Page 11 of Fight from the Heart

I head to the kitchen, in hopes to cool off and prepare our eclectic meal of her eggs, my frozen pizza, and a bowl of popcorn for the movie. She’s right. I’m not a cook. I want food without effort on my part. It’s one reason I hired Ethan Scott last fall. If someone doesn’t feed me, I can forget to eat. I also hired him because I had a six-week book tour, and I needed someone to look after my stepsister, who was living with me at the time.

Pam and I have already discussed her part in aiding my stepsister’s disappearance last fall. All’s forgiven although I was pissed at Pam at first. Ella’s the one who did the soothing over, eventually calling me and explaining her thought process, her feelings, and how she wanted to get help, but on her own terms. It’s noble actually, but as soon as she hinted I needed help—I needed to face my past—it was time to shut that conversation down. I ended up easily forgiving Pam. How could I not? She’s the only friend I have.

Thinking of Ella, I give her a call while I’m working on the makeshift dinner.

“Belly,” I tease when she answers. She’s thirty years old, but I still call her by the nickname I gave her when she came to live with me and my father. Her mother was sixteen years younger than my dad and a former model. Both parents doted on Ella as they shaped and molded her into the shining star they wanted her to be. She equaled dollar signs for them. On the other hand, I was a huge disappointment to my father, and my stepmother was indifferent. I had nothing to offer her, so she had nothing to give me except Ella. Her daughter was ten years younger than me but looked up to me for everything. Kindness. Friendship. Protection. And I failed her on the last one. I brought an unsuspected villain into her life, and he scarred her. It was all my fault.

“Jacob,” she exhales with excitement. “I haven’t heard from you in days. How is the writing going?”

“The writing is good.”

“Wow, what a way with words,” she teases. Once my sister moved to New York, I diligently checked in on her, and it drove her crazy. I just wanted her safe, happy, and whole. Even though I’m not much of a romantic myself, I did think the one thing that could give Ella the happily ever after she deserved was Ethan.

“How was your trip?” The question is asked through clenched teeth. Ella hates Mandi and held nothing back about how bad she thinks the relationship was for me. For the past six months, she’s been telling me I should find a woman like Pam. When I think about it, Ella’s been saying Pam specifically. I should be looking at Pam.

“It’s finally over.” There’s relief in saying the words. I’m not the best communicator, and I don’t like conflict, especially not provoking it, but I had to be straight with Mandi. I didn’t love her, so there was no future for us.

“For real this time?” Ella teases. She knows the push and pull history of our reckless relationship.

“Yes, smart-ass, it’s really real this time.” Decisions were made with Mandi, and Pam was waiting in my home when I returned a day early. It almost feels like a sign, but signs mean hope, and I refuse to accept that kind of voodoo. Pam was sick and passed out on my couch, not expecting me and certainly not waiting for me.

“I’m so proud of you, Jacob. How grown-up and adult of you.” She laughs.

“How are things with you?” I hesitate. I haven’t seen her in weeks.

“Actually, I have news for you.”

I almost drop the phone when I learn my stepsister is back and permanently staying. She quickly gives me the details, and I promise to visit her new place.

If ever there’s something to fill me with hope, it’s the true happiness in my sister’s voice.

“I’m so happy for you, Belly,” I say, meaning every word.

“It’s your turn,” she says, her voice lowering a bit. “You deserve happiness, too.”

I snort. “Well, hearing you happy makes me happy.”

“Now, you’re just being cheesy.” She pauses. “But you’re a good big brother.” The shift in her tone tells me all we don’t say to one another. She loves me, and the small sliver of my heart that allows love reciprocates.

“I’m the best,” I mock, and she laughs.

“Yeah, the best. Okay, talk soon,” she says.

“Take care, Belly.” I worry about her. She hasn’t always been good at taking care of herself. Then Ethan started caring about her, and everything changed. It restores my faith in the possibility that love can really strengthen a person. Other people. Not me. I don’t really know what love is other than what I feel for my sister, and that’s a different kind of love.

Placing everything on a tray again and tucking a bottle of scotch under my arm, I carry the small pilfering up to the bedroom. Pam is sitting upright with pillows at her back and the television on.

“I don’t understand how to work this thing,” she jests, holding up the four remotes necessary to get to the channels. I don’t watch TV often, but for the best viewing, I had the set secured to the wall near the corner, opposite my side of the bed and closer to where Pam sits. The angle allows me to watch it in bed if I wish, and I’ve never been so excited to watch something because Pam will be next to me.

“What would you like to watch?” I ask after setting the tray near the foot of the bed.

“I’m not picky. Anything is fine.”

My brow hitches at her, and she shrugs so I pull up one of my favorites.

“Frankenstein?” she questions, reaching for the plate with eggs and toast. “What version is that?”

“Kenneth Branagh. I love to pick apart all the ways he got it wrong,” I admit. “The book is better.”