But a moment later Letto rasped, “Really love it, but enough.”
With a strength the man shouldn’t have had left, he clutched both of Toren’s arms and head-butted him. Light exploded in his eyes as pain reverberated through his skull. Toren loosened his grip slightly, but it was enough as Letto pulled Toren’s arms away and then, in another lightning strike, jabbed his fingers into Toren’s throat. Toren fell away onto his back and clutched at his throat as pain streaked down his chest and up into his head.
Letto rolled to his side and staggered to his feet. “You’re tougher than I thought.”
He slammed his boot into Toren’s ribs three times, then backed away, grinning.
“This isn’t over.” Toren rolled onto his side, pain shooting out from his ribs like a lightning storm.
“Don’t worry, I’ll give you a rematch someday.”
“I’m coming for you, Letto.”
“Whatever you want, Toro.” Mocking laughter again. “And by the way, I have to compliment you. You got it going on, all right. Lots o’ love. Turning the other cheek. Not getting offended or provoked. Nice display just now of keeping it locked down. Keep it coming. You should tell Sloane all about it. And please say hi to her for me.”
With a final throaty laugh, Letto loped off. Toren heard the sound of the man’s shoes crunching on the parking lot long after he’d left.
CHAPTER 39
Toren woke the next morning to pain ringing in his ribs and the doorbell ringing in his ears. He pulled his phone off the nightstand. Nine thirty. Late. But not surprising given the beating he’d taken last night. Next time Toren would take Quinn along for a talk with Letto and things would turn out different, Special Ops training or not.
The doorbell rang again. Toren staggered to his feet and stumbled to the door. He opened it to a familiar face. It was a young man who had delivered pizzas to him and his family five or six times during the year before Toren went to The Center.
“Freddie? It’s a little early for pizza, and I don’t think I ordered anything.” He glanced at Freddie’s hands. A manila envelope, no pizza.
“Mr. Daniels?” Freddie glanced at the envelope and frowned. “What are you doing here?”
“I could probably ask you the same thing.”
“I got . . . I got a new job. Just a month or so ago.”
“Oh yeah, what’s that?”
Freddie looked down and muttered into his thick stomach as if Toren wasn’t standing right there. “This isn’t right, is it? It can’t be, can it?”
“What can’t be right, Freddie?”
He started to point at the envelope in his hand, then said, “Is Mrs. Daniels home? I mean, did you guys move? You and Mrs. Daniels are doing good, right?”
“Why are you here, Freddie?” He asked the question even though Freddie had just tipped him off to exactly why he was there. As the kid stumbled to answer, the bomb in Toren’s gut exploded in slow motion, and for the rest of the conversation he felt as if he watched it from above, as if it were happening to someone else.
Freddie stopped looking at him and fiddled with the zipper on his jacket while he spoke.
“I just go to the address, right? See, I always, one hundred percent of the time, make it a point never to look at the names, you know what I mean? I figure it’s none of my business and it’s pretty painful. I’m guessing that because I’ve never been in a position to—”
“Freddie. Stop.”
Freddie handed the envelope to Toren. He didn’t need to look at it to know what was inside, but even so, Freddie’s next words tore into him like a dull blade.
“I’m sorry, but I gotta say this part, Mr. Daniels. You’ve been served.”
CHAPTER 40
“She can’t do this.” Toren glared at his steak and baked potato, neither of which he’d touched.
“Sounds like she figured out a way to do it somehow anyway,” Quinn said.
“Thanks for the brilliant insight. It’s a huge help.”
“You’re welcome.” Quinn stuffed another popcorn shrimp into his mouth and mumbled through his food, “Have you talked to her?”
“I’ve talked to her voicemail. Three times. I was calm. Controlled. I told her all I wanted was the chance to talk.”
“But she hasn’t called back.”
Toren glared at Quinn for stating the obvious, and for being able to eat. Toren’s stomach had gone into hibernation since he’d been served ten hours earlier.
“What are you going to do?” Quinn said after taking a gulp of his iced tea.
“Fight it. Try to talk her out of it. Tell her what’s been going on with me up in Friday Harbor.”
“You mean your spiritual thing, counseling thing, looking at God different thing.”
“Yeah.”
“So how’s it going?”
“It’s driving me nuts.” Toren jabbed at his steak. “Eden says answers are coming, that my time is almost here, that I have to learn to love. But none of that is helping. He’s still inside me and getting stronger.”
“He? You mean this whatever-you-call-it? Mr. Hyde, your dark self, the shadow, the dark dog?” Quinn stifled a laugh.
“This is real, Quinn. My control is slipping.”
“Yeah, I know.” Quinn locked his fingers together. “So what you’re saying is that the training is going good on one level, you’re better, but the puppet master that has the strings on your temper is still renting a room in your brain.”
“I want to kill him. I’m going to kill him. It’s coming.”
“And that has you down. I get that, and not getting to see your kids without jumping in the car and clearing it with Sloane has you down, and getting served has you down, and—”
“I really don’t need a headline recap of where my life is.”
“All I was about to say is that it seems like you could use some good news.”
“Yeah? I don’t suppose you have some.”
