Aaron stared through the front windshield of the Suburban and watched Grace walk away from him, getting smaller and smaller as she wound through the trees. Last time she’d walked away—in the very same spot—he’d all but dove out of the driver’s side door to get an explanation. There had been no words exchanged between them this time, however, just Grace leaning over to kiss his white knuckles on the steering wheel, before opening the door, letting in all the cold, and taking the heat of herself away.
Cold. That’s all his brain would acknowledge once she finally disappeared from sight completely. That’s all, folks. If he squinted enough, he could probably see the ghost of himself—the man she’d woken up—trailing behind her. It would make sense for him to be dead, his soul moved to a higher plane, because he’d never felt less alive. Lethargy started at the top of his skull and draped down, like an unraveling blanket with weights strategically sewn into the edges. Down, down, down, until no amount of mental commands or attempts at motivation could make him put the Suburban into gear.
He needed to leave. Belmont, Peggy, and Sage would require the Suburban to continue their journey to New York while he hopped on a plane. But the draped blanket kept pulling, dragging, turning Aaron into an immovable object on the seat. Driving away would be the final step in leaving Grace behind, moving on, pretending like she hadn’t come out of nowhere and made the world seem like a not-so-shitty place. If innately good people like her existed, were people like him meant to balance the scales? Even the odds? Because his every action now felt like a direct attack on all the positivity she represented and living like that going forward…fuck, he was going to be empty. So empty without her.
But Grace wouldn’t be empty. She’d remain full and loving, especially without him around. His career, the cynicism he’d developed, would only taint her beauty and no way in hell could he live with that knowledge. One day, he would look over at Grace and find her watching him, watching him in that way that said, How does he live with himself?
And she didn’t even know the worst of it.
All you need is yourself.
You’re just embracing your nature.
Someone like you.
Aaron flinched as his father’s words crept through his mind. The man had called Aaron’s methods from jump street, hadn’t he? Here he was, leaving behind the woman he loved in order to further his career in New York. It was almost poetic.
Anger and righteous self-disgust rose like a dragon from its cave and breathed fire down the back of Aaron’s neck. His hands tightened into shaking balls, arm muscles flexing until he swore—he hoped—they would rip straight through his skin. Acid mixed with frustration in his throat, the deadliest cocktail ever concocted, until the taste made his mouth fall open, forced him to suck in air to hit his scorched insides with coolness. It didn’t work. His fists met the steering wheel, one after the other, following by his head.
“Grace.”
It was a shout in his head, but only emerged as a broken whisper. For long minutes, he simply gawked at the wretched man staring back, trapped among the speedometers. Until finally his eyes closed, visions of Grace dancing in the field twirling like slow motion ballerinas in his head. The image was too happy, though, and he didn’t ever want to feel happiness again. It would only be watered down, a fucking imitation. So he stamped out the dancing source of life and conjured a darker image of Grace, legs drawn up to her chest on the closet floor.
“That’s where you’d have put her eventually…right there…again.”
Maybe next time it wouldn’t be his words that hurt Grace. It could be a lack of communication. Or an inability to recognize when she needed affection. Or getting sucked into his career and not having enough time for her. A thousand different possibilities—and none of them would pack as much of a punch as his past. It lingered in the air like the smell of gasoline, making him nauseous.
When sleep rose up and began to steal Aaron’s consciousness, he let it come, welcoming the merciful numbness.
* * *
It had been so long since Aaron slept late, the sunshine that blinded him upon waking was almost more disorienting than the steering wheel stuck to his forehead. A sharp ache speared both eye sockets as light rushed in, blinding him, bringing both of his arms up to block the intrusion. And then he remembered the previous night and both appendages fell like someone had shot them off.
Christ. He had to get out of there, before someone on the senator’s security team made their way out into the woods and actually shot him. And even Aaron could admit that his physical safety accounted for only a small portion of dawning common sense. Mental safety was definitely in the lead. Last night, his course of action had been clear, but this morning everything appeared twice as stark, similar to the cold, frozen ground surrounding the truck.
Beside Aaron on the seat, his cell phone vibrated. Peggy. Probably wondering where the hell he’d gone. Wondering when he was returning to camp with the Suburban, where all three of them were likely packed and ready. To leave. Just like he would be leaving Grace. Watching Iowa get smaller from the window of an airplane. Knowing if they ever saw each other again, the bond they’d built would be replaced by formal greetings and…distance. So much distance.
