Chapter 1 #3
The ulcer in his stomach tapped a reminder that he really needed to focus, so he pushed his phone out of sight of even his peripheral vision.
This had to get done. His friend’s case depended on it.
Aidan Quinn did a lot of pro bono work for women in western Sydney who suffered domestic violence, and Ethan liked to help where he could.
But this, on top of his usual caseload, was pushing him to new levels of stress.
And to have this on top of the pressures of Lucinda and her mother’s protracted yet still unexplained illness, and pressures from his own father, made life very challenging. At times it felt like he was only just holding it all in. One more layer of pressure and he’d pop.
His eyes were blurring by the time he finally quit.
He blinked, seeing stars. Maybe it was time to revisit the optometrist and see if he needed to upgrade his prescription.
Or maybe he just needed a solid night’s sleep when he didn’t wake at three stressing over all the things that had to be done.
It didn’t seem to matter how much he exercised, he still woke thinking, thinking, thinking.
Night after night, he was sorely tempted to get up and do some work, but knew if he did, the computer’s blue light would affect him, and he’d start training his brain and body to wake at exactly that same time each night.
So instead, he lay in the darkness with his eyes closed, praying for peace as his mind whirred.
And each day in the office, he pressed on.
Growing wearier every day. Wishing, hoping, praying that one day something would change.
God gave rest to His beloved, right? The Bible said something like that, anyway.
So did that mean Ethan had done something wrong, and God didn’t want to bless Ethan in that way?
Or was that just another product of sleepless nights, when he couldn’t think clearly about anything, and his thoughts no longer made sense?
He yawned, rubbed his eyes, and little lights sparked. Ugh. That really wasn’t good.
He took off his glasses—the ones Lucinda said made him look like a sexier version of Clark Kent—and employed the long blink method he’d seen online. It was supposed to help improve his vision, but he doubted it helped too much. It certainly hadn’t made much difference so far.
A tap came at the open office door. “Still here?” Greg Lewe, Ethan’s self-proclaimed rival, smirked from the door.
“As you can see.” Even if Ethan couldn’t. Couldn’t see properly, that was.
“You know you won’t earn extra points by being the last to leave.”
“I’m not trying to earn extra points,” he said mildly.
Mildness was an underrated weapon, he’d come to realise. In a world full of sabre-toothed tigers, blessed were the meek, for they were often overlooked and yet ended up inheriting the earth through sheer dogged determination. That, and trusting God, of course. Both were things Greg needed.
Greg scoffed. “Well, I guess that’s true. When a man’s father is the state’s opposition leader, you probably don’t have to work as hard as the rest of us.”
Wow. Ethan leaned back in his chair. Eyed Greg. There was a time to turn the other cheek and a time to speak the truth. “You know my work here has nothing to do with my father.”
“I know your work is always the easy stuff.”
He arched a brow. “Really?”
Greg shrugged. “For some reason, Gordon likes you more than the rest of us.”
That was because Ethan was trustworthy, or so Gordon had said more than once. “If you have a problem with the assignments, you should speak to Gordon about it,” Ethan said. “I’m only doing what I was told.”
Greg huffed again. “Of course you are. Always the good boy, aren’t you?”
His left eyebrow joined his right. “Was there anything else I can help you with?”
Greg muttered something, then slouched away, leaving Ethan to take a deep breath and slowly exhale.
Calmness. He needed calmness. Peace. Quiet.
Sleep. He needed to get away! A holiday would be good right about now.
Anything that got him away from the city and its stressors.
Maybe a trip to the Southern Highlands, to one of the little, quaint villages he remembered visiting with his mum for Mother’s Day many years ago. Back before she’d gotten really sick.
“Don’t think about that,” he muttered to himself.
No good ever came from dwelling on the past too long.
Which was partly why he’d thrown himself into his work and now had an unhealthy work-life balance that was not sustainable.
But when one had Neville John Ferris as his father, one didn’t really know any other way to live except with workaholic tendencies.
Or maybe the need to prove oneself as not being corrupt like the rest of them.
Or maybe to prove to God that Ethan was different.
Whatever the motivation, he knew at his core that he wanted to make a difference in this world.
To not just take a pay cheque, but to spend his life being a blessing to those around him. Such as the teenagers in his church.
“Come on, focus,” he gritted out.
So he bent his mind and will and continued to focus, even as his vision blurred and his head pounded and he popped Quickeze like he was eating chicken-salted hot chips.
He had to finish this. Someone’s life might depend on it. And he couldn’t live with himself if he let down another dying person.