“As a matter of fact . . .” Quinn leaned back, elbows on the back of the booth. “I was going to let it be a surprise, but I’m going to blow it because I want to talk you through it and tell you to wait to call him about it.”
“Call who about what?”
“Take a guess. Wild. Way out there. Dream come true for you.”
“I’m totally in the mood for a game like this right now, Quinn.”
“There’s a serious rumor going on that Prinos is going to the Dolphins.”
“What?”
“Defensive coordinator.”
“You’re serious.”
“Yeah, you can’t say anything. I heard it through a few sources I’m not supposed to talk about, but it sounds pretty real.”
Toren sat back. This could be it. “He could get me a tryout.”
“You said it, not me, brother.” Quinn stuffed another three shrimp into his mouth at once. “But yeah.”
“I gotta call him.”
“That’s my point, why I told you before it hits the Internet. You can’t. Let him settle in a bit. Lay things out for himself. Then call. Give him a few weeks to get in there. You ping him right away and it’s going to be an immediate no.” Quinn held up a palm. “Just my opinion.”
The dream becoming reality.
“You said you talked to him a while back, right?” Quinn asked.
“Yeah.”
“Told him you had control now and all that.”
“I told him everything.”
“Good.” Quinn pushed his now-empty plate toward the center of the table. “Then I agree with you, Tor. I think he’ll try to give you a shot. Go to the wall for you with the brass at the Dolphins. No guarantee of anything, but at least get you a tryout and an interview.”
Toren slumped back in the booth, two voices screaming at him. One said he should call Coach immediately, that this was God’s way of giving him the hope he needed to plow through the insanity of facing divorce and figuring out how to destroy Hyde.
The other voice told him
Quinn was right. He had to be patient. Wait. Wait. Wait. The overarching pattern of his life right now.
After saying good-bye to Quinn, Toren lingered on the restaurant’s front walkway, glancing between the darkening sky and his phone. Call Coach now? Or wait? As it turned out, he didn’t have to decide.
Toren’s cell rang and he glanced at the caller ID. Coach. Yes. Hope front and center. Thank you, God.
“Talk to me.” Toren grinned.
“I got news for you, Torrent.”
“Yeah?”
Coach told him about the job with the Dolphins, that it was a done deal except for the ink, that he’d be flying down to Miami in the morning to sign.
“I want you there, Toren. Without question. It’s my call but not my call. Got it? It will take some pushing, sure, but I know I can at least get you down there. You’ve kept working out since we talked?”
“Every day.”
“Excellent.” Coach coughed. “Can’t promise a thing other than a chance to talk to them, let you give ’em a workout. You up for that?”
“More than.”
“Good. I’ll call you the second it’s set up. You gotta be ready to go with a few days’ notice. You okay with that?”
“No worries. I’ll be ready.” Toren grinned. “Anything else?”
“Yeah.” Coach hesitated. “You say you got a grip on your temper. I believe you. Hundred and ten percent. But the Dolphins won’t. They’ll more than likely jab you with a red-hot poker during the workout and the interview. See if you go off. You get me?”
“I get you.”
“Good. If you show ’em everything’s under control, and you’re in the kind of condition you’re telling me you are, then there’s a good shot—”
“I get invited to training camp.”
“Bull’s-eye.”
“I owe you, Coach.”
“Not yet you don’t.”
“Thank you.”
“Torrent?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re going to have a great workout when you come down here, so good you’re going to come to camp, where you’re going to show everyone else what I believe you still have. You’re going to make the team; you’re going to finish your career in three or four years the way it should have ended.”
Toren slid his cell phone into his pocket and trundled toward his car. He gripped his arms, shoulders, thighs. He was ready. Right now. Sure, a little sore in the ribs from Letto, but nothing that would slow him down. He glanced to his left at the huge window of a furniture store, caught his reflection, and studied his body, then looked at his face for a second as he passed. Instantly ice shot down his back. It wasn’t his face that had been reflected back at him.
His momentum had taken him past the storefront, so Toren staggered back and stood panting in front of the massive twelve-foot windows. What was that? His face, nothing more, now stared back at him. But it hadn’t been him a moment ago. Had it? No, he’d seen the reflection. It wasn’t a trick of the light or his imagination. He’d seen a face looking back at him that held a thin smile, malevolent eyes.
He stepped toward the window, close enough that his reflection was now less than two feet away. He turned and looked behind him, as if the face he’d seen wasn’t his but someone else’s. Of course no one else was there. Of course it had been his face in the reflection. Who else could it be? But it wasn’t him. So it had to be someone else. He argued with himself, but there was little point.
Toren knew this couldn’t be settled with his mind, only at the heart level, and once he surrendered to that truth, he knew instantly who the man in the window was. It was himself. It was Hyde—who seemed less and less inclined to hide from him, and more intent on stepping up, front and center, and turning his life into a living hell.
Ten minutes later, Toren’s breathing was still unsteady. He needed to get control. Had to trust Eden that his time was coming. The chance to take out Hyde. It was coming. Soon. It had to if there was any hope with Sloane. Any hope for his tryout in Miami.
