* * *
When I arrive home after work, I remember Lilla’s advice and wave politely to the security car parked streetside by my apartment. I keep my head held high and a smile on my face as I walk past and head for my building.
As soon as I step inside my apartment, though, I drop the façade. My head hurts from sadness and lack of sleep, and the aching in my chest feels like it may never disappear. Keeping people at a distance for most of my life was far easier than losing someone I love. I broke my own rule by getting so involved with Dylan, and now I’m paying the price.
Desperate for a distraction, I head for the closet and take out all of my sculptures. I lay them on my living room rug, one by one. All but my most recent pieces are already fired and painted. The Tucson sculptures and the one I did at Dylan’s are the only ones unfinished. They’re rough and uneven.
I look closely at the sculpture of death, the one I made just before Dylan broke up with me. It’s like my soul knew something was about to die in my life when I instinctively sculpted this piece.
I box up the pieces and go research what to do next.
Three hours later, I have lots of information on how to start a business selling my art. Exhausted, I head for the kitchen to boil some water for pasta.
While I’m eating dinner in front of the television, Dylan shows up on my screen in that same deodorant ad. As soon as I get a glimpse of his face, I’m hooked. I’m starved for the sight of him, and every nerve in my body is a live wire. I grip the remote as I desperately flip through the channels. It takes me all of five minutes to find him again. I know I can always count on those sports shows.
Even though it’s offseason, one channel is airing a special of important football moments from last season. A top ten list is part of the show.
Dylan’s in four of the top ten. One of them isn’t a positive for him—a linebacker sacks him at the one-yard line. The rest are his top three heroic moments.
It’s not until the show goes to commercial that I realize I’ve moved off the couch and am sitting about one foot away from the TV screen. I come to my senses and return to the couch.
But as soon as I see another quick shot of Dylan throwing the football, I’m back on the floor, my eyes glued to the TV.
When the show ends and he disappears off my screen, I’ve got one hand wrapped around the remote and the other on the necklace he gave me. Even though we broke up, I haven’t had the heart to take it off. He said we could be each other’s home, and I wanted so much to believe him.
I fight back the tears that threaten to come. Searching for something to look at other than the TV, my gaze lands on the letter from the casino.
I walk over to the table and pick it up. This letter is what brought Dylan and me together in a way. And according to him, it’s what drove us apart—our pact to have a “public” fling brought danger to our lives.
So now we’re both safe. But lonelier than ever.
“What a fucking mess,” I mutter as I fold the letter back up and slip it into my purse.
I know what I need to do next.
Bill’s on a high because Hal Cotton officially signed the Cougars on as a client, so I won’t catch any flak from him about taking a personal day tomorrow.
Which is good because tomorrow is the day that I’m finally going to do the thing I’ve wanted to do for twenty-three years—I’m going to see my mother.
Chapter Thirty-Two
As soon as I walk out my front door the next morning, I march over to the security guard stationed out front in his car.
I try to tell him that he has the day off because “I’m going out of state, and I’m sure your boss doesn’t pay for you to leave California.”
He smiles kindly like I don’t have a clue what I’m saying. “I’m Dale,” he says as he extends his hand to me through the open window. “And I’m coming with you. The boss will kill me if I let you out of my sight.”
I roll my eyes.
“In fact,” Dale continues, “he told me that if you decided to go to Tucson, he’d like to lend you his plane.”
My blood starts to boil. First, he breaks up with me, and then he has the nerve to think he can control the way I travel?
“You tell that boss of yours he can suck it,” I say.
Dale chuckles. “I’ll make sure to tell him you said so.”
“Good. You tell him I said exactly that. And do me a favor—when you check in with him tonight, don’t tell him I was in Tucson.”
