KEPT: A Second Chance Fairy Tale (4 page)

“That’s a lie!” she cries, garnering the attention of the bartender standing at the register in front of us.

“I don’t know if it is. Gabe worried about everything when it came to Dillon. How much I was feeding him, how much I’d let him sleep. He was never home, so he constantly worried.”

“Men,” she says, focusing now on the very
attentive
bartender, who I also note is a cute blond with green eyes and a nice smile.

“Yeah,” I press on. “So now I get to deal with her next week after I submit this ‘plan’.”

Her face grows tense before asking, “You’re not really doing it, are you? Meeting the counselor, I mean.”

“What choice do I have? Margret’s half-right. I don’t make a lot of money, I struggle with daycare, and now my hours may change or I’ll need another job.”

“Lucy,” she draws out slowly. “Every parent, married or not, has those same issues. You’re a great mom, and anyone can see how much Dillon loves you.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” she needlessly offers.

Sitting in stilted silence, we both gaze into the large mirror hanging behind the bar. The woman next to me is seated beside a man who’s obviously her date. He’s touching her chin and looking down at her with adoration.

“No man is worth putting up with their shit. And they all have shit,” Shannan tells me in a small whisper.

“Most of the time, I don’t even
want
one, but damn if I don’t miss the weight of one on top of me.”

Shannan tries not to, but she loses control and the shot she just threw back comes flying from her mouth. It hits the top of the bar, the glasses, and most likely me, but I don’t look down to notice.

“Lucy Monroe, you’re a dirty bird,” she declares as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, then uses her napkin to clean the rest of her mess. “You’re the only woman I know who can handle a life full of heartache, but still actively fill out applications for more.”

The bartender, now known by his nametag as Tyler, brings her another shot. She accepts and lifts it again in toast. Our glasses clink as we down another.

“Do I want a man? No. Do I need a man? No. But, still, it would be nice to share life’s burdens with someone again, ya know?”

“Maybe?” she questions.

Shannan wouldn’t understand what I’m talking about. Her days are spent getting manicures and highlights, whereas mine are spent struggling to make sure the bills are paid, my son is happy, and my dead husband’s mother doesn’t get a notion to take him away from me.

“It’s stupid. Men complicate things,” I express, and wait for her to correct me. When she doesn’t, I push forward. “Maybe I’ve had my one chance living with contentment and that was it. Maybe I’m not supposed to find someone again. Dillon keeps me busy, and he makes me happy.”

“Lucy,” Shannan draws out. “Gabe’s been gone five years. I didn’t know him, but I highly doubt, as much as you’ve raved about him, he’d want you sitting around, still pining over a future he’s not here to give you.”

“I loved him. I did. But…”

But I’ve grown up.

I no longer believe in fairy tales, and I don’t wait for that one person to come and sweep me off my feet.

Instead, I struggle day in and day out to be the mother my son deserves. And, so far, it’s been enough.

“What?” she questions, eyebrows raised.

The guilt hits my chest like an arrow, piercing through my memories with its effect. “That’s not it,” I try to explain without sounding like an awful widow. “It’s just… I miss him and wish Dillon had more time with Gabe, but I’m not so certain anymore that I actually miss
us.”

“I’m trying to understand,” she voices with uncertainty.

“When he was here, I thought I was happy. I mean, he gave me Dillon. And when he died, I think maybe I romanticized our marriage into something it wasn’t. Maybe I’ve never been truly happy.” I turn to look at her and find her smiling. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

“As a loon,” she answers.

“I sound ridiculous.”

Reaching over and tugging a strand of my long, blonde hair, Shannan smiles, but it’s a sad one I recognize as pity.

“You’re so pretty, Lucy Loo. You could have any man you wanted, and he’d be lucky to have you. I’ve known you for a long time, yet I’ve never seen you so much as go on a first date. How do you know what happy looks like if you’re comparing it to a life you had with a man who’s no longer in it?”

I know she’s right, but the idea of a future with someone I may end up not truly loving nags at me.

“Men are dumb,” I claim, then aim to move off the subject. “What’s on your list?”

Shannan likes to talk about herself. So after laughing hysterically over the drama that is her life, and consuming an additional three shots of tequila, we toast for the last time.

“We’re dancing!” she exclaims while drunkenly grabbing my arm and throwing a few more dollars than needed at a now very amused bartender.

Before walking away with her at my side, I swear I hear him laugh.

Michael

O
NCE I MAKE MY WAY
into the camera room of Tryst, I note Corbin isn’t looking through the previous night’s tapes as he said he’d be doing. Instead, the live feed is scrolling on the small, black and white television, and the sound is turned up. The music is loud, and the crowd is in high gear. But that isn’t where his concentration is focused.

“Mike,” he calls out, hearing me come up from behind him. “Think you may wanna take a look at this.”

Leaning down, I rest one hand on the back of his chair and the other on the desk beside him.

In the monitor, I notice Tyler chatting up a redheaded woman at the end of the bar. She’s leaning in to him with her tight black blouse, which has to be leaving little to his imagination. On the other end of the bar, I see a man in a suit sitting alone, drinking amber liquid from a small glass tumbler.

My eyes move to scan over to the next screen. The dance floor. It’s crowded, and as the music blares, the bodies gyrate to every beat.

“What am I looking for? I don’t see anything.”

“Bottom left. The two women talking to Jeff,” he replies.

