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Slinging my leather duffle bag over my shoulder for the last time as I pay for my cab once he drops me home, I take a second to consider my future.
Eying the huge house I own and built myself, the two cars in the driveway, manicured gardens, and a maid who comes in twice a week.
The life I know I’ve afforded Abby, giving her every chance at doing what she loves as well as the perfect home to live in rent-free.
I should feel like this is it.
The pinnacle of my career. The crowning moment of my life, retiring at forty.
The guy who’s well and truly ‘made it.’
But something makes me sigh as I frown to myself, almost growling in frustration.
Abby’s the light of my life, and I’d give it all away tomorrow if it meant she was happy and safe.
But she’s an adult now. Grown-up and most likely the next biggest Broadway star.
So, where does that leave me?
Golfing and fishing to while away the hours, months, and years for the next forty years of my life?
I fucking hope not.
I hate golf and can’t stand the smell of fish. When you work the oil rigs for as long as I have, the sight of the ocean always reminds me of work.
The work I only took up once Abby’s mom left. I started out as a greenhorn rigger and ended up about as high up as you can get doing that sort of thing without wearing a suit and tie.
Something else I fucking hate.
Abby’s mom and I, though. That was a mistake. Ahugemistake.
But once it was clear we’d never see eye to eye on anything, she left me with the only thing that mattered to me, our daughter.
She literally took everything else. With Abby to raise on my own, I didn’t have time to dwell on anything except starting from scratch.
Building the life we have today.
Did I think it would take twenty years? Hell no. But I wouldn’t change a thing if I had to do it all over again.
But any suggestion or even hint of any other kind of relationship in my life since the train wreck that was Abby’s mom and I has long disappeared.
It really does feel like I’ll be alone forever.
But hey, at least Abby’s guaranteed a life of comfort.
Me, too. We’ve got enough for several lifetimes, even though it’s something I never really talk to her about much.
Abby’s not home yet, and if her text messages about agents and mysterious possible job offers are anything to go by, she’ll be a while yet.
Kicking off my boots in the foyer and dumping my bag, I head straight for my favorite place whenever I get home.
Even though it’s almost a hundred degrees out, I always look forward to a proper hot shower whenever I get home.
I set the air conditioning a little cooler and undress as I walk to my bathroom on the first floor. I barely notice the music playing from Abby’s room.
Figuring she’s left a TV on, or one of her dozen alarms is going off again.
Stuff I know from experience to leave well enough alone.