Aaron’s stomach heaved violently and he barely got the driver’s side door open before the meager contents emptied onto the leaf-strewn ground. Jesus. Jesus, he was a shaking, fucking mess. Tremors gripped his hands as he climbed back into the truck and turned over the ignition, swiping at his mouth. Once again, the sun assaulted his vision, so he reached up to flip the visor down—
His mother’s journal fell out, bouncing off the steering wheel and landing in his lap. What the hell? He’d left the notebook locked securely in his suitcase—had it sprouted legs and walked by itself into the Suburban? When Aaron noticed it was open to a specific page somewhere near the middle, his eyes narrowed. Someone had either been reading the journal in their spare time, or they’d left it in the sun visor for him to find.
Maybe he was stalling because driving out of the woods meant leaving Grace, or maybe he just wanted to burrow inside his own misery and never leave. Whatever the reason, Aaron picked up the notebook and started to read the familiar, loopy handwriting of Miriam Clarkson.
I’ve never denied being an arrogant woman. Mostly because it’s true. I’m a prize asshole when I choose to be. Maybe one day the culinary world will change and it won’t be so male dominated, but I’ve busted my hump to achieve greatness—without assistance—and sometimes I like to revel.
My arrogance gene skipped three children but landed splat on Aaron’s psyche…
Aaron took a deep breath through his nose, letting the journal fall against the steering wheel. Here it comes. He always knew it would. Just get it over with.
But Aaron’s arrogance comes with a lemon twist. While I tend to rejoice in my inflated confidence, Aaron uses it to guard every other part of himself. You (whoever is reading this—have you lost weight?) will be shocked to know, I take the blame for this. I can pinpoint the day Aaron started turning inward. The day Belmont came home and shut the door in his brother’s face, and never really came out again, was hard on everyone. Aaron, a fixer by nature, took it harder than anyone. Even his brilliant mother. Maybe because I was so busy assuring myself everything would straighten itself out, I couldn’t see the branches of my family begin to grow crooked. Not crooked in a bad way, just diverted to a harder path.
Aaron was born to rule the world, but if I’d paid closer attention, if I’d been as good a mother as a chef, I would have seen. He didn’t really want the world. He just wanted the world to spin the direction that would make everyone around him happy. And when that didn’t happen, when that couldn’t happen, he was forced to settle on just appeasing himself. Sometimes I look at Aaron and try to figure out if he’s really satisfied with that isolating cycle, though, and I wonder. Has he merely carved out a way to keep from being closed out again? Can anyone blame him?
Here’s the good news. Men who were born to rule the world eventually figure things out. Perhaps they decide the world is a relative concept. Maybe it’s a person or a small place or every goddamn inch of the planet. Whatever it is, it’s theirs. Aaron never stopped coming back no matter how many times his differences were pointed out or scrutinized. He never stopped being a brother or a son because the going got tough. He stuck it out because that’s what a ruler does. They rule. My son rules.
Aaron fell back against the driver’s seat, seeing nothing and everything at once. Flashes of those looks from his mother. Looks he’d always interpreted as disappointment or…bewilderment over his strident, no bullshit outlook. Miles away from his siblings, who wore their feelings like colorful party masks, even if they couldn’t voice them. Had Miriam been…proud of him? Had she been disappointed in herself, instead of him?
My son rules. His throat constricted until he choked, and even though no one was with him in the Suburban, he attempted to disguise the sound with a cough. Fuck, he felt so light. Out of nowhere. Like he’d been inflated with helium. And he didn’t want to be alone in the Suburban. He wanted Grace to be sitting beside him so he could hand her the notebook, let her read the words that were making a valiant attempt to give him some kind of…peace. He wanted to say, You were right. She saw good. She saw good, like you, hippie.
But he couldn’t do that, because Grace wasn’t there. A giant void sat where she should be, smiling at him with pink lips and green eyes. The wrongness of her absence hit him like a battering ram, square in the chest. His mother had been wrong about one thing. Aaron didn’t want to rule world. Not the one he’d created around him. Not alone, either. He wanted Grace to show him every facet, every corner of her world, so he could rule it beside her. With her. Always with her. And if Grace saw good in him, Aaron trusted her to be right. He had to trust the ability to hurt or taint or disappoint her didn’t exist inside him. Please don’t let it exist.
Aaron couldn’t feel the notebook in his hands. It slipped through his numb fingers and fell into the well, wedging beneath the gas pedal. Or at least he thought so, because he was already busy fumbling with the seatbelt that had remained attached the entire night. He cursed through his fumbles—ready to rip the nylon strap to get out of the car, if necessary.
Need to get to Grace. Not going anywhere without Grace.