31. Todd
TODD
Aweek.
Seven days.
Seven of the longest days of my life.
I stood in my kitchen staring down at a cup of coffee that had gone cold twenty minutes ago. The Charlotte skyline stretched beyond the windows of my penthouse, but I barely noticed it.
Normally, Saturday mornings were my favorite part of the week.
No meetings, no investors, no cameras, no one asking me for anything. Normally, that kind of quiet was exactly what I craved, but now the silence pressed in on me, heavy and unbearable.
The knock at the door came right on schedule.
I opened it to find Bunny balancing a cardboard tray of coffees while Justin carried a white pastry box.
"You look terrible," Bunny announced.
"Good morning to you too."
"I'm serious."
"I know."
Justin stepped inside.
"For what it's worth, she's right."
"Thanks."
"Anytime."
They settled into the kitchen while Bunny handed me a coffee. The smell alone made me realize I'd forgotten to drink the one I'd already poured.
That seemed to happen a lot lately. I forgot things, lost track of conversations, and caught myself staring at my phone, waiting for it to ring or light up with a message, waiting for something, anything, but it never came.
Bunny studied me over the rim of her cup.
"Have you slept at all this week?"
"A few hours."
"Todd."
"What?"
She gave me a look.
I looked away.
The truth was I hadn't slept much at all. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Cici, the look on her face, the fear, the hurt, the disappointment, all of it.
"You know this isn't helping anything, right?" Bunny asked.
"What isn't?"
"The self-destruction."
I laughed humorlessly.
"That's dramatic."
"Is it?"
I opened my mouth.
Closed it again.
"No."
"Exactly."
Justin reached for a cinnamon roll.
"You heard from her?"
I shook my head.
"No."
"Have you called?"
I looked down at my coffee.
Bunny groaned.
"Oh no."
"How many times?" Justin asked.
I didn't answer.
Bunny's eyes widened.
"Todd."
"Several."
"Several?"
"Per day."
Justin nearly choked on his coffee.
"Per day?"
I rubbed a hand across my face.
"She said she needed time."
"And yet somehow you interpreted that as call repeatedly?"
"I know."
"You know?"
"I know."
Bunny sighed.
"Well, that's progress."
"What is?"
"The fact that you're finally admitting when you're being an idiot."
I couldn't even argue. Because she was right about all of it. I stared out the window again.
"I've never felt like this before."
Neither of them said anything. The admission hung in the air, raw and uncomfortable, but undeniably true.
I exhaled slowly.
"I don't know how to fix it."
Bunny's expression softened.
"That's because you've never been in love before."
I opened my mouth to argue, ready to push back on instinct, but the words stalled before they could form. The truth settled in, quiet and undeniable, and I let my mouth close again. I couldn’t disagree, not honestly, not anymore.
I thought about Cici's laugh, the freckles across her nose, the way she looked when she was flying, the way she talked about her grandmother, and the way she looked at me before I ruined everything.
I closed my mouth.
Bunny nodded.
"Yeah."
I hated that she was right, though maybe hate wasn’t the right word, maybe it was just anger at myself for taking so long to finally understand it.
An hour later they left.
Justin clapped a hand on my shoulder before heading for the door.
Bunny hugged me.
"Give her time."
"I'm trying."
"Try harder."
Then they were gone.
The penthouse felt empty again.
I wandered into the living room and turned on the television more for background noise than anything else.
A financial analyst was discussing market projections.
I wasn't listening.
I walked back into the kitchen to refill my coffee.
Halfway through pouring it, I heard my name.
I froze.
"...Archer Consulting CEO Todd Archer..."
The coffee mug hit the counter.
I walked quickly back into the living room.
A news anchor stood in front of a courthouse.
"...new developments this morning involving former Archer Consulting employee Ethan Vale."
My jaw tightened as the screen switched to footage of Ethan being escorted by police, the reporter continuing in a steady, detached tone.
"Ethan Vale remains in custody after a judge denied bail during Friday's hearing. Prosecutors have filed multiple charges, including stalking, evidence tampering, corporate espionage, and attempted vehicular assault."
I stared at the television.
For a week, my thoughts had been consumed by Cici, by the baby, and by the damage I’d caused. Ethan had barely crossed my mind, maybe because he no longer mattered. The threat was gone, but the damage remained.
The anchor continued talking. I muted the television.
"He can rot in prison for all I care."
The knock at the door came less than ten minutes later, catching me off guard since I wasn’t expecting anyone. When I opened it, I found Frank standing in the hallway, and for a moment neither of us said anything.
Then he grinned.
"Todd."
I laughed.
"Frank."
Frank stepped inside, boots scuffing lightly against the polished floor.
His gaze moved around the room, taking everything in.
"Still weird."
"What is?"
"Being here."
I smiled.
"Fair."
He shoved his hands into his pockets.
"I wanted to thank you."
"You already did."
"Not properly."
His smile widened.
"I still can't believe it."
I knew exactly what he was talking about.
The truck, a brand-new Chevy Silverado that now sat in his driveway. It was the least I could do after borrowing the old one.
Frank shook his head.
"My wife thought I was kidding."
I laughed.
"How'd that go?"
"She cried."
That surprised me.
Frank grinned.
"Then I cried."
"Now that, I definitely don't believe."
"Believe it."
He shook his head.
"We're doing good."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
His expression softened.
"We booked a weekend getaway."
"Where?"
"Charleston."
"That's great. Enjoy your time there."
He nodded.
"Especially now that I have a truck that'll actually make the trip."
I laughed.
"I'm happy for you."
"I know."
Silence settled between us.
Then Frank pointed at me.
