I glance at Allison’s post again and silently answer her question about what makes me thankful. I’m thankful Dash and I found our way back to each other after last night. I’m thankful for the opportunity to know him, even if it’s only for a few months. My phone buzzes with a text and I glance down to read my mother’s message: I’m fabulous honey. How are you? And how is Dash? :)
I smile and silently add to my prior proclamation: I’m thankful my mom is alive and well.
I must have said it out loud because Dash looks up. “Me, too, baby. Me, too.”
Never in my life, have I had anyone to share my fears and joys with, and my heart squeezes with the realization that right now, I do. “I didn’t mean to say it out loud. You were on a roll. I didn’t want to break that.”
He stretches. “I actually banged out a fast chapter.” He sips his coffee. “But I’m going back in. You okay?”
“Yes. My mom just texted me and asked about you. I think she’s obsessed with the idea of us.”
“Good.” He winks. “So am I.” His attention returns to his MacBook, and mine returns to a photo of Allison in workout gear, holding her kitty that reads: Mandy is a slave driver. I ran three miles today because she told me I was being lazy. I reminded her she sleeps all day. She snubbed her nose in the air. My reward for my run: I get to rub her head.
I smile at the silliness and decide two things: I like Allison and I want a cat. I wonder how Dash feels about cats?
The next post is of a man’s suit-clad arm, his strong hand holding a whiskey glass. He’s wearing a Rolex, and a titanium pinky ring that feels familiar but I can’t say why. I don’t remember Tyler wearing one. Maybe it’s the “other” man? The post reads: Seduce me, drive me wild. Make me feel like I’m beautiful. A powerful, confident man has always been sexy to me, a seduction in his very existence. But when we’re too wrapped up in someone else’s power, we can’t find our own. I’ve learned I need my own. I’m taking my own. Own your power. I am mine. Don’t let someone else own it or you.
The post hits home all over again, and in a big way. It’s almost as if Allison is talking to me and I wonder how many of her followers feel the same? In my case, I know why I connect with her words. It’s really kind of right there in my face. I allowed a man to own me and I don’t even remember how I let it happen. I’d thought it was about the wealthy, powerful man I’d chosen to entangle myself with, but I’d been wrong. Dash is far more wealthy, famous, successful, and yes, powerful. It’s not about what someone has, but the character of that person.
Lesson learned.
Don’t judge all by one. Well, two. My ex and my father.
I shove aside my personal baggage. It’s not me I’m worried about now. It’s Allison and I’m trying to process what her posts have told me. She’s not from Nashville. She was burned and hints at feeling powerless, but now she’s owning her power. Is that why she left? Or is that why someone made her disappear?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Hungry for more information about Allison, I begin scanning her Instagram again, and my attention lands on an entry dated September first, almost two months ago. The post is another beautiful photo of Allison and her kitty, but what I’m hungry for are her words, and the look they give me into her life. I start reading, moving from one post to the next, always eager for what I’ll discover. One particular entry catches my attention, the photo includes a man in a suit with his head cut off, almost as if Allison is intentionally hiding his identity, which of course, she is. Her words to accompany it read: “I’ve never” is how I start every sentence that involves him. I’ve never known a man quite as striking as he. I’ve never known a man who walks into the room and my heart races, butterflies fluttering in my belly. Without him, I am lost. With him, I am found. And yet, he stands alone.
I read the passage over and over again, coming to the conclusion that Allison and I differ, at least for now, in one way. She was in love with a man who rejected her. And I fear that I am falling in love, with a man who is pulling me close now, but will soon do the same to me. I stare at the photo, trying to see the man in the photo as the man I believe him to be: Tyler. It’s impossible to know though, but everything inside me screams his name. I saw the pain in his expression over the necklace gifted by another man. I saw sadness. I saw regret.