I drop Shay at her apartment so she can change into work clothes, giving her a lingering kiss at the door. Then I head to the office feeling lighter than I have in years.
And more conflicted.
I know I’m not a good partner. I’m moody, secretive, and unpredictable. I’ve been told I’m generous, I’ve been told I’m a good lover, but I’ve never been told I’m kind.
Because I’m not. Kindness is a weakness for men in my line of work.
But that’s exactly what a woman like Shay needs. Along with all the other things I can’t provide her: stability, openness, patience. The list is long.
And what if she wants children?
I can see it now, an adorable mini version of Shay in middle school with a mouth like her mother’s when someone asks what her daddy does for work.
“Oh, he does stuff with money during the day. But at nighttime, he goes out and kills people! So don’t make me mad or I’ll tell him you pushed me off the monkey bars. Your body will never be found.”
Leading a double life is only workable when nobody else knows what you’re up. Add a wife into that mix, add kids…
Disaster.
The only viable option is to give one or the other up. Which I’ve been fine with so far. I’ve shaped my life around solitude and secrecy, but Shay makes me want all kinds of things I’ve never wanted before.
She makes me want to be better.
Which is problematic, considering I already know this is the best I’ll ever get.
I’m under no misconceptions that I’m salvageable. I’m rotten to the core. Nobody does what I do and finds redemption, no matter how much I believe that ridding the world of fiends like Dylan and Theresa’s husband is for the greater good.
So why the fuck would I think that Shay and I could make it work?
That bastard hope is playing mind games with me, that’s why.
So is that stupid goddamn book she loves so much. Nobody but an incurable romantic would think going through hell for half a century waiting for your one true love’s husband to die so you can be together is anything but a horror story.
Love in the Time of Cholera my ass. It should be called Idiots Mistaking Insanity for Romance.
I think I’ll burn my copy.
Fate decides this is a good teachable moment for me and sends me a ghost from my past in the form of a phone call.
I look at the number on the touch screen of my dashboard and tense. I hesitate before answering, because I already know this will be tough.
“Hello, Kiyoko.”
“I know we said we’d only communicate through Axel from now on, but I needed to talk to you.”
Her voice is soft and melodic. An image of her face flashes into my mind’s eye. Black hair and pale skin, bow-shaped lips and high cheekbones.
Dark, haunted eyes.
“What’s the matter?”
She exhales. “I miss you.”
I hate how sad she sounds. We haven’t seen each other in months, and our relationship was strained for a long time before that, but it doesn’t mean I want her to be unhappy.
Quite the opposite. I want her to live her best life, which is why I broke it off with her. Having me around only reminded her every day of what she’d lost.
Sometimes people cling to reminders of their grief instead of letting go like they should. Makes them feel like they’re somehow in control, when all they’re doing is tormenting themselves.
“Are you all right? Other than that, I mean.”
“I’m okay. Surviving. How are you?”
I think of Shay moaning my name as she dug her nails into my back this morning and smile. “I’m good.”
After a pause, she says, “You sound good.”
If she’s hoping I’ll give her an explanation, she should know better.
“Everything green with the move on your end?”
“Yes. No problems. Theresa loved the apartment. Cried when I gave her the keys. Her kid’s a sweetheart. You’re seeing someone new, aren’t you?”
My tone gentle, I say, “You know I won’t tell you that.”
“You just did. Who is she?”
“Kiyoko, don’t do this.”
There’s a long silence on her end. In the background, I hear calliope music.
She’s at Granville Island again, at the park overlooking the water where she used to take her daughter on walks in her stroller.
Her tone harder than before, she says, “You know what your problem is, Coleton? You have a hero complex.”
A sense of fatigue descends on me, weighing down my body. “So this is what the call is really about. You want to fight.”
“I don’t want to fight. I want you to tell me about your new girlfriend.”
“I don’t have a girlfriend.”
She scoffs. “Who do you think you’re talking to? I know you. I know every inflection in your voice. We’ve known each other for sixteen years and were together for four.”
“Five.”
“Yeah, but who’s counting, right? None of it matters anymore. Nothing matters.”
“Arguing with me isn’t going to help you feel better. And you’re only torturing yourself by going to that park. Go home, Ki. Go home and take care of yourself.”
“I’d take that advice, but I don’t have to listen to you anymore.”
“What if I said please?”
“You never say please. The only thing you’re good at saying is goodbye. I hope your new girlfriend enjoys disappointment.”
She disconnects.
“Fuck.”
I jab my finger against the display to clear it, then drive for another ten minutes before I’m calm enough to make another call. Carter doesn’t pick up his cell phone, so I call the office.
“McCord Media, how may I help you?”
“Hello, Marnie. This is Cole. Is Carter in his office?”
“Yes, sir. Would you like me to put you through?”
“Yes.”
“Certainly, sir. Please hold a moment.”
I listen to classical music for thirty seconds while I’m on hold. Then Marnie comes back on the line.
“I’m sorry, sir, but Carter is in a meeting.”
