The One You Can't Forget by Roni Loren
Daphne wet her lips, and her throat worked.
Rebecca cocked a brow in a way that she hoped conveyed, Yes, all those dirty details you’re replaying in your head right now? They will be exposed in court. And no one is going to side with you after that because no one likes a cheater.
She had watched the incriminating video at Anthony’s side since he’d wanted to see the whole thing but didn’t want to do it alone. Daphne had forgotten about the security cameras her husband had installed outside by their pool, and she’d put on quite an X-rated show with the contractor one night when Anthony had been out of town. The explicitness of the video had made Rebecca feel equal parts uncomfortable and fascinated. She’d definitely never had that kind of intense sex. She’d never had the urge to literally rip someone’s clothes off to get to them. Frankly, she hadn’t realized people actually did that outside of movies. She couldn’t fathom being that…feral with anyone.
But seeing it had made Anthony vomit, and that was when Rebecca had understood the real story.
The man had truly loved his wife, and his world had just been ripped in half. He’d thought he was in one kind of movie and had ended up in another. He wasn’t the hero. He was the fool. He’d wound up in the wrong third of the statistics.
So Rebecca had no qualms about taking Daphne down. Cheaters deserved what they got. And, too bad for Daphne, they were Rebecca’s specialty.
“You’re trying to scare me,” Daphne said finally.
Rebecca leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, relishing that calm, cool control that filled her veins in these moments. “I’m simply stating the facts, Mrs. Ames. Ask your lawyer if he thinks I’m exaggerating. If we go to court, you will be deemed at fault and the settlement will most definitely reflect that.”
Raul folded his hands and rested them on the table, his own poker face in place. “We’re prepared to go to court if necessary. My client will not bend on the house.”
“Mr. Ames, what would it take to compromise on the house?” the mediator asked. “If there’s nothing, then we should just move this to court.”
Anthony settled back in his chair, arms crossed casually, expression smugly confident. Rebecca wanted to cheer. The game had finally clicked for him. He was playing his part. He shrugged. “Sounds like I’d be better off going to court. That way I’ll get the house, the ridiculous dolls, the better car, and my dog. You’ll end up back home with your parents. You can call Eric and have him remodel your parents’ crappy seventies ranch to make your room real nice.”
Daphne’s jaw flexed, and Raul put a hand on her wrist as if sensing what was about to happen, but it was too late. She was already talking. “Fine. Take the stupid dog! I know that’s what you’re after. He’s a filthy, dumb waste of space anyway.”
Prince Hairy lifted his head beneath the table and whimpered, as if he recognized the description and took offense.
Daphne waved a dismissive hand. “Take him and whatever else of your junk you want. Just give me the house, my furniture, and my car. Then, you never have to see me again. I’m done with this crap.”
Rebecca gave a Mona Lisa smile.
Anthony’s chair squeaked as he sat forward, victory all over his face. “You’ve got a deal.”
Raul closed his eyes and shook his head.
But the mediator pressed her hands together in a silent clap. “Fantastic. Well done. I’m so glad you two could make this work. The agreement will be drafted up, and we’ll be finished with all of this.”
Another love story ended with a signature on a dotted line.
Daphne grabbed her purse and stood, her chair rolling behind her and banging against the wall. “You’re such a smug asshole, thinking you’re so much better than me. If you wouldn’t have treated me—”
“That’s enough, Mrs. Ames,” Rebecca said. “You’ve said your piece.”
Her attention swung Rebecca’s way. “And I don’t care that you’re some famous survivor or whatever. You’re a stuck-up, know-it-all bitch!”
“Daphne…” Raul warned.
But Rebecca held on to her polite smile, the words rolling off her like water on a windshield. Let Daphne have her tantrum. People had all kinds of preconceived notions about Rebecca when they figured out she was the Rebecca Lindt who’d survived the Long Acre High School prom shooting—that crying redheaded girl who was rolled out bleeding on a stretcher on the nightly news twelve years ago. These notions often involved shining light and singing angels, or that she had some secret sauce recipe on how to live a meaningful life. But she had news for them. Surviving a tragedy didn’t make you magical. It made you tough. Not special. Just lucky. “Have a nice day, Mrs. Ames.”
Daphne made a disgusted noise and flounced out the door without a goodbye. Her “emotional companion” didn’t even lift his head. Raul gave Rebecca a vaguely apologetic look. “Sorry about that. She’s just…processing all this.”
Rebecca smirked. “That’s one term for it. But no worries, I’ve been called worse. Probably by you on some days.”
He chuckled as he slipped his things into his briefcase. “Only when I lose. And only respectfully.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t feel any malice toward Raul. She called him a smarmy bastard on the regular. Rebecca lifted her hand in thanks to the mediator as the woman escaped the room and probably headed to the nearest bar.
“I heard your dad’s running for state senate,” Raul said as Rebecca walked him to the door. “You gonna take his place when he’s elected?”
Rebecca shrugged. “Who knows? I’ve got to earn my way to partner here like anyone else, so it’s not up to me. But my last name’s already on the building, so it’d be economical not to have to change it.”
