“Elsie wants to be the manufacturer of our military gear. There are a lot of reasons to keep it in-house opposed to outsourcing it. Right now, everything is made overseas and that’s been a problem. Quality has been her biggest issue. Foreign manufacturers keep fucking things up. So, besides being able to take control of quality, she wants to hire as many veterans as she can. Because it’s military gear for soldiers on the ground, she believes they’ll care about the quality, and she’s hoping they’ll be able to offer ideas for improvements based on theirown personal experiences.”
“That sounds smart, but I still don’t get what any of this has to do with the contract.”
“I’m getting to that. To set up the manufacturing, Elsie is using a big chunk of our company’s resources. If we default on this deal, we have to pay the network the full value of the contract—one hundred and eight million. That’s the penalty without a solid reason, like if one of us were to discover we had a brain tumor or something. We can’t just quit to be with our girlfriends. If we did that, Elsie would have to pay the penalty and right now, she doesn’t have that much cash. Everything is invested in the new manufacturing facility. She made it clear that the only way to pay the network would be to take on outside investors. And if that happened—”
“She would lose control of your company.”
“She’s been approached several times about going public—selling shares on the stock market—but she doesn’t want to do that. Shareholders would care only about profits, which would mean lower wages, fewer workers, and cheaper materials. Elsie pays our employees more than her competitors—way more—and in return, she gets better results. If she went public, there would be a board of directors, and the board could fire her if she doesn’t do things the way they want.”
“So if you break the contract, then…”
“Then things would be pretty bad for the company. She built it from the ground up so it’s more than just a business to her, it’s her baby. I thought it wouldn’t matter to me, but I don’t know if I could be the reason she lost it. Ash is feeling the same.”
Now it’s my turn to take in a deepbreath. Maybe this isn’t the end of the world. There was another option. “There’s the film crew. Maybe I take the job with Rhonda.”
“You’d be willing to do that?”
This is all happening so fast. I need some time to mull it over. First, I’d need to know more about what I’d be committing to. “What would that look like? I mean, how much time would we be able to spend together?”
The air is thick with a palpable unease when he doesn’t answer. All I can do now is try to picture what it would probably be like. “When you’re out there, they’ll have cameras on you around the clock, won’t they? They’re not going to care if you have a girlfriend. They only care about their bottom line, and the way they make money is by filming you. Would we ever be alone?”
He stares straight ahead, unwilling to face me. “I’m not sure. Maybe.”
Maybe? I’m guessing alone time with him would be rare, if it even happened at all. The cameras are never going to allow him to be out of focus. A lot of money is riding on it, so what is he supposed to do, tell the film crew he needs to take a break to spend time with me? And even if they were okay with that, where would we go? Would we commandeer one of the trailers for a romp while everyone stood outside, watching it rock back and forth? No thank you! If I’m working with the film crew, it seems like I’d spend my days watching him from a distance, and when we did get to talk, we’d probably be limited to short conversations until they needed him for something. They always need him. They would be controlling everything. “Okay, what happens between trips?” There has to be a silver lining in this somewhere.
“You really want to know?”
“Of course. I have to know how this would work.”
“You’re not going to like it. Per the contract, Ash and I are required to go to the studio in Los Angeles to do voice-overs during the editing process. We never would have agreed to that even if we’d never met you and Rhonda, but Elsie didn’t have a choice. Apparently, it’s the only way to do a big production like this. I guess our sister didn’t think it was that bad, but it is to us.”
He’s right, I don’t like it. I don’t like any of this and the whole thing is starting to make me mad, but I’m not ready to give up, not yet. “So, I’d come to Los Angeles with you. We’d be like normal people—you’d go to work, and I’d see you when you got home and on the weekends. Is that how it would work?”
“For about a month, I think. Then we’d be free to go wherever we wanted until the next trip.”
It doesn’t sound that bad until you put it all together. When you do, the big picture sucks and I feel my temperature rising. This isn’t the kind of life I want with him. “So, only two months to ourselves twice a year for the next three years, which could turn into five years? Am I missing something or is this as bad as it appears?” I know I must sound like a snarky bitch, but I can’t help it.
“Look, I don’t know what to say,” he barks. “I feel trapped.”
“Because youaretrapped,” I snap back. “I’m trying to figure out how to make this work regardless of the situation we’re in.” This whole thing is making me so goddamn angry. It’s like no matter how hard we try, we’re still screwed, and the hardest part is feeling powerless to doanything about it.
He doesn’t respond, so we drive in silence through hills that are so gorgeous they would take my breath away if this wasn’t turning out to be one of the worst days of my life. I turn the radio on just for some noise, then lean my head against the window and watch the landscape go by while I try to figure out what comes next.
After about an hour, I think I know what I need to do. I sit up and turn to him. “Three years is a long time. I’m not like Rhonda. I have no interest in the film industry, but I’d take the job right now if I thought it meant we could be together. That’s the part I can’t get past—how little time we’d actually have. You’d be right there, but out of reach, and that sounds like a whole new kind of hell. Honestly, I might as well wait for you in Sweetbriar.”
He reaches up and turns the radio off. “I know it’s been hard for you. Trust me, I get it. It’s been just as hard for me. But you came. You got on a plane and flew halfway around the world despite all that. That means something. You want this as much as I do which means—"
“I came here to break up with you. That’s how hard it was for me.”
He won’t look at me as the muscles in his jaw clench. I feel bad, but it’s the truth, and right now, in this shitty situation, I don’t feel like sugar-coating anything. The whole thing is a nightmare, and I just want it to end.
As we drive through the countryside, I have nothing else to say while he stares at the road with a steely glare. I know he’s in pain, and it’s breaking my heart, but I’m so pissed off right now all I want to do is scream.
Mile after mile passesin silence, and as my mood turns from hatred to heartbreak, I realize I owe him an explanation. He deserves that much so I turn to face him head-on. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but being separated was so hard and I kept thinking this was going to be the rest of my life. I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t feel like eating. It was so depressing I didn’t want to get out of bed in the morning and eventually, I knew I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t live like that, and now we’re back to that. I can’t—”
“Please, Maddie, don’t say what you’re about to say. I’m begging you.”
I have to. Everything is turning into my worst nightmare, and I could scream so loud it would break every window in this fucking car. I’m not mad at him. I know none of this is his fault. It’s not anyone’s fault. It just is. And that’s the problem—there’s no one to blame, no one to be mad at, except maybe myself for being in this situation in the first place. This is what happens when you let a guy into your heart, when you dare to love someone and allow yourself to picture a life with him. Fuck love. And fuck a shitty life where I’m miserable all the time. That’s what this would be, and I can’t do it. I just can’t.
