Chapter Nine
I f he was hung over at the fundraiser tomorrow, Marsha was going to kill him. He didn’t really care. Except it was for charity, so maybe he should not make a total idiot of himself.
He sat down on the cement floor in the studio, whiskey bottle in hand, and tipped it back. Yeah, he was supposed to be showing these pieces for the Broken Hearts Foundation. Auctioning them off for the benefit of families who couldn’t afford medical expenses. For Tally. For children like her.
And here he was, drunk off his ass, or...on his ass, staring down a piece of art he couldn’t figure out, feeling like he’d been broken inside all over again.
How was that even possible? He was sure he hadn’t had a heart left to break. Or at least that the pieces that remained were too small to smash any further.
That was why he’d told her to go. It was why he’d had to have her leave, before he was tempted to reach out and take what she had on offer. When he full knew he had nothing to give back.
And yet, in spite of his best efforts he hadn’t escaped unscathed. And he knew she hadn’t.
But he was in hell. And any noise about him not being able to feel? Well, it was a lie, apparently. He hadn’t realized.
He pictured Grace as she’d looked when she’d walked out of the hotel room two nights ago. Pale, tears on her cheeks. He hated himself for making her look like that. Because even while he stood there, telling her he could never feel on that level again, he’d broken her.
He was such a bastard. Such a damn bastard.
He leaned back against the wall, his head hitting hard against the drywall. He barely felt it. It was cushioned by his drunkenness and the pain in his heart.
He looked at the iron figure in front of him. The unchanging, unbending, dead, iron figure that was...him.
That realization made him want to throw something across the room. He didn’t want self-actualization. He poured his grief into his work, he didn’t learn from it. He hardly believed in any of that stuff, it was just that he’d found when he didn’t create, he thought he’d explode from the emotion in him.
He’d never considered it therapy, but he could see now that it was.
And he imagined he was supposed to learn something from this dead piece of work that seemed to mean nothing. To give nothing.
He put his head against his knees, and squeezed his eyes shut. And all he saw was Grace. He hadn’t wanted for so long, he’d forgotten what it felt like. But right now he ached with it. And he was trapped.
Between gut-wrenching, blinding fear and a need that made his bones ache. Funny how everything in his life came down to the heart.
To a heart that was broken at birth and stopped beating long before it should have. To a heart that had been numb before Grace had come back in this life, and that was stuttering to life now, burning with each beat.
He staggered to his feet and went over to his worktable and dug through old materials. He had an idea. And he had no idea if it would fix his artwork, or fix him. Or if it was all just the alcohol making something dumb seem like something good.
But he had to try. Because there was one thing he did know, and that was that he couldn’t keep living like this. Because he wasn’t really living at all. He was existing. And until Grace, he hadn’t realized there was a difference.
She’d brought something deep and rich back into his life. Texture, sound and color. All things that scared the hell out of him. Because he’d adjusted to black and white. To cold iron and dead lifeless metal. Daring to want more seemed like a risk that wasn’t worth taking.
He should stick to this life. It was safer. He wouldn’t get hurt.
But it was dead. And inside, so was he.
“So then what’s the point?” he asked the empty room. He didn’t get an answer.
He opened his kit that had a bunch of miscellaneous crap in it, and looked at the red tubes of glass sitting in their case. Color was something he never used. And he rarely used glass because it was just so damn fragile.
But maybe it was time he took the risk.
“I quit,” Grace said, her voice strong in the empty room. “And it’s not entirely your fault. Though...a lot of it is.” She stared down her boss and felt a surge of power. “I’m good at what I do, and you get caught up in this petty system where you punish one of your best consultants because you’re trying to exert your power. It’s my fault that I didn’t stand up for myself about the client, because frankly, he was sexually harassing me, and I did keep that to myself. I shouldn’t have. I don’t trust you would have behaved any better, Doug, but I could have at least given you the chance.”
Everything that had been bound up inside her, frozen, suspended in her need for perfection, her paralyzing fear of making mistakes, melted now. Released in a flood.
“Grace,” Doug said, spreading his arms out. “I’m shocked. I thought we were all friends here.”