That dodgy little fuckwit. “Tell him that if he doesn’t take my call, I’m getting on the phone with TriCast next.”
“Yes, sir. Please hold.”
Ten seconds later, Carter picks up. “Cole.”
I growl, “Hello, traitor.”
His sigh is heavy and melodramatic. “You see? This is why I don’t tell you things. You overreact.”
“I react in accordance with the situation. Which you know. You also know the reason you’ve avoided my calls the past few days is because you did something wrong. Now tell me what the fuck you were thinking by meeting with TriCast.”
“I’m not telling you anything if you’re going to continue using that rude tone of voice with me.”
“It’s not my tone you should be worried about, you dumb prick. It’s how long the surgery to reconstruct your nose will to take.”
“Why does everything with you have to be a threat of violence?”
“Because that’s the only thing stupid people understand.”
Another melodramatic sigh. “You know I’m smarter than you are, right?”
That makes me chuckle. “In your dreams.”
“You’re forgetting about the aptitude tests Dad made us take when we were teenagers. My IQ is higher than yours by two points.”
“Let’s see how much you care about the difference between our IQs when you’re missing your front teeth, genius.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“You’re lucky I haven’t told Callum about your meeting, or what would be unbelievable is how hard you’d flap your arms to try to fly after he threw you off the roof of the building.”
His voice turns sour. “Yes, you two are peas in a violent little pod, aren’t you?”
I know we could go back and forth like this all day, so I redirect the conversation. “TriCast. They’re our enemies. You took a meeting with the board to discuss a buyout. What the fuck?”
“First tell me how you know.”
“I have friends in low places. Talk. Why the hell would you meet with them?”
“Because Sophia Bianco just joined the firm as their new COO.”
I wait for more explanation. When it doesn’t come, I say, “Get to the point before I die of old age.”
“Do you know who she is?”
“No idea.”
“Never seen a picture of her?”
“What did I just fucking say? I don’t know the woman!”
“I don’t know her either, which is why I took the meeting.”
“If you don’t get to the point in five seconds, I’ll smash all the windows in your Hummer.”
“I don’t even like that thing. I only got it to piss off Dad.”
“Very mature of you. Fine, I’ll smash all the windows in your Ferrari.”
“Which one?”
“Jesus fucking Christ. How are we even related?”
“I don’t know, but I think Mom must’ve had an affair with Paul Newman. It would explain my good looks. You and Callum look like Neanderthals. As I was saying, Sophia Bianco. She’s the new COO at TriCast, and the most beautiful woman in the world.”
It takes me a moment. When I understand what he’s getting at, I groan. “You’re not fucking serious.”
“Oh, brother, I’m as serious as I’ve ever been. Wait until I show you her picture. Your eyes will fall out!”
“For God’s sake, Carter! You don’t take meeting with our sworn enemies so you can hit on some broad you’ve never met!”
“How else was I supposed to meet her? Standing in line at Starbucks?”
“It’s a miracle you’ve made it this far in life. I’m shocked you haven’t electrocuted yourself by sticking your wet finger into a socket to see if it would tickle.”
“I have, and it does.”
I shake my head in disbelief.
“And who decided TriCast is our sworn enemy, anyway? That’s awfully dramatic. They’re just our biggest competitor, not an invading army.”
“What you don’t understand about business would fill solar systems. Did you at least get this broad’s number?”
“Don’t call her a broad. That’s disrespectful. She’s a lady. An elegant, beautiful lady.”
“So that’s a no.”
He grudgingly admits, “I’m working on it.”
“If by working on it you mean you scheduled another meeting, I’ll break your kneecaps.”
“See? Neanderthal.”
“I’m not joking, Carter. Do you have any idea how this will look if it gets out?”
He laughs, something he does far too often. “How’s it gonna get out? We control the media!”
“Not all of it, fuckface.”
“The most important parts anyway.” His tone turns excited. “Hey, do you think I should invite her to dinner? Like send her an email and say my family wants to meet with the board privately, one on one, and give her a date and time to show up at a restaurant, but then I’ll be the only one there and say there was a family emergency so nobody else could make it?”
“Sure. Brilliant. Then you’ll dazzle her with your charm and utter lack of substance and we’ll all be going to your wedding this time next year, is that the plan?”
Ignoring that, he muses, “But what would the family emergency be? I guess I could make up some distant relative who suddenly died.”
I say darkly, “It won’t be such a distant relative if you take another meeting with anyone at TriCast,” and hang up on him.
There’s only so much stupidity I can take in one conversation.
By the time I pull into the underground parking lot at work, I’m in a murderous mood. I lock myself in my office and force myself to focus on business for two hours, until Scotty knocks on my door with an inter-office memo.
I remove the sheet of paper and read what’s written there. Then I take a black marker and write a single word in giant block letters over Shay’s handwriting.
NO.
Seething with frustration from the two phone calls and what’s seeming more and more like a hopeless fantasy about having any kind of workable relationship with Shay, I thrust the envelope back at Scotty and lock myself inside my office for the rest of the day.
