In my email inbox is a name I never thought I’d see again.
Andrew.
My breath catches in my chest. The thrumming of blood pumping through my body overwhelms my hearing until all I can focus on is the whoosh of my breath and the throbbing of my pulse. Should I delete it? Without opening it?
Given how visceral my reaction is to just seeing his name, I can’t imagine I’ll react any better to the actual message. I never realized how deeply that work environment affected me until now, faced with it again.
Still, curiosity outweighs caution and I open it, despite my better judgment.
Rachel,
I’d like to apologize for how things went down earlier this year. Had I realized how much the situation meant to you and how much it affected your desire to stay with Lakin-Cole, I would have reacted much differently. In the past few months it has been more than apparent how much we need and have missed you and your work.
If you would be amenable to rejoining the team, I’d like to offer you the position of project manager. You’ve more than proven yourself and I’m sorry it took us so long to see it.
It’s waiting for you whenever you’re ready. Let me know at your earliest convenience.
I hope to get the chance to work with you again!
Regards,
Andrew Hollis
What the fuck?Have I been dropped into some kind of mirror dimension? There’s no way Andrew typed all of that. After years of waiting and hoping for recognition, it isn’t until I’ve stepped away that I get it?
There’s no chance there isn’t a catch to this. Is Keith still there? If Andrew is offering me the position then it must mean things didn’t work out with him. Not that I’m surprised, given how he started off his new position all those months ago. The thought of going back—of D.C. and the grind, and my basement shoebox doesn’t seem as appealing as I’d thought it might. Even with the uncertainty of my job here, I’m reluctant.
Before I can shoot off a reply to Andrew, give in to my gut reaction to tell him to fuck off, Logan slips into the kitchen.
“Here you are! Hiding in the kitchen is no way to celebrate. Theresa’s got some amazing bites out back while we wait for the main event, plus a pitcher of ice cold margaritas.”
“You're twisting my arm. I just needed a sec.” To come to terms with my recent revelation and the giant question mark that comes next.
“Anything specific?” Logan leans against the counter, arms crossed as he settles in and waits. I want to divulge the job situation but I’m still stuck on that other shoe hanging over my head when it comes to Bryce.
“What was Stephanie like? Bryce doesn't talk about her much, understandably, but years of marriage aren't exactly easy to just set aside in a matter of months.”
Logan’s mouth purses at the mention of her name. “Bryce has never had an easy time with undertones and hints, and picking up on backhanded compliments or sarcasm. Steph thrived on all that. At first I'm sure it wasn't intentional but there's only so much grace you can give a person when they repeatedly set up your friend to fail and then blame them when it does.”
His chest fills with a huge inhalation that he huffs out before running a hand through his hair. “Bryce was coming back here less and less, but when he did—when she was here with him—I saw it. She'd ‘tease’ him as she called it. Or make little remarks about Bryce's interests. Or his friends. Or his parents. Even though he might not always have read between the lines it eventually became obvious that she didn't approve of any of it. She had an image in mind for them and him. When they met, Bryce was malleable. As time went on and he became more comfortable around her . . . more set in his ways and able to stop exhausting himself to impress her, it wasn't how she wanted it.”
My heart aches at the picture Logan paints. Of a marriage slowly disintegrating and one of them none the wiser until it was too late. Logan keeps going, describing an image that’s painful to look at with light shone on it.
“She'd say they were all right when he felt something was off between them and asked about it. Bryce would take it at face value. Why wouldn't he believe his wife? But I guess she got tired of skirting around it and hoping he'd read her mind. He called me when she dropped it on him and the only thing he wanted to know from me was why he wasn't enough.”
The ache in my chest splits to a crack. Because I get it. I know exactly what it feels like to doubt yourself like that. Professionally and personally, I get it.
“So, if this is you asking because you want to compare yourself to Steph, because you're worried that time with her overrides or outshines the depth of what he has with you. Don't.”
My face must give me away because he smiles at the sight of it.
“It's that obvious, huh?” I ask, face flaming.
“You and Bryce are the only ones who seem to be missing it. I don't know what your plans are or the full extent of your feelings—and I don't want to be the first to know, that should be Bryce. All I ask is that you assume good intent when it comes to him. Nothing he does or says is with malice, even when it might come out distant. Just don't break his heart.”
It's an earnest plea, one I find myself nodding to.
“You really overestimate my impact if you think I have the power to break his heart,” I scoff, trying to dislodge the uncomfortable feeling in my chest brought on by his words. It's too scary to consider—to want—without getting my hopes up.
