“Freedom is something you have to fight for, rather than something you’re given. Being free means being prepared to carry that burden,” the rather handsome hairy-chested man on the computer monitor says, flashing a thumbs-up to the young boy watching him. It’s been years since I’ve watched Eureka Seven, but next to Sailor Moon, it’s one of my favorite animes.

Lying in my sweats, my hair a mess and a bowl of Cocoa Puffs in my lap, I have to pause the video, setting it aside to wipe at my eyes. It’s been three days, and I still can’t stop crying at moments like this. It’s part of the reason I still haven’t gotten through the fifty-two episodes of the show . . . there are just so many feels.

I keep watching, rapt even though I know what’s going to happen, and when the episode ends, I see that it’s already getting close to eleven, and I get off the sofa to head for the shower.

Papa’s place is a little bit bigger than mine, but most of it’s been converted into his sort of home workshop-slash-storage area, so it seems smaller.

But still, it feels good to be back, surrounded by the dressing frames, the bolts of cloth, and three broken sewing machines that Papa picked up at an estate sale when I was in college. He vowed then to fix them, and it’s become a running joke that he’s never so much as turned a screw to start their repair. But somehow, their broken-down presence is just as much a part of ‘home’ as the whir of Papa’s working machines.

I have just enough time to wash up and run a brush through my hair—to ensure I don’t have a single obscenely matted blonde dreadlock hanging down my back—and pull on some jeans and a T-shirt before I head out. I stop down in the shop to give Papa a kiss on the cheek.

“Grabbing lunch with the girls.”

“Are you sure it is safe out there for you?” he asks, peering out the windows. It’d taken fewer than twelve hours for the press to track me down, first at my apartment, then here at Papa’s. Finally, I’d turned my phone off once the voicemail had gotten full. Izzy and Charlotte have been checking in with me via Papa’s landline.

But today, the street is blessedly empty and I’m getting out for a little bit. I desperately need to so that I can get out of my head, even if only for a few minutes.

“Seems clear for now, at least, so I’m making a run for it. I’ll call you before I come back to make sure no one has set up camp while I’m gone. See you later. Maybe I can help out down here some? I’m getting cabin fever upstairs.”

“I would love for you to keep an old man company . . . and I do think I have some buttons that need work,” Papa teases. “You know me. I’ll make you work for your keep! Oh, and tell Isabella I have something for her to try! A skirt I made!”

I leave with a smile. Papa is always generous with Izzy. It’s the first one to appear on my face in days, and I drive to The Gravy Train where Izzy’s already waiting for me, twirling the straw in her Coke and looking nervous. “You’re late. I was getting scared.”

“Papa,” I reassure her.

“Eureka,” she says with a smile.

I laugh softly, nodding. “Yeah, you know me too well.”

She reaches up, hugging me before I sit down. Having been forced to sit through many an episode with me, she knows my routine. “Has it been that rough?”

I shrug, looking out the window. “I don’t know. I know I’m not ready to go back there. If I face him, I’m going to have to make a decision, or maybe he’s already made one, and I’m not ready for that yet. So I’ve just avoided the whole mess, hiding out at Papa’s.”

“You know, if you’re that upset, you could always have your father talk to someone in the Russian Mafia,” Izzy jokes, trying to lighten my dark mood incrementally. “I bet there are a couple of guys who could teach Thomas some manners.”

“Papa doesn’t know anyone in the Mafia,” I protest, but Izzy snorts.

“Tinker, tailor, soldier, spy,” Izzy chants. “When I saw the book in the library, I just thought of good ol’ Papa Karakov. I’ve never even read it.”

It’s my turn to snort. My father’s the last man who’d be a spy. “Izz, you’ve gotta get out more.”

She smiles and takes a sip of soda. “Seriously, though, you could walk away. Cut ties with Thomas and with your skills. You could get a job anywhere, even with the notoriety you’ve got now. Maybe especially because of it. I bet you could even sue his ass for a nice ten-foot-high pile of cash if you wanted to.”

“No!” I protest, though I know she’s not being serious. But she’s pushing me to think, to consider what I want now that I’ve come out of hiding. “No, I’m never going to do that. I just . . .”

Words fail me, and Izzy sets her Coke aside, which means she’s really worried about me. The girl never sets aside calories. She needs them too much with as few as she gets.

“Talk to me, babe. What are you feeling?”

I close my menu, biting my lip as I try to form my thoughts into words. It’s been swirling in my head for the past three days, and honestly, it’s been easier to just sit back and let myself get lost in video games and anime. But the thoughts never stop.

“I love him,” I say simply, and Izzy’s shiny eyes mirror my own. “But I’m not sure if he’s in the right state of mind to be in a relationship or if he’ll ever get there. We were doing so well, and I . . . I really fucked up, Izz. I shouldn’t have interfered.”

I’m saved from her rebuke by the waitress coming up. I order a cheeseburger and fries and Izzy orders a grilled cheese with bacon.

By the time the waitress leaves, I jump back in, not letting Izzy patronize me with words that none of this is my fault. Because it is, and this isn’t like Thomas internalizing something he had no control over. This is a mess of my own making. Not the media stuff, but the part between Thomas and me.