He laughed. “Right? You’d be doing them a favor. But I bet you have it in the bag anyway, no nepotism needed. Tell your dad I said good luck with the election.”
“Thanks, will do. Have a good weekend.”
They shook hands, and Raul followed the mediator out.
When Rebecca closed the door and turned around to face her client, Anthony pushed his chair back, let out a whoop of victory, and patted his thigh. “Come here, boy.”
The dog scrambled to his feet and leapt into Anthony’s lap with glee. The giant poodle was way too big to be a lapdog, but Anthony didn’t seem to mind. He buried his face in the dog’s copper-colored fur, which really did look like the color of Prince Harry’s hair, and let go a litany of mushy endearments.
Prince licked his owner’s face and made happy, huffing dog noises. Rebecca crossed her arms and shook her head as she stepped closer, amused. “I could’ve won you a lot more money and the house.”
Anthony looked up, absently rubbing the dog’s neck. “I know.”
“But the dog is worth it?”
“Of course he is. Look at him.” Anthony cupped Prince’s snout.
Rebecca eyed the ball of fur skeptically. “Well, if you’re happy, I’m happy.”
“Well, ‘happy’ isn’t the word, but relieved,” Anthony said. “Going to court would be too hard.” He looked down at the dog as if eye contact with Rebecca was too much. “Every time I look at Daph, even with all the anger, I can’t help but see the girl I fell in love with.”
Rebecca tilted her head. “Even when she’s calling you an asshole?”
“Yeah. I know that version of her I loved is not in there anymore, but I can still remember that feeling of when we first got together, that high. Love ends, but it leaves… I don’t know, imprints on you. Like the person I used to be still loves the person she used to be. I don’t want to have to see her in court and drag this out. I can’t watch that video again. It’d feel like having my guts ripped out fresh all over again. Like I’ve failed at something I thought couldn’t fail.”
Rebecca frowned. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too.” He le
A moment she could change? Rebecca tucked her hair behind her ears, her ribs cinching tight and her composure trying to falter. “No amount of wondering can change the past.”
Prince jumped from Anthony’s lap and settled at his feet, obviously exhausted by divorce mediation and philosophical conversation. Anthony absently brushed the dog hair from his slacks. “I know, and they say we shouldn’t want to change anything. The butterfly effect and fading photos in Back to the Future and all that. But would you change one moment if you could?”
Even though she tried to stop it, memories flashed through Rebecca’s mind like a gory movie. Thoughtless words. A boy seething with something sharp and dangerous. Because of her. Blood. Screams. The sound of gunshots. She swallowed past the dryness in her throat and ignored the phantom pain in her leg. “In a heartbeat.”
Anthony nodded solemnly like he was a comrade-in-arms. “Me too. I’d walk right by Daphne and let the rain soak her to the bone.”
Rebecca smoothed the wrinkles in her pants, trying to re-center herself, to push away the ugliness. “If you’d passed her by, maybe you wouldn’t have Prince.”
Anthony’s staid face broke into a slow smile. “You’re right. And he’s the best.”
“He better be,” she said with a tight laugh.
He rubbed the dog’s head. “To be honest, this is all I need. I’d rather be broke than go home to an empty house. The past week that Prince has stayed with Daphne has been rough. There’s nothing more depressing than knowing no one is waiting for you at home. That no one cares if you show up or not.”
The words pinged through Rebecca, hitting places she’d rather not examine. She forced a smile. “Right.” She stepped over to pet the dog, who immediately buried his nose between her legs. She took a big step back. “Well, I think this guy will definitely be happy to see you at the end of the day.”
“Yes. I don’t like to brag, but I am his favorite crotch.”
Rebecca chuckled. “High honor.”
“Indeed.” Anthony tapped Prince to get him to his feet and stood to shake Rebecca’s hand. “Thanks for everything. I won’t say it’s been fun, but at least it was quick.”
Sounds like most of the dates I’ve had in my life.
“You’re welcome. Sorry we had to meet under these circumstances,” she said and then walked Anthony out. Those were her standard parting words, but she meant them. People hoped to never need someone like her, and she found it a little depressing to know that this seemingly decent guy who’d loved his wife had ended up here, too.
But it was a story she saw every day. Anthony had bought into the infatuation model that was sold to everyone as “true love.” Trust that rush of endorphins and attraction at the beginning, and all will be okay. It won’t matter that the person is a completely impractical and incompatible choice. Believe the feelings. There’s magic at work.
But feelings lied, and magic wasn’t real.
Rebecca had spent her high school years as a hopeless romantic, in love with her best friend, thinking they were fated to be together, believing she was one of those special girls who’d get her happy ending. She’d even written a time capsule letter with her friends senior year, painting her perfect movie-like romance that she was going to have with her crush. She was going to be Sally to his Harry, Joey to his Pacey, Rachel to his Ross. Turns out she was Duckie. Or Dawson. Or worse, the geek with an underwear fetish from Sixteen Candles. Finn, the guy she’d hung all her hope on, had been in love with someone else the whole time. Still was.
