Page 50

One week later

Ava

For the first time in my life, I’m not restricted by money.

Here I am, reviewing a realtor’s report on a new apartment building that hit the market less than twenty-four hours ago.

I can actually afford to buy the building at the asking price, tear it down, and build exactly what I want.

The building location is perfect for Nueva Vida because of its proximity to our existing campus.

That this is even an option for me, that I’m in the negotiation seat on this commercial property, is surreal.

Surreal describes the entire last month.

It’s like someone plucked me out of my one-bedroom apartment in a shitty part of town and dropped me into a stunning ocean-side mansion and said you get to experience all of this, but only for a very little while.

But do not fret, you will not turn back into a pumpkin.

Your bank account overflows, and you may buy anything you wish for.

It’s not like I can be mad at Jack. He was quite clear.

One month. Sure, it ended a few days early.

And yes, he opened the door to more, and I almost let myself buy into the possibilities.

I almost hurdled the fear and went for it.

You’d think I’d know better after the life I’ve lived.

There was never a real possibility that would be my life.

That a man like Jackson Sullivan would fall for someone like me and want her by his side.

I considered returning the payment. Rejecting his money would soothe my pain.

Show him I’m not the whore he claimed. But I am the whore.

I accepted his ridiculously large payment so I could do good for other people.

If I return the money, my ego gets soothed, but the center will take a colossal hit.

And it would mean I wasted this past month.

I need to forget about the Sullivans. Forget I ever agreed to that crazy situation.

Forget I ever got to know the infamous Jackson Sullivan and his abducted daughter.

Forget about his twisted little sex room and his payment plans for women he wants.

Forget I ever agreed to it. Forget I sold myself, once again, something I promised myself I’d never do.

But hey, wouldn’t a lot of people do what I did if they found themselves in my shoes?

I couldn’t really say that when I’d gotten strung out on drugs.

But last month, that life. I’m not the only one who would make that choice. I am not horrible or evil.

The problem is, I can reiterate that to myself all I want, but there’s a deadness inside me that isn’t healthy.

I’ve hit rock bottom before, and I’m not close to it right now.

But getting out of bed in the morning is tough.

Everything should be great. I’m looking at expanding Nueva Vida and really putting it on the map, and yet there’s no excitement.

No drive to come to the office. At night, I eat and go to sleep.

I’ve been craving a drink… just a nice glass of red wine to curb some of the pain.

But I haven’t done it. I won’t go there.

Still, the cravings are undeniably stronger, and that’s not good.

And this is exactly why I never should have opened up to him or risked falling for him.

Last month, I got off my workout schedule.

Those walks on the beach and paddleboarding didn’t deliver the sweat or endorphins of a grueling workout.

That’s what I need to do. Get back into a stringent workout routine.

Pump those endorphins the healthy way. Get my body and mind out of this cloud of funk.

Unfortunately, my deflated self has zero desire to enter a gym.

Maybe a long walk tonight will kickstart my improvement.

Tomorrow, I’ll dig in and work my ass off.

There’s a knock on my office door that pulls me out of my internal pep talk.

“Hey, do you have a minute?”

Ryan Wolfgang’s sister, Indigo, stands in the doorway.

I have seen little of her since she came to live at Nueva Vida, but I’ve asked about her more than once to have an answer for Ryan if he asked me how she’s doing.

Does she have a message for me? That’s an absurd thought.

If Jack wanted to talk, he’d call. Or text.

“Sure. Come on in.”

“I got a job.” She beams, and a little part of me twists. It’s the stupid part of me. Of course her visit has nothing to do with Jack.

“That’s great. Where?” Jobs for felons are challenging to acquire, but Indigo is lucky. Her brother hired a good lawyer, and they expunged her possession charges.

“A call center. It’s for a bank.” She shrugs and steps closer. “It’s a lot more interesting than I thought it would be. The training alone lasts for a month.” Her eyes widen as if a month is an incredibly lengthy amount of time. “There’s so much to learn.”

“That sounds great. Truly impressive. How are you doing otherwise?”