My gaze moves to where he motions. I see Jeff, one of Tryst’s bouncers, smiling at those women as though they’re giving him hell and he’s enjoying it. One woman is shorter, wearing a tight black shirt and a lot of jewelry. Her hair appears to be dark in the reflection of the TV. The other woman is a bit taller. She has lighter hair and is wearing much more conservative attire.

“Freeze the shot and pull it in. Get me a closer look,” I demand.

“Is that…” He stops and momentarily turns his surprised expression to mine.

When I don’t respond, he turns back around, fumbles through the dials, and gets me a closer look at the dark blonde-haired woman in view. Once I realize who she is, I stand straight. Instantly, my body grows tense.

“It’s her, isn’t it? That’s Lucy Monroe,” he states, almost as an accusation.

“Fuck,” I hiss, losing all my concentrated composure.

Corbin Mercer, Lillie Miles, and my lawyer, James McCoy, are the only people who know what tragedy ties Lucy and me together. They’ve lectured time and time again that what I’m doing for her is wrong, but the guilt I carry supersedes all their persistent disapproval.

Corbin starts the live feed again and sits back in his chair. “What’s she doing here?”

“No clue,” I reply, as Lucy and her friend head back to the bar. “Probably the same as every other person down there. She’s having fun.”

Turning around to look at me still standing at his side, he asks, “It’s been five years, Mike. Would it kill you to go down there and at least say hi?”

For fuck’s sake, he sounds like Lillie.

“No, it wouldn’t
kill
me,” I snap back, “but it’s not happening. Turn it off.”

Corbin lifts his head toward the ceiling in defeat. He closes his eyes and pleads, “If you’ve ever thought of doing something irrational or spontaneous like you used to, Mike, now’s the time.”

“Turn it off,” I say again before turning around, grabbing my briefcase, and heading for the door.

Without giving me an inch of space to process seeing her here, he disregards my demand. His voice hits the open room with certainty. “Helping her through her loss is one thing, but carrying it on your own shoulders for so long is another. You’ve gotta be gettin’ tired, friend.”

Standing at the door, bracing my hand on the side of its frame, I leave my back to him and insist, “See she gets home okay, Corbin.”

“That’s your solution?”

“Yes, and this is me being spontaneous.”

“God, you’re impossible,” he tells me with an irritated tone. “Victoria’s gone–”

Turning back to him, I cut him off. “Not another word. Just see that Lucy gets home.” I point to the screen just as I watch her step on a stool and make her way on top of the bar. “And do it soon. She’s about to attract a fuck of a lot of attention.”

With my parting shot, I turn and walk away listening the words of advice my friends tried so hard for me to hear.

She deserves to know she’s being taken care of, and by whom.

Are you going to take care of them forever?

Would it kill you to go down there and at least say hi?

Seeing Lucy face to face isn’t a good idea.

I don’t want to know her.

Meeting her in person changes our relationship, and I’m not prepared for the consequences that entails. The arrangement I’ve ensured exists has been working without issue all this time.

However, my internal war is short-lived. After watching Lucy on the screen, and hating to admit my curiosity is piqued, I walk out of the office and straight to the bar.

After I’ve settled against the wall near the exit, I find Lucy and her friend as I just did in the office. They’re standing front and center on top of the bar. They’re also singing as the spotlight shines down.

Although her friend is a pretty girl—beautiful, even—that’s not where my attention is directed.

Beads of sweat frame Lucy’s face, and her hair sticks to her neck and chest. Her skirt is tight, but thankfully long enough that it’s not riding up her thighs, giving the onlookers a show.

Thankfully not giving
me
a show.

Lucy appears as a classic beauty. From what I can see from here, she’s not painted in makeup. Her smile is captivating. I’ll admit, if I continue to stare much longer, her natural allure could become addicting.

The greedy way the men look at her causes my hand to fist at my side. No doubt they’re each thinking exactly what I shouldn’t be. That if she’s beautiful
with
clothes, she must be absolutely stunning without.

Fuck
.

As I lift my body from the wall, I move my eyes to Shelby, Tyler’s girlfriend and Tryst’s most adored female bartender, to find she’s caught me staring. She grins at me first, then turns to Tyler and catches him looking up at Lucy with a smile I hate. Her fist pops his arm quickly, pulling his attention away. When he moves his gaze about the room and finds me standing against the wall, he rolls his eyes in Shelby’s direction first, then to Lucy.

My hand twitches in place, the scar making its ever-present reminder.

Leave her alone.

Walk away and don’t turn back.

Finally, tearing my eyes off her and listening to my gut’s reaction, I do just that.

Lucy

“L
UCY, HONEY, PLEASE BELIEVE ME.
If there was
any
way to avoid this, we would. Mark is convinced we need more help in the afternoon, so we’re closing the morning shift. I’m so sorry.”

Sighing heavily as I feel the swell of tears sting the backs of my eyes, I respond the best I can without losing my courage to give notice. “I understand. I just can’t do it, Evie. I have to look for something else.”

My managers, Evelyn Carter and her husband, Mark, own Carter’s Diner. They’ve done all they can to accommodate my circumstances. I know this, and it hurts because I love my job. Next month marks my three-year anniversary. The customers and the employees are great, the tips are good, and the hours and location are ideal. But I can’t spend every evening away from Dillon, especially once school starts. I’ll exhaust every effort to avoid that.