Page 10 of Severed Rivalry
“That’s a fair assessment.”
“If it’s just circumstance and age, then I’ll give you a little time. But just a little.”
That doesn’t feel remotely threatening. It feels downright safe.
“Okay. In the meantime, what have you been up to for the last fifteen years?”
“Fifteen… hmmm. In a nutshell, lost you, graduated college, went into business with my father. Missed you, got a dog, decided to leave business with my father. And now I’m trying to figure out how everything is coming together at the same time. You?”
“Tell me about the dog.” I pretend I didn’t hear his last question.
“Tell me about you.” His voice is low and sexy. “Or we could call this thelittle timeand you could come over.”
“By ‘little’, I meant more than that.”
“Mom.” Renée hurtles into the room. “Something’s wrong.”
“Mom?” the voice in my ear breathes.
“What is it, Renée?” Into the phone I say, “Ci, I need to call you back,” and disconnect to focus on my daughter. “What is it, baby?”
Cian
Mom.
Renée.
What in the ever-loving fuck? I’m not dense. I get it, but damn, I didn’t have this on my bingo card.
“Eleanor, want to go for a run?”
My dog has never turned down the opportunity to exercise. I don’t know whether it’s a breed thing. Then again, she’s more of a Heinz-57 than anything in particular. Very little comes to the forefront when all of her lineage were love-the-one-you’re-with kinds of dogs.
Regardless, her curly, chocolate-brown coat vibrates as she keeps her butt on the floor. “Let me change.”
Full sentences. I’m speaking in full sentences to my dog about our plans for the night.
Aside from seeing Sariah at the wine bar, last night was a shit show. Mom was admitted. Dad was … well, Dad. Ayla was a wreck. Liam went full protector mode. And I— I just wanted out.
This morning was equally as bad.
Stripping down, I throw on some joggers and running shoes and leash up Eleanor. We take off at a fair pace and pound out a mile before I can even sift through my frazzled thoughts.
I need to figure out my business. My sister suggested not becoming direct competition with my dad and my brother-in-law. It’s what I know, but services in the industry—aside from buying, renting, holding, or selling—require less capital. And I’d have a built-in base of clients instead of competitors. My name is solid around town, even if Murphy is somewhat tainted by Dad’s bullshit.
It’s the right decision. Real estate services. Now I need to determine if that’s soup-to-nuts with a full portfolio of offerings or if I want to niche down into one or two and become the best inthat vertical. Or could there be a hybrid that allows for both. Like property management.
That’s damn near as competitive as buying and selling in this town.
Mile two comes and goes.
Mom was released this morning. Seems it wasn’t her Primary Lateral Sclerosis that was the problem last night. They ruled the PLS flare out quickly but kept her overnight, since it complicates so many of the results. Her symptoms abated after fluids for dehydration and administering meds for the migraine.
She’s home and embarrassed we knew it had happened. I swear we weren’t this dysfunctional when I was a kid. Or maybe I was oblivious.
I miss being oblivious.
Mile three brings the burn to my lungs and the numbing heat in my legs. “You hanging in there, Ellie?” I hate that Ayla took to calling her that. She’s Eleanor, not Ellie, yet it’s creeped into my vocabulary, and I just can’t seem to get rid of it.
