heals, but deep down he cares about me and wants the best for me. We’ve always been close, even before everything happened to put our lives on this track.
Physical rehab and therapy have been good for him. He’s making progress, and he hasn’t had one drink since the car accident. Losing part of his arm, his independence, has been difficult on him, but it was a good wakeup call.
I dealt with Mom’s death by burying myself in school. Robert dealt with it by drinking. But he’s working hard on finding himself again.
Perhaps I can stop bearing the burden of his physical and emotional healing a little bit. Focus more on my own. Reach out to people and have a social life outside of work and school, start a study group.
The possibilities have me happy, really happy. Maybe networking with new people will also help me find a new job and get over Dane. Because God knows I can’t keep putting myself through all of this, can’t hang on to these feelings for my boss. I won’t be that girl who longs forever for someone she can never have. How can I respect myself if I don’t even try to get over him?
The thought of not seeing him every day splinters me, but I’ll have to learn how to embrace the pain.
I find a spot near the back of the parking lot and pull in. Close my eyes and steady my nerves to see him again.
Stupid shaking hands. I go to the building, ride the elevator to our floor, offer greetings to people as I pass them on the way to my desk.
Dane’s door is closed. I release a nervous sigh and head to my chair.
Pause just as my butt hits the cushion.
There’s a folded piece of paper on my desk. I open it and see a note from Dane, brief as usual.
C ome see me when you get in.
~D
S hit . A printed note, not even an email? Why? Dread slides beneath my skin and squeezes my lungs. Perhaps he’s changed his mind about keeping me on.
And could I fault him? Look how much I’ve struggled with how to deal with the situation. It has to be just as awkward for him.
You will survive this, I remind myself. I’ve survived much worse. My dad’s abandonment of us. Watching my mom die. My brother’s almost deadly car accident. So getting fired, if that’s what’s going to happen, isn’t the end of the world. At least, I tell myself it isn’t. Because right now, it feels like my gut’s being ripped out. I wanted to be able to quit on my own terms, and it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen.
I rise and stand there for a minute, willing my galloping heart to slow down. I’m not going to reveal my weaknesses to Dane, not anymore. I will be professional and dignified to the end.
Notebook and pen in hand, I go to his door, knock. My knees feel weak. I hope I don’t pass out.
“Come in,” comes the muffled reply.
When I enter, I close the door behind me and turn to face him. My heart is practically in my throat at this point, and I swallow several times. After all, I don’t know yet what is going to happen. Maybe I’m just jumping to conclusions.
With him, it’s easy to get caught up in a whirlwind of feelings.
Dane gets out of his chair and steps to the front of his desk. Leans back against it, arms crossed and ankles locked, dark eyes bearing down on me. His body is one long line, and his face is unreadable, a perfect mask. In a way, I envy that talent.
“Is there something I can do for you, Dane?” I ask quietly.
He sighs, and the mask drops for a moment, allowing me to see the conflict in his eyes. Shit, this is about me and that stupid journal. I was right. “Emme,” he starts, then pauses, seeming to weigh his next words. “It’s not possible for me to ignore what you wrote in that book.” He sounds clipped and a little angry.
My stomach sinks, and I fight back a sting of tears. I give a miserable nod and turn my attention to my feet. “I understand. I’ll go type up my resignation. I’m truly sorry for the discomfort I’ve caused you, and I want you to know that I