Six Months Later

Denver, CO

The music pounds in my ear as I force myself up one more aisle of steps at Coors Field. This song always gets me trying a little harder. I hop the long step, then take a stride and pump my legs to go up two steps at once. I can’t do this very long, I’m still no Ford when it comes to running stadiums, but I almost make it to the top before I have to slow down and then finally stop.

I look for Ford, but he’s doing the lower sections today. Just a blur of a black shirt running much harder than me up his current set of steps. I jog in place until the song winds down and realize I’ve used up all my energy. So I stop and enjoy the view. This is why I come to the upper section these days.

The view. These mountains are gorgeous and I never get tired of looking at them. I’m off to the far right of first base. I’m not a baseball person, so I have no idea what that area on the field is called. Right field? I dunno. I’m not on the field anyway, I’m up in the stands, so it hardly matters.

The only thing that matters is that I can see the mountains and the way the reflected sunrise from the east lights them up all pink. Sometimes when Ronin and I are up there for the weekend or just for a ride, I have to pinch myself, that’s how pretty it is.

Colorado changes once September arrives. One minute you’re grilling outside and the nights are pleasant, the next it’s freezing-ass cold. Well, fifties and sometimes forties, anyway. Too cold to hang out at night in shorts anymore.

But the new crisp air feels spectacular on my sweaty skin right now. In fact, I get a little chill because I’m starting to cool down. I enjoy the relative quiet for a few minutes. The traffic down below is pretty loud, but it’s tempered by the ever-constant wind whistling across my ears. Colorado should be nicknamed the Wind State because it’s a regular thing.

Life is so weird. I still can’t get over how much things have changed for me since I stepped off that bus six months ago. I have a lot of money. Well, maybe not a lot compared to Ronin, but to me, a million dollars is too much to even comprehend. STURGIS will pay out at just under six hundred and fifty thousand dollars, plus the fifty grand I had from TRAGIC, plus the money the guys took from Jon when they set him up. I’ve got over a million, actually.

And I’ve bought nothing since before the STURGIS contract started besides food and gas and stuff like that. Not one thing. Not one article of clothing—I have way more clothes than I need. Not a stick of furniture—Ronin purchased all my furniture. Not even a car. Although this is gonna change very soon. I’m just too content to think about spending right now. I’ve never been a shopper and money has not changed that in me.

“Why did you stop?” Ford has made his way across the stadium and into the upper level while I was daydreaming. He’s even carrying burritos and drinks.

“I’m done. Besides, I wanted to enjoy the view. It’s our last time here, Ford.”

He smiles. He does that a lot these days. And not just at me. I’m not one hundred percent sure if this is normal, but I’m guessing not. September has rolled in and everyone in my new little family is suddenly a lot happier.

Elise is pregnant, so she’s one of those glowing moms-to-be. She’s tiny everywhere but her stomach where she’s just getting her fourth-month baby bump. No wonder she was so crazy all summer worrying about Clare. She was just as surprised as the rest of us when she did the pregnancy test the day we came back from Sturgis. Good thing Elise is not a partier or she’d probably be insane with worry because her mothering instinct is already kicking in. Antoine is beside himself with pride. He even asked her to marry him but she said, and I quote, “After twelve years I refuse to accept your proposal knocked-the-fuck-up.”

He’s still working on her, but she hasn’t taken his ring.

Ronin is happy too. He’s in charge of the GIDGET contract, which is not erotic modeling. Well, not really. It’s a retro pin-up catalog shoot for a new lingerie company. They aren’t really new, they’re some subsidiary of another huge lingerie company, hence the cash flow for this kick-off.

Spencer is back up in Fort Collins doing his thing. But I’ll see him tomorrow when Ronin moves me up to the shop for filming of the first season of Shrike Bikes for the Biker Channel.

Ronin and I talked about this decision ad nauseam after Sturgis. I won’t go into the boring details, but he was managing the GIDGET contract so it was only fair that I got to do the show with Spencer because they start at the same time. It’s perfect really. Our last flirt with this crazy world of modeling, then on to vague new things.

We haven’t gotten that far yet, so I’m not sure what that means other than not what we’re doing now.

“Here,” Ford says, handing me a water and my partially unwrapped burrito. I take it and dig in. “We’ll find something to take its place when we get up north. Don’t worry.”

“Hmm,” I say with my mouth full. “I don’t see what, Ford. That place is in the middle of nowhere. And winter is coming.”

He smiles at the film reference. “Snowshoeing. Cross-country skiing. Extreme croquet.”

I spit out some eggs as I laugh. “What. The. Fuck. Is. That?”

“It’s croquet, but not.” He sighs. “It’s all relative, I guess.”

“Sounds like my kind of game, actually. It’s for stoners, isn’t it? Like Frisbee?”

Ford laughs. “Maybe. We can skip the extreme croquet then. I’ll figure something out. How’s school coming?”

School. I’m in school. Sometimes I have to pinch myself, that’s how excited this makes me. Ford, ever the stealthy hacker genius that he is, rigged my mandatory placement test for the community college up in FoCo and got me registered for fall semester. It’s all online, so it’s not really life-changing like if I was living on campus at Colorado State, which is the big FoCo university, but I’m stoked. I’m taking basic shit. English composition, History of Western Civ, biology, and pre-algebra.

Yes, I’m a total math loser, but what can you do? One baby step at a time.

“How’s math, in particular?” Ford asks, like he’s reading my mind. “I know you hated that I put you in a non-credit class, but it was the right decision, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” I reluctantly admit. “I’m barely keeping up to be honest. It’s confusing for me. I’m not a math girl.”

“Well, luckily you need very little of it for film school, so don’t dwell. Just do your best.”

Ford is very supportive of my academic pursuits. Very supportive. It makes me wonder sometimes. It’s not like Ronin isn’t supportive, he is. He wants me to follow my dream. But Ford is supportive in a different way. Like he’s invested in it or something. Like his success is dependent on mine. And that gets me thinking back to what he said a few months ago. About how patient he is. About him giving me the tools I need to fix my life, so I’ll stop looking for Ronin to do that for me. He wants me to be strong all on my own. Not need anyone.

I like that about Ford. It’s like he trusts me. Like he’s got faith in me.

It makes me have faith in myself.

“How come you don’t have a girlfriend, Ford?”

“What makes you think I don’t?”

“Oh,” I reply, embarrassed. “Do you?”

He looks away. “I have… women.” He looks back, smiling. “But they’re not girlfriends.”

I’m not even sure what to say to that, so of course I choose something totally inappropriate. “Are they… whores?”

He laughs. “No comment.” And then he takes a big bite of his burrito and shuts that conversation down.

“Clare’s coming home tomorrow.” I’m not sure why I fill in the silence with that tidbit of information—

“You’re nervous about meeting her.”