The Man He Never Was Page 7

  A flood of words poured from Sloane’s lips as Jana’s Coffee Shop loomed in front of her.

  “You have me held tight in the midst of the hurricane. I’m safe, I’m in your arms, and I will be strong, because I carry inside me the strength of my Father, the strength of the Son, the strength of the Spirit. I am in you, and you are in me. I can do this. It’s going to be okay.”

  Sloane repeated the prayer a second time, then a third as she pulled open the door of the shop and stepped inside. She glanced around the store. Toren wasn’t seated at any of the tables. She stole a look at her phone. Five after the hour. No way he would be late for this.

  She stood just inside the door and scanned the room again. A group of teens sat together, their cell phones piled in the middle of their table. Teens not glued to their phones—there was hope for the world. Three other people, their focus on their notepads or laptops. To Sloane’s left, an older couple, a middle-aged couple, and a tweener, probably waiting for his mom to get her coffee. No Toren.

  Sloane made to leave. Wait. In line, with his back to her, was that him? Yes. A strange mix of disappointment and relief washed through her. Disappointment that he showed. Relief that he showed. She refused to examine the second emotion.

  A moment later he turned, the expression on his face one she knew yet didn’t know. There was a kindness she hadn’t seen in ages. Dare she say contrition? Yes, definitely. And pain.

  By the time they settled at a table in the far corner of the coffee shop, her heartbeat had slowed and her emotions had settled. She would get through this. Nine minutes and twelve seconds left.

  “I hope I got it right.” Toren shrugged as he handed her a grande-size cup and sat.

  “What is it?”

  “Grande white-chocolate mocha with caramel drizzle.”

  Her eyes widened as she wrapped both hands around the cup.

  “You’re surprised?” he said.

  “It’s been a while. Surprised you remembered.”

  He shrugged a second time. “Just a good guess.”

  She stared at him, realizing the look of pain she’d seen earlier wasn’t for himself, but for her. A second surprise. But it didn’t matter. Let him say his piece, then leave. She looked down at her cup, then back up at Toren. He stared at something outside the shop, out on the street, his eyes flashing alarm.

  “What?”

  Toren leaped to his feet and sprinted out the door of the shop. He returned a few minutes later, frustration painted on his face.

  “What is it?” Sloane said.

  “Who works on the yard? Did you see who was there the other day? What’s the name of the landscaping company you’re using?”

  “What I do with the yard or the house and who I hire isn’t any of your business any longer, Toren.”

  “Just tell me.”

  “When I said I’d give you ten minutes, I wasn’t kidding.” She took a long sip of her coffee. He’d gotten it exactly right. “If you want to use them arguing about what I will and I won’t tell you about my house, fine by me.”

  “I get it.”

  But he didn’t speak. Simply sat there, hands wrapped around his coffee, each hand a mirror image of the other. His choice. She glanced at her watch. Finally he spoke, his voice soft.

  “I’m not the same man. I’ve changed, Sloane.”

  “You said that in the letter.”

  “Yeah, I did. But it’s true. Look.” He pushed a handwritten letter across the table. She glanced at it. Something about a “life-altering eight months” and “significant changes,” from someone who couldn’t be bothered to sign his name. Or hers. Sloane thought the handwriting looked feminine. She pushed the letter back.

  “Yes.” Sloane gave a thin smile, lips pressed together. “I’m absolutely positive you have.”

  “Don’t you want to know where I’ve been, what’s been going on?”

  “Not anymore.”

  He almost laughed. “I understand why you don’t believe me, why those words mean nothing to you, but I have to say them anyway.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they’re true this time.” He tapped the letter still lying on the table between them.

  She didn’t respond. “Anyone might have written that.”

  “Can I explain why they’re true?”

  “What do you want, Toren?”

  “I want things I know I can’t have. Things I will pray for every day till I die.” He leaned back and glanced at the ceiling. “I want to be reunited with my family. To show them that something happened to me while I was gone that I can’t explain, but every minute of every day makes me more and more certain I’ve gone through a transformation of everything I am.

  “I want to be the daddy my daughter needs. I want to be the father my son needs as he gets ready to step into manhood. Most of all I want to be the husband I was up until three years ago. I guess by now it’s been almost four years. I want you to know the war you watched me fight with my anger is over, and I’ve won.”

  Toren paused, eyes pleading.

  “I’m happy for you, Toren. Really. But you’re right, those are dreams that are not going to come true.” Her voice was quiet, but by the look on Toren’s face, the words must have felt as loud as thunder. “Are we done?”

  “No.” He shook his head and studied the table. “I want you to forgive me for the man I was and what I put you through.”

  “Fine. You’re forgiven. Now are we done?”

  “Almost.” He looked up, stared deep into Sloane’s eyes with those deep blues that could no longer melt her heart, and laid his hands over the ridiculous letter. Then he gave her that half-cocked smile and said, “Just one more thing, okay?”

  “What?”

  “I want you to stop hating me.”

  Sloane settled both hands over his, pressed down gently, and ignored the shocked look on his face.

  “I don’t hate you, Toren. I never have. Never did. Never will.”

