Too Goode to be True (Love Hashtagged #2) (12 page)

“Dad, you’re out of milk
again.
” Drea drummed her fingers on the breakfast bartop.

“I know, hon. I’m sorry. Give me a minute.” He only kept it in the house for her and hadn’t expected her. He should have, but he didn’t figure Emily would do this so soon after yesterday’s decision. He stared at his phone, willing it to ring. An indicator from Emily of her plans. A call from Gwen.

No. He didn’t want the latter. He hadn’t meant to overreact the other day, but they were right to break things off. The entire relationship was based on a lie that had only gotten them in trouble. Except he couldn’t ignore the wash of frustration at the idea of never talking to her again. It didn’t matter. He’d get over it. Even if it did hurt more than when Emily left.

Speaking of, he was sick of waiting for his ex-wife. This was bullshit. He walked into his office, shut the door, and called Ned.

“It’s too early for this.” Ned sounded wide awake, despite the words.

Brad wasn’t in the mood for banter. Yesterday’s courtroom loss stung twice as hard, given the circumstances that followed. “Deal with it. We need to request another hearing.”

Ned made a clucking sound with his tongue. “Judge said six months. How do you have extenuating circumstances already?”

“Emily left Drea home alone last night.” As frustrated as Brad was, he kept his voice at normal volume, so Drea wouldn’t hear him yell.

“She’s ten years old. I’m sure she was all right for a few hours.”

The dismissal would have infuriated Brad anyway, but today it grated straight through to his irritation center. “This wasn’t for a few hours. She took off to Nevada for the night, didn’t make sure Drea was with anyone first, and still isn’t home this morning.”

“But the kid’s with you now. Right?”

“Yes, but she wasn’t before Emily left.”

“Listen. After what you pulled yesterday, I’m not sure it matters.” Ned spoke in a slow, firm tone, as if talking to a child. “I told you what to say, and you fucked up. Something like this is going to pale in comparison to what you did.”

“The fuck?” Brad couldn’t keep his voice down any longer. “What
I
did? You mean wanting to bring my daughter back into my life? A girl who stays with me half the time anyway? And being honest about that with the judge? How the hell is that a fuck-up? Emily abandoned her.”

“Did Emily call you when she did it?”

“Yes, but she didn’t wait for me to pick up. She left a generic message. I didn’t have scheduled time, not that I hesitated to make it. I always do.”

“Then what are you bitching about?” Ned asked. “You got Drea for another day.”

Brad couldn’t figure out how to make himself clearer. “Emily put her life in danger. How is that not cause for having the case reheard?”

“You’re exaggerating. She’s almost eleven. She’d have been fine.”

“Why are you dogging me?” Brad shouted.

“I’ll file a motion. Just don’t get your hopes up, and expect this will cost a lot.”

“Fine.” Brad clipped the word off. “Get it done.” As he disconnected, white-hot fury burned through his veins. He took a few minutes, forcing a calm mask into place, then headed back to the kitchen.

Drea looked up the moment he stepped into the room. If she heard the yelling, it didn’t show on her face. “Can we go see Gwen at work
today
, since we didn’t do it Sunday?”

Gwen’s name drove a new sharp edge through him, mingling with the anger and making every inch of him tense. “She’s not working today. But I’ll take the day off. We’ll go do whatever you want.”

“Bookstore and then hamburgers?”

“Absolutely.” He grabbed his keys and held the front door open for her. A throb echoed behind his ribs, whispering Gwen’s name. Reminding him he missed her more than he should.

****

Gwen sifted through blog submissions, the words running together like so much ink on a wet page. She hadn’t gotten home until almost one this morning, and even then couldn’t sleep. Telling Brad
goodbye
for good was the right thing to do, but it still left a hollow cavern in her chest. It wasn’t only that she didn’t want to get attached to Drea or that she was already hooked on Brad. She couldn’t get his accusations out of her head. She didn’t need that kind of mistrust. His instinct that kicked in generated assumptions because she made a mistake.

Since it was a diner day off, she needed some other way to fill her time. Replacing Sunday’s mistake post of the millennium seemed like a good idea.

The problem was she couldn’t find the kind of vindictiveness inside that she normally used to write posts. Or maybe she was gun shy. But she was pretty sure the drive she had in the past to spew out random vents about bad past dates wasn’t there.

None of the submissions from her readers caught her eye, either. As she reached the punchline on each, she found herself rolling her eyes.

…and then, after asking if his mother and ex-brother-in-law could join us, he
forgot
his wallet, and I had to pick up the check
.

…of course, I found out he wasn’t really a priest. That was a line he used to catch the attention of naughty girls
.

…after all that, he asked if I’d pay his subscription fees next month, so he didn’t lose his guild.

Gwen raised an eyebrow at the last one, and it took her a minute to piece together they were talking about an online game.

This wasn’t doing what she hoped. She’d type up an apology for not having a post this week, and go find something else. Her to-do list was a mile long; there had to be a distracting option hidden somewhere.

Her phone rang, and she lunged for it. Because it was something to do, not at all because of the tiny whisper asking if it was Brad. It didn’t matter; it was her attorney. “Hey, Jim,” she said.

“Got a minute?”

