All Who Dream (Letting Go) (27 page)

“I
advised her not to until we had a game plan in place—do you have a problem with
that, Stew?”

Jackson’s
voice was a low growl. I held my breath at the tension that hung in the room.
It was thick, uncomfortable and prickly all at the same time.

Stewart
ignored Jackson and looked at me instead. “
Divina’s
objective was obviously to discredit you and undermine whatever favor you’d
found in the public eye. But we feel that once you speak out, we can steer that
course in a new direction—one that will profit you, sustain the company, and
allow the tour to pick up momentum again.”

Every
nerve in my body wavered, along with my mind, as I thought about what was being
asked of me. The doors I had closed on my past, the lights I had switched on,
the
safety-net I had put in place…had it all been in vain?
Or was this the path I was meant to take all along?

Whatever
the case, Angie Flores had no more secrets to conceal.

Divina
had been right: Fame didn’t keep secrets.
 

No matter
how much time I was given, there was no real choice being offered to me. I was
smart enough to understand that fact. The decision of my
new platform
had already been made.

The
minute I had signed that contract, I invited the opinions, advice and counsel
of everyone in this room. It was no one’s fault but my own that I hadn’t fully
thought through the ramifications of what that signature could mean.

I may
have told my story a hundred times over in the past five years at
The Refuge
, but that environment was
filled with those who shared my same past, history and hurt—at least to some
degree. What kind of feedback would there be from the rest of the world? The
ones who couldn’t relate?

“We’ll
need an answer by the end of the day, Angie,” Dee said. “One way or another, we
need to address the statements made at that interview. You are in contract with
Pinkerton Press, so that responsibility is ours as much as it is yours. We’ll
support you in whatever capacity we can. We have our most senior editor
standing by to help you with any revisions and additions you are willing to
make.”

I nodded,
though I was far from being okay.

Okay
was a mindset I had never occupied
for long.

For the
next hour I sat silently while they discussed my next course of action as if
the decision had already been made for me. I guess the truth was…it had. They
knew it, just as I knew it. Jackson remained quiet, watching me the way a
parent watched a child who was playing with a ball too close to the road.

The
cross-talk around the table was mild now that Jackson and I were out of the
flow of conversation. Dee had given Stewart control over the rest of the agenda
as they discussed a new marketing plan.

The
emotional turmoil over what had been asked of me had simply been
dismissed—minimized, as if they had asked me to share my favorite cake recipe
with the world, and not the intimate details of my life—and near murder.

As I sank
further inside myself, trying to process the steps ahead, Jackson slapped his
hands on the table. I started at the noise, and the room fell silent.

“Everyone out.
We’re done here!”

“Jackson—we
have several other issues to discuss before—” Stewart began, lifting his hands
in a diplomatic gesture.

“
Issues
?
Do you
even understand what we’ve just asked of Miss Flores? I’m ashamed that not one
of you has even bothered to ask her
a
single
personal question since this meeting began, much less how you might
support her in it! If my father or Jacob were in this meeting today they would
be embarrassed! Here you sit, talking about investment plans and shareholder
trends and marketing campaigns when there is a woman at the end of this table
who deserves more respect for what she has lived through than everyone in this
room combined. So, no, I don’t care about your issues. We’re finished here
today!”

My mouth
hung open in shock as I stared at Jackson. Each man stood and left without
so
much as a sigh of disapproval over his outrage. Dee
walked over to him and patted him on the shoulder while she flashed me a
pride-filled smile. She strolled out the door last, closing it behind her.

And then
it was just Jackson and me.

My mind
was working overtime trying to process what had just happened. I looked at
Jackson who was standing now and leaning over the table, tension rolling off
him with
every heaved
breath. Finally, he lifted his
head, and our eyes locked for the first time since his outburst. My emotions
battled each other as I saw the distress on his face. My chest pulled tight
like an overextended rubber band.

I wanted
to make this better, to fix it.

 
My heart pounded under his gaze. “Jackson, I’m
sorry for-”

He put
his hand up, cutting me off mid-sentence.

Dropping
his head, he sighed heavily. “Why…
why
would you apologize, Angie?” His voice was soft, yet strained.

“I just—I
guess I feel responsible in some way for-”

Before I
could finish, he took three quick steps toward me and took my upper arms in his
hands. He squeezed just hard enough for me to switch gears from my own thoughts
and refocus on his intense stare.

“If there
was one thing—just
one thing
I could
help you see Angie, it would be your constant willingness to accept blame that
isn’t yours. You are
not
responsible
for what went on here today. My anger is
for
you—not
because
of you, don’t confuse
those motivations.” His eyes roamed my face. “When I asked you to come to the
meeting with an open mind, this was not what I envisioned. Please believe that
I would never try to manipulate you into telling your story…not for the sake of
the tour, or even this company. But with that being said, I believe in you
Angie.”

In a sea
filled with unknowns, a wave of relief crashed over me.

It was
then I realized that Jackson wasn’t in the sea.

Jackson
was the wave.

Letting
go of my every inhibition, I broke out of his grip and fell against his chest,
hugging him tight. In that moment, there were no words to express what his support
meant to me.

Seconds
passed as he held me, his hand pressed to the back of my head. I could hear the
steady beat of his heart as I breathed in that perfect scent of ocean and cedar
wood.

I pulled
away from him slightly, my eyes misting as his hands slid down my arms. He gripped
my fingers and led me to a chair. Once I sat, he pulled another one over and
sat across from me. Our knees bumped, creating a flurry of warmth in the base
of my belly. My eyes focused on the window in the corner as I processed through
the jumble of information in my head.

