KEPT: A Second Chance Fairy Tale (5 page)

“Let me know if there’s anything we can do for you, and please promise you’ll call if something changes. Okay?”

“I will.” I nod with my answer, knowing she can’t see over the phone. “Thank you, Evie. I’ll stop in and pick up my stuff tomorrow. Take care.”

After setting the phone down beside me, I pull my legs to my chest, wrap my arms around them, and rest my chin on my knees. I let the tears of disappointment stream down as I watch Dillon playing in the sand pit with the other neighborhood kids.

The playground outside our first-floor apartment has certainly seen better days. The other tenants and I dedicate one weekend a month to clean-up. We pull weeds, pick up trash, and sometimes make an attempt to fix the playground’s equipment. This is the only community area the apartment complex has, other than the swimming pool, which hasn’t seen water in years.

Even though I want more for my son, I don’t have anywhere else to go. Living with my mother isn’t an option. I suppose I could call my dad, but moving to Canada and ‘living on the land’, as he says he does, holds no appeal. Dad’s a fisherman, through and through. To this day, I have no idea how he and my mom hooked up, even for a night.

Nope. I have no one. I’m stuck. And now I’m out of a job.

This sucks.

Michael

“S
HE’S COMING BACK FOR THAT,”
Tyler advises from the other end of the bar. He’s sitting at the end stool with various paperwork sprawled out in front of him.

A new bartender I’ve never met unloads beer from boxes, pulling out bottle after bottle, then moving in to rotate the stock.

I’m standing near the front door, holding Lucy Monroe’s driver’s license in my hand. The close-up picture is nothing like how I pictured her once I left last night. I couldn’t forget her face as I drove home to an empty house before having dinner with Ashlie.

I wondered if Lucy was living just as alone as I was. I know, only because I help take care of her without her knowing, that there’s not been a steady man in her life.

I resented the notion of touching her soft skin, not being able to resist the heat of her body next to mine. It was an attraction to a woman I hadn’t expected to feel. Then add the fact that she did it without so much as a single word.

Lifting the license and nodding to it, I inquire, “She forget this last night?”

“Yeah, kinda. Think it fell out of her dress before she left. I found it by the door before closing up. She and that friend of hers were a class-A pain in the ass,” he says through a smile. His humor is lost on me, but he prevails. “It took Jeff
and
Corbin to get them down off the bar. Even as she fought to finish, she was
insisting
they wait until the song was over before putting her ass into a taxi. What woman do you know who
insists
on finishing a bar dance? I’d–”

Not interested in hearing any more about Lucy’s absurd behavior, I cut him off with my only concern. “Did they get her into one?”

Tyler nods, still smiling. “Yeah. Corbin didn’t tell her she wasn’t welcome here, but I got that he made it pretty obvious I didn’t want to deal with her shit again. He said she flipped him off through the back window of the cab as it pulled away.”

Fuck, it’s hard not to smirk picturing that ordeal playing out. If nothing else, it appears Lucy’s got one hell of a lively personality.

“So she knows you have it?” I raise the license in my hand for him to see.

“She called in for it this morning,” he confirms. “She said she’d be in sometime today to pick it up. If not, I talked to Corbin and he said he’d handle it.”

My gut twists with an unfamiliar ache, thinking of ways Corbin may choose to ‘handle it’. The thought of him and her together, for any amount of time and for any reason, shouldn’t piss me off. But after seeing her, it does.

Looking down, I take in the information listed on the front, although most of it I already know. The New York state driver’s license describes her in detail.

Name: Lucy Jade Monroe

Address is listed on the west side. Apartment 1A.

Date of birth: March twenty-eighth

Sex: Female

Eyes: Blue

Hair: Blonde

Height: Five-six

Weight: One hundred and twenty pounds

And she’s an organ donor, which doesn’t come as a surprise. With a dead husband and young son, I imagine Lucy’s lived through enough loss that she wouldn’t want others to suffer the same if she could prevent it.

