KEPT: A Second Chance Fairy Tale (3 page)

“Says the man who’s supposedly the face of Mercer Law,” I counter. “I’m a silent partner, Corbin. You’ve forgotten.”

“I haven’t.”

“You talk to her. Vet her out and see what she thinks. If she’s interested, I’ll meet with her.”

“I’d meet with her myself,” he aimlessly offers, “but Jane hates me.”

“And why is that?”

“Who knows?” he snaps with aggravated innocence. “But we need this. We need movement. Staying stagnant in this economy will drown us. You know it.”

Conceding his point, I finally give in. “I’ll consider it.”

Looking around my desk, Corbin questions, “You’re stayin’ late tonight?”

“I was, but I forgot I have somewhere to be.”

“Ashlie,” he assumes, stating her name in the same tone Lillie had. “Where are you taking the little ice princess tonight?”

Ashlie Paige serves a specific purpose, one of which Lillie and Corbin don’t approve. Our relationship is a matter of convenience, nothing more. On the occasion I need a formal date for a dinner or charity event, or even just quiet company, she makes time for me. However, we have a strict no-strings agreement between us. She doesn’t ask for more, and I sure as fuck don’t encourage it.

“I’m taking her to a late dinner when she gets off work. Would you like to join us?” I offer, knowing he’ll refuse.

“No, thanks, man. Got plans.”

“What are those?”

“Not going to dinner with you and Ashlie Paige is plan enough. I don’t know what you see in her.”

Corbin knows why I choose to spend time with Ashlie, but he also knows I refuse to discuss it.

After my son died, I promised myself I’d never love anyone with that kind of intensity again. I’d never give another person the power to break me to the point that I don’t recognize myself anymore. I learned that losing someone you love has the power to paralyze you in such a way that you’d rather not breathe. The pain you feel isn’t on the surface. It’s deep and unforgiving. It carries the ability to torment you with its inescapable memories and unrelenting regret.

With Corbin still studying me, I explain, “I haven’t found anyone worth my effort, and Ashlie doesn’t ask for anything more than I’m willing to give her.”

Shaking his head in disagreement, he cautions, “You’re going to grow old alone, my friend. When that happens, I’ll make it a point to still be around to say I told you so.”

“I’ll never be alone if I have you,” I joke.

He scoffs. “What’s that tell you?”

“More than I care to admit.” I change the subject as I shut down my laptop and start to gather my things. “You’re here late this evening.”

“I’m headed to Tryst. I’ve gotta take a look at some video footage,” he replies. “A woman from some bachelorette party last night called sayin’ her purse was stolen. Tyler panicked, thinkin’ he needs a lawyer.” He finishes with a laugh.

Tyler is Corbin’s little brother, and also the owner of a club downtown which generally hosts occupants ranging from ages twenty-one to mid-thirties. Corbin and I have a financially vested interest in Tryst, making this a personal and business problem for us both.

“Did the woman make a statement to the police?”

He nods. “She did. Now I get to sort through all the footage and see if the problem started in Ty’s backyard or not.”

“You check out the new bartender?” I smirk. “Maybe she took it.”

I’ll admit, I rarely make jokes, and he takes immediate offense to this one. “Shelby’s my kid brother’s girlfriend, asshole. She didn’t take anything.”

“Right,” I answer, running my hands through my hair. “Want some help?”

“That’d be good. We can grab a drink after, if you want.”

“If there’s time.”

Tapping my desk with the palm of his hand, he turns to leave. “Oh, by the way, we’re still on for Sunday afternoon, right?”

“Sunday?”

“Sunday, Mike,” he stresses. “I had
Warden Lillie
add it to your calendar over a week ago. We’re supposed to play racquetball with the guys from Dean, Marcus, and Associates. We win, we get to use their season tickets to see the Yankees. Two games, our pick.”