“The
first time I told my story was about two years after the night Dirk was
arrested. Even though I could rationalize that he couldn’t physically hurt me
anymore, my mind was still tied to him—controlled by fear. It took every ounce
of energy I had just to survive and take care of Cody. But Maggie, my mentor at
The Refuge
, wouldn’t give up on me.
She just kept telling me that someday my story could help inspire hope for
someone else—someone who needed to see a light beyond their darkness.” I
shifted my gaze to my hands. “One night…the fear subsided long enough for me to
open my mouth.”

“And what
happened?”

I steered
my eyes back to Jackson. “A woman found me after group that night. She told
me…she told me that I’d given her the courage to confront her past. That she
was going to put in the work so she could stop the cycle from continuing.”
Tears filled my eyes as I thought of that moment. “That woman is now my best
friend—Rosie.”

Jackson’s
smile was tender as he said, “There are a lot more Rosie’s out there, Angie—I
know I don’t need to tell you that—but the statistics of abuse are alarming.” He
sighed. “Taking this platform could potentially reach tens of thousands of
women. Your voice and influence could mean the difference for them, but I need
to be sure it’s what
you
want to do.
This is
your
story to share. Nobody
owns the rights to it but you.”

 
I dropped my eyes again. “I do want to help
other women, Jackson. I have no greater passion in life, but do you really
think I’m ready for that kind of exposure? Telling my story is hard enough when
it’s told to women who can relate to it.”

“But why
would you limit its impact?”

“Because I
hate
my
story.”
I pushed my chair back and stood up, suddenly needing to move as
my voice broke with emotion.

That was
the truth.

No matter
how much work I did to change myself, my story would never change.
 

My past
was the shadow no light could outshine.

He leaned
forward, hands clasped in his lap as he watched me pace. “Have you ever seen an
artist work on a blank canvas?”

I shook
my head, fingering my necklace.

“There
are hundreds of hours poured into a painting before it even starts to resemble
the masterpiece it will become. Your portrait—just like your story—isn’t
complete yet, Ang. You’re only seeing what’s there now—not the whole vision of
what could be.”

I stopped
in front of him. “I don’t know if I have that vision, Jackson.”

“Then
I’ll have it for you.”

Cody called just after lunch.

The
flight had gone well, and they were headed home to rest and get everything
ready for camp. He was excited to play with Dillon, especially since he had a
cool new iPad to show him. I was glad to hear his voice, even if it was only a
few hours since I’d seen him last.
 

It was
hot outside, but I needed to think—alone.
Pippy
had
told me where the smoothie shop was just a few blocks down, so I walked there.
Strawberry/banana blend in hand, I made my way to Central Park. I was
incredibly grateful for my wardrobe change into shorts and a tank top. As I
found the shade of a large tree, I sat down and crossed my legs underneath me.

I watched
the busy world buzzing past as I pulled out my journal and pen. The scenes of
dogs playing, kids running, businessmen and women rushing…were completely
chaotic, yet oddly familiar. I may not know this city or its inhabitants, but
what I saw before me…was life.

I took in
a deep breath, warm air filling up my lungs.

Life.

That was
what I had been given back.

“
Sis?”

Briggs knocked on the wall before pulling
back the privacy curtain. I wanted to answer verbally, but no sound came out.
My throat was so dry, like the inside of it had been rubbed with sandpaper and
dust. I coughed for a minute straight until I could swallow a drink of water.
I’d been awake for a couple of hours, doctors and nurses running tests, and
policemen asking me questions regarding the night of the attack.

Finally though, they had allowed my family
to visit: Briggs.

When he stepped into my room I was surprised.
He looked awful, like he hadn’t slept in days—maybe he hadn’t. I was sure I
didn’t look much better though. How good could one look when they’d been in a
coma for seven days?

“You look good,
Ang
,”
he said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes as he walked to my bedside. He
sat down on the edge.

I smiled at his lie.

“Where’s Cody?” I whispered, trying to avoid
another coughing fit.

“Cody’s perfectly safe and healthy. My
Chief’s wife is watching him while I visit you. I wasn’t sure if I should bring
him up yet—I didn’t know if you’d be…”

I nodded, knowing what he meant. Though I
ached for my baby, I understood that Briggs was only trying to protect him;
it’s what he did best. The doctors weren’t sure of the extent my injuries had
on my brain before the coma was induced. There were no guarantees I’d wake up
the same person as before. Briggs didn’t want to expose Cody to that kind of
trauma. He had seen enough already.

 
I
grabbed his hand and my brother squeezed it, tears pooling in his eyes.

They were the first tears I’d seen him cry
since he was a young boy.

“Thank you, Briggs,” I whispered. “I know
what you did for me…and for Cody.”

“When I saw you on the ground—I’ve never
felt anything like that before, Angie. I wanted to kill him. I don’t know how I
didn’t do it, to be honest,” he said with a shaky exhale. “But he’s gone now,
and you’re safe. He’s never coming back.”

I nodded, the police had told me that, but
they also told me what Briggs had done to save me.

“I’m so sorry, Briggs—for everything. For
not listening to you all those years ago, for all the lies and the secrets, for
the pain this last week must have caused you.” Tears slipped from my eyes in a
steady stream.

“The only reason you’d have to be sorry—is
if you waste the life you’ve just been given back.”

I tapped the journal with my pen.

I’d been
staring at it for a while now, waiting for inspiration to jump out and pull me
in like Mary Poppins and the sidewalk paintings. So far the page was still
blank. There were so many questions swirling in my head: What do I share? How
many details do I provide? Do I start at the beginning or work my way back? I
laid my head on my hand at the same moment my phone rang.