I’m overthinking.

“Do you know her?” Tyler’s question startles me. He gives a brief nod as to what I’m still holding in my hand. “The way you were watching her last night on your way out, I thought maybe you recognized her.”

I
do
know her and I
was
watching her. Just not in the way I should’ve been.

“No,” I return the lie quickly, setting her license back on the bar and moving in to change the subject. “Hear anything else about the woman who lost her purse?”

“Lost it? She says we
stole
it,” he snaps, visibly upset. “No one here took it, Mike. I swear.”

“I’ll double-check the footage this afternoon. And I’ll see what Corbin found after I left last night.”

“I’d appreciate it. I’m sure clubs are blamed for this shit all the time, but the woman was drunk when she got here. Who the fuck knows where she’d been before.”

“It’ll be fine.”

Tyler points to my briefcase. “What are you doing here this morning anyway?”

“Corbin didn’t finish going through all your invoices,” I advise.

“Am I being audited?” he queries, half-joking, but with a small amount of hesitation.

“That’s the IRS, Tyler,” I return with assurance. “I’m not them.”

“True,” he replies. “But you’re always in a suit. It’s Saturday. Do you ever take time off?”

“Do you?” I push back, sending my focus to the mess in front of him.

“Touché,” he returns with a smile. “Where’s Corbin?”

“He’s supposed to be off this weekend.”

“Again?”

Walking in the direction of the office, I reply, “Yes, again. When I talked to him earlier, he said he may stop in later, though.”

Before I’m out of earshot, I hear Tyler yell out, “Don’t stay too long. Get out and enjoy your weekend.”

His unsolicited advice is appreciated, but not warranted. I can’t enjoy my weekend until all this shit is handled, so I head upstairs to get started.

No sooner am I logged in and set up before my phone chimes with an incoming text.

Ashlie 10:44 a.m.
Thanks for dinner. I’ll call you when I get back. xxoo

Even through dinner with Ashlie, I couldn’t shake the candid images in my mind. Lucy’s movements on the dance floor, her mischievous smile as she fitfully gave Jeff a hard time, and her laughter as she headed up on top of the bar.

I was fascinated
.

Dinner was quiet, but I don’t think Ashlie even took a breath to notice. She talked about her job, how long she’d most likely be gone, as well as the location of the shoot. She was excited about meeting a new photographer and didn’t spare me any details.

When she finally noticed I wasn’t paying much attention, she didn’t prod. I dropped her at her house after dinner, rather than take her back to mine as I normally would. She didn’t question my moody disposition, but I wouldn’t have cared if she did. I just wanted to be alone.

Just as I set the phone down, another text comes through. This time, it’s my little sister, Denise.

Deni 10:52 a.m.
Mom’s making me crazy. When are you coming home to visit?

Our mother, Katherine Ingles, known to most of her friends as Kat, is what I refer to as a modern-day socialite. Although she has a heart of gold, a pocketbook for charity, and an eye for those in need, Denise and I swear she only lives to drive us nuts.

When I was seventeen, my father, Carsen Holden, suffered a fatal heart attack. Denise was only ten. My mom and I did what we could to shield young Deni from the loss, but even the most vibrant ten-year-olds aren’t oblivious to real-life loss. She felt his absence just as we did.

Our father was also a civil lawyer. He was on the fast track to making partner at the firm at which he spent long hours. After he died, Mom professed she’d never marry for love again.

And she didn’t.

She ended up married to a man named Elvin Ingles only two years after Dad passed. Elvin was a self-made millionaire intent on boasting a trophy wife, and my mother fit that mold. Since they divorced four years ago, she’s been living the high life on his dime without an ounce of shame. She loved my dad. He was it for her. To this day, she talks about him as though he’s still alive.

10:58 a.m.
Soon, Deni. How are you feeling? How’s my niece?

My sister is sick.

