“Why? You’re gonna dodge, and it’ll be something else I’ll need to patch. Or you won’t and then I’ll have blood I need to clean.”
He laughs a deep belly laugh. “Yeah, I like you way more than the hockey player.” But then his laughter stops. “Well, I liked him too until he talked to Hadeon.”
Hmmm. All of this is distracting me from my mission. “I’m looking for something. A journal. Since you seem to know everything, any clues?”
He steps back behind the counter and starts pushing what I can only assume are crumbs into the sink. “You think just because I saw you fight in Argentina ten years ago that I kept track of your diary?” He puts the butter knife into the basin. “I don’t know anything about that, but you should follow up with the Olympians. They have their fingers in everything, especially when it comes to Alana.” He washes his hands in the sink. “I left some meat and bread in the fridge, if you want it.”
“Aren’t you going to threaten me?” After throwing a knife at my head, this whole interaction seems underwhelming. “Are you gonna threaten you’ll break my legs if I hurt her?”
Teddy tosses his head back. “Bro, I’m just here to see if you can hang in our world or not. If you hurt her, I’m the least of your concerns.” He walks around to the other side of the counter. “All her former co-workers, mercenaries, finance bros, politicians, and other criminals won’t do anything as bad as the women in her life if you hurt her again.” He pats me on the shoulder as he passes. “I’ll see myself out.”
I wish I could say that encounter left me frazzled, but it didn’t. Instead, it sends me into the garage for spackle and something productive to do. While the patches dry, every room gets searched, every closet and drawer opened in the hunt for my journal. Then comes sanding the spackle, moving furniture, and checking beneath the beds.
No journal, but no hole in my wall either. And at least Teddy brought me food. I eat a sandwich while I text Alana pictures of all the work I’ve done to prove I can fix this. But with each room, it seems increasingly hopeless.
Me: I’m so sorry. I don’t know where it is.
Alana (Future wife): It’s fine, you tried. Come back.
Me: I’ll book a flight for noon. That will give me the morning to do one more search.
Although it’s feeling like a hopeless endeavor.
Me: I’m depressed.
Alana (Future wife): It was twelve years ago. Maybe we can move on from the past and focus on the future.
Me: Oh, so you think we have one?
Alana (Future wife):: You’ve got a few days left on your free trial.
Me: So we’re back to that?
Alana(Future wife):: What makes you think it was ever gone?
Me: Well, that’s not helping with my depression, that’s for sure.
Alana(Future wife):: How can I help?
Me: Can I play with your cat?
Alana(Future wife):: Sure.
Me: And Midge too?
Alana(Future wife):: I’m not going to turn down that offer.
I’m not losing her again. Exhausted, I go to bed and I hate it. It’s too big and empty. I need Alana’s body pressed up against me. That would make me feel better, if only for a while.
DAY 6
In the morning, I search the spare bedroom’s nightstand. I sort through stacks of various papers, gifts from fans, and other things I didn't know where to put. I take out the small velvet box and toss it into my bag. I should’ve thrown this out years ago, but I couldn’t do it. The day I paid this thing off was the same day I bought the first sports car.
I do one last ditch sweep of the house, but it’s a bust. I don’t know why I’m surprised. It’s like every time I search for something Alana-related I come up short. It does feel like there’s some other force keeping us apart, but who? Alana’s right, it can’t be CJ. So who could be pulling the strings? And better yet why? What is there to gain by keeping us apart?
As I walk back through LAX, I go into Hudson News to grab some gum for the flight. It’s the same stuff that’s always there—stiff travel pillows, bags of faux healthy nuts, and books. I scan the shelves to see if there’s anything I can buy for my e-reader. I’m long past the physical book stage of my life. That’s when I look at the nonfiction section.
Between a variety of self-help books, an assload of marketing and business tips, and a small selection of history and science books, there are six hardcovers about the same family on the biography shelf. What’s it like to be in that family? Scrutinized by the media and society at large for generations. I thought the King and Queen had it rough, but they’re the equivalent of internet-famous when compared to the Olympians.
