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“Good. Thank you so much for helping me do this.” My voice breaks and I almost start bawling.
“Hey.” She reaches over and pats my leg. “It’s okay. I’m so proud of you.”
“Why? I’m practically flunking out of community college, working two part-time jobs—”
“Aubrey, stop,” she snaps, cutting me off. “Drop accounting, please. I think you’re onto something with the social media thing. It combines a lot of skills you’re already good at. You’ve always been creative and artistic.”
“I’m not artistic.”
“With words, I mean. You used to write the most beautiful poems and stories.”
“You know why I can’t anymore.”
“Don’t let him take that away from you too. Stop running away and trying to force yourself into doing something you hate.”
“It’s a lot of money I wasted then.” Just thinking of all the hours on my feet at Busy Beans to pay my last tuition bill makes me queasy.
“Better to let go now than to keep sinking money into something you’re never going to love doing.”
“I’ll only be taking one class this semester if I drop accounting.”
“Then take the one class and knock it out of the park.”
“You really think I can make a career out of that?”
She shrugs. “Who knows? Things change so fast anymore. But marketing, presenting products and ideas, the psychology behind it, that doesn’t change. You’re smart and intuitive. Focus there.”
Her pep talk sparks something inside me.
I flip my notebook open and jot down a ‘to do’ list.
It’s been so long, I almost forgot what hope feels like.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
I’m waiting by the security gate for Maddy’s flight to land when my phone lights up.
Disappointment settles in that it’s not Aubrey.
“Hey, Lauren. I’m waiting at the airport.”
“Oh, good. I’m glad I caught you before she gets there.”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
She sighs. I’m about to ask why she bothered calling if she doesn’t want to spit it out.
“Nothing’s wrong. It’s just been an exhausting week. She’s moody, emotional, temperamental. I thought I should warn you.”
I can’t tell if she’s exaggerating. “Thanks for the head’s up.”
“Hey, you wanted an extra weekend with her.”
“That hasn’t changed.”
“Give it time.” She laughs, a grating sound under the circumstances. “Or maybe not. I’m sure she’ll be on her best behavior for you.”
“I’ll talk to her.”
“You can try.”
“Lauren.” I blow out a frustrated breath. “What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing.” She pauses and chuckles. “Still planning to introduce her to your girlfriend this weekend?”
“Yeah,” I answer carefully. She didn’t have a problem with it when I brought it up the other night. I hope she’s not going to give me grief now.
“Okay. Well, good luck.”
There’s not much more to say. We hang up and I pace while I wait for Maddy’s plane to land.
Forty-five minutes later, she shouts, “Daddy!” and comes running through the security gate, hurling herself against me.
“How was your flight?”
“Good.”
“Did you check any luggage?”
“Nope. I didn’t want to waste a second.” She reaches over and pats her small rolling suitcase. “Everything is in here. Or here.” She jerks her thumb over her shoulder at her backpack.
I have the urge to remind her about the suitcase full of stuffed animals she used to bring with her, but I don’t.
“Where’s Uncle Jake?” she asks, shrugging off her backpack.
“He’s at the gym.” I take the pack and set it on top of her suitcase before leading her outside. Madison stopped holding my hand in public sometime last year.
“Can we stop there first?”
I hesitate before answering. It’s not unusual for us to stop there.
“Is Aubrey still working there?” she asks once we’re in the Jeep.
“Uh, yeah. I kind of wanted to talk to you about that.” Shit, why does explaining my relationship to my daughter feel so damn awkward?
Probably because I’ve never done it before. Never planned to do it either.
She casts a sideways glance my way. “Did you ask her out?”
“Sort of. Yeah.” I cough. “We’ve gone out a few times. So, I was thinking, how do you feel about her coming with us to the Big E tomorrow?”
She sits forward to play with the radio. “Sure. Will she go on any of the rides with me?”
“I thought you were too old for little kid rides?”
A blush creeps over her cheeks and she shrugs.
“So, your mom says you’ve been spirited lately.”
She cocks her head and rolls her eyes. “Spirited?” She adopts a tone of voice very similar to her mother’s “Are you sure she didn’t say ‘moody, emotional, and temperamental?’”
“Anyway,” I say, ignoring her last comment because damn does she have Lauren pegged. “You need to treat your mother with respect.”
“Daaaad,” she whines.
“Don’t Daaaad me.”
“But, she sends me chores by text.” She flips through her phone and then shoves it in my face. “That’s so not what texting is for.”
Brushing the phone aside, I pin her with a stern look. “Maybe you’re nicer via text and she’s tired of the back talk.”
She spreads her hands wide in front of her to emphasize the full extent of the injustice. “She makes me do chores around the house Ella never has to do.”
“Maybe it’s because you’re older and your mom thinks you’re more capable than your little sister. Ever think about that?”
“No.” She crosses her arms over her chest and stares out the window.
“Are chores your biggest complaint?” I ask.
“Give me a minute to think on it.”
I smother a laugh as I pull out of the parking lot. “Chores are good for you. Builds character.”
“Ugh.”
“When we were your age, if Grandma ran out of chores for Jake and me to do, she used to—”
“Send you next door to Mrs. Shepherd’s house to work,” she cuts me off with a bored tone. “I’ve heard this a million times.”
“Mowing the lawn, shoveling snow, carrying groceries—”
“Interest level exceeded over here, Dad.”
“You get my point.”
“Yes. Point gotten.”
“What point was that?”
She huffs. “Be nice to Mom and chores are good for me.”
“You got it. Lecture over.”
“Can you do another set, Griff?” I move to a spot where I can film but not be in the way of the shot. “Are you getting tired?”
He jumps and grabs t
he bar over his head. “I can go all day long, Aubrey.” He flashes a cocky wink while continuing to run through sets of controlled leg raises. “All night too,” he adds, not even breathing hard.
“Show off,” Jake mumbles.
“Need me to demonstrate how it’s done, old man?” Griff snarks back.
“You looking for an ass kickin’?”
“Bring it.” He raises up and playfully kicks out at Jake.
These goofy, candid videos might be more interesting than what I originally planned, so I keep filming them as they banter back and forth.
Jake had been the one to ask Griff for me if he’d mind helping with some promotion for the gym. At least I didn’t have to be the sleaze asking, “Hey, you’re hot. Wanna whip off your shirt and let me get a few short video clips of you to post online?”
“Let’s spar,” Jake suggests.
In the last two weeks, Jake talked his brother into branching out and installing a practice ring for guys like Griff and Remy to come work on their training. I wasn’t clear on the details of why Sully was against it at first, but he’s definitely seen an increase in business as a result.
Paying customers. Not that I’m nosy—it is after all part of my job to keep track of his schedule—but Sully does a lot of pro-bono classes and low-cost training. Not just the couple of classes he teaches here. He also takes part in special programs at women’s shelters, college campuses, and police departments in the area. Pretty much any non-profit who asks, he’ll say yes to. Which is sweet, believe me, I almost melted into a puddle of goo when I realized how much time he spends on charitable endeavors. But it doesn’t bring a lot of revenue into the gym itself. Sully has a stellar reputation in the community because of his work. Now I want to help him leverage that into making Strike Back more profitable.
“Are you nervous?” Jake asks.
“A little.”
“Don’t be.” He lowers his voice. “My brother likes you. A lot, Aubrey. I haven’t seen him act this way about a woman, well, ever.”
Can I break my face from smiling too much? Because Jake’s words have me ready to explode with happiness. “I like him too,” I whisper.
“He’s never introduced Maddy to a girlfriend before,” Jake continues.