Although most people are capable of managing their disease and are able to live normal lives, my little sister isn’t so lucky and suffers from severe Type I Diabetes. Because of this, she finds herself in and out of the hospital more than she cares to acknowledge.

Deni’s never been married, but she has a daughter, Grace, who will turn five this fall. Grace is a sweet girl and worships her mother, as a lot of girls her age do.

Her return text is immediate.

Deni 11:00 a.m.
Well, it’s Saturday and Mom said we’re all ‘vegging’. Does she even know what that means? Grace sends hugs and kisses. Come visit soon, Mike. I need a break.

I can’t help but smile at her begging pleas. It’s not fair I left Deni to deal with our mother alone in Chicago, but even before I finished law school, I knew I wanted to live in New York. I like it here. The people are interesting. I’ve always appreciated the noise and chaotic atmosphere.

11:01 a.m.
Enjoy your day of veg with Mom. I’ll see what I can do.

Normally, Saturday mornings at Tryst are quiet. I don’t have Lillie’s constant interruptions or Corbin floating in and out of my office, filling me in on every last detail of his life—legal, sexual, or otherwise. It’s what I consider quiet time, an opportunity to get myself organized before the start of the next week.

Today, though, it’s been one interruption after another.

Lucy

“Dillon, stop playing in the mud or you’re going inside until everything dries!”

I’m screaming like a mother hen while sitting on my porch, watching my son and a few of the other neighborhood kids engrossed in making mud pies. It’s probably too late to slow the mess, but mud can get into some pretty interesting places if kids aren’t careful. Most of the time, they’re not.

“I don’t know what it is about dirt they find so fascinating,” Stella Shields, my neighbor and Dillon’s favorite daycare provider, wonders out loud before taking another drink of her sweet tea.

Stella’s been my neighbor for three years. She’s a tiny African-American woman who can’t weigh more than one hundred pounds soaking wet. When her kids grew up and left her nest, she moved into the apartment right next to mine.

“Dirty or not, I suppose we should enjoy them for as long as we can,” she tells me in a small whisper.

“You still miss your kids, don’t you?”

Nodding, she confirms, “They grow up so fast, Lucy. One day, they’re here, and the next, they’re out living their own lives.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Ah, don’t be.” She brushes off my apology. “I’ve made some good friends who let me spoil their kids. When I’m done, I don’t have to put them to bed, either.”

As I laugh to myself and turn in her direction, I note she’s squinting. I follow her line of sight and see she’s focused on a new, sleek, silver Lexus pulling into my second parking space.

“Now, who on earth do we have here?” she asks, as I wonder the same. “Lord, that car must have cost a small fortune.”

“He’s probably lost,” I return and start to stand.

Stepping out of his car, I note the man in question is tall, broad, and appears well-manicured.

“Think he’s looking for someone?” I ask Stella. She remains seated, her eyes still aimed in his direction.

“Hope it’s me,” she replies seriously. “He’s no Denzel Washington, but he’d do in a pinch.”

Shocked by her words, I open my mouth to say, “You’re crazy!”

Once the man’s head lifts and his gaze reaches mine, he presses forward at a quickening pace. I return to my seat and ready myself for his arrival.

After my shitty day, I irrationally assume Margret sent someone to serve me with a court order. Worse things have happened, so I’ve gotten used to never ruling anything out.

The man coming at us looks downright determined. If I’m right, he has a beautiful smile. It’s hard to tell from one hundred feet away, but as he comes closer, it’s unmistakable.

“I better get going. Seems
you
have a handsome caller,” Stella suggests. “I’ll head inside and wait for Denzel to call.”

Placing my hand on her arm, I stop her. “Wait, please. Don’t leave yet. I don’t know who he is.”

Her jovial expression changes at that. Stella answers with a short nod and looks back at him.

Once he’s only a few steps away, his voice calls out for my attention. “Lucy Monroe?” he inquires. His tone is knowing and a little mischievous.