AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Oh, butt nuggets…
Three Days Later
Okay, so life since I’ve arrived back home has been absolute crap. Our team has made exactly zero progress in finding funding (on a scale of zero to a thousand progresses). I still can’t sleep. And Allie is furious with me for being a disloyal cow who’s been putting herself ahead of her people. Okay, so that’s not exactly what she said. She said she’s ‘disappointed beyond all imagination that I would protect Ty Sterling, of all people, over our team.’ She followed that with repeated versions of ‘I can’t believe you kept this all from me,’ and wrapped up with the worst one of all—‘I thought you were my ride or die.’
Lucky for me, she hasn’t told anyone else on the team because I was able to convince her that it won’t help to go public anyway (which it probably won’t).
But I can fix this. I have to. I’ve been wracking my brain for an answer, and the only way I can make things right again is to get us the funding. But I don’t want to just have our team get the money. I want all the teams in the foundation to be flush with cash. And for that to happen, I need to come up with a cool billion, which feels every bit as impossible as it is.
The truth is, there’s only one person I know who knows how to get his hands on that kind of cash. Ty. I’ve spent what feels like hours staring at his number on my phone, trying to force myself to use it.
Come on, Gwen. Call him. You need his help. Desperately.
I stare at my list of talking points I’ve written out so as not to seem like I’m hoping he’ll change his mind about wanting to spend his life with someone. (Me, obviously.)
I look over at the throw pillow on my couch and pretend it’s him.
“Hey, Ty, sorry to bother you. I know you’re busy so I won’t take up much of your time.”
“This is a business call actually, but how’ve you been?”
“Oh, that’s good. Have you been sleeping well since you got home?”
“Me too. Just great. Never better. Anyhoo, I was hoping to get some financial advice. I just have one quick question, then I’ll let you go. If you were me and you needed to come up with a quick billion, what would you do?”
Nodding, I pick up my phone again. “I’m ready.”
More importantly, I have to do this or things between Allie and I will never be the same again.
36
Evicting Mind Squatters Who Make Giant Fucking Messes…
Ty
I finally understand what it means to feel like you’re just going through the motions. I consider myself an ‘in the moment’ type of guy so that phrase has never really hit home with me before. But since I got back, I’m numb. Disconnected. Not all here, which is weird because my entire life, I’ve been all here all the time. But right now? Not so much. Part of me is a few weeks back in time when Richard was still alive and life felt so simple. Part of me is still back in Peru with Gwen. Part of me is in a future where I own the Destroyers and my father is utterly destroyed. Is future me happy? I wish I could say he was.
Dammit, Michael, why’d you have to put all those doubts in my head?
But maybe I don’t have any real doubts. Maybe this indescribable yucky feeling is just me feeling concerned about spending so much money all at once. It’s the most I’ll ever lay down in one go.
I’ve removed my half from the holding account, which means I’m officially separated from The Dick Napper and Ty Sterling Foundation forever. And just in time, too, because Skip the asshat has decided to sue to get ‘his’ money out. His money. What a joke since he hasn’t actually earned a penny of it.
I’m back in Dallas, heading to the stadium to meet up with Muffy and her ‘gorgeous new hubby, Diesel.’ We’re going to watch the game in the owner’s box, then sign the paperwork. It’s the very final hurdle in a life-long marathon full of them. Then it’ll be done. My gut tightens at the thought because let’s face it, I’ve now crossed the line and am hurting a lot of innocent people. I can try to tell myself it’s just the cost of doing business or that it’s unfortunate timing and that I’m not actually to blame, but the truth is, I’m to blame.
Gwen’s face pops into my mind for the millionth time over the last few days. Her smile. Her laugh. Her naked. She’s going to be devastated, and there’s no coming back from that, is there? You can’t totally fuck over the woman of your dreams, then swing back around and say, “Hey, baby, what’re you doing later?”
That’s not how it works, no matter how much I wish it were the case.
The limo passes by The Ripley’s Museum, and I stare at the brightly lit building. Maybe, Ripley. Maybe some of it’s true.
My phone rings. It’s a number I don’t recognize so I let it go to voicemail, hoping whoever it is has the good sense not to actually leave a message because who the hell wants to have to check their voicemail?
After a minute, I hear a beep indicating that yes, whoever it was did, in fact, leave a message. Rolling my eyes, I listen to the message.
“Oh, hi, Mr. Sterling, um … Ty. It’s Gwen. You’re probably not answering because you don’t recognize my number, or maybe you suspect it’s me and you’re not answering anyway. Either thing makes sense. I’m sorry to bother you. Shit. I should’ve hung up instead of leaving a message which means you have to call your voicemail, which I know is totally annoying. It defeats the purpose because the last thing I want to do is bother you. I already said that, didn’t I? I do have a question. Don’t worry. I’m not pregnant or anything. Dammit, that sounded funnier in my head. Anyway, I’m calling about a business-related thing—don’t worry I’m not calling to ask you for money. Umm … hopefully you’ll have time to call me back. I know you’re swamped. You probably still have four thousand or so emails to—BEEP.”
I replay the message twice, just to hear her voice, then I save it and sit for a minute. Setting my phone on the seat next to me, I stare out the window at the buildings whizzing by. I’m not going to call her back. That would be the stupid thing to do.