  “Then why—”

  She patted his hands and pulled hers away. “Let me finish.”

  “Yes, of course.” He touched his lips. “I’m sorry.”

  “What happened to me was worse than starting to hate you.” She took a quick sip of her coffee, leaned toward him, and said, “I lost heart, Toren. It’s gone and it’s not coming back. I believed you so many times. I really, truly did. And then I didn’t believe, but I still hoped. God, did I hope. And then the hope became too frayed, too thin to hang on to any longer, and it slipped from my hand. And one day when I looked for it, I discovered it had vanished, long before I even knew it had.”

  Tears formed in Toren’s eyes and he pulled away from the table. His body seemed to shrink into his seat. “There has to be a small part of you that—”

  “No. That hope sprinted away six weeks after you disappeared. After three months it was replaced by the hope that you were truly gone. I have a new life now.”

  “But if you truly knew what has ha—”

  “I realize you need to have a relationship with your children. And as much as I don’t like the idea of it, I’m going to get used to it. It’s what is right. They need one with you as well. You’re their father. Just take it slow, okay?”

  Toren nodded and started to speak just as Sloane raised her forefinger, making him go silent. She closed her eyes for a moment, nodded to herself, then opened them and spoke just above a whisper.

  “But as far as you and me?” She sighed. “If you are truly admitting to who and what you were, then you understand why I’ve moved on. And you’ll know why your coming back and trying to reinsert yourself into my life is not only a tremendous shock but proves you haven’t really changed. Because if you had, you’d go back to wherever you’ve been.”

  Toren stared at her, several emotions flitting across his eyes in a matter of seconds. Surprise. Pain. Anger? No, not anger, frustration. And innocence. And then, resolve. He rubbed his eyes, forehead. His upper teeth bit into his lip as his head w
agged back and forth, a pensive look settling on his face.

  “You’re right, Sloane.” Toren shook his head. “You are absolutely right.”

  He stood and for a second she thought he would step over and kiss her on the head, but instead, his fist rose to his lips, he nodded once more, and he turned and walked out of the shop.

  CHAPTER 11

  Toren peeked out between the curtains at the Kirkland Performance Center, his gaze sweeping past at least twelve TV cameras and as many radio microphones as he tried to gear himself up for the onslaught of questions from the media. Nothing inside him wanted to be here. He’d never enjoyed the media during his playing days—most reporters passed him by for the stars, which was fine by him—but now he was the focus and he had to face them full on.

  Quinn and he had agreed this was the best and fastest way to get the word out that he was back. Better to have one session with as many press as wanted to show than to have them come to him for interviews by ones and twos for months on end. Plus, Quinn was still a star in the NFL, and some of the pressure would be taken off Toren simply with Quinn’s presence.

  “You ready for this?” Quinn whispered into Toren’s ear.

  “No.”

  “Good. Let’s get it over with.” Quinn winked and grabbed his shoulder. “It’ll be fine. I promise.”

  Quinn pushed through the curtain, and the crowd noise faded into silence.

  “Friends, thanks for coming. As you all know, my best friend and brother in arms since junior high, Toren Daniels, has just returned after an eight-month absence. He’s going to make a short statement and then will be open to questions. We’re going to keep the Q&A to fifteen minutes, and after that we’re going to respect his privacy as he eases back into his life. In other words, he’s not going to be doing any one-on-one interviews, so if you’ve got a question you’re dying to ask, don’t save it. This is your one shot to ask.”

  As Quinn continued, doling out Toren’s background, Toren’s attention shifted to a frazzled-looking young reporter who was working his way toward the front. He motioned toward the podium with a microphone as he whispered to another reporter. The other reporter wiggled his fingers at the podium, and the kid waddled up to where the other microphones lay and set his on top. He was nearly seated again when his mic fell off the podium and hit the table with a boom that filled the room. The kid’s face went dark red.

  Quinn looked down at him. “Well, tell me something, son, where you working tomorrow?”

  The crowd erupted in laughter as the young man sank into his seat.

  “Hey, just kidding, my man!” Quinn pointed at him. “You’ll be telling this story for decades.”

  The kid smiled and gave Quinn a thumbs-up. The incident put Toren at ease, and his breathing slowed.

  “All right, enough intro, please welcome my friend, Toren Daniels.”

  Toren stepped through the curtain and sat next to Quinn, then pulled out his written statement, cleared his throat, and began.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, as you’re well aware, I vanished eight months ago without a trace and showed up again a few days back without any fanfare. But as far as where I was, why I left, and why I didn’t let anyone know what happened to me, I’m afraid I’m going to be a big disappointment to all of you, because I can’t answer any of those questions.”

  Toren paused and took a drink of water.

  “You don’t know, or you can’t say?” a voice from the back called out.

  “I don’t know.” Toren glanced at his notes and set them aside. “The truth is, I don’t have any memory of where I was, how I got there, what I was doing for the past eight months, or how I got back home. I know it sounds crazy—believe me, I know how crazy it sounds ’cause I’m living it—but there’s very little I can tell you.