CHAPTER 41
Two days later Toren finally reached Sloane.
“Hey.” Sloane’s voice was quiet, but not soft. There was an edge to it, sharper than he’d heard before.
“Thanks for calling back.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’ve been leaving you messages.”
“Yes, I know you have. I’ve listened to all of them.”
“Why, Sloane? Why the no-fly, no-talk zone? We gotta discuss this.”
“I needed time.”
“Time for what?”
A heavy sigh came through the phone. “What can I do for you?”
“You filed.”
“Yes, Toren, I filed.”
“Why?”
“You can’t seriously be asking that question.”
“I am.”
“Take a guess, a guess so wild it will surprise even you.”
“The thing in the garage, the birdhouses . . . You can’t . . . It was—”
“What? A onetime thing? Will never happen again? You want to go down the list or just trust me when I say I have it memorized?”
“I won’t let you go, Sloane.”
“You want to hear the crazy thing?” A bitter laugh floated through the phone. “I was starting to go insane. I was actually starting to believe you’d changed. I actually wondered if there was a future for us. I did. Really.”
“There is a future. I know there is. I’ve got a tryout set up with the Dolphins. Miami, Sloane. We could start over and—”
“Yes, you’re right. There is a future. I believe it. Just not a future where you and I are in it together.”
“It was one time, Sloane. You can’t scrap it all on one time.”
“Once?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me that again, Toren. Tell me that’s the only time you’ve lost it since you got back. That you haven’t felt anything else going on inside you since you got back from this Center place. Tell me.”
Toren went silent.
“That’s what I thought.”
“I’m seeing a . . . counselor. I’m working through it. Breakthrough is coming, Sloane. I feel it. I know it.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I’m serious, Sloane. It’s up in Friday Harbor of all places, where you and I—”
“I remember, Toren.”
“Something revolutionary is going on inside me that I can’t even explain. I’ve experienced God in ways—”
“Revolutionary? Like what happened to you down in Arizona? That kind of revolutionary?”
“This is different. This is . . . I want to tell you about it. At least let me describe why this is so different from last time. These are people who know what went on at The Center, and what’s happening in me now is going to truly get rid of my temper forever.”
“I hope you got a money-back guarantee on that, ’cause your next wife is going to want a refund when it all comes crashing down.”
The words ripped Toren to the bone. He paused, struggled to form a coherent thought.
“I love you, Sloane. There will never be anyone else.” Promises would do nothing at this point. Even showing her he’d changed wouldn’t do much.
“Sloane?”
“Unless you have some pressing concern about the kids, I need to go.”
“This conversation isn’t over.”
“I think it is, because if it’s only going to consist of you telling me how you’re going to fight me on the divorce, I don’t need it.”
“I can’t let you go through with it.” Toren paused, shot up a prayer. “I want to tell you what I’ve been doing, learning. That’s all.”
“Fine. Go ahead.”
“Can we do it in person, please? Coffee. Ten minutes.”
“Why do I feel like I’m watching a show I’ve already seen? One where I know the ending.”
“Please, Sloane.”
The hum of the phone filled his ear for ten seconds.
“Are you free right now?”
Hope rose inside him. “Yes.”
“Good. So am I. Talk.”
No. Not over the phone. But what choice did he have?
Toren explained to her about Eden, the octagon, the insights he’d gained, the experience in the room off the back of the octagon, what love was and could be. He told her how The Center wasn’t a solution, but this time the solution would be a true answer. How he’d already experienced the Father’s love like he never had before. When he finished, more than twenty minutes later, Sloane said nothing for an age. Finally she spoke in a whisper.
“I’m happy for you, Toren. Really, I am.”
“Is that all?”
“No.” Again a long silence. Then, “Levi and I are getting serious. I’m going through with the divorce.”
No. Please, God, no.
“I need a little more time, Sloane. I’m changing, really, truly changing this time. Please wait for me.”
“He’s asked me to marry him.”
Toren’s body went numb. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not when there was hope. True hope. Not hope propped up by a series of mantras and conditioning and starvation of a part of him that couldn’t be starved, but a process of coming into a relationship with the Father that was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. A process that would teach him to love Sloane like she’d never been loved before.
“What did you tell him?”
“It’s none of your business.”
Cold sweat broke out on Toren’s forehead.
“Did you tell him yes?”
“I’m done with this conver—”
“No! Sloane, don’t hang up. Please. Listen to me, you can’t marry him.”
“What I can’t do is believe I’m even having this conversation.”
“Sloane, don’t do this to me.”
“You’re kidding, right? You did it, Toren. You. All by yourself.”
His phone went dead and instantly seemed to gain twenty pounds. His hand fell to his lap and he stared at the maple leaves being tossed by the wind.
The next three days were as vicious as Toren could ever remember. Remorse, guilt, and shame pounded at him like an unending hurricane. The only bright spots were milkshakes with Callie and a game of chess with Colton. But his chances of restoring his marriage? Zero to nonexistent. Sloane would marry Levi and his world would be ripped apart. But he would fight it with everything inside. There had to be a way to save their marriage.
The Man He Never Was Page 23
