Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
L iam
When I'm wrong, I'm not too proud to admit it.
I’m only three chapters into the book, but already I’m starting to see that my brothers and Cam were at least partially right. I haven’t been that confident Liam Wheaton, a highly acclaimed real estate broker and proud father of two; I’ve been Liam Hurt Heart, a whiny, paranoid punk.
For almost two years, I played that role. A role that makes me cringe now that I see it. Sure, people can’t just change overnight, but awareness is key. Awareness is power. And I plan to use this power to regain my mojo, baby!
That’s why I am currently at the Fortysomething Singles campout with Cam. And get this—Callie is coming, too, not to all of it, but to some. Yes, her boyfriend Link is coming, too, and yes, I’m reimbursing him for the gas money. I also may or may not have bribed Callie with a Doordash gift card for taking tomorrow off work, but hey—she’s coming, and my dad heart is whistling a happy tune because, dang, I miss her.
It’s funny how natural my affection is for the kids. Cam has yet to challenge me the way Callie has—that girl has done her best to push her mom and me away from her since the divorce, particularly within the last six months. She’s pouty and sassy and constantly griping, but it doesn’t touch the love I have for her. Or my desire to spend time with her, even if she is rolling her eyes and being as prickly as a cactus. I’m as crazy about her as I was the moment she was born. More so because I know who and how she is, I know the parts she’s holding back right now, and let me tell you—they’re beautiful.
I still have a long way to go with the book Braxton and Beau gave me, but I can tell you this: I am not going to say one thing about my past hurts. Not. One. Thing.
There is so much more to me than that part of my life. In fact, since the author asks the reader to make a list of those things, I did, and they weren’t hard to come by.
I’m a successful broker. I founded Wheaton Realty and soon became the local top selling agent in the industry. I have a dozen top-selling agents working for me; we’ve been among the top five companies in the State for the last ten years, hence the beach house in a gated community not just anyone can afford to live in.
I donate to charities generously, and though it might sound cliché, I actually do volunteer at homeless shelters three or four times a year because my late brother, who we lost to a drug addiction, was homeless once, too.
Plus, I’m a great dad. In fact, I’ve been dedicated to my kids since God wove them in their mother’s womb. I changed diapers, took them to the park on my shoulders, and attended everything from kindergarten graduations to school plays. I was there for their baptisms, volunteered for youth camp, and attended every father/daughter and/or son function. Plus, I never miss a football or soccer game if I can avoid it.
I listen to my aging parents rant about politics every time we talk, and, unlike Luke, who gets them all the more riled, I keep my opinions to myself.
This is who I am. This is me.
“Hey, Dad,” Cam says.
I keep my eyes on the log as I hoist the ax up over my head, then bring it down hard. The sharp blade cuts through the log with a crack. I glance up to see Cam and his cousins, Parker and Jack, carrying stuffed totes and rolled sleeping bags. Grocery sacks filled with goodies dangle from their grips.
“Hey, guys,” I say, glad to see they’re still helping the newcomers unload. “Where you headed with this one?”
“Wherever there’s an open site,” my nephew Parker says. “They already have a tent. They just don’t know where to put it.”
“Can we set them up next to us?” Cam asks.
The suggestion makes me think there’s a cute girl close to his age in the equation. By the looks of the pastel pink sleeping bag in his grip, I’m probably right.
“Sure,” I say. “Do they need help with their tent too?”
“We’ll find out,” Jack says. “If they do, we can do it.” Jack’s a good kid. And while I already view him as my nephew and Cam’s cousin, his mother Kirsten—the woman engaged to Beau—hasn’t married into the family just yet. That will happen next month.
“Sounds good,” I tell them.
I toss the split logs onto the stack and reach for the next one. I should have asked the boys if it was a single mom or a single dad.
I hoist the ax over my head once more, inwardly wishing it would be a single mom who just happens to be Mrs. Right. Not that I’m even ready for her. I probably have a ton of work to do before I'm fit to marry again.
My thoughts drift back to the news I got on Ashley at the lunch-gone-wrong. I still haven't gotten an update on her. She hasn't shown up to any of the singles events, but at the most recent one, I asked Annica how her sister was doing.
“All right,” she said warily.
Luke, who was standing right next to me, pressed on. “Is she ever going to show up to one of the singles nights?”
Annica pulled a sad-looking smile that triggered my rescue reflexes, the inner hero in me itching to don his cape and boots. "Probably not anytime soon,” she finally said.
I keep telling myself not to take it personally. If I am no longer Liam Hurt Heart, I can't keep pining after the woman who first broke that heart, especially if she’s not even making an effort to reach out to me.
In fact, I decide as I plunge the ax through the next log with a satisfying crack, it might be wise to steer clear of Ashley Chen altogether. And no, this isn't just sour grapes. This is mental health because who knows if she hasn’t changed over the years?
I could meet up with Ashley and decide she’s giving all sorts of Gabrielle vibes. She could be the problem behind her failed marriage. Heaven knows she has trouble communicating. She completely skewed my well-intended notion to let her see other people if she wanted. Turned it into a me thing when it wasn’t.
I am whacking through wood with a vengeance now.
Inwardly, I’m doing a similar thing. I’m chopping the strands of hope that Ashley will ever show up to one of these. I’m cutting the expectations before they can hold me hostage. Even if she does show up at a future event, she could decide she’s not interested in revisiting things with me.
If I consider it, she’s basically already saying that by not contacting me or showing up at one of these things so we can run into each other. And since I was the one to make contact the last time we spoke, and it didn’t go well, I’m not doing it again.
In fact, even if Ashley does show up to some random event in the distant future, which she probably never will, I won’t try beating the crowds to get to her. Heck, I won’t vie for her attention at all.
Nope, this time, she’ll have to come to me.
“Hi, Liam.”
The sound of that voice throws me off so hard, I lose my grip on the ax.
The hefty tool flies up and over my head where it catches the dome of Wayne Dalton’s canvas tent. The blade rips a ruthless path to the dirt and settles with a thud. Two tattered flaps fall open to expose Wayne setting up his cot, a smiley face on the butt of his boxers.
He doesn’t notice his new audience or the damage to his tent, so I turn my gaze to the source of the voice, inwardly telling myself it is not who I think it is.
But then I see her—a knockout, grown-up version of the woman I feared I’d never stop loving. My heart splinters and joins the heap of wood stacked beside me.
This is the woman I first fell for.
This is the woman I could kiss for hours, soaking in the sweet waves of anticipation and desire.
This is the woman I’d give anything to get back into my life.
I fix my gaze on hers. “Hey, Ashley,” I manage after an audible gulp. “Glad you could come.”