Page 32 of Just One Look
Maverick
“You did what?”
Wagner stares at me in disbelief.
I drop my head into my hands, pressing my palms into my eyes so hard I start seeing swirling, concentric patterns.
“I fired Jackson,”
I repeat meekly from the leather sofa in my brother’s home office.
“For not dating you?”
“No.”
“Well then, for what? For having a disability?”
“Of course not. I would never do that. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Hey, I’m not the one who fired an employee right after they disclosed a medical condition and indicated they weren’t interested in pursuing a romantic relationship with their boss. He’s going to sue.”
“He won’t.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I didn’t mean it.”
He throws his hands up, equal parts confused and frustrated.
“You didn’t mean to fire him?”
“I didn’t.”
“So why did you?”
“He was leaving, and I didn’t want him to go. I was literally on the verge of getting down on my knees and begging him to stay. You should have seen his face. I could tell he didn’t want to end things. But he’s such a stubborn fucker he wouldn’t back down. I knew there was nothing I could say or do that would get through to him.”
“So you fired him?”
“My brain snapped. I wasn’t thinking straight. I was still reeling from what he’d told me. Firing him was the only thing I could think of to make him stay.”
“And did he?”
“No.”
An unhinged grin spreads across my face, the sole bright spot in this otherwise total clusterfuck.
“He flipped me off.”
He shakes his head in disbelief.
“I do not understand you at all sometimes. You need to call Ollie.”
“For a supportive shoulder to cry on that my brother isn’t offering?”
“No, you idiot. For legal advice. I have to pick Sammy up from his playdate. Call Ollie now!”
And with that, he storms out.
I slink my sorry ass from his house back to mine. Well, back to my grandparents’ place, flopping onto their decidedly unfloppable couch, regretting it the second a searing pain shoots up my lower back.
“Stupid fucking couch,”
I mutter as I call my twenty-four-hour support line. It goes straight to voicemail. How dare Ollie have a career.
With my lower back spasming, I go into the kitchen to microwave a heat pack. As I wait for it to warm up, I snatch a bunch of old letters lying on the counter. They were in one of Grandpa Rick’s boxes. Come to think of it, most of them have been. It’s sweet that he may have been the romantic one of the pair.
I haven’t gotten around to reading them yet, but since I’m in dire need of some cheering up, it might be nice to be reminded that true old-fashioned love did exist at one point in human history.
Heat pack and stacks of letters in tow, I head to my bedroom, where the mattress I took from my apartment in the city is decidedly more flop-friendly. I wedge the heat pack into the small of my lower back, pluck a letter from the pile, and start reading.
Right away, something feels off. The letter is addressed to My Dearest Rick, but it’s not in Grandma’s distinctive loopy cursive, which I know of only because Grandpa Rick kept the very first note she ever wrote him stuck on the refrigerator.
I flip the page and almost choke in shock when I see the signature.
Yours forever,
Clancy
I get around to calling Ollie a few hours later. As expected, he blows his top when I tell him about what happened with Jackson.
“So what should I do?” I ask.
“If I were you, the first thing I’d do is clear up in writing that his role at the sanctuary remains his if he wants it and that you’re open to discussing how the effects of his vision loss can be managed most effectively.”
“Okay. I’ll email him tonight.”
“Good. Feel free to send me a draft so I can fine-tune it if necessary.”
“Thanks. I will.”
I take a sip of water.
“That takes care of the professional side of things. What about the personal?”
Ollie huffs out a sigh.
“Look, I’ll be honest. I’m not Jackson’s number one fan. I think he’s treated you pretty badly, but now that we know what he’s been going through, while it doesn’t excuse it, it does make a lot more sense.”
“And? What should I do?”
“You’re a grown man—I can’t answer that for you. But what I have observed is you being totally gaga over this guy for months. And maybe the fact that he comes from a world completely different to the one you and I grew up in could actually be a good thing.”
“He doesn’t suck up to me at all, and he’s not the least bit motivated by money or power.”
“Also good things.”
“But he lied to me, Ollie. We made a deal. He agreed to the deal. He had my trust, and then he broke it.”
“I get that.”
“Shit. Sorry. Here I am going on about my own shit as usual. What’s the latest with Derek?”
“We’re having dinner Friday night.”
“You are.”
“It doesn’t mean we’re getting back together or anything. But he wants to talk, so I’ll hear him out and take it from there.”
“Fair enough.”
“You took Luca back, right?”
My jaw tightens.
“I did. And I shouldn’t have. But Luca and Derek are nothing alike, and the situation is completely different. Derek didn’t sleep with half of your friend group on purpose. He made a huge mistake, came forward, and confessed. I found out by overhearing a conversation between my friends in the men’s room at a nightclub.”
“I’m so sorry you went through all that. That’s some fucked-up shit.”
“Don’t I know it.”
I let out a breath, hoping to say something useful.
“This might sound trite, but you have to trust your instincts, Ollie. I knew giving Luca a second chance was a mistake the whole time.”
“So why’d you do it?”
“I guess because by then, I was drinking too heavily to be making good choices. You need to take your time, stay clearheaded, and see how you feel after dinner. But move at your own pace. Don’t feel rushed or pressured into making any decisions until you’re ready. You owe him shit after what he did, and he’s damn lucky you haven’t completely ghosted him.”
“That’s good advice. Thanks. Now, let’s return to our regularly scheduled program. Jackson.”
I chuckle.
“All roads lead to him, don’t they?”
“They seem to for you. I guess the question is, can you forgive him? Does his reason for not telling you the truth outweigh the pain it caused?”
I slump back into the world’s most uncomfortable sofa. My brain is overloaded after today. On top of finding out about Jackson’s diagnosis, I haven’t even begun to process the Grandpa Rick and Clancy episode of Silverstone’s favorite soap opera, Lifestyles of the Rich and Fucked Up.
“I might get started writing that email and deal with everything else after that.”
“Cool. I’ll keep an eye out for it.”
“Thank you for everything. You’re the best.”
“I am. Love you, Mav.”
“Love you, too, Ollie.”