Corbin and I are both Chicago Cubs fans. Me, because I grew up there and have always been an avid follower. Corbin, because he hopped on the bandwagon years ago when they had their shit together.

“And if we lose?”

“We pay their annual membership to Teegan’s Golf Club.”

“You agreed to that?”

“I agreed we wouldn’t lose. So we won’t.”

Clenching my jaw, I finish straightening my desk. “Go find out if your little brother’s woman is a purse snatcher. I’ll close up here and be right behind you.”

Before finally leaving me in peace, Corbin reiterates his point. “Give some thought to Jane. This could be an advantageous opportunity for everyone involved.”

“Stop trying to sell me your idea. I haven’t had time to process it. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

“Right,” he replies before closing the door behind him.

Lucy

I
USED TO BELIEVE IN
fairy tales.

At five years old, I spent my afternoons watching the same classic, animated movies again and again. Before falling asleep at night, I prayed to whoever I thought would listen that I’d wake up as Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, or Snow White. I was convinced, even at my young age, that there would only be
one
man put on this earth for me to love. And when the time was right, I just
knew
he’d find me.

And the day I turned eighteen, I thought he had.

“Out with it!” my best friend, Shannan, cries, slamming her shot glass on the table and looking at me with determination. “Something’s going on, and you’re holding out.”

She’s right. I don’t like talking about myself. I hate it almost as much as I hate compliments.

For the last year, Shannan’s and my weekly ritual has been to get dressed up, find one of our favorite crowded pubs, take a seat at the bar, and throw back a shot of tequila for every crappy thing that happened to us during that week. Going out on Friday nights is the one thing I look forward to every week. At the same time, it allows my six-year-old son, Dillon, to stay at home and be babysat by my loving, but very flighty, mother.

“Where should I start?” I ask.

“Work. Let’s cover that first since it’s super boring.”

Shannan sets another shot in front of me, moves her long, dark hair from her shoulders, and smiles as she lifts hers in the air for the first toast.

“Fine,” I reply, doing the same. “They decided to change my hours at the diner, which means I’ll lose daycare for Dillon, since Stella only has energy for him in the mornings.” I down the drink as she does, then suck the lime before continuing. “He just got settled with her watching him. I love my job, but I can’t work the late afternoon or evening shifts.”

“Oh shit, Lucy Loo,” she breathes. “Do you think they’ll really let you go? They love you.”

“Probably,” I confirm. “They’re closing morning hours temporarily until things pick up this winter.”

“Point taken, but easy fix. We’ll find you another one.”

It’s so easy for her.

Shannan Ayers is a single, twenty-three-year-old woman living in her daddy’s guest house. She doesn’t work.

I met her almost two years ago while we were both clubbing downtown with friends. She also happened to be on a blind date, which she decided she didn’t want to be on. Her plan was to dodge his interest by using me as a prop to prove she was a lesbian.

Being that I had already consumed several vodka tonics, I leaned in a little too close to her for his comfort. She noticed right away and used it to her advantage by wrapping her arm around my waist. It took five minutes for her to finally get her point across before he slowly backed away.

We’ve been best friends ever since.

Although Shannan is fun—a blast, really—her responsibility level mirrors that of a new teenager. I’d ask her to watch Dillon so I could keep working where I’m happy but, unfortunately, staying with her would mean he’d be exposed to just as much adolescent behavior as he would with my own crazy mother.

I’m seriously screwed.

Leaning down and placing my forehead gently on the bar, I whine to the floor. “Being an adult sucks.”

Being a working parent trying to raise a little boy alone sucks, too.

I met my husband, Gabe, at a college fraternity party. I knew I had no business being there, but it was my eighteenth birthday and I wanted to celebrate by doing something spontaneous, if not a little ridiculous.

I had been dancing with my friends, and happened to be doing it with a full drink in my hand. When Gabe stepped in close from behind, wrapped his arms around my waist, and I felt his warm breath on the skin of my neck, I jumped with surprise. The liquor in my glass shot out and hit his face like an ocean wave determined to drown a smiling minnow.

