“That’s…that’s not what I was expecting.”
“More or less?” I ask.
“Much fucking more,” he says, after a laugh.
“You don’t understand the work I do,” I say. “Even though it’s the same industry as Juliet’s, it’s not the same. That last job in New York paid me nearly half of what I just gave to Brenda. I’ve had endorsements that have paid millions. Be as mad at me as you want, but know that I can afford to pay her off. And I’m happy to do it.”
“I’m not mad at you, Lou,” he says. “I’m thankful for you. You’ve given me the best gift. My ego was bruised, is all, and like you, I didn’t like being left out of the loop. I’ll do better. When you come home, I’ll be better.”
The vulnerability is back, now. I hate that I put it there, yet I’m weirdly happy that he’s showing it to me. He’s seen so much of mine. Grady is a tall, burly, capable man. His heart, though, that’s all marshmallow fluff, once someone gets past the armored cage he’s locked it in.
“I am coming home, Grady.”
“I know,” he says. “You can’t tell me when, but I know.”
Twenty-Seven
Grady
“The least I can do is speak out for those who cannot speak for themselves.”
Jane Goodall
It’s been the two longest weeks of my fucking life. If I had to guess, I’d say Paige agrees.
Every night we talk to Lou. The past couple of nights, we’ve video-called. Her face carries only a few lingering marks. Even though Paige saw them at their worst, Lou didn’t want to give her reminders. There’s a lot of guilt that still lies there. We both carry that weight. No matter how many times we say this is Pierre’s fault, Lou still blames herself for bringing that danger to Stowaway, and I still blame myself for not being there to stop him.
Her new therapist is helping. She says she can’t tell, but I can. It’s not just that, though. This project she took on, the charity foundation for other survivors, is giving her new life. A purpose I think she’s been searching for. Something to throw her weight behind and to feel proud of.
She takes amazing photos, gorgeously arranging herself with such ease, she makes it look like anyone can do it. She says that’s just her face and body. Things she didn’t have a say in making. House of Moreno is her brainchild, her creation, her cause. The platform she needed, not only to feel accomplished, herself, but helping others in similar situations is helping her heal, as well.
The amount of support she’s gotten is impressive. Every night, she tells me who has signed on. I have to look up most of the names, but I can tell by her excitement how big in the industry they are.
For as much as I’ve hated her being gone, it’s been good for our relationship. We’ve been forced to communicatedifferently—we talk more, instead of getting distracted by our environment, other people, or our sexual desires. She talks a lot about her therapy sessions, which she’s having twice a week. I love that she’s open with me about them, that she wants me to know because it helps me know her.
We both have a renewed sense of determination to make this relationship work. I’m in it for the long haul. I can’t imagine wanting any woman in my life the way I want Lou in it. Or the way I want her in Paige’s life. She’s already proven she’ll put Paige ahead of herself. She reassures me of that each night when she asks to speak with my daughter. Some nights, they talk longer than Lou and I do.
Paige is as enamored as I am. Proud, too. She tells everyone she can that her best friend beat up a butthole.
Pierre, the butthole, is still in our county jail. The judge gave him ninety days for violating the protection order. By the time that release is up, he’ll have all the new charges that are being brought up on.
We’re dealing with that as it comes, as it’s too difficult to predict. He hasn’t been able to call in favors, here, like he did in Los Angeles, but that doesn’t mean he won’t find a way to acquittal or some bullshit.
“I’m nervous,” Paige says, pulling on the hand she’s holding.
“There’s no reason to be, kiddo,” I tell her for about the thirty-fourth time. “Planes are safer than cars.”
“You keep saying that, but my tummy keeps twirling.”
“Maybe it’s not nerves, it’s excitement.” Her head cocks as she thinks that over, her nose scrunching up with skepticism. “I mean, you’re going to see Lulu, Jules, and Minnie Mouse.”
Lou invited us to some fashion awards ceremony in San Francisco, where she’ll be revealing her non-profit. From there, we’re going to drive down to Los Angeles and spend a few days at Disneyland. Surprisingly, Lou’s never been there. She and Paige will be experiencing their first time together.
Truthfully, I’m putting on a good show for Paige. I’m nervous too. Luke is flying us down in a private jet. He and Lou are already there, but we’re flying down with Juliet and a bunch of dresses. The plane is fucking small. Like, toy airplane small. Like, I’m not sure my shoulder width will fit through the door small. Getting on it is a testament to how much I love that woman.
The driver of the car Lou hired to pick us up at home and drive us to the private airstrip just outside Portland, pulls our luggage out of the trunk as I side-eye the sleek winged thing that’s supposed to deliver us to California.
Juliet’s head pops out of the open jet door, and she squeals.
