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Yes, I know Lex Edwards wants me gone.
That thought alone pushes my heart back into the dark hole it has been isolating in. The anger begins to swell within my chest and the room becomes suddenly stifling hot, my palms beginning to sweat as I gulp for air trying to remain as quiet as possible.
I’m having a panic attack, desperate to reach out to Charlie and force her to make all this pain go away. Her lips, they are soft, they can wash away my sins with just one kiss. The warmth of her eyes, they’ll blanket me and make me feel whole again, give me the confidence I so desperately need to return to the old Julian.
And her body convulsing beneath mine, she’ll make me feel like a man again.
In approximately one minute, I will do something I could possibly regret.
I need out. Now.
With light steps, I walk toward her, ignoring the voices telling me to leave. Standing beside her bed, my eyes draw toward her bedside table and the cell sitting next to a picture frame. I don’t pick it up, but as if the universe knows of my wrongful behavior, the screen lights up with an incoming text.
Lex: I love you, my wife. Always, forever, and tomorrow, I’m going to show you just how much. P.S… I love it when you’re pregnant, your wild hormones ALWAYS work in my favor, baby.
The words are like daggers, each digging deeper and tearing apart my ego. Closing my eyes for a brief moment, my nostrils flare like a beast ready to attack until my eyes spring wide open catching sight of her wedding ring beside the phone.
My fingers trace the platinum band, and next to where it lays is a framed picture of the two of them on their wedding day. I pick it up, recognizing this photograph when it leaked online. Undoubtedly, Charlie looks happy, and again, this should’ve been us.
I place the frame back down carefully, clenching my teeth to contain my jealousy. Only inches away from her, I crouch down until I make the boldest move I had ever made in my fucking life.
I lean in and kiss her hair.
The scent shoots through me like a bullet, ricocheting throughout my whole body. All my senses heighten, and the fragile broken side of me knows the only way to repair the damage is to have her in my arms.
But who?
Chelsea or Charlie?
I sit perfectly still, my posture straight, and my eyes focused. The room is lit brightly, the fluorescent glow creating a clinical atmosphere. Trying not to appear too distracted, I shift my eyes to the pictures which grace the wall. Aligned perfectly in dark brown frames, there’s achievement after achievement. Wait! Did I just see the words ‘Nobel Prize Winner’?
Run, now.
Mr. Grimmer sits behind his large mahogany desk. His eyes are darting across the pages, allowing me to watch him. He’s an older man, maybe mid-sixties. His bald patch leaves nothing to the imagination. There’s a slight comb-over, but you probably wouldn’t be paying attention to that because you would be too busy staring at his tortoise-shell glasses. The lenses are so thick they look like the type you would get at a gag shop. He wears a short-sleeved white shirt which has a pocket at the front, and inside sits a blue pen and a red pen. Well, shit, red could only mean one thing—an ass-kicking.
He reaches into his pocket to pull out a pen, and I watch as his fingers linger on the tip of the red pen.
Fuck! I knew it. Do I really think I can pull this off? All that cramming in Harvard, and you’re going to end up in the gutter. What a waste of my fucking life.
“Mr. Baker, I have to tell you, I’m quite impressed with your manuscript.” He offers a warm smile. Perhaps I’m overthinking things. He pushes his glasses back past the bridge of his nose, his face searches mine, obviously waiting for an answer.
Act confident. Don’t show weakness.
“Thank you, Mr. Grimmer. I feel honored you can see my vision. As you are aware, this is my first venture into publishing my own work.”
“Well, we all have to start somewhere, Mr. Baker, and you definitely have the talent to pursue this as a career. Now, what I want to see is the finished manuscript. Have that to me by September first, and if it’s up to par with what I’ve read so far, you have yourself a publishing deal.”
September first?
As in eight weeks?
How the fuck am I going to pull this off?
“Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Grimmer.” I stand and politely shake his hand.
With his right hand, he pats me on the back. “Mr. Baker, I have faith in you and your work. You’ve got something I don’t see much of anymore… compassion. You can do this, son. Stay focused and keep your eyes on the prize.”
***
