Page 115 of Two-Step
And as much as I want to, I can’t take any of these steps for her. She has to do that herself. I just need to be here to help.
I thank whatever force got me here when I did. God. Ramon. Hurricane Addie. All of the above.
Ten more minutes, and she might have left with Jonathan Reynolds. In my gut, I don’t think Iris would have gone forward with Moira’s scheme to project a relationship with her director, but she might have found herself in a situation she couldn’t control, and I don’t think Reynolds would have been someone she’d have confided in.
But she confided in me. That thought warms like good whiskey. She’s trusted me with this, and I don’t want her to regret it.
“Then don’t ghost her, but I don’t think answering is a good idea either,” I say, hoping she’ll hear me out. “Text her and let her know now’s not a good time.”
She eyes me with indecision, but the phone rings out. My first thought is that this buys her a little time, but Moira just calls right back.
Iris shuts her eyes, looking pained. “She’s not going to stop calling.”
The urge to shield her from this has me shifting in my seat, itching to do something.
“Want me to text for you?”
Her eyes spring open. “What would you say?”
“I’d tell her that you both need time to think and you can talk after the storm.”
Iris pinches her lips together, and her eyes fill. “And then what?”
I have a whole score of ideas, but if I tell Iris what I’m thinking, it might scare her off. “That’s up to you.”
A fat tear spills down one cheek. When she speaks, her voice is shaky and raw. “I think I need a new manager.”
Relief empties my lungs, but instead of cheering, I just nod. “Okay. Who would you pick?” I think this is an innocent, logical question, but Iris’s face crumbles.
“I don’t know,” she squeaks and then sniffles. “It’s always been M-Moira. I have no idea where I’d go. I mean, there’s tons of people in L.A., but I don’t know who to trust.”
Iris covers her face and sobs in her hands. I tuck my arm around her shoulders and pull her into me, her cries killing me.
“I’ll help you,” I promise. I have no idea where I’d even start, but I’ll figure it out. “You’re not doing this alone.”
Her damn phone keeps ringing like it's possessed. I reach out and silence the thing.
Iris’s breath goes choppy, and she swipes her knuckles beneath her eyes. “I’m s-sorry I’m so pathetic—”
“Hush,” I gently scold, squeezing her tighter. “You’re incredible.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not. I can’t do anything by myself.” Self-condemnations harden her voice. “I can’t even drive.”
“So? A lot of people don’t drive.”
A shudder passes through her. “I don’t drive. I don’t manage my own money. I don’t even work out by myself.”
“Doing everything by yourself isn’t the universal marker of success,” I say.
Her spine stiffens, and she shoots me an accusing look. “This from the guy who built his ownhouse.”
I manage not to chuckle, but I can’t stop the grin. “You’ve accomplished things most people never will.”
In her eyes, despair replaces accusation. “But no one would respect me or take me seriously if they knew how enabled I am.”
With my free hand, I cup her chin. “I respect you, and I take you seriously.”
She blinks up at me, and the sight of her wet lashes makes my heart split down the middle. She’s vulnerable and trusting, and I’d sell my soul before I let anything hurt her.