“Izzy, there’s just something about Thomas,” I tell her. “Yes, he’s got issues. Yes, he’s got a temper and a lot of emotional baggage. But I don’t think he’d ever hurt me. I know the world doesn’t believe me, but I did run into that door. And my mind keeps flashing back to the little things he’s done. I don’t even think he knows that I’ve noticed.”

“Like what? The big tip he left me? Honey, I don’t care about that. I want to see you happy,” Izzy says. “I’d give the money back if it’d help you feel better. If I hadn’t spent it already.”

“It’s not that,” I say, thinking.

“It’s other things. It’s hard to even explain, but despite his reputation, there’s a gentle side to him. The way he’s made love with me is just part of it, and no, I’m not just talking with my hoo-hah. But taking me on a dream trip through Japan, remembering my favorite brand of juice and stocking it in his fridge, and sharing with me, even when I know how hard it was and how much it cost him to appear weak that way to me. Not that I think he’s weak for what he went through as a child, but he thinks he was. He’s got this need inside him to be strong, be the best, and he broke down in front of me, Izzy. He broke down for me, trusting that I would help him pick up the pieces. And I tried. I just solved the puzzle all wrong.”

Izzy covers her mouth with her hands, and she sighs deeply. “Honey, I am so sorry. Tell me how I can help. Do you want to call him? It sounds like you both have apologies to make.”

“I know, but—”

Izzy’s phone buzzes, and I see that it’s Charlotte. Izzy picks it up, putting it on speaker. “Hey, Char, what’s up?”

“Hey, turn on Channel 7,” Char says. “You’re gonna want to see this.”

“Hey, Elaine!” Izzy yells, her diminutive body exploding in the voice of someone’s who’s worked in a diner for a long time. The waitress on duty pokes her head up, and Izzy points. “Turn on Channel 7, pronto! And turn it up!”

“You got it, Izz,” Elaine says. She flips the TV in the corner over to Channel 7 and cranks the volume up as loud as it’ll go. “There you go!”

It’s the noon news, and the little info bar at the bottom says the camera’s set up outside the Goldstone Building. There’s a crowd outside, a mix of media and a lot of pissed-off-looking women protesting.

On a quickly setup podium, Irene Castellanos, who I’ve met once in my time at Goldstone, gets on the microphones.

“Thank you for coming today,” she says simply, looking as professional as possible in her tailored suit and skirt combo, somber but not funereal. Dimly, in the part of my mind that isn’t stunned by what I’m hearing, I note that she’s striking the right tone for a press conference. “Mr. Thomas Goldstone would like to say a few words.”

The reaction by the crowd as Thomas steps up is loud and ugly. I’m almost surprised nobody throws a tomato at him, but the first thing I notice is that he looks like hell. He’s shaved, sure, but the bags under his eyes are noticeable, and he looks haggard, exhausted as he smooths out the paper in his hand on the podium surface.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for being here today. My name is Thomas Goldstone, and I’ve come to address the recent incident and the video that has surfaced of me.”

“Abuser!” someone screams at him, and Thomas winces like he’s been slapped. I wince with him, knowing that of all things, that label would be one that cuts deeper than most.

Thomas waits for the crowd to quiet, holding up a hand until he can be heard again. “There are many things that people have called me over this. And many of them I deserve. There is no excuse for my behavior in the video, though the whole story is not reflected accurately in what you’ve seen. The truth is, I did lose my temper, and I behaved in a way that is inexcusable, raising my voice and throwing a box at the wall of my office. But, let me be clear. I did not lay a hand on the woman in the video, and she was never in any danger from me at any time.”

“I’m aware of the nickname I’m known by, and the video showed me a man . . .” he says, pausing before continuing, “showed me a man I do not want to be. So first and foremost, I’d like to apologize to the employees of Goldstone. I’ve pushed, I’ve demanded . . . I’ve been ruthlessly harsh.” His words speak to the ones running through everyone’s mind . . . Ruthless Bastard. “For that, there is no excuse, and no amount of apology can compensate for the hurt feelings, the hurt souls, I’ve caused.”

“More importantly, though, I owe an apology to the woman in the video. Some of you have found her name, so I feel comfortable saying this. Mia, I’m truly sorry. I’m sorry for scaring you. I have more to say, but you deserve to hear it from me directly.” His eyes look deeply into the camera, deeply into my eyes through the TV screen. It’s like feeling him right here, in my very soul.

“To the shareholders and the people of Roseboro and around the world who have come to know the Goldstone name, I swear to you that I will work tirelessly to restore your faith in this company. There are good people here, thousands of them. Don’t let my mistake ruin all of their hard work. Therefore—”

“The rest of it’s mostly just stuff Irene made me put in there,” a deep voice says from the entrance.

Izzy and I both look up in shock as Thomas stands at the edge of the booth, still wearing the same suit as in the video but looking even more haggard. I blink, unable to form words while Izzy just gawks.

Finally, I force out, “How—”

“It’s on an hour tape delay,” he says quietly, barely audible over the TV. Izzy waves to the waitress, and she turns off the press conference, and suddenly, it feels like everyone in the diner’s looking at us.

