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“In the great words of Elsa, yes, man, let it go.”
My forehead wrinkles. “Who’s Elsa?”
“Never mind,” Gage says. “But this thing you did can’t be what holds you back anymore. It’s clear that it’s not a validreason. If you still have guilt over surviving, that’s one thing, and you can get help for that. We’ll help you. But as far as trust goes, I trust you implicitly. I want you on this team. I don’t think the Titans will be as good as they possibly can be without you at the helm.”
I want to believe him.
Fuck, for the first time… I want it.
I glance at Stone, and he nods.
Baden does the same.
They’ve given me an open door, and I have to consider seriously if I’ve got the guts to walk through it.
Apparently, there’s no reason why I can’t. They’ve effectively removed the weight from my shoulders. The three teammates most important to me have insisted my penance is complete.
Searching deep inside, it doesn’t take much effort to find the tiny kernel of fire I’d label as excitement. A flame that fans brighter and makes me realize I haven’t lost my love of the game.
I’ve only forgotten about it.
And suddenly, it all just seems so fucking clear to me.
“I’m coming back,” I say, my body jolting at the sudden proclamation. I’ve released the words, and I’m sticking to them.
“I’ll fucking drink to that,” Gage booms as he hoists his glass. Baden and Stone follow, wide grins splitting their faces as they raise their own drinks in toast.
I tap mine against theirs, and I’ve sealed the deal.
CHAPTER 25
Tillie
Jamie Nowak slipsthe blue folder under his arm and pushes open the door to his office, allowing me to precede him out to the sidewalk. Ironically, his office sits only two doors down from Teddy’s. The two men who helped me purchase my current home will now help me find a new one.
Hopefully.
Ann Marie and I drank way too much wine last night as we searched Zillow. We got silly, looking at unreasonably expensive homes and large parcels of mountain acreage where I dreamed of building an artist community.
But we also found some good options, and I emailed all the links to Jamie. When I went to sleep last night, I felt good about my decision to move.
Or rather, I felt good about my decision to let Coen have his slice of peaceful paradise while I move on and search for a new one.
Am I being a martyr?
I don’t think so. I truly care about Coen, and after I learned about the demons he’s fighting stemming from the crash and his own mistakes, I can’t continue to fight him.
“I’m parked down the block,” Jamie says, pointing east. “Want to take my car?”
“My air conditioning is spotty at best, and I’m down farther. Yes, let’s take yours.”
We chat about the weather, which has been brutishly hot the last few days. It’s not that we’re not good enough friends to talkabout more, but it’s just a short walk to his car. Besides that, I’ve spent the last half hour in his office being grilled about whether this is the best decision for me.
I love him for doing that because he’s going to make money off me. His concerns are legitimate, though, in that I might not make my money back on selling my place, which means money has been tossed down the drain.
It’s a risk I’m willing to take because in my gut, it’s the right thing to do not only for myself, but for Coen. I can’t care about someone and then do something that will hurt them in the next breath.
I just can’t.
