“Have a seat.”
“I never really thought of it as a memoir,” I said as I sat down.
“You don’t need to hide behind anything, Emiline. You’ve got it all here. Have you settled back into work?”
“Yes. Thanks again for letting me take that time off. I really needed it.”
He leaned back in his leather chair and scratched his beard. “Finish this up. Once you’re ready, I can help you make the contacts you need to get this published.”
“Thank you, Professor. Do you really think it’s worthy?”
He answered slowly. “That remains to be seen. For now, just finish it.”
“I can’t thank you enough.” I stood and took the pages from him.
I wasn’t writing a true memoir—more like a roman à clef about a girl who discovers a book about a woman who discovers a book about what could have been, which sounded damn confusing, but it wasn’t. The catch was that I was her. I was all of those people. I was every possibility; I just had to decide how my story would end.
BY THE FOURTH week of rehab, I finally went to visit Trevor in person. It was time. I drove to the New Beginnings Facility by the Beach and waited to be checked in. There was a long hallway that led to the back pool and patio, which sat high on cliffs overlooking La Jolla.
One of the receptionists told me to go ahead and head toward the pool, where Trevor would be waiting, but as soon as I turned around, I saw him walking in my direction. He looked so different. He was thinner but looked strong, and his hair was cropped short. But the best part was that he was smiling his warm, proud Trevor smile. I ran to him. He held his arms out and caught me. I was hesitant about his throwing arm, but he held me so tight to his body that I actually whimpered.
“Oh fuck, I missed you,” he said.
I stepped back and scanned him. “Let me look at you. God, you look amazing, Trevor.”
“Thank you. I feel so much better. Let’s go hang out by the pool. Hey, do you want to stay and watch my therapy session today? It’s pretty cool. I’m using my arm a lot more.”
“Yeah, I would love to.”
He led me outside. We sat in lounge chairs and talked about his recovery and how well he was doing. He said he had talked to his old coach from Cal about an assistant coaching position for the next season, and it looked promising. We watched the ocean, and after a while, my mind wandered to Jase. To my left, there was a couple standing in a gazebo kissing. I realized Trevor and I hadn’t kissed yet.
I glanced over at him. He was smiling and tapping his foot to the soft jazz music they were pumping from the outdoor speakers. “How about you, Emi? How are you doing?”
“I’m good. I started writing again.”
“Oh.” His expression fell. “About what I said on the phone, I didn’t mean it at all. I hope you know that I think you’re a great writer.”
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“Actually, I do—it’s part of the deal here.” He took my hand and looked me in the eye. “I’m sorry.”
I smiled. “I forgive you.” And I did.
“Thank you. It means a lot to me.” He leaned back. “So, have you talked to Jase?”
“I have. We’re friends. We have a strange past with each other, and it’s kind of connected us all these years, but I made a promise to you. And I love you.”
He nodded and then looked down at his feet and frowned. “Do you have the time?” he said quietly.
I looked at my phone. “It’s three.”
“Okay, let’s head over to the gym for my therapy.” We didn’t say much as I followed him down a few long hallways. We entered a large room with weights and pads and several people bustling through, doing their workouts. A tall woman in her late twenties, with long blonde braided hair, came walking toward us. She bounced a little as she walked, and I could tell from her body that she was fit, even in her ill-fitting khaki pants and regulation polo. I looked at her and thought, She is a glass-half-full kind of person. I knew it before she even opened her mouth.
“Emiline, so nice to meet you. I’m Melissa.” She stuck her hand out. “Trevor speaks so highly of you.” We shook hands.
Smiling, I said, “Nice to meet you too.” What I really wanted to say was, Trevor’s never mentioned you, but she was so nice that I couldn’t be rude.
I glanced at Trevor and noticed he hadn’t taken his eyes off of Melissa. He wasn’t ogling her or staring at her breasts; I could just tell that she simply had his attention.
“Come on, we’ll start over here,” she said.
Trevor lifted weights and did mobility and range-of-motion exercises with her. Her hands were on him a lot though throughout the session. He seemed really proud of himself and happy.