Page 113 of Hard Wired

“Okay, then I won’t. So, what’s the advice you need?”

“Can I turn this into a more permanent gig, do you think? Former bad guy consulting with the good guys? I’m short on career options. No degree, and my past employment references have limited usefulness.”

Max knew all about the private side of security and investigative work. Dominic had figured the man would have some ideas. But he had to do something because he couldn’t keep mooching off his brothers. Warren was making license plates or some shit in prison, and Raymond was a college student for god’s sake, though he did get some money through the WITSEC program.

The government had seized most everything else, except the house in West Oaks. But they’d sold that property to fund their dad’s long-term care in a home for people with dementia, and Dominic donated the extra proceeds to a charity for crime victims. None of them spoke to their mother.

Maureen was a little like a mother to him, and she’d offered to help from her meager savings. But aside from the occasional home-cooked meal, he couldn’t accept. Even he wasn’t that contemptible.

“There are opportunities like that, sure. But is that really what you want to do? I get that you’re starting from scratch, but that also means you could do pretty much anything. Why not pick a job that suits you, and not who you used to be?”

“Who else would want anything I could offer? My past is all I have.” Sad as that was.

“I could be wrong, but from the things you’ve told me—and things Sylvie has mentioned—I would’ve thought you’d be trying for something different.”

Suddenly, it didn’t seem like they were just talking about career options. “I did want that. I do. But it doesn’t seem possible for…someone like me.”

“Here’s some real advice. It’s the best I’ve got, and it comes from experience. If you want someone else to believe you deserve a second chance, then you’ve got to forgive yourself first.”

Can I do that? How would he even know if it happened? What would it feel like?

“If I figure out how to do that, do you think someone else might forgive me, too?”

“I can’t tell you that. Probably depends on what you need her to forgive. But if she cares about you, and you earn it, she will.”

“Is that something else you’ve learned from experience?”

The corner of Max’s mouth ticked up. “I’m going to ask Lana to marry me. I…don’t even know why I just told you that.” He exhaled. “I’ve been stressing about it. See? Not all of my shit is together.”

“Stressing because you don’t think she’ll say yes?”

“Not really. It’s because I worry I won’t be enough. It’s not about any single thing I’ve done to prove myself. It’s being enough every day.” Max shrugged. “But she’s worth it.”

Dominic was happy for them. But if a successful guy like Max still doubted himself, Dominic didn’t know what hope he had.

They finished their beers, chatting about less serious topics. The weather, the Dodgers’ current record. When Max left, Dominic saw a note the man had left behind on the back of his bar receipt.

Sylvie’s cell, it said, along with a number.

* * *

That night,Dominic stared at the contact he’d programmed into his phone. He wanted to write to Sylvie more than anything. But he didn’t know if he should.

The last time they’d seen one another, at the police station, he’d been reeling from everything they’d been through. Watching so many people die and knowing that, because of him, Sylvie had blood on her hands.

Yet that day, he’d also felt like he was seeing things clearly for the first time in a while. He’d been a fool to think he and Sylvie could have a future together. He could hardly take care of himself, so how could he have taken care of anyone else?

You have to forgive yourself first, Max had said.

Dominic didn’t hate himself. He just hadn’t seen how he’d get beyond the limitations of his past.

But he’d been making progress in the last few months. Digging himself out of the hole he’d made. Maureen had been teaching him some basic cooking skills. His apartment only had a hot plate, but he could make pasta and scrambled eggs. He’d liked going to the local government offices in the mornings and grocery shopping at night, which wasn’t glamorous but made for a routine.

Nic Anderson had a simple existence, but at least he was doing something to make the world a little better.

After four months of surviving, he didn’t feel quite so much like a shell of a person. It was getting easier to sleep through the night. He thought of himself as Nic, and that was how he introduced himself whenever he met people now. He was still Dominic, too—but the sharp edges had worn off the old memories. Thoughts of his brothers, and even his flakey former friends, made him smile. The darker spots in his past just made him sad instead of debilitating him with guilt.

So maybe he had forgiven himself, at least part way, and just hadn’t acknowledged it yet. And didn’t know what to do with it.

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