Page 100 of The Wild Card
Collin:You’re taking her to that?
Winnie:Stop being jealous that you’re not allowed to come.
The Ladies Literary and Libations Society meetings are one of those Sheet Cake quirks. The meetings are not fully literary, though they do involve libations and are for women only. Big Mo is the only male with a special dispensation to attend. James and Chevy snuck in once, but they refused to tell me anything about what goes on there. I know that it’s an invite-only thing for some select women. I love that Winnie and Lindy somehow wrangled Molly an invite.
I’m relieved to know Molly is not alone. Though I wish she were here with me, poker tonight is just the guys. I didn’t want to ask her to drive to Austin with me only to leave her sitting in Tank’s house alone or my empty apartment.
Still. I miss her, even knowing I’ll be back tonight.
Sure didn’t take me long to be just as whipped as my brothers.
I’m not sure if Thayden is here yet, but I force myself to walk inside. It shouldn’t feel this way, but Liza’s actions, her lies, her accusations all seem to have coated the building and my memories of it with an invisible layer of something slick and ugly. Which, I realize as I walk through the doors, is giving my ex altogether too much power. Way more than she deserves.
As I wave to Jayvon and Steph at the front desk, I square my shoulders, a physical embodiment of letting Liza roll right off my back. This building doesn’t belong to her. It belongs to me—at least for now.
And she has no place in it.
I allow myself to take in the space with fresh eyes, to smell the familiar scent of rubber mats and metal, to see the people in various states of pushing themselves. Sweat, gleaming onskin. Grunts as someone maxes out, the thud of heavy weights hitting the floor. Low, bass-centric music pumping through the speakers. Laughter. Words from a trainer in the corner—pushing, challenging, inspiring.
For just a moment, I’m able to really remember andfeelwhat it was that made me want to open a gym.Thisgym. I might be moving on to something different now, something unknown. But I see now that this wasn’t a mistake. It was simply a step on the path I’m still on, a part of the journey to whatever’s next.
I ignore the few wary or just surprised looks from people who recognize me, letting those slide away from me too. It’s a good feeling, walking tall and free through the space.
“Good to see you, man.” David, who’s been the active manager and pretty much running this place in my absence, crosses the weight room floor to give me a hug.
“You too. Thanks for keeping things going here,” I tell him. I’m compensating him very well for the job, but kind words never hurt. “Are you in the middle of a session?”
He nods to the area with turf grass and different sized tires. A guy with wide shoulders and a thick neck watches us, wearing a UT shirt with the sleeves ripped off. A tattoo I can’t make out snakes up his ribs. “Backup corner. Wants to start next year.”
I give the guy a head lift, and he returns it. David grins. “You want to sub in? He’d love to work with you.”
“Nah, you got this. I’m meeting someone.”
“There’s a guy in your office wearing a suit.” David rubs the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t have let him in, but he was pretty persistent. Seemed confident you wouldn’t mind.”
I roll my eyes. “Lawyers. Always able to talk their way into things.”
David laughs, then starts to back away. “Better get back to it. Let me know if you need anything? Or if there’s any … news?”
He’s one of the only people here who knows I’m trying to sell. I not only promised him a hefty paycheck to stay on but also a great recommendation. I still have lots of connections, and so does Tank. We’ll make sure David’s taken care of if whoever takes this place over is stupid enough not to keep him on.
Upstairs, I find Thayden with his feet up on my desk.
“Make yourself at home, why don’t you,” I say, closing the door behind me.
Only then do I notice the other guy in a suit, back to me, staring up at the framed photos on the wall. It’s a Graham Fam brag wall of sorts: Dad on the field in the middle of a play, holding up an award, seated behind the desk at Sports Center; Pat and me in our official photos; James from his college days before his injury; Harper, flipping a tire bigger than most women could handle, a couple of guys watching on, impressed.
In the middle of them all is my favorite family photo of us all. It was supposed to be the Christmas card that year, but I’m not sure we ended up sending one. Harper, an infant, wails in Tank’s arms. Pat has a toothless grin and it’s impossible to miss how he took scissors to the front of his hair, just before the picture was taken. James glares at me, and I look like I’ve just done something to him. I don’t remember what—probably stepped on his toe or teased him about something.
And Mom—Mom has her head thrown back, laughing while Dad watches her, unabashed in his adoration.
I remember they took us all out for ice cream after, even though we were undeserving.
Sometimes, these kinds of memories leave me feeling breathless with the deep ache of loss, but today, I’m grinning as the other man turns around, extending a hand.
“Jacob Rowland,” he says, giving me a firm shake and the kind of grin that reminds me of Thayden. A little too cocky, tooconfident. But still somehow managing to be charming. “Good to meet you.”
“Lawyer?” I ask, looking between him and Thayden, who chuckles.