They probably are.

“Listen —” Izzy says, but Thomas interrupts her before she can dismiss him.

“Wait,” he says, his eyes shimmering with tears and exhaustion. “Mia, I know you’re still angry at me, and maybe you’re even scared of me. I’ve prayed for three days that you aren’t, but I have to admit you could feel that way. I’m just asking for a few minutes.”

I look up at him, and I can see everyone watching with bated breath to see what I’ll say. Finally, Izzy interrupts the drawn-out silence.

“Mia? You need to do this, but you don’t have to do this now if you’re not ready.” She eyes Thomas carefully.

“Give us a minute, Izz?” I ask, and she nods, sliding out of her seat before moving to the counter seat closest to our booth and sitting down.

“I’m gonna sit right here, and if I hear even a raised voice . . . buddy, I don’t care how many muscles you’ve got. I’m gonna have your balls,” Izzy says to Thomas with a falsely sweet tone. “And hurry. I’m hungry.”

He slides into the seat gratefully and the waitress comes up. Thomas waves her off with a shake of his head and clears his throat. “Mia, I came here because I need to ask you for your forgiveness. I was wrong, I hurt you, and I’ve probably sent you running for the hills. I’m so sorry.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” I remind him. “You did startle me a bit, but I ran into the door myself. We both know that video is bullshit.”

“True, but my outburst caused it, so I still feel responsible,” Thomas says. “Fuck, seeing myself in that video . . .”

“I get it, Thomas. I love you, but . . .”

“I know,” he rasps, his voice thick with emotion. “And I know some people may tell you I’m not worth the trouble. For three days, I’ve realized that I’ve become the man I tried not to be.”

“Like your father?” I ask, and Thomas nods again. “That is why I forgive you. Because you know that and want to be better. Yes, you lost control, but I was the one who pushed you off the edge, knowing your grip was precarious at best. I didn’t realize . . . I mean, I knew what you’d said about how bad it was. But Dennis seemed like he wanted to reconcile, and I just thought I was going to give you this fairy tale ending.” I bite my lip, swallowing the sob down. “I’m sorry, Thomas. I shouldn’t have forced it. It wasn’t my place.”

He takes my hands in his across the table. “Don’t you see? You did give me a fairy tale, but not with my dad. With you. That’s what matters.”

The impact of both of our apologies fills the air between us, washing through us, burning up the pain of the last few days and resetting us. Not back to where we were, but somewhere else on our journey, closer to a healthy place because we’ve both touched the fire and know the burn, know just how close we can get to it without getting singed.

Tears flow messily down my face, and a sniffle from my side tells me Izzy is sobbing too. “The heart wants what the heart wants, and I’m not about to give up on us so easily. I love you, Thomas Goldstone.”

Thomas looks at me intently, and the hope in his eyes pierces my soul. Here’s the Tommy I’ve been missing, the one he’s hidden from everyone but me. “I love you too, but are you sure, Mia?”

“You’ve told me what he’s put you through, and for so long . . . that’s not something you can just brush off, but I know it’s not who you are or who you want to be. We will get through it. And call me stupid, but I do hope that someday, you two can . . . I don’t know, mend things? On your terms and no one else’s. Your mother’s death did more than end her life. It ended your childhood, and it ended something in him too.”

I swallow the sadness down at how the loss of one woman has reverberated through decades, changing everything for Dennis and Thomas, and I wonder if she had any idea about the dominos she’d set in motion.

“But I need you to know, I didn’t go to him for that purpose. I went to him to ask him a few questions relating to the sabotage situation.”

“I remember,” Thomas says. “I remember what you said.”

“Right. It wasn’t to set all that up. But as bad as Dennis was to you, I don’t think he’s the one sabotaging you. He’s angry at you, but that’s just it. He’s too scattered, too emotional, too focused on hurting you to do something this calculated. He just can’t. So I don’t know who it is, and I’ve been thinking about it for three days to distract myself from us.”

“You’re probably right about that,” Thomas says. “But the company’s second. You’re the most important thing.”

I take a big breath. “Then let’s try this again . . . but there’s one thing.”

Thomas’s relieved smile dims. “What?”

“Well, you have your family issues. And I, uh, have mine.”

From beside us, Izzy snorts. “Ooh, good luck with that one, boy. You’ve got one very pissed off Russian tailor who’ll cut you into pieces and you’ll never be seen or heard from again.”

Thomas’s eyes ping-pong between us. “Your dad?”

“If it were me, I’d just find a new girlfriend,” Izzy interjects, raising an eyebrow when I cut my eyes to her to see her turned all the way around, watching us, amused. “What? I’m just being honest. Your Papa’s more stubborn than I am.”

“Should I tell him you said that? With that new project of his almost ready with your name on it?”

Izzy’s eyes widen, and she shakes her head. “Hell, no! Papa’s the nicest, sweetest teddy bear in the whole world!”

“How hard can it be?” Thomas asks, and I nod, giving his hands another squeeze.

“Words of wisdom, something I was reminded of recently and might be useful,” I tell him. “Don’t beg for it . . . earn it. Do that, and you’ll be rewarded.”