“She’s working at the tattoo parlor I used to go to. Seeing as I was in town, I decided to drop in on Pete, and I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw her behind the reception desk. I remember talking to her at my wedding about how I’d planned to do an apprenticeship there if I didn’t get an NFL contract. I never even stopped to consider she might’ve gone there.”
“Send me the details,” I blurt, already racing toward the back door. “Do you think she’ll run?”
“I don’t think so, but I spoke to Pete. I gave him a quick rundown, and he’s agreed to call me if she gets spooked.”
“Thanks, man. I owe you.”
“Go get your girl, Kent. Text me when you land.”
I rush through the kitchen, ignoring Kalvin and Mom, heading into the living room where Dad is chatting with Kyler. “Dad!” I shout, running toward him. “I need your help.”
***
It’s a miracle I thought to grab the envelope while I was hastily throwing shit in my duffel bag before Dad and I left for the airport. He flew me here himself. Now, as I’m being driven from Denver International Airport to downtown Denver, where Presley works, I pull out the letter she sent me after the press conference. The pages are dog-eared and wrinkled from being read so many times.
The picture and letter arrived three days after I poured my heart out to her via the TV. It was the only chance I had of talking to her. I knew my press conference would make global headlines because the level of interest in the trial was off the charts. I also know my girl. I knew she would be watching and reading and following it with interest, so I knew there was a strong chance she’d be watching the TV that day.
She sent me one of her drawings. It’s a side profile of a lion, and his large mane is constructed of the most vibrant yellow and orange pressed flowers. On the bottom of the framed picture, written in her elegant handwriting, it simply reads: For those who are truly brave.
Does it make me a pussy that I cried looking at the picture knowing how much thought, time, and effort she’d put into it? And that I cried again when I read her letter? That I’ve cried, several times, rereading her letter?
Fuck it. I’m a man who is finally in touch with his feelings, and it’s taken me a long time to get to this place, so I’m going to own this shit. It’s okay to cry. Especially for the only woman who matters.
I trace the tip of my finger over her words as I silently read her letter. “It takes a very special, strong, courageous man to face his fears knowing the entire world is watching and listening. Your bravery will inspire and empower the very people who need it. I know that’s why you did it, and I couldn’t be prouder. I think about you every day, and I hope you are healing. You are the most amazing man, Kent Kennedy, and I am so blessed to love you. You have my heart, now and forever. All my love, Presley.”
I’m not gonna lie. I loved it and hated it at the same time. It bolstered me to know she still loved me, but I thought she’d come back, and when she didn’t, I realized maybe there wasn’t going to be a future for us after all.
I told her at the press conference I would wait patiently for her, and I meant it. But I’m a fucking Kennedy, and we don’t give up without a motherfucking fight. So, I’m putting myself on the line today, hoping I’m not too late and that our time has finally arrived. Mostly, I need to see her for myself to know she is okay. If she’s still not ready, I’ll step back once I’m satisfied she understands I will always be here for her, and I will welcome her back with open arms whenever she feels the time is right.
Holding the flowers against my chest, I open the door to Denver Ink and step inside, urging my racing heart to calm down before I have a heart attack. My heart deflates with disappointment when I spot an older dude behind the desk.
He looks up and smiles. “I’ve been wondering when you’d show up.” He steps out from behind the desk, holding out his hand. “I’m Pete.”
“Good to meet you,” I say, shuffling the flowers under my arm so I can shake his hand, hoping he doesn’t notice how clammy mine is. “Is she here?” I ask, looking around. The waiting area is large and clean with floor-to-ceiling windows at the front, a colorful wall on the left, and a long hallway in the middle, stretching the length of the building. My eyes pop wide as my gaze roams over the stunning mural. “Is that—” I splutter.
“Yep. Your girl did that. She’s crazy talented.”
My chest bursts with pride. “She is.”
“Let me get her for you.” He pins me with a genuine smile before walking to the first door in the hallway and rapping on it with his knuckles. “Pink. You have a visitor,” he hollers, and I arch a brow.
Pink??
“I saw your press conference,” Pete says, returning to the reception desk while we wait for Presley to show her face.
I don’t shy away from talking about what happened to me, but I’m loath to get into specifics with any of the people who broach the subject. Right now, I’m glad of the distraction because my knees feel shaky and my heart is pinging around my chest like a canary being chased by a rabid cat. “I can’t even begin to imagine how difficult that must have been, but you’re an inspiration to men everywhere. Respect.” He jerks his head in acknowledgment.
“Thank you. That means a lot.” I’ve been pleasantly surprised at the reaction since everything came out. Of course, there will always be jerks spouting shit, but most people have been compassionate and supportive. I have had so many letters from other men, who were victims of rape and sexual assault, telling me my courage gave them the push they needed to come clean to their loved ones and to report their crimes. I don’t have words to express how that makes me feel. To know I have made a difference means everything.
Clasping the flowers closer to my chest, I will my errant heartbeat to calm down.Where the hell is she, and what is taking so long? Doesn’t she know I’ve been waiting over a year to see her beautiful face again?
“I had a feeling you were talking about Presley that day when she started crying,” Pete adds.
“She didn’t mention me?” I ask, trying not to feel disappointed.
“She told me there was a guy.Theguy,” he adds, helping to eradicate any disappointment I was just feeling. “But she remained tight-lipped, and I didn’t pry because that girl was in a world of pain when she first got here.”
At one time, I’d beat myself up that I wasn’t here for her when she needed me, but not anymore. I’m learning to let go of some of the excessive guilt. Truth is, I was of no use to Presley this time last year, and she was right when she said we needed time to heal away from one another. “And how is she now?” I ask.
