Deck dipped his chin thoughtfully before asking, “Cori, do you mind if I make an observation that’s kind of personal?”
“Please.”
“I know we’ve only been back in each other’s lives a few weeks, and it wasn’t exactly a smooth reunion at first—”
I pffted.
He shrugged contritely, still talking over my shoulder. “I’ll own that. But I think we can agree that there was a time when we understood each other extremely well. For a long stretch just before I got locked up, you probably knew me better than anyone.” My whole body froze, but Deck continued as though he hadn’t just said the thing I’d been waiting for him to say out loud since I was sixteen. “I’m still learning about the Cori who went to college and founded a company that made her a millionaire. The Cori who lives in a sweet little townhouse in Seattle, who wears expensive clothes, and rarely curses.”
“That’s who you think I am? Some rich lady living it up in the city?”
He laughed gruffly. “Absolutely not. Iknowthat isn’t who you are. That’s what I’m saying.” In the mirror, I watched as he hesitantly raised an arm, guiding me to turn around and face him. “I’m in awe of the person you are now, the one I’m still getting to know.” He rested his hand on my biceps. “But fundamentals don’t change, and I know the Cori from this neighborhood pretty damn well. She’s the reason I know what the wordexpeditemeans. She was there for all my best days growing up. It was her voice I heard when I was in prison, telling me I should get my GED and then my bachelor’s degree…”
He stopped short, looking abashed.
“Deck…” I murmured. “You’ve never said that before. How much we understood each other, I mean.”
He removed his hand and ran it through his curls, rocking back on his heels. “C’mon, Cori… You know that we… You know.”
Baby.
Heart emoji.
I didn’t press. Instead, I asked, “You thought about me in prison? After you ignored my letters and refused to see me, I figured you were mad, that you…blamed me.”
He shook his head aggressively. “Not even for one second,” he mumbled. “And of course I thought about you while I was in. All the time.”
From his red face, I gathered that the admission cost him. I offered a lifeline. “What does this have to do with me not being ashamed of Johnny?”
“Oh, right.” He folded his arms. “I’m saying that all those versions of Cori are you. Streetwise or sophisticated. Doing what you had to do to protect yourself. Johnny knows that. You were defending the life you’d made. Because it must have been hard for it to feel safe. And permanent. Johnny was a reminder of how fragile it all was.”
I leaned my hips against the sink. “Those years after college, when we were getting JBC established, it felt like I’d built my life on sand. Even with all my hard work, I woke up every morning with a low-key fear that someone would come along and expose me, point out that I didn’t belong in front of venture capitalists and that being a leader in the industry was for people who didn’t grow up in trailer parks. And you’re right—I’m not proud of it, but whenever Johnny came around, it felt like a warning that everything could dissolve in an instant.”
“Like I said, you were just scared. Not being a bad sister.”
I chuckled mirthlessly. “You know what the most ridiculous part is?”
“What?”
“These past few years, when my nice tidy life started feeling secure, when I finally started to trust it, that was when I realized I didn’t even really want it. Once the stress and fog ofDo I belong hereandDo I deserve thislifted, I could see clearly. I had always assumed happiness would follow stability. But it just… didn’t. After I figured that out, I tried to make it work, but eventually, I admitted to myself that I didn’t want the life I’d fought so hard to create and hold on to. That’s why I was ready to sell JBC when the offer came.”
“So if you don’t want your old business and that life, what do you want?”
“I don’t know. Something more in the middle, I think. Hopefully, I’ll know it when I see it.”
“Well, it’s good you’re helping Rosa while you figure it out.”
I shoved away thoughts of the dismal month-end numbers for the Center I’d combed through the day before. “What about you, Artie Decker? What kind of life do you want?”
Two small lines appeared on his forehead as his brow furrowed thoughtfully.
“I don’t know about the future yet,” he replied slowly, drawing out each word. “The only thing I’m sure of is that I don’t want to live with any more regrets.” His intensity consumed all the energy in the small space. “I need to be careful. I’ve messed up enough for two lifetimes, and I don’t want to make new mistakes.”
He took a step closer, and I held my breath. From this distance, I could make out the onyx rings outlining his dark brown irises. Leaning in, he stretched an arm out, and I watched in slow motion as he grabbed a roll of blue painter’s tape from the sink behind me.
“Better get back to work,” he said huskily.
I nodded. Once safely in the hallway, I released the air from my lungs.
