Chapter 10
I yawn and lean back in my desk chair. Behind me, the sky in Studio City is already bright, morning having come and gone while Abby and I have been holed up here in my office.
We spent the night hunched over our computers, trying frantically to clean up a mess of malicious code left by a disgruntled ex-Greystone employee, and to plug all possible holes so nothing like this could happen again.
It was a bitch of a job, but we managed.
And as I take a long sip of my coffee, I give myself a few moments to bask.
This particular crisis couldn’t have been foreseen, especially since only a limited number of people have the skill set to pull off that type of sabotage.
So Abby and I faced something entirely unexpected, and we came out victorious.
More than victorious, really, since we’ve prevented further attacks of that nature.
And that, I think, is pretty damn cool.
“You did great,” I tell her, as she returns from the break room with her own mug of coffee. “Let’s lock this place up, get out of here, and call it a day.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely.” I glance at the clock. “If I hurry, I can get home before Bree takes the girls to Lara’s very first Gymboree class. And after that, I can take the world’s longest nap. You should do the same. The nap,” I clarify. “Not Gymboree.”
She laughs, then turns serious. “I’m sorry I couldn’t handle it on my own. I know you were having a night out.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I say. “You never have to feel bad about bothering me during a crisis. Especially a crisis involving my business. But,” I add, “for the record, I think you could have handled it just fine if I hadn’t been around.”
“Yeah?”
“Absolutely. You did great. You held the client’s hand. You worked the problem. You were ferocious in writing the new code and getting it uploaded. I was a hundred percent impressed.”
Her cheeks turn pink as she smiles. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I say. “Now go home.”
She scurries out, as if afraid I might change my mind. No chance of that—I want too badly to see my kids.
After Edward dropped me off in the limo last night, Damien had offered to stay with me and help, but I’d sent him home. I don’t go with him for a crisis at Stark International. And besides, if we weren’t getting to enjoy our date, at least one of us should be enjoying our kids.
Which means that Coop is still in the garage where I left him yesterday, and I hurry to him, sending a text to Damien as I walk to let him know that I’m done and heading home.
Then I climb into Coop, whip out of the garage, and push that Mini to the max as I race from Studio City back home to Malibu.
I check the clock obsessively as I drive, and I have to remind myself not to be reckless.
No jumping lights or zipping back and forth between lanes.
Maybe it would buy me a minute or two, but the idea is to get home to my kids, not to end up with a mangled car. Or worse.
Still, I’m anxious for the entire drive, and it’s only when I turn onto our street with five minutes to spare that I relax. I made it.
I race through the gate, waving to our guard as I pass, then avoid the garage, instead skidding to a stop on the circular drive, right in front of the entrance.
I hurry inside, calling out, “Mommy’s home!” But I’m greeted only with silence.
I frown, then trot up the stairs to the third floor, calling for Bree as I do.
It’s only when I reach the kitchen and see that the kids’ snack bag is gone that I allow myself to believe what I’ve already figured out—that Bree took the kids early. That no one is home.
Like Damien, I’ve now missed one of the “firsts” for our kids.
Just a children’s class, sure. But I wanted to hold Lara’s hand.
To stand beside her when they make balls bounce on the parachute and walk in a circle in time to music, or all the other stuff that the director told me about when I signed up for the class.
I’ll take her next time. And the time after that. But even if I take her to every class from here on out—even if I take Anne to her very first one when she’s two—I’ve missed this first. And I can’t ever get that back.
And now I'm wondering if I was a fool thinking I could be the mom I want to be and still run a business.
I sigh, then drop into one of the chairs at the small kitchen table. For a moment, I consider following them, but I’d end up arriving late, and I don’t want to be that mom. The one who interrupts class and disrupts all the kids.
So instead, I just sit here in the quiet, empty house. No kids. No Damien. No Bree. Even Gregory is gone, the valet who’s been with Damien for years and now serves as a butler and everything kind of guy. His sister in Connecticut is ill, and he flew out a week ago.
“Just me and you,” I say to Sunshine, who’s wandered in for kibble. But even she’s not interested in me. She comes for one single pat on the head, then trots away, presumably to find a sunny spot in which to curl up and sleep.
I feel much the same way.
I’m still in my clothes from last night, and I feel grungy and achy. I want sleep, but I want a shower more, and so I head to the master bath, stripping off my clothes as I go. I turn the shower on full blast, the heat cranked up almost to scalding, and I let the room fill with steam.
