Page 71 of The Pleasure of Panic

“Look,” I say, turning my back on him. “I appreciate your help and everything, but—”

“No buts, Issy. And let’s just not talk about it now, OK? There’s time later.”

“Sure,” I agree. Because I can hear Suzanne talking into the microphone in the ballroom. She’s talking me up. Telling them how we met, about the book, and the first seminar. Then finally, how many people have taken the coaching classes and graduated. Giving these newcomers hope by letting them envision themselves at the end of the journey.

And then she gets to the last part. The part where she finally has them welcome me to the stage.

So I look at Finn and say, “See you on the other side.”

And his expression changes and he knows what that means, but it’s too late. I walk through the door and out into a standing ovation.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE - FINN

I am Team Issy .

That’s all I know. That’s all I think about as I stand off to the side of the stage and watch her as she takes a room full of sad and desperate women and turns that into hope.

She starts with her story. And even though I wish I was hearing it in private, and even though I know this is probably only a fraction of what’s happened to her because no one shares everything in public, it satisfies me. It cements my feet firmly in front of her. It makes me want to fight her battles, keep her safe, and love her hard.

“I was lost once,” is how she starts the story. “Unrecognizable when I looked in the mirror. I was eighteen, and who isn’t lost at eighteen, right?”

I watch the crowd of women, many of whom nod their heads, thinking back on their own misspent youth.

“And I got involved with a man. A very bad one, at that.”

Which I can only assume is Caleb Kelly. Newly released prisoner. Everything that’s happening points to the mob.

But I know. I already know. Not the specifics. I don’t need the specifics. When a woman runs from a man, it’s usually for one of two reasons. She runs for her life or the lives of her children.

Issy doesn’t have children, so it’s the former.

Whatever he did to scare her so bad, well… it doesn’t need to be said.

She doesn’t say it now, but we all know.

As I glance around the filled-up room I see some of them are crying. Some of them look angry. Some of them look lost.

All of them look at Issy.

She looks very small up on that stage. But then again, she looks very big too. Her voice is loud, and strong, and confident. Even though something very bad is happening to her today.

She puts on the brave face. The face of a warrior. The face of a winner. The face of a woman. And she takes their pain and remolds it into hope.

I’ve seen other self-help speakers. Not a lot, but there was a time in my life a few years back where I was all gung-ho about remaking myself. Becoming a better man and shit like that. So I read books, and I went to seminars—much like this one, but then again, nothing like this one at all. And I took a few classes and yeah. It helped.

But I never, ever experienced this.

Issy Grey is a phenomenon.

She is world-class.

And soon, woman are shouting out to her as she talks. Things like, “Yes.” Things like, “Holy shit.” Things like, “You’re my hero.”

Because her story goes from bad, to worse, to evil. And she goes from pitied, to sympathetic, to admired.

And she tells them almost no details. No names. No specifics. Nothing like that. It’s just… this time, and this guy, and this gun.

Gun.