Page 15 of One More Chance
I didn’t flinch. He ran a gym, not a confessional.
I kept a polite curve to my lips. “Yeah… Just need to put my focus back where it should’ve been all along. My family.”
Brandon snorted a laugh laced with bitterness and resignation as he slapped the counter. “Ain’t that the truth? My wife’s been on me for months about cutting back hours. Wants me home more. Says the kids barely know what I look like.”
The irony wasn’t lost on me as I glanced him over. He had the build of a man who used to compete and still clung to the title: broad shoulders, thick forearms, and a gut that spoke more of post-workout beers and skipped cardio than discipline. If I had any fucks left to give, I might’ve told him to go home and screw his wife like a man who still believed in vows. But honestly? I didn’t care.
He shoved the cancellation form into a drawer with a thud, then looked up at me and asked, “You want me to give Angie the heads-up?”
I stiffened, my jaw clenching so tight it hurt, but I shook my head and forced the words out. “No. She doesn’t need to know anything about me anymore.”
There was a flicker of recognition in Brandon’s eyes, a brief flash of understanding that didn’t need to be spoken. He nodded slowly, not pushing it. “Alright, man. Take care of yourself.”
I didn’t respond, just turned and walked out, the door closing behind me with finality. The sun slapped me. Too bright. Too clean. It burned against the parts of me still rotting from the inside, but I kept walking.
The next step was mechanical, soulless in a way that made it easier. From the gym parking lot, the one I knew would get closed once the quarantines and shut downs happened, I opened my banking app. Numbers glared back like silent judges:
Joint Checking: $10,136.98
Individual Savings: $604,129.93
Individual Brokerage: $558,427.35
IRA: $742,008.94
Master Builders Inc. Checking: $5,457,814.55
All that money. All that success. Yet, Old Me had still managed to tear his life to pieces like it cost nothing. I knew that sometime this week I would need to add Sloane to all of the accounts I had setup in only my name; an effort for full transparency on how our money was being spent. I needed to ensure she knew that everything I owned - we owned. It was a huge step toward rectifying the financial insecurity I knew she had to feel while working her low paying job.
I moved $50,000 into our joint checking account with practiced fingers. I knew the money didn’t fix anything, but I hoped it could help alleviate any worries she harbored over our finances. Who knows? Maybe she would make a frivolous purchase out of spite.
Hell, I wish my practical Sloane would do something like that for herself.
I sent her a quick text that I moved over some money and she should reserve a room at one of the deluxe hotels with the kids. I saw the brief check that showed she read it as I turned my attention back to theaccounts. I made a mental note to call the accountant since I’d need to pause any major purchases given the market would soon freeze. My brief listening of the radio was enough that to feel the shift in the air after hearing the news about the West.
I flipped over to the talk radio station and let the angry voices spill through the speakers like static.
"Good morning. You're listening to GA92.1 FM, a community radio. We know these are stressful times, and we’ll be here with updates. Here are your headlines…"
The radio droned on, ranting about the election; another cycle of blame and bluster. Abortion had been the deciding wedge this time. Always something to divide us. Always someone to hate.
I turned the volume down, but let it hum in the background as the engine of the truck roared to life. Steading myself, I drove toward my business, toward my responsibility to support my family and those I had working for me.
The office building was a monument to Old Me. Tall. Stark. Polished. It had my company name on the sign: Master Builders Inc. That day, it felt as if I was driving up to someone else’s empire. A man who'd built his business out of bravado and greed. A man who’d left his wife to carry the weight of the world while he played king.
Sloane had helped me name this place. We were sitting on the porch drinking cheap wine while she bounced ideas off her phone. She came up with Master Builders inspired by Liam’s love of Legos. I laughed, kissed her, said it was perfect.
When I pulled in, Jose was already out front, puffing on a cigarette like always. He waved when he saw me, flicking the butt onto the gravel and crushing it under his boot.
“Hey, jefe,” he said as he fell into step beside me. “Got good news. The Kew West deal’s a go. Full green light. The investors want to break ground by next month. Our guys are already packing. Most of ‘em can’t wait to get away from the ol’ ball n' chain.” He laughed, but the sound felt hollow to my ears.
I didn’t answer. I pushed open the office door and walked inside, tossing my phone onto the desk like it weighed a thousand pounds. I reached for my hard hat. Didn’t even put it on. Just stared at it.
Might as well rip the bandage off.
“We’re pulling out of that project,” I said.
Behind me, I heard Jose stop in his tracks. “Come again?”
