That Ring: Chapter 13

I’m so mad that I don’t sleep the whole way back to KC. And I’m still fuming when I land. One of the pilots offers to drive me to the Mackenzies’ house, but that’s not where I need to go. I need to talk to Danny. I need to tell him what happened and what I said and did. Because I know he will be proud of me.

I call his cell, but he doesn’t answer.

I then realize it’s Sunday, and he probably has a game.

I try calling him again.

Still no answer.

I check the time. It’s seven thirty.

Maybe he’s not awake yet.

I text him.

No reply.

That leaves me no choice but to text Damon and Devaney, hoping one of them is either up or will hear their phone buzz.

Damon immediately replies, telling me his dad is at the stadium.

My mind is too scattered to ask him why he has a game when he hasn’t practiced all week, but I just go with it.

I have to talk to him.

I ask the pilot to take me there, expecting to find the parking lot full of tailgaters. I’m surprised when there are none. “Is there a game today?” I ask.

“Not today. It’s their bye week.”

“Okay then. Why don’t you take me to the players’ parking lot?”

“I’m not sure where that is exactly,” he says.

We drive around the stadium for a bit until I see an area that looks familiar.

“There! I think that’s it.”

The pilot is stopped by a security guard.

“I need to see Danny Diamond right away,” I yell from the other side.

“That’s not possible, miss,” he says. “Unless you have a pass.”

“But I’m Jennifer Edwards,” I say with a pout.

“I know who you are, ma’am, and it’s a pleasure to meet you, but I can’t let you in.”

“Can you let Danny out? Like, can you tell him I’m here?” I beg desperately. “Please. I’ll get you anything you want. Red carpet. Movie premiere. You name it. Please. He doesn’t have his phone with him.”

“No offense, but maybe he just isn’t answering your call. Besides, you look a little, um, disheveled right now. And you’re awfully dressed up.”

“I’m wearing last night’s dress because I left dinner because—” I stop talking, realizing how it will sound if I continue. Everyone thinks Danny is still married. Some crazy girl showing up at the stadium in last night’s dress wouldn’t look good. I decide to use my acting skills instead. “There’s this Dream Wish child. That Danny knows. That I know. And I need to talk to him about it. It’s urgent. Please. I wouldn’t be here in last night’s dress if it wasn’t. I flew straight here from LA in the middle of the night.”

The man squints his eyes at me.

“This is the pilot who flew the plane,” I add, pointing toward the driver. “He was kind enough to bring me here.”

“That true?” the security guard asks.

“Yes, sir,” he says with a straight face.

“Tell you what. I’ll call the workout facility. See if he’s in there.”

“Thank you.”

The man goes into a little booth and shuts the door. He’s talking and gesturing and probably telling Danny that I look like a crazy woman. He hangs up the phone and repeats the process.

Twice.

Finally, he comes out of his little office and says, “Found him. Proceed to the second floor.” He hands the pilot a pass.

The pilot hangs it in his window and then says, “Is it okay if I just drop you off? I need to get home to meet my family for church.”

“Yes, of course,” I say.

He parks, and I thank him profusely, then get out of the car, and walk toward an entrance.

I realize after he’s left that I can’t get inside. The door is locked.

I lean against a concrete column, letting my body slide down it until I end up in a heap on the ground, crying. All the anger I was carrying around that was keeping me pumped up suddenly seems to have left my body. I’m now exhausted. Frustrated.

Sad.

And, honestly, I’m mad at myself for going.

Danny hasn’t called me. He hasn’t texted me. He didn’t ask me how Troy was.

He probably hates me.

He’s probably done with me.

He probably has been since the moment I walked out of the restaurant last night.

I close my eyes and sob into my hands.

A few moments later, I feel someone sit down next to me.

“What are you doing here?” Danny asks. “And why are you crying?”

I look up at him. Try to gauge what his expression might mean.

“I came straight from the airport.”

“Why didn’t you text me last night? Or call?”

