Chapter 9
Shane
I feel like I'm changing for the better. My bond with Jaime has strengthened, and I'm connecting with people more. Jaime and Nicole have taught me to trust again, to accept help, and to let others take the lead sometimes. One such person is Oliver, who's become somewhat of a protégé. He shows promise and potential, and instead of feeling intimidated by the younger, possibly smarter, department head, I find myself intrigued and eager to mentor him.
Our lunch training session is in full swing. The office buzzes with quiet efficiency, the hum of the air conditioner blending with the clatter of keyboard strokes. The smell of reheated lasagna and freshly brewed coffee fills the room.
"Selling the product is easy," I say, my tone measured as I look across the desk at Oliver. He's seated with a plastic container of microwaved lasagna in front of him, a plastic spork in hand. His eyes are focused, but I can see the wheels turning in his head. "What you're really selling is the promise. The promise is the key; it unlocks their interest, trust, and loyalty. The catch is that they'll only buy into your promise if you've already sold them on you—through your pitch or the company's reputation. The product just needs to be useful to the client. And even if it's not, the promise can convince them that it is."
Oliver nods thoughtfully, pausing to jot down my words with a small pencil in his notepad. His hunger to learn is palpable, and I know he's on the right path to mastering the intricacies of this business. Beside him, Kristen is typing away on her laptop, capturing every word as it's spoken, her fingers moving swiftly over the keys. She's always thorough, ensuring nothing is missed.
The room is quiet except for the occasional tap of Kristen's keyboard and the soft whir of the air conditioning. Oliver looks up from his notes, curiosity evident in his eyes. "So what's the best example of a promise you think you've sold or are currently selling?" he asks, genuinely interested.
"The best promise," I reply, leaning back slightly in my chair, "is one that comes from understanding the customer's specific needs. It's about listening more than talking. If they've had a data breach in the past, I promise them that our product can prevent that. But it's not just about security—it's about peace of mind. If they suffer from a bad reputation, I show them how our services can help rebuild trust through reliability and a strong public image. For instance, if a client has dealt with subpar providers who missed deliveries or failed to meet deadlines, I don't just tell them we'll do better—I introduce them to our satisfied clients who can vouch for our track record. The key is not to promise that we will never make mistakes—that sounds desperate. Instead, I assure them that we are better than anyone else on the market because we have systems in place to ensure those mistakes don't happen."
"Think of it this way," I continue, leaning forward slightly, "every pitch—" My phone buzzes on the desk in front of me, interrupting my train of thought. Nicole's name flashes on the screen, and a sense of unease settles in my chest.
"One minute," I say, picking up the phone and stepping out of my office into the outer lobby. "Hello," I answer.
"Shane, Jaime's had a bit of an accident. He's fine, but we're at the hospital now."
My heart drops in my chest. "What happened?"
"Something at school—playing with some other kids. His injuries are minor, okay? I don't want you to panic."
I can hear the concern in her voice, but her reassurance does little to calm the rising fear in my chest. "Which hospital?" I ask, already heading toward the elevators.
"Silver Oak Medical. We're on the third floor now."
"I'm on my way," I say, hanging up the phone.
I open the door to my office, my mind racing. "I need to run; Jaime's had a minor accident."
Kristen immediately looks up, her expression concerned. "Of course, Mr. Matthews."
Oliver echoes her concern. "Yes, take care."
"It's small—no need for concern," I add, trying to reassure them as much as myself. They both give me a final farewell as I close the door and head for the elevators.
I take the quickest route to the hospital, weaving through midday traffic. The streets blur as I speed toward Silver Oak, trying to convince myself that everything is fine. Nicole would have alerted me if something were seriously wrong, but the familiar rush of anxiety gnaws at me. The race against traffic, the destination—it's too much like before.
Claire . I've done this before, recently even, and that's why my heart is pounding, why I can't stop myself from speeding. I keep telling myself he's fine, but the words bring no comfort. I need to see him.
The anxiety worsens as I reach the hospital. My heart races as I step out of the elevator onto the third floor. The sterile smell, the beeping of machines, the low murmurs of hospital staff—it's all too familiar. I keep expecting the worst, to see that same doctor once again telling me they've done all they can, that there's nothing more they can do.
I approach the nurses' station, ready to ask for Jaime's room, but then I hear her voice.
"Shane." Nicole's voice is soft but steady as she gestures to me down the hall.
She must see the worry etched on my face, because as soon as I reach her, she places a hand on my chest. "Shane, he's fine," she says, her touch grounding me, pulling me out of the panic. "He's got a minor fracture to one of his fingers; it will heal, and he'll be fine." Her words are calm and reassuring—exactly what I need to hear. Somehow, she always knows what I need to hear. And it works. I feel myself begin to calm down.
Nicole turns to the chair behind her, where Jaime is asleep. His small form is peaceful, his left middle finger wrapped in a splint. There's also a black bruise on his right eye, which I hadn't expected.
"Was he fighting?" I ask, my voice edged with concern. "Why's he all beaten up?"
She exhales, her expression serious. "From what Jaime says, some of the other boys have been bullying him and a friend. Today, they finally stood up for themselves."
"They've been being bullied? And no one knew—not even the teacher? Did Jaime tell you any of this?"
"No," Nicole snaps, her tone defensive. My questions have clearly agitated her. "If he had, I'd have told you."
"How could no one notice? Not you, not the teacher? What do I pay you all for?" My frustration spills over, my worry for Jaime turning into misplaced anger.
"Shane, you're upset. Calm down," she says, trying to soothe me.