She’d closed that chapter and wished him well, but she hadn’t forgotten the lesson. She also got a refresher every day at work. Love wasn’t just a risk. It was a bad bet. If she had to argue the case for it in court, the evidence would be stacked so high against it that she wouldn’t have a shot at winning. A lasting, loving marriage was a unicorn. And the person who loved the deepest in a relationship—the romantic, the idealist—was the one whose guts got ripped out in the end. No, thanks.
Rebecca paused in the hallway after Anthony left and looked at the clock, which was ticking closer to six. She considered calling it a day, but Anthony’s words about going home to an empty house were pulsing at the back of her brain like a bad headache. Maybe she should go out tonight. Have a drink at a bar. Maybe call one of her friends to go with her. Shake off that antsy feeling his words had stirred up.
She headed back to her office to give her email one last check and to make sure she had everything buttoned up before she called anyone. The most recent email was flagged and in bold to mark it as urgent. All emails from her dad were urgent. She clicked to open it.
Rebecca,
The firm’s charity fund hasn’t been assigned for this fiscal year. I’m putting you in charge of it. Choose a charity by the end of next week that will match up well with my campaign platform. Something everyone can get behind. Nothing animal-related. Nothing controversial. Needs to be people and community focused. We did the Long Acre Fund last year, so we can’t do that again. Bethany can get you on the account once you’ve selected something.
Best,
W. L.
His initials, not Dad, because at work they were not father and daughter.
Rebecca groaned. She didn’t mind helping her dad, but the last thing she needed was another project on her plate, especially something that was all about the PR and not the actual charity. There was no pushing back on this kind of stuff, though. Lawyers who wanted to be partners took on extra things. And the daughter of William Lindt did not complain about added responsibility. She’d been taught that early on.
With a sigh, she got up and poured herself a cup of coffee and let go of any plans to go out tonight. If she had to make time to research charities next week, she needed to wrap up all her normal work tonight or it’d be hanging over her all weekend.
She started by making notes in the Ames file. Twice she caught her eyes drifting to the screenshots from the videos. She couldn’t see much of Daphne besides the rapt look on her face, but the tense, flexing muscles of the mostly naked contractor were hard to look away from. Rebecca usually found herself more attracted to men in suits, men who had a certain amount of polish, but maybe there was something to be said for a guy who was a little rougher around the edges and worked with his hands.
Love was a bad bet, but sex with a hot guy… That didn’t sound so bad.
She rolled her eyes at her R-rated thoughts and forced herself to finish her work. Before long, the sunset cast swaths of burnt-orange light over her desk, reminding her that she should be getting home.
To her empty apartment.
Where no one was waiting.
And no one would be getting naked with her.
She grunted and leaned back in her chair, rubbing the bridge of her nose. What was with her tonight? She couldn’t let Anthony’s words or these photos get to her.
She lived a busy life, was good at her job, had friends. She was comfortable being alone. If she felt pent-up sexual frustration sometimes, she knew how to handle things on her own. Frankly, taking care of things solo was more satisfying than the few awkward encounters with men she’d had along the way, and it saved her from having to explain the ugly, pitted scars on her leg—always a fun conversation. Her life worked.
Anthony hadn’t wanted to be alone, and look where that had landed him—in a messy divorce, crying over his dog. She wanted no part of that kind of drama.
With renewed resolve, she closed the file she’d been working on and shut everything down. This had been a good week. She’d won two cases. She’d gotten a few things in place for her father’s campaign. She deserved to b
A new plan formed quickly in her head. She’d pick up her favorite wine from the store down the street, get takeout and dessert from that fancy Italian restaurant that had just opened, and rent a new movie with a pretty guy to look at.
She wasn’t craving a date. She was just craving a break and a little indulgence. She didn’t need anyone else to give her that. She could handle it on her own.
She’d been doing it all her life.
Why stop now?
chapter
TWO
Wes Garrett peeked through the crack in the door to the apartment inside, eyeing the small group of women laughing and drinking champagne. One was wearing a party hat with a big light-up dick on it. He shut the door and leaned against the wall in the hallway. “I can’t believe I’m considering this.”
Suzie grinned wickedly at him, her lip ring glinting in the hallway light. “Don’t be such a prude, Garrett. What happened to that wild, try-anything-once guy I used to know?”
His jaw clenched. “Are you really asking me that?”
She waved a dismissive hand. “You know that’s not what I mean. I don’t want post-apocalyptic you. That sucked.”
“Ya think?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m talking about the you before everything went to shit. You’ve swung too far in the other direction.” She shrugged. “Walking the straight and narrow doesn’t mean not having any fun or, you know, a sense of humor.”
“Suze…”
“This is a good gig.” She pinned him with her gaze. “Three hundred bucks for two hours of your time. All you’re going to be doing is teaching drunk chicks how to cook simple things. You teach cooking every day. This is no different.”
He gave her a droll look. “I teach cooking to teenagers. I get to wear my chef’s whites. I don’t have to cook naked.”