Ferraro shakes his head, somehow looking both sympathetic and stern. “You fucked up, man. You fucked up real bad. And the only way you're going to be able to make that up to her is by letting her go. Believe me, I speak from experience.”
Ferraro’s words pierce him in the chest. How often had he been told to let her go? Phantom, Han, Kuang…Dawn herself told him the very same thing in the grocery store’s parking lot.
But for some reason, hearing it from Ferraro makes the guilt and remorse he has been holding at bay for so long hit him like a tsunami.
His entire relationship with Dawn flashes before his eyes as the colossal wave of terrible emotions washes over him.
The first moment he saw her dancing at the club…
Their hug in the locker room…
Making love to her for the first time….
Her waking up across from him in the back of the Bentley…
All the times he tried and failed not to show up for their anniversary…
Her waiting for him underneath the falling cherry blossoms…
Her standing before him that morning, her eyes begging him to be trustworthy…
Her giving up on him just a few hours later and running for the taxi as if he truly were a monster she had to escape….
Victor can’t speak, but so many words echo inside his head.
Kuang vowing that Victor will be taught a lesson.
Her father laughing as he tells Victor, “You did my job for me.”
Dawn asking, “Would you want you for your daughter?”
And finally, Ferraro saying, “With the kind of heat you got on you, the best way for this to die down is for you to let her go. You know that right?”
Yes, he does know that. That 24K…he hit her. He punched her. And he would have done worse if Victor hadn’t followed her from a discreet distance.
What if he hadn’t been there? Victor’s stomach rolls with the might have been. It was close. Too close. And if she isn’t willing to be monitored, he won’t be able to protect her.
“Operation Good as New 3.0 was a test. And we both failed it.”
Dawn’s sorrowful words echo in his head as he types out another message on his phone and turns it around to show Ferraro.
Ferraro’s eyes widen with obvious shock.
But then, he resets and says, “Okay, I'll tell Amber to let her know.”
Victor nods and walks back to the Ferraro’s curb for the first time without Dawn in tow.
The car is still idling. Phantom didn’t even bother to cut the engine, most likely guessing that Victor would not get another chance.
And he doesn’t appear at all surprised when Victor climbs back into the car less than ten minutes after leaving.
“No luck?” he asks as Victor pulls on a seatbelt, feeling much sobered now.
Victor doesn’t answer. He just looks down at his phone, reading and rereading the last message he wrote out on his notepad app: Tell her I won’t bother her again. Tell her she's free.
There’s a song playing on the radio as Phantom drives away…a sad duet in which a man and a woman take turns singing about going through a divorce.
He doesn't know the name of the song. And this isn’t a divorce. Dawn and he were never officially married.
Nonetheless, Victor touches Phantom’s arm to get his attention. Then signs, “Turn it off.”
17
HAN
“What are you doing?” Jasmine asks when she walks into the penthouse kitchen. Han can’t see her from his position, searching underneath the sink, but he can tell she’s laughing. She often seems to be laughing at him.
“Trying to find a measuring cup,” he answers.
“Why are you looking underneath the sink?”
“It wasn’t in the glasses cupboard, so now I’m looking everywhere else.” Han isn’t one to compliment himself on his English. Phantom is a native speaker, and Victor knows many languages, including at least three versions of SL.
But Han only got very serious about his studies after a couple of years in the states, so he still preens a little when he manages to pull out words that are difficult to pronounce for Chinese speakers, like “cupboard.”
However, Jasmine doesn’t sound at all impressed with him as she asks, “And why were you looking in the glasses cupboard?”
He comes up on his knees to reply, “Where else would you keep a measuring cup?”
“Oh wow…” Jasmine tilts her head. “What exactly are you trying to make again?”
Guessing that this measuring cup will not be found underneath the sink, Han comes to a full stand, towering over the woman he privately calls his little surfer girl.
She’s actually in her late 20s. But she never puts enough effort into her appearance unless commanded to do so, which makes her seem younger than she is. She looks especially girlish this morning with her hair pulled back in a ponytail and her sun-kissed brown skin glowing from a good night’s rest.