“To rewrite the past,” I mutter, mind whirring as an idea forms. I lean forward, placing my hands on the table. “Kelly, what if Idogo to the fitness camp? I mean, it’s a good career move, for sure. There are going to be sponsors there. It’s probably the best thing I could do for my blog right now.”
“I’m sensing abut…”
“No, anand.”
She smiles. “And what, then? It’s so awesome to see you being enthusiastic again, Grace. I just have to hear this.”
“And what if I get my revenge?” I say. “What if this time, instead of him seducing and using andabandoningme, I do the same to him? What if I make him know how it feels to have your whole life pulled out from underneath you?”
Rewrite the past.
The words are singing like a chorus in my head now.
I victoriously snap off a piece of croissant and bite into it, grinning.
“Wow,” Kelly says. “I have to say, that’s probably the best plan I’ve ever heard. I mean, anything that fills you with this much chutzpah…”
“I’m sorry, what?” I giggle. “Did you just saychutzpah?”
“Yes, so what?” she laughs. “You’re not the only wordsmith around here, you know … okay, you are. But you get the point. And I love the plan, hon, really. Urgh, men like him, he thinks just because he played for a big soccer team in England he can come over here and treat women how he wants?”
“Well, he fucked me overbeforehe became a soccer star, but I get your point.”
That was just the crap cherry on the feces sundae, watching as Harry went on to rise high in the Premier League in England, at one point the hottest prospect in the soccer world. But then he took a bad fall from a dirt bike and had to sit out for three years, the soccer world passing him by.
I remember reading the article, trying to force myself to smile at his misery. But, for whatever strange reason, I couldn’t.
“So you’re doing it?” Kelly says. “You’re going to the fitness camp?”
“You bet your sweet ass I’m doing it!” I cry, smiling ear to ear, desperately hoping that Kelly doesn’t notice the flicker of indecision that’s already moving through me.
All of a sudden, the notion that I might’ve just gotten ahead of myself fills my mind with whispering doubts.
I munch the rest of the croissant, washing it down with milky, piping-hot coffee, liking the way the caffeine buzzes around my body.
I’m doing it.
I’m going to see Harry again after all these years.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
