I continue walking. “I’m not planning on having kids.”

  “You don’t want kids?” His voice is low.


  “I … I.” My head is about to explode. “Look, I never thought about it before. I just said that because … never mind.”

  “It’s just a question,” he continues.

  “Personally, I think it would be hard to watch over a little one when I can barely take care of myself. Maybe when I’m older. I mean, I’m only twenty-six.”

  Wes stops and studies my face. “But it’s not off the table?”

  “Would it be a problem if it were?” I respond stubbornly.

  “Not at all. I only care about you and your happiness. If a kid isn’t something you’d want, I’m fine, and if you want a dozen, I’ll be happy to have them.”

  We arrive back at the house. I don’t say anything until we’re inside and I unleash Chester. Then, I turn and face him. “Just like that?”

  “Yes,” he says with conviction.

  “You’re letting me decide your future on a whim. I don’t think you should make an arbitrary decision based on what I’m saying at almost six in the morning. I haven’t had my coffee yet and I’m pissy.”

  “Are you testing me, Lyons?” His voice comes out agitated.

  “No, I’m just curious about your conclusion. You’re the one who brought up children. Not me,” I remind him.

  “It feels like I’m being judged.”

  “Wes, this isn’t going to work if you continue analyzing my every word.” I cross my arms. “You can’t be afraid of saying what you want just to make sure we both fit the mold.”

  “This isn’t about fitting,” he corrects me. “It’s the complete and utter truth. Do I want to have children? I have no fucking idea. I want you, and it feels like I have to fucking convince you that I’m here, with you, supporting you.

  I straighten my back. “You have to understand that I’ll never be all right. I went through hell. I was raped. I was physically and mentally abused by my mother and the rest of them. Those traumas are seared into my head and soul forever. I fight them. God knows, each day I have to convince myself that I’m alive and he’s dead. I check my hands and I’m thankful that I’m alive. I touch my torso to make sure there’s no blood gushing from the wounds. I still believe I caused everything that happened to me.