“We are not friends, Doug,” she growled. “You’re condescending, sexist and a bit of a racist.”
“Oh, come on now, Grace...”
“You made me be the elf last Christmas, because I was cute, and small. And I believe at some point you suggested I be a ninja elf.”
“It would have been cool.”
“No. No, it wouldn’t have been cool. And it had nothing to do with Christmas. Also, asking the attractive female employees to sit on your lap is awful, and someone has to tell you that. But we’re all too afraid to tell you because you’re our boss. But you’re not my boss anymore. You’re just a tiny, little...mole man with an office. An office I no longer have to visit on a weekly basis. Goodbye.” Grace turned on her heel, her heart pounding, adrenaline pumping through her veins. She couldn’t believe she’d just done that.
Holy crap. “Grace.”
She turned and looked at Doug, who was still sitting, shocked.
“Yes?” she asked.
“What can I do? I can give you some extra accounts. We can work it out. I won’t make you be the elf again.”
She shook her head. “We can’t work anything out because this just isn’t where I want to be. I don’t know quite what I want, but...it’s not this. And it’s not here. But...for heaven’s sake please try to be less of a jackass. For the sake of everyone that’s left in the office.”
She walked out of the office and down the hall, past Carol’s desk. “’Bye, Carol,” she said, “I just quit. And I told Doug to stop being a jackass.”
Carol’s eyes widened and she gave Grace a low-profile thumbs-up. Grace walked out the door and got into the elevator, tugging her phone out of her bag and dialing her dad.
“Dad, I quit my job,” she said when he picked up.
“What?”
“I quit. I just...walked into my boss’s office and quit because I hated my job and I don’t have another job, but I do still have my savings...but I don’t have another job. And I know you’re disappointed because now I’ve thrown everything off and I... I called my boss names so I’m never going to get a reference from him. And I did because... I’m in love with this guy and Dad, he’s an artist. And a cowboy. Which is possibly the most random combination ever, and if there was a way for him to seem more unsuitable to you, I don’t know what it would be. I don’t even think he went to college.”
There was a pause on the other end of the phone, and the elevator doors opened to the lobby.
“I’m not sure what you’re saying.”
She walked out into the lobby and then out onto the street. “I was just very irresponsible and made a bunch of decisions based entirely on my feelings. I...think I’m having a midlife crisis.”
“You’re thirty, Grace,” her father said, his voice soft.
“I know. But I’m going through something.”
“You were unhappy at your job?”
“Yes.”
“And you think this will make you happy? You think...this man will make you happy?”
She looked up at the sky, at the buildings looming overhead, the sun burning her eyes. “I don’t know. But...it doesn’t really have anything to do with Zack because we...broke up. But he made me realize some things. Things I want that I didn’t know were so important to me. I’m just sad that... I think you’re going to be disappointed in me. And Hannah already...she’s hurt you and Mom so much and I just don’t want to hurt you, too. I want to be the daughter you want to have.”
There was a long pause. “I am so sorry that I never told you,” he said.
“What?” she asked.
“You are the best daughter I could ask for. You are the daughter I want to have, no matter what you do.”
“But...but I just...”
“You don’t need to live your life atoning for your sister, Grace. You shouldn’t live your life for anyone. Not even me.” He took a heavy breath. “I think I’ve been too rigid, Grace. Success has always been important to me, and to your mother, because we know what it’s like to live in a world where opportunity is lacking. But...hearing you speak now, I feel... I feel that success, doing what someone else might think is right, is not so important if you are miserable in it.”
“I don’t want you to have to worry. The way she made you worry.”
“Grace, I’ll always worry. I’m your father. But that’s my job. And yours is to live.”
A tear rolled down Grace’s cheek.
“I love you, Dad.”
“I love you, too. No matter what you do. No matter where you work. But I’m not sure about an artist. They don’t make any money.”
She laughed. Her dad was handling all this much better than she could have anticipated, but even he had his limits, apparently. “Well, that’s the least of your problems, Dad. Because the artist doesn’t want me.”
“What an idiot he is.”
She swallowed hard. “Thanks, Dad. That means a lot.”