I adjust the temperature back to tolerable, then step in, tilting my face up toward the spray as I lean against the tile wall and let the water sluice over me, washing away the day, my troubles, my mistakes, my disappointments.
Except even the hottest shower can’t do that, and as I stand there—the water pounding down on me—the hard, cold truth hits me. It just flat out hits me.
It’s not the firsts that matter, it’s the moments. Little moments that make up a life. And I missed countless moments in the last twenty-four hours alone. And not only moments with my kids, but with my husband.
I missed a night out with Damien.
I missed an afternoon with my kids.
How many smiles have there been? New toys? New discoveries?
That impish grin when Lara crawls sneakily up to attack Sunshine.
Anne’s expression of wide-eyed wonder when the light makes a rainbow through the window. Or her gurgle of delight when she strokes the cat’s fluffy tail.
So many moments I want to witness. So many that I’m going to miss.
I’ve known it, of course. But now the weight of that reality seems too heavy to bear, and I sink down and drop my face to my knees and let my tears flow as the water beats down on me.
That’s where I am when Damien finds me, his urgent voice pulling me back to the moment.
“Did you cut? Dammit, Nikki—did you cut?”
He’s holding my hands, crouched in the shower beside me as the water soaks his clothes.
“No,” I say. “Damien, you’re drenched.”
“What’s going on? Goddammit, Nikki, talk to me.”
The fear in his voice breaks my heart, and I squeeze his hands as I look deep into his eyes. “I didn’t cut. I swear. Honestly, it didn’t even occur to me.”
His gaze skims over me, hunched up on the floor of the shower, and I can see the disbelief in his eyes.
“I promise. Please, turn off the water. I’m fine. I love you, and I’m fine.”
He hesitates but does as I ask, then gets two warm, fluffy towels from the drawer. He wraps one around me, then peels off his clothes, leaving them in a wet pile on the floor of the stall.
When he’s dry and the towel is twisted around his hips, he holds out his hand to help me up. I take it, then let him lead the way into the bedroom, trading my towel for my snuggly robe along the way.
“All right,” he says once we’re both in robes and sitting on the bed. “What happened?”
I give him the rundown of the crisis at Greystone-Branch. “Abby was amazing,” I say. “Smart and focused. I couldn’t have been more impressed.”
“You hired good people.”
I shrug. “Eric left.”
“That’s the risk you take with good people.”
I nod but brush it off. We’ve gotten too far off topic. “The point is that I came home exhausted. But even on no sleep and completely drained, I wanted to make it in time for Gymboree.”
“Lara’s first class.” There’s a wistful note to his voice, and I realize that he’s gone this same road, too.
I take his hand, then nod. “I wanted to be there. But I missed it. Bree left earlier than I expected. And I just missed it.”
I press my lips together, determined not to cry again. When I’m certain I’m in the clear, I say, “That’s it. Just sadness. And exhaustion. But no cutting. Not even an inkling of a smidgeon of a thought about a blade. I promise.”
The relief on his face is palpable, and I know that I’ve finally convinced him. “I need to sleep now,” I say. “But why are you here? The house was empty when I got home.”
“I got your text,” he says. “And since I have a meeting soon in Santa Monica, I thought I’d come home and see my wife. But I need to go now.” He strokes my cheek. “Are you sure you’re okay? Do I need to reschedule my meeting?”
“No—no, seriously, I’m fine.” I take a deep breath, then smile. “Honestly, right now I’m feeling steadier than I have in days.”
And it’s true. Unexpected, maybe. But true.
Damien’s brow furrows, and I can tell he’s uncertain. “You’re thinking about something,” he finally says.
“I am,” I agree. “I’m thinking I desperately need a nap.”
What I don’t say is that I think I’ve made a decision, but I have to figure it out for myself before I can tell him. And right now, it’s all still a blur in my head, everything mixed up together. Work. Damien. The kids. Even the fact that I didn’t want to cut. That I didn’t even think about it.
The tangle of thoughts reminds me of the code that Abby and I attacked. All the bad stuff had been twined together with the good, so we had to hack carefully to get to the core. But when we finally got that one essential thread, the rest was easy.
That’s what I need, I think.
Right now, I need to find the core thread inside of me.