"How's your situation?"
The smile disappeared from my face.
"I still don't know."
That answer seemed to tell him everything.
Frank nodded slowly.
"You love her?"
"Yeah."
He smiled.
"Good."
I folded my arms.
"She won't return my calls."
"Probably because you keep calling."
"Apparently everyone thinks that."
"Everyone's right."
I sighed.
Frank chuckled.
Then his expression turned serious.
"You know what saved my marriage?"
I shook my head.
"I kept showing up."
I frowned.
"You gave me that same advice last week."
"Because it works. I kept showing up."
He shrugged.
"Even when she didn't want to talk."
I listened.
"Even when she was mad."
He shrugged again.
"Even when I thought it was hopeless."
His eyes met mine.
"They don't usually want speeches."
"No?"
"No."
He smiled.
"They want to know you're still there."
The words settled somewhere deep. Frank headed for the door a few minutes later.
Before leaving, he pointed at me again.
"Keep showing up. And, honestly? A little groveling works wonders too."
Then he left.
I stood there staring at the closed door.
Keep showing up. The words echoed in my head as I stood there for a moment longer, letting them settle into something solid, something actionable.
A few minutes later I grabbed my keys, the decision no longer feeling uncertain or impulsive but necessary.
By the time I reached the elevator, I already knew exactly where I was going.
The drive to Lake Norman felt longer than usual, maybe because I spent every mile replaying the same moment, the same sentence, the same mistake—I don't know if I believe you.
At the time, I'd convinced myself it was just a reaction, a terrible moment in a terrible situation, and a terrible thing to say.
Now I understood what it really meant. When she needed me most, I didn't trust her.
When she needed me in her corner, I stepped away.
I chose evidence, planted evidence at that, everything except her.
Fucking idiot!
And that was the moment I lost her.
The realization weighed on me the entire drive, heavy and unrelenting. By the time I pulled into her driveway, my hands were trembling on the steering wheel. I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt this shaken, if I ever had at all.
I walked to the front door, knocked once, and waited as the seconds stretched. When the door finally opened, there she was.
God.
Just seeing her nearly knocked the breath out of me, and every word I’d practiced on the drive over disappeared before I could say a single one.
Cici stared at me, silent, waiting, and for a moment all I could do was stand there, feeling the weight of everything I’d broken.
Then I did the only thing that felt honest, I dropped to my knees.
Her eyes widened.
"Todd."
"I'm sorry." My voice cracked. I didn't care. "I'm so damn sorry."
For a second she just stared at me.
Then she sighed.
"Todd, get up."
I shook my head.
"Not yet."
She closed her eyes briefly, and when she opened them again, the anger was gone, replaced by something far more painful. It was the quiet, lingering hurt that somehow felt worse.
"Todd."
I swallowed hard.
"I was wrong."
The words felt inadequate, pathetic, and tiny compared to the damage I'd caused. But they were true.
"I'm so sorry, Cici."
She stood silently in the doorway. I forced myself to continue.
"I failed you."
Despite her eyes filling with emotion, I kept going anyway.
"I should have trusted you." The silence stretched between us. "I didn't. And I understand why you may never forgive me."
For a long moment neither of us moved. Then she stepped aside.
"Barely," she muttered.
Relief hit me so hard I had to steady myself.
I stood and followed her inside, and the conversation that followed was uncomfortable, raw, and painful, exactly what it needed to be. I didn't make excuses, didn't blame Ethan, the evidence, or fear. I simply told her the truth.
"You were right."
She sat quietly across from me.
"I was wrong."
A tear slid down her cheek, and I hated myself for putting it there.
"I failed you."
I took a breath.
"When I saw those files, I reacted from fear."
She didn't speak.
"The same fear that's been driving most of my life."
I stared at the floor.
"The same fear that made me miss family gatherings."
Emma flashed through my mind.
"The same fear that made me choose work over everything else."
I looked back at her.
"For years I thought success could fix everything." Her eyes stayed on mine. "Make enough money."
I swallowed.
"Build a big enough company." I took a breath. "Work hard enough."
I shook my head.
"And somehow nothing could hurt me."
The truth hit harder saying it aloud.
"I was wrong."
My voice lowered.
"Because none of it mattered when I thought I was going to lose you."
The words hung between us.
"Not the company."
I shook my head.
"Not the acquisition."
Another shake.
"Not the television appearances."
Nothing.
"Not the reputation."
I looked directly at her.
"None of it."
Emotion tightened in my throat.
"Only you."
A tear slid down her cheek.
"Only our baby."
I paused.
"Only the future I almost destroyed."
Silence filled the room.
Then finally I said the hardest thing.
"If you tell me to walk away, I will."
Her expression broke.
"But I won't stop loving you."
My voice cracked again.
"And I won't stop showing up for our child."
No matter what.
The silence stretched so long I thought maybe she wasn't going to answer.
Then she finally spoke.
"I still love you."
Hope flared inside me.
And died just as quickly.
"That's the problem."
I closed my eyes briefly. Because I understood. She wasn't struggling with love. She was struggling with trust.
"I don't know if I can trust you."
The words landed exactly where they deserved.
I nodded.
"I know."
A tear slipped down her cheek.
"And it's going to take time."
"I know."
More silence.
Then I leaned forward.
"I'll spend the rest of my life earning that trust back."
She stared at me for a long moment, searching, evaluating, looking for something she wasn’t sure she’d find. Finally, she nodded once, small, tentative, not forgiveness, not yet.
But maybe the beginning of it.
And for the first time in a week, I felt something I hadn't felt since the day everything fell apart.
Hope.