  “The last thing I remember is going to bed last September. Then I woke up in a hotel with nothing but some clothes, my credit card, and my driver’s license inside a package that the hotel gave me, and they don’t know where the package came from. That’s it. Any questions?”

  Instantly the room filled with voices climbing over each other, the roar intensifying until Quinn started directing traffic.

  “Is it true you left a suicide note?”

  “I have no memory of that.”

  “Did you try to take your own life?”

  Toren hesitated. “Not that I recall.”

  “Do you want to kill yourself?”

  Quinn leaned toward Toren’s mic. “Next topic, thanks.”

  “Have you been examined by a doctor?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Are you going to be?”

  “I’m considering it.”

  “You don’t have any guesses as to where you were?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “What about hypnosis?”

  “I’m considering all options.”

  “What does your family think about you showing up alive?”

  “I think they like it better than me showing up dead. But just barely.”

  The crowd laughed, and Toren wished the joke was a lie.

  “Are you still hoping a pro team will consider signing you?”

  “That’s my hope. I’m in great shape, I’m training daily, and for the first time I can promise you I have my temper under control. There was no excuse for how I let it drive my behavior, but if a team gives me a shot, I can promise them it will never be an issue again.”

  “Is that part of what happened to you while you were away? Some kind of anger management therapy?”

  “Possibly, but like I said, I have no memory of where I was or what I did.”

  “Then how do you know you’ve changed?”

  “You know how when you meet the person you want to marry, you just know? That’s the feeling. That’s how certain I am. Plus, I’ve had some things happen since I’ve been back that normally would have set me off, but the rage simply isn’t there anymore.”

  The questions continued for another five minutes, but when it became clear Toren’s answers were going to be short and sweet with no real substance, the media packed up. In another five, the room was nearly empty.

  “You survived,” Quinn said.

  “Thanks for the help.”

  As Toren stood and slipped into his blue jacket, a slender woman with Asian features strolled toward him. Quinn motioned at her with his head. “Looks like you have someone who wants to talk. I’m gonna jet if you’re good here.”

  “Yeah, I am.”

  The woman stopped a few feet away and said, “Hello, Toren, it’s good to finally meet you.”

  “Finally?”

  “Yes.” She smiled and her eyes almost disappeared. She stepped closer and offered her hand. “My name is Eden Lee.”

  She was beautiful, not skin-deep beautiful, but the kind that permeated every part of her. Black hair parted in the middle stopped two or three inches past her shoulders. Her intensely bright eyes reminded him of someone he couldn’t place.

  Toren shook her hand and said, “Are you a reporter?”

  Eden smiled again. “How is Sloane doing?”

  “You know my wife?”

  “Sloane hired me to find you. Obviously I didn’t succeed.”

  “Private detective?”

  She nodded.

  “How long did you look?”

  “I gave Sloane updates for six months. Our contract said I would get paid when I found you or found proof of your death.”

  “So you didn’t get any money.”

  “No.” Eden pointed toward the door. “Do you mind if we chat while we walk to our cars? I need to get going.”

  As they moved toward the door, Toren said, “Everyone is convinced I had a death wish. What is that from?”

  “Do you?”

  Toren glared at her sideways. “Not at the moment. You find any evidence I did, once upon a time?”

  Eden pulled out her phone and tapped up a photo. She held it out for him to see. A sheet o
f notebook paper torn from its binding was covered in Toren’s large blue-ink scrawl. The letter was in a plastic bag labeled with an “Evidence” sticker.

  Dearest Sloane,

  It won’t go on like this, I promise. I will end this mess I’ve created for you, for the kids, for me. Torenado doesn’t deserve to exist anymore. He’s only ripping up your lives, hurting you all. I will protect you. For your sake, I will kill him if it’s the last thing I do. I hope you will forgive me.

  Love you forever,

  Toren

  “I mailed that to her?”

  “No. A flight attendant found it under a seat on the plane.”

  “A flight I’d taken?”

  “To Phoenix, apparently.”

  Phoenix? Toren was sure he hadn’t been to Phoenix since he stopped playing.

  “The trail went cold at the airport,” she said.

  “I have no desire to kill myself.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Would you like to have another shot at the case?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Help me track down where I was, what I was doing there. I’ll pay you whatever Sloane offered you if we succeed.”

  “That’s an intriguing idea.”

  “I’m going to find out, one way or another, but I’m guessing if we worked together it would go a lot faster.”

  “I’d need my expenses covered whether we get answers or not.”

  “Not a problem.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Fair enough.”

  They walked through the door that led into the parking lot and bright sunshine.

  “Where are you parked?” Toren asked.

  “Far end of the lot.”

  “Same.” As they ambled toward their cars, Toren said, “If we do take on this mystery together, where would you start?”

  Eden raised an eyebrow. “Trying to get free advice out of me?”

  “Yeah, exactly.”

  Eden laughed and said, “You mentioned receiving a package. I’d suggest trying to find out who gave that to the hotel. Someone has to know something.”

  “I feel a little stupid for not thinking of that.”

  “Tell you what, I won’t feel bad about not being able to play in the NFL if you don’t feel bad for not thinking like a detective.”