Gabe laughed and called me cute.

Three hours later, we found our way to an empty room on the third floor and ended up tangled together under the sheets of a beat-up old bed. His voice was soft and gentle as he coaxed me into having sex, citing it was harmless and convincing me it was all in a night of fun.

Shannan puts down her glass and tries to ease my worry. “Dillon’s six, Lucy. He’s not a baby anymore. He starts school again soon, right?”

Dillon is sweet, thoughtful, and kind to everyone. That’s not how he came into the world, though.

Nine months after meeting Gabe, our one night of fun turned into several endless nights of trying to comfort a screaming infant.

“Yes. This fall,” I agree, then change the subject. “So, what’s next?”

“Yes. Next,” she says, sliding the next shot of tequila in front of me. “What else do you have?”

Tryst is a club we’ve never been to before, and tonight it’s a cesspool of chaos. Normally, Shannan and I would go to Majesty’s, but a few weeks ago, she had a run-in with her ex-boyfriend’s new fiancée.

Needless to say, this run-in pissed her off. Because she caused such a scene, including property damage, we were both asked to leave and never come back. Until that night, I’d never been kicked out of a bar. At the time, I was pissed as hell at her for dragging me into such a mess. Now, though, after a couple shots of tequila, I’m finding what she did kind of funny.

“My mother,” I state, which is met with a smile from her that’s worthy of award. “She’s going to be the death of me, Shan. She’s got a new boyfriend. She met him on the internet.”

“Oh, yeah?” she nudges, her dark brown eyes shining with glee.

“His username is
Sunshine
.”

“Sunshine?” She giggles. “Holy crap, she can pick ‘em.”

“Right? ‘Hi, meet my newest stepdad,
Sunshine.’
”

“Oh God, Lucy. That’s awful,” she says, stating the obvious. “Maybe he’s not so bad, though. Sunshine sounds like a beautiful name.”

“For a woman!”

“Or a cat,” she says, cracking herself up.

I give up.

After we clink the edges of our glasses together, we slam the shots back and get ready the next.

“Last one, then we’re on to you,” I insist.

“What else you got?”

“My monster-in-law.”

“Uh-oh,” she mumbles, looking down and fidgeting with her napkin. “What’d the evil queen do this time?”

It was no secret that Gabe’s mother never approved of our relationship. She thought I’d purposely gotten pregnant to trap her son into a marriage he didn’t want. Before ever trying to get to know me, she had already decided I was nothing more than a thorn in her overbearing, self-promoting, high-class side. The way she talked to me with such disregard in front of Gabe had always hurt the most.

Regardless of her determination to keep me out of her son’s life, Gabe and I were married a few months before Dillon was born. It wasn’t the wedding I’d always dreamed of having, but my son was coming, Gabe was a good man, and as much as we didn’t want to admit it, we both felt we had no other choice.

Gabe was five years older than I was. He was still in law school when we got married. So, not too long after Dillon was born, I realized I would be left to raise him alone. Between our five-year age difference, his ambitions to start his own practice, his mother always meddling in our business, and a newborn baby to settle at home, our brief marriage quickly started falling apart.

Neither of us had any problem communicating our concerns to one another. After talking it through, we both held onto hope that things would eventually turn out okay. And for a little while, it was. Our marriage was finally coming together.

Then he died.

“I got a letter in the mail today. She sent it as some passive-aggressive warning, I just know it. The family counselor is requesting a plan of action for Dillon, or Margret wants to take me to court. She’s considering fighting for custody.”

“
Custody
?” she shoots back, blasting anger. Putting her hand on my arm, she leans in. “Lucy, he’s
your
son.”

“Obviously that’s not what matters,” I return, lifting the shot glass and tossing it back. “She’s told me before when Gabe was alive that he worried about leaving me alone with Dillon.”