Her gaze drops to the floor. She knows what I’m asking, what everyone in this place is asking. It’s a loaded question because it dredges up thoughts of before, when everything was anything but okay.

“I’m okay. It’s only really bad at night. When I’m busy during the day, I can… I’m good.”

“Have you been working out?”

“Meh.” She wobbles her head back and forth and offers a sheepish smile. “Some.”

We endorse all rehabilitation strategies.

Faith-based, non-faith based, drug assisted…

we don’t care, as long as it works for the individual.

But one overriding principle we promote is physical exercise, both cardio and weights.

But it’s hard to do it when you feel like shit, even if it’s one natural way of finding a path to better. And I, of all people, know this.

“I’m actually not in a great place right now.”

Her face instantly morphs into one of genuine concern, and she slips into one of my office chairs. She says nothing, but looks expectantly up at me, leaving the floor open for me to say more. She’d be a good therapist or coach.

“Would you like to maybe grab dinner and go for a long walk tonight? I haven’t been great about getting exercise, and I need to get back into it.”

“Absolutely. That would be great.” She glances at her wrist. “I’m working from ten to six today, but they never keep me late. Want me to come by here when I’m done?”

“Yeah.” This is good.

“Well, I came by to tell you I’ll be paying the full rent next month. That call center job actually pays really well. Sixty-eight thousand a year. So, I can pay rent. And I’ll probably start looking for an apartment of my own, you know, once I get my feet on the ground.”

“That’s great, Indigo.”

“Indie. Everyone calls me Indie. Um, I don’t want to be overly confident, but I’m sort of thinking I’ll be out of here within sixty days.”

“That’s great.” Having a good-paying job is an important component of transition success. She’s also got her brother backing her. Sometimes worry percolates when someone tells me they are moving on, but there’s no worry for her. She’s got a supportive family and a good job.

My phone rings, and Patrick’s name flashes on the screen.

“I’ll get out of here and let you get that. See you later. Probably around six thirty or seven? Depends on traffic. You know, the bus can be off schedule too.”

I give her a thumbs up sign and answer the phone.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Patrick’s deep rumble eases some of my discomfort. I lean back in my chair and spin it around so I’m staring out my window at the dingy stucco wall of the nearby building.

“Hey.”

“Now, that does not sound like my cheery Ava.”

“I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh. Still no word from Jack?”

“I told you. He kicked me out. I keep thinking about his belief that someone paid me, and the only logical conclusion I can come to is Mark. Does that make sense to you?”

“Well, you agreed to go over there partially out of loyalty to Mark. But he didn’t offer you money… Jack did.”

I hold in my sigh. There’s no point in going ’round and ’round about this.

I tried calling Jack, and he blocked my number.

After deciding there had to be some massive misunderstanding, I drove back, only to be treated like scum at the neighborhood gates.

It’s possible he’s a narcissistic sociopath.

He got what he wanted from me and gaslighted me, making up some bullshit reason for kicking me to the curb.

Only, that doesn’t make sense either. None of his other actions fit.

But it’s just as well. It’s not like he and I were really going to work out.

That was some kind of bizarre, surreal fantasy that the sooner I release the better.

He always saw me as a piece of trash, and it was always going to end.

“How are you doing?” Patrick’s all-serious, and I get it.

“Am I about to break down? Relapse?”

“I didn’t—”

“No. It’s okay. I’m good. Really. I love my life and what I’m doing too much to do anything stupid. You don’t need to worry.”

“Good to hear. But that’s not what I meant either.”

“Patrick.” I close my eyes, seeking strength.

“We’re supposed to accept the things we can’t change.

He’s blocked my number. He’s got twenty-four-hour security around him in a gated community.

None of this makes any sense, but he obviously doesn’t want to talk about it.

What the hell am I supposed to do? Hang out on his beach?

Wait for him or Sophia to come out like some stalker?

” And the stalker option wouldn’t even work.

His security would spot me. Not that I’ve given it a lot of thought.

“So, he cut you off?”