“I didn’t want to wake you. And I was … emotional.”

“Jennifer, maybe that’s how you and Troy operated in your relationship, but around here, we care about each other, and when one of us leaves a dinner and their friends offer them their plane and everyone is worried about both them and the situation they are in, it’s customary—polite even—to let the people who love you and helped you know how you’re doing. That you’re not dead on the side of the road or something. Because when you go radio silent, the people who love you get worried and assume the worst. Then, when you do show up, it makes them kind of mad to know that they wasted hours worrying about you. That they finally got up at four in the morning and came to the stadium to work out because they couldn’t sleep. Because they worry that you’re rushing back to your ex means that you care about him more than you say you do. It’s all really inconsiderate.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m not used to checking in—with anyone. I never want to make you worry. I was so pissed off when I left the hospital that I just—”

“That’s exactly the point when you should have called me. So that I could have shared that burden with you.”

“Shared the burden?” I ask, looking into his eyes, the thought of it seeming so foreign.

“Yeah, if we’re going to be a team, that’s what we’ll do. It’s like my offensive line. When I get sacked, it really doesn’t matter who missed the guy that got through. The whole line considers it their fault. They take it personally. An insult to their territory. One of them allowed penetration, which means the whole protection system is at fault. I want to share those burdens with you. I want to support you. But you have to let me. You were texting my children but not me. Why?”

“Because I knew you were mad. And I didn’t know how to explain why I had to go. It wasn’t rational, more like a gut instinct.”

Danny wraps his arms around me. “You should have told me how you felt. If you really do love me, you have to share how you are feeling with me.”

“I must be messed up and not even know it,” I tell him. “I’ve never had someone to share stuff like that with. Maybe a few friends in my past, but it was a long time ago.”

Danny hugs me. Just holds me for a really long time. He gently runs his hand across my hair, and eventually, I feel the stress leave my body, like he’s absorbing it somehow.

“See, I can feel you relaxing already.” He holds me at arm’s length. “Tell me what happened.”

“Obviously, when I left, I believed the situation to be pretty dire based on the news reports. And, before I took off, I called Jason. He told me that he found Troy unresponsive with a suicide note addressed to me on his desk. That his lips were blue. I felt incredibly guilty. Like, if he killed himself because of me—”

“It’s okay,” Danny says. “Keep going.”

“When I got to the hospital, paparazzi were everywhere. I went inside and was sent down to his room. Where—get this—I find him sitting up in bed, playing cards with Jason. And laughing. Freaking laughing! I was so mad! Jason left the room, so we could talk, but I know he could see how pissed I was.”

“And he probably wanted you to talk to Troy alone.”

“Yeah, that, too. As soon as Jason left, Troy told me that he wrote me a suicide note, that he’s never done that before, and that he truly wanted his life to be over. He gave me the note and asked me to read it.”

“What did it say?” Danny whispers.

“No idea. I was so angry that I ripped the damn note up. Told him to do what he wanted to with his life or not. That I wasn’t going to be a part of it anymore.”

“I’m not sure if saying that to someone suicidal is a good thing,” Danny says cautiously.

“I don’t know. I got the feeling he and Jason might have orchestrated the whole thing. The good news though is that when I was leaving, Jason told me that Troy is going straight from the hospital to rehab. All Jason really cares about is that Troy is out in time for the Vegas New Year’s Eve gig. Troy has been his cash cow, and I think he’s afraid of it drying up. Honestly, I have told Troy for years that I don’t think Jason has his best interests in mind anymore and that he should consider finding a new manager, but he disagrees.”

“One, I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself,” Danny says. “Two, I’m sorry they put you through that. And, three, I’m glad you are back home.”

“I promise I’ll call next time,” I tell him.

“I thought there wasn’t going to be a next time?” he says.

“Not with him. I just mean anytime I’m gone. I don’t want you to worry. I’m so sorry I made you worry.”

“I love you, Jennifer. I’m going to worry about you because I care.”

“And I love that about you.”