But I can't shake the guilt. "I should have noticed," I mutter, more to myself than to her. My mind races with the thought that maybe I've been too distracted by Nicole, or maybe she's been by me. Perhaps boundaries need to be reestablished—for Jaime's sake.
"Can we go? Let's get him home," I suggest, eager to put this behind us.
"He's got one more doctor to see, then we need to pick up his prescription, and then we can go," Nicole replies calmly. "Shane, go get some air or something to snack on. Let him sleep awhile, okay?"
I nod, her words finally breaking through the fog of anxiety. As I step away to get some air, I can't help but replay the events in my head, wondering if I could have done more or if there was more I should have seen.
When I return, Jaime's seat is empty, and Nicole is nowhere to be found. I feel a knot tighten in my stomach, until a doctor steps out of a nearby room, spots my confusion, and approaches.
"You with Jaime?" she asks.
"Yes, I'm his uncle," I respond.
"Shane Matthews," she says, recognizing my name. "I read an article about you in the Daily. They're in there," she adds, gesturing to the room she just left. "Jaime's going to be fine. It's just a minor fracture, which should heal in about four to six weeks. Just ensure he goes easy on that hand, and give him some children's ibuprofen if he feels any pain. Bring him back in six weeks so we can check up on him and make sure everything's healing properly."
"Thank you, doctor. We'll do that," I say, relieved as I head toward the door.
As I push open the door, I see Nicole sitting by Jaime's bedside, speaking to him softly. I pause for a moment, listening to their conversation.
"Jaime, you could have told us about this," Nicole says gently.
"I wanted to, but I also wanted to handle it on my own," Jaime replies, his voice small.
"Why did you think fighting was the solution?" she asks, her tone filled with concern.
"I tried talking first, but they wouldn't stop. They said my parents were drunk driving and that they were in hell. They picked on Nick, too, and he's like, my only friend. So... I remembered a story my mom told me about how she and Uncle Shane stood up to some kids who were bullying them because their parents weren't home. I just wanted to be strong like them, so I pushed one of them. Then they all jumped on us."
"Jaime, I know you just wanted to stand up for yourself, and I know bullies can say really mean things that make you angry or hurt. You should always defend yourself, but you can't start fights."
"Are you mad at me?" Jaime's voice wavers with worry.
Nicole instantly embraces him in a way that reminds me so much of Claire. "No, not at all," she reassures him.
"What about Uncle Shane?" Jaime asks, looking toward the doorway.
Nicole glances at me knowingly—she's been aware of my presence the entire time. I step into the room, making my way over to them.
"I'm not mad at you either, bud. I know it wasn't your fault," I say as I squat down and gently lift his chin to examine his bruised eye. "That's not so bad," I add with a smile. "You know, your mom and I only fought when we had to. But when we could walk away, we did. We never let their words make us angry, because we knew that if we did, they would win. Maybe you and Nick can try ignoring them next time. Bullies sometimes stop once they realize their words can't hurt you."
"Okay, Uncle Shane," Jaime agrees, nodding.
"So, what do you say, slugger? Bricktop's Burgers?" I suggest, lightly tapping his jaw with my fist.
"Shane!" Nicole huffs, her expression clearly disapproving of the gesture.
"Actually, I'd rather just go home. Can we all watch a movie together?" Jaime asks, his voice hopeful.
"Sure, but only if Nicole's up for it. You're welcome to take the rest of the night off, if you'd like," I say, turning to Nicole.
Nicole puts a finger to her chin, mimicking deep thought with an exaggerated "hmmm," while Jaime watches her expectantly.
"She's going to say yes," Jaime says confidently, a smile creeping onto his face.
"Yeah, you know me so well, don't you?" Nicole says, playfully tickling his stomach.
She looks up at me, her eyes soft and sincere. "Let's go home," she says, and the words feel like a promise, one that I desperately want to believe in. The look she gives me confirms it. I know now that I want her to be home for me and Jaime, and for us to be hers.
At home, the atmosphere is light and warm, filled with the comfort of togetherness. We settle in the living room, Jaime curled up between us on the couch as the movie begins. Despite the weight of the day's events, a sense of peace washes over me. As I watch Jaime laugh at the screen, I realize how much I've changed—how much we've all changed. We're not perfect, but we're making it work, and that's what matters.
As the movie plays, I glance at Nicole more often than at the screen. There's something about how she's settled in, her arm draped casually over the back of the couch, that feels so natural and right. My mind drifts to thoughts of what this could be—what we could be—if we let it.
Unexpectedly, Nicole leans in closer, her voice low and teasing. "You know, Shane, you're pretty good at this whole family thing," she says, a playful glint in her eyes.
"Only because I have the best teachers," I reply, my voice matching her tone. The warmth between us feels electric, and for a moment, everything else fades away.
We share a smile, the kind that lingers longer than it should, and I feel a flicker of hope that maybe—just maybe—this could be something real.
But just as quickly, Nicole pulls back, the moment slipping away like sand through my fingers. Her gaze drops to her hands, and she clears her throat, the playful ease from before now replaced with something more guarded.
I'm left wondering, once again, if this could ever be more than just a passing thought. Can we really make this work, or is it all just wishful thinking? The questions swirl in my mind, but for now, they remain unanswered.
As the credits roll on the movie, Jaime's eyelids grow heavy, and soon he's fast asleep between us. Nicole carefully scoops him up, cradling him against her chest as she carries him to bed. I watch her, my heart full but my mind still clouded with uncertainty.