“Completely. If you could have seen him, Patrick… he was so cold.” It was a different Jack than I’d ever seen before. Maybe he has multiple personality disorder.

“He cut Mark off too.”

“Really? Even though he’s going through chemo?”

“Yeah. Mark asked me if I’d spoken to you. I don’t know what’s going on. But Jack knew about your past, right?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Some things Mark was saying didn’t quite make sense.

But he’s stoned half the time these days.

And I’m so mad at him for sitting his ass in Houston that I haven’t pushed him.

But we’ll get through it. We always do. Our relationship is a series of ups and downs.

But what about you? What are you going to do? ”

“What can I do? That night, I was so shocked. None of it makes sense. He acted like I took money from someone, yet he’s the one I took money from. Do you think he has multiple personality disorder?”

Patrick’s laughter through the line has me pulling the phone away and rubbing my forehead. I sound ridiculous. My brain is just trying to make sense of this, and I need to let it go.

“Sorry. Damn, Ava. You and I are definitely different. You go off with a mental diagnosis. If I was in your shoes, I’d be thinking Mark found some nineteen-year-old stud.”

“Thanks for putting that into my stream of consciousness. Jeez.” Maybe he did find some hottie on that trip to Houston. But that doesn’t seem like Jack. There is something else going on. Or he has multiple personality disorder.

“I will grant you that his theory that someone else paid you to have sex with him is crackers.”

“No. I don’t think that’s what he was saying. I think he’s worried I was giving information to someone else, but who? I never left the house. And when I did, he had security trailing me.”

“Huh.” Patrick sounds thoughtful, but this is all stuff we’ve been over. Only the first of many times Patrick and I went over everything I couldn’t stop crying. The tears are dried up, replaced by profound sadness and frustration. “Like he thought you were reporting back to someone?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“And he’s mad at Mark too. Do you still wear that bracelet Mark gave you?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you find it odd when he gave that to you?”

“Geez, thanks.”

“No, I mean he didn’t have me shop for it. Did you find that odd?”

“I didn’t think about it.” The bracelet in question clinks against the other bands on my arms. I don’t always wear it, as charms aren’t really my style, but I’ve been wearing it daily since all the bullshit erupted.

“Can you do me a favor?”

“Yeah.” Patrick confuses me. Where is he going with this?

“Can you take it off and put it in a metal file cabinet? Just keep it there until I arrive tomorrow. Don’t say anything right now. Just take it off and put it in the back of a metal file cabinet.” Frissons of fear light my skin.

“Patrick, you’re not—”

“Shush. Just do it. Don’t say another word about it. I’ll be there tomorrow. Tell me when you’ve taken it off and locked it away. Preferably in an office other than yours.”

We have a storage room filled with tall metal file cabinets.

A local business donated them years ago when they were renovating.

I set the phone down and unclick the silver latch.

The bracelet is heavy. Nausea stirs as I lock it away in the tall cabinet, nestled in the back of the bottom drawer.

I lock the storage room door, and it’s not until I’m back in my office that I speak.

“It’s locked away. You think he put something on that bracelet?”

“It’s one theory. Would explain some of his ramblings. And Jack thinking he paid you. I’ll be there tomorrow. I mean, maybe I’ve been watching too much spy shit.”

My mind races forward. “Even if Mark did something like that, I’d never be able to convince Jack that’s what happened.”

“Sure you would. You’d show him the bracelet.”

“I can’t get near him. I’ve tried. Remember?” It’s a long shot, and a pointless one. But it would help me understand what the hell happened.

“When you get home, I need you to go through your closet.”

“Why? If he’s got some listening device or something in there, I wouldn’t recognize it.”

“That’s not why. I’ve got another idea. Something that’s going to help both of us. Do you have any gowns?”

“What?”

“I don’t know why I asked. First things first, we’ve got some shopping to do. I’m scheduling us a private appointment at Gambucci.”

“I can’t afford that place.”

“How much did you say he paid you?”

I let out a sigh. “I’m not using that money on clothes.”

“Well, never fear. I’ve got Mark’s black card. And I can promise you… he’ll never notice.”