Page 87 of Blame it on the Bet
She perches on the arm of one of the chairs facing me, watching as I run my hands through my hair.
“Bryan, you can’t go on like this. It’s been almost a month since you got back, and it’s like you’re a zombie. You just go from meeting to meeting. Where’s your fire—your excitement? What happened to getting what you want?”
“You don’t understand, Helen,” I start with some frustration. “There isn’t anything here that I want. Ever since…”
“Her.”
I don’t respond; I just give her a long, hard stare before leaning forward and putting my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands. I haven’t had a drink in weeks, so why do I wake up every day feeling like I’ve got a hangover? My first days back in California were agonizing. Everywhere I looked, I found myself disgusted by the glitz and glamour. I’ve adapted a little better as time’s gone on, but still, nothing feels real to me anymore. Helen’s right, I’m just going through the motions of my business dealings as if I’m on autopilot. Iowa, Missouri, Idaho.
“Bryan, I’m going to give you a piece of advice—and it’s not some cookie-cutter platitude that I pulled out of a self-help book, okay?” When I don’t respond, she continues. “There are a lot of jobs out there—a lot of opportunities. If one doesn’t come along today, it’ll likely come tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the next. But love is a different animal.There are no guarantees that it’ll come at all. And if it does—and you let it go—there are certainly no guarantees that there will be another chance at it. Ever.” She pauses, and I glance up to see her pained expression. Clearly this is not an easy conversation for her to have with me, so I sit up and give her my full, respectful attention—as she deserves.
“You let it go,” I say quietly. She nods.
“I did. I was young and foolish and thought I had all the time in the world. I didn’t, Bryan. And love has never darkened my doorstep again…despite all my hopes and prayers. But here’s the thing—I knew while there was still time to make it right, but I was just too damn proud to ask him to try again. And I know in my heart that he would have.”
I know what she’s saying to me—it’s about as subtle as a frying pan to the head. And yet, somehow, I need to hear it.
“You think I should go back to Mayhem.”
“I think you should go back to Hennessy O’Halloran. You need to make her hear you. And when she’s listening— really listening, Bryan—you have to tell her how you feel about her. You have to show her your heart. It’s big and strong and there’s more than enough room for her inside it. But you have to make her hear you.”
“And how do you propose I do that? You don’t know this woman?—”
She shakes her head, and the orange, cotton-candy hair wafts from side to side with the motion.
“I don’t need to know her, because I know you. Do you love her, Bryan?”
I actually gasp at the question. It’s an involuntary response, but an honest one. I can’t say it, so I just nod.
“All right, then. What are you waiting for?” she demands. I swallow hard.
“What…what if she doesn’t want me, Helen?” I ask in a voice barely above a whisper.
Helen considers me for a long moment and then gives me a soft, bittersweet smile.
“She may not, honey. But, believe me, the reward is worth the risk. And if you don’t, you’ll be stuck in this limbo for the rest of your life wondering ‘what if?’ Trust me on this. Do not wait another minute. Go to her. Now.”
I stand up, moved by her call to action. She’s right—I’m done with sitting around and waiting for the next thing to happen to me. Professionally, I’m a go-getter. I don’t flinch from anyone or anything. I take risks all the time without giving them a second thought. I suppose now it’s time to adopt some of that into my personal life.
“All right,” I say slowly. “I’ll do it. But where do I even start?”
Helen jumps up and is talking to me over her shoulder even as she’s moving toward the door and her desk out in the vestibule.
“You start at the beginning. Go home and pack up your parka. I’ll have you in Mayhem before midnight,” she calls back to me.
I take a deep breath and nod to myself. Time to roll the dice with Hennessy O’Halloran again. Only this time, the stakes are much higher than a piece of property. This time, it’s a piece of my soul that hangs in the balance.
…
It’s exactly ten thirty when I pull into the driveway of the O’Halloran home. I tried both the pub and the apartment upstairs with no luck. I considered going to Jameson’s house, but the thought of dealing with Win is more than I can stomach right now. There are a few different cars in the driveway, one of them with a baby seat, so maybe she’s here anyway.
“Who is it?” a gruff voice demands after I ring the bell. “Walker? It’s me. It’s Bryan Truitt.”
There’s a long pause from the other side of the door until finally it opens with a loud creak.
“Why are you here?” she asks suspiciously.
“Walker? Who is it?” I hear Jameson call out from inside the house. So she is here, then.
