Page 81 of Not a Strong Enough Word

“She’s thinking about pulling the book.” I don’t tell him she’s already made her decision. She can do that herself if she really wants to.

“I can’t say I’m surprised.” Casey sounds as if he’s shifting in his chair. “That meeting was intense, and we’re basically telling her she has to do a bunch of stuff she made it very clear she was never going to do again. I’m actually kind of proud of her for sticking to her boundaries.”

“How are you not more worried about this?” I shout as I hit my steering wheel in frustration.

“Whoa,” he says, his tone one of warning. “Isn’t the goal to keep Scarlett here this time? With you? You really want her to have to go through all of that again—”

“It’s temporary,” I interject, though now I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince—him or myself. “It’s a few months of a tour, and once the dust settles, she can renegotiate.”

“But…” He draws the word out. “Why would you want the woman you love to go through that again even for a few months when she doesn’t want to?”

When he puts it that way, it sounds like I’m the asshole now, and I don’t like it. “The world needs her books,” I say adamantly. “And I need her.”

Casey hums. “It’s kind of wild how you don’t even hear yourself.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, flicking on my turn signal and pulling into the left turn lane.

“Wait, are you driving? Didn’t you go to see her?”

“We had a fight. Sort of. I needed a minute to think. I don’t know, man. It’s been a long couple of days.”

“Oh my god,” Casey groans. I can picture him with his elbow on his desk and his head in his hands. “You are a moron.”

“Fuck off,” I say, but there’s no venom behind the words.

“I’m serious,” he insists. “You say you’re so worried about her, but when it comes down to it, you not only don’t think about what this is going to do to her, but you leave her alone—”

“I’ve done nothing but think about her since we met,” I spit out.

“Okay, fine. Maybe you’re too close to it. Back up a minute and look at the big picture.” When he’s only met with my obstinate silence, he prods me again. “Come on. You can do this. You’re an editor. Look at the whole story. Pretend you’re both characters. What is your character doing here? What is his purpose?”

“My—”

“His,” Casey corrects. “Back up.”

I shove out a frustrated sigh. “Fine. His purpose is her and her words. It always has been.”

“Okay. So, is this his big hero moment? Where he tells her she can do it all this time despite multiple protestations and evidence to the contrary? Despite her clearly having trouble keeping herself on this side of depression already? Is he going to have her repeat the past? Is that what our hero would do?”

“No. He’d make sure it was different this time…” I trail off. It’s a weak, tentative response. And it’s wrong. I can feel that.

You can’t fix her.

Casey hums. He’s probably smirking, too. “I think you’re almost there.”

You can’t save her, either.

I swing my steering wheel around and pull into my parking spot, but I leave the car running. The back of my head hits the headrest in defeat. “What do I do?”

“I can’t do that part for you,” he says. “But I think it starts with taking a hard look at what she actually needs versus what you think she needs. Maybe turning off your optimism and realistically thinking about what the past tells you about your future. If this were a book, you’d want it to end realistically, not in some fantasyland where everything works out with sunshine and roses. Start there.”

Using my thumb to rub my ring, I nod. My dad would have known what to do. He always did right by my mom. Always.

I sigh in defeat. “Let me know if you hear about Charles, okay?”

“Will do. And Ryan?”

“Yeah?”