“Sure. I was going to call you anyway.”

“Fantastic. Me first. I’ve got the arbitration information. Discovery starts on—”

“Call it off.” Even on a good day, when her impatience wasn’t at maximum capacity, letting him finish an explanation she didn’t need wasn’t her idea of fun.

“That’s an extraordinarily bad idea.” Irritation leaked into his voice. “You already agreed. Fluctuating is going to irritate anyone, judge or arbitrator, and create a subconscious bias. That means they’re not going to like you very much.”

“I know what bias means, thanks.” She’d thought about this a lot over the past few days. Typically on the tail of Brad’s voice in her head, saying,
You only lose money you’ve admitted you don’t need.
” It was the one thought that distracted her from him. Enough so, she asked herself repeatedly if she only considered backing off because of his words. She finally decided that no, this was one step toward regaining her sanity. “I want to settle. The offer on the table is I keep one-third of my remaining trust, and he gets the rest. I’ll pay your fees from my share.” She couldn’t be careless with money if she did this, but she hadn’t been before. And George thought it would make him happy. She doubted it, but this way the entire thing was finally over.

“It’s not like you to surrender.” Hesitation hung heavy in Jim’s words.

No. It wasn’t. But maybe sometimes stubbornness didn’t work in her favor. “I’m not surrendering. I’m choosing my battles. I’m done spinning my wheels on this, and it’s time to move on to things that aren’t driven by me refusing to budge.”

“All right.” His sigh was loud enough to echo in her head. “I’m going on record as saying I don’t agree with your decision.”

“Noted. Do it anyway.”

“You’re the boss. I’ll write up the settlement proposal today, email it over to you for approval, and send it to plaintiff council.” The clacking of keystrokes echoed in the background while he spoke. “I saw your blog post Sunday.” He slid into a more conversational tone.

Acid surged in her throat at the reminder. So much for taking her mind off Brad. “I didn’t realize you were a reader.”

“Always keeping an eye on things. Besides, I like some of the stories. The guy the rumors say it was about—I know him.”

Me too.
She bit back the sarcastic reply. “Not sure where you’re going with this.”

“Well, we’ve never met personally, but I hear things.”

The one time he wasn’t direct and to the point. Gwen stifled her frustration. “What kind of things?”

“Like that he’ll probably be fighting his custody battle until his kid’s eighteen. Never quite losing or winning, always standing in limbo. That’s the guy, right?”

Her inching nausea swelled. “What do you mean?”

“It’s an observation. It’s not like I know anything concrete. But say, hypothetically, he were represented by a guy who
specializes
in helping fathers keep custody of their kids. The kind of guy who picks up high profile clients like your date-gone-bad, brags about it behind closed doors. But…” A long pause drifted down the line.

If Gwen didn’t hear background noise, she’d wonder if Jim were still there. “But what?”

“You know? Never mind. I’ll start that settlement stuff, as long as you promise me, in your own words right now, that you’re sure.”

“Jim. Tell me what you know.”

“I can’t. Slander, and all that. No one pays me enough to risk disbarment if the rumors aren’t true. You can’t back out of it, once I go down this path.”

She wanted to push harder, but the finality in his tone pinged inside her head, trying to insist this wasn’t her problem. “I’m positive. Draw up the offer and send it to me for approval.”

As she hung up, Jim’s unfinished words bounced in her skull. He said it was an assumption—whatever
it
was. No reason to linger on it, especially if it related to Brad. She needed to get him out of her head.

Instead, she found herself searching for,
Are custody hearings public record?
One of the first links was for a government site, and she clicked through. With each new page, a nagging voice whispered she needed to stop. There was work to do. She followed link after link. One told her that, while the details were private, the rulings were public. It sent her to a page with documents, and within moments, she’d given them her credit-card number for access and found Brad’s records.

She wasn’t sure what to look for, though. After cutting through the legalese, it was what Brad had already told her.

A guy who specializes in fathers keeping custody of their kids.
Jim’s words bounced against her memory. She pulled Brad’s lawyer’s name from the documents and searched for his cases, instead. At first there was nothing significant. The guy didn’t have any cases before a few years ago, so he was probably new to practicing law.

But then a pattern emerged. He almost always appeared before the same judge, and the rulings were the same as Brad’s ninety percent of the time. The dad never lost custody, but he never got much. She had no idea if that was normal, but statistically speaking, it didn’t seem likely.

It also made her wonder how a guy like that got a reputation like his. It was true, his wins were big. Mother completely out of the kid’s life in a couple of cases. But there weren’t a lot of those.

It didn’t matter if she was keeping her distance. Brad deserved this information, whatever it meant. She dialed, listened to the phone ring, and hung up when it went to voicemail. No surprise—he wasn’t taking her calls. She wasn’t going to play the phone-tag game with him. This wasn’t about begging for forgiveness or making up. She saved all the court rulings to a zip disc, typed up a brief note explaining what she saw and why he should pay attention, and headed into his office.

She expected a chilly reception at the front desk, but she only needed to drop something off. Her body’s memory ached to find Brad. To see him in person. To make things right. But that wasn’t the point. When the girl at the front desk smiled
warmly
, Gwen almost fainted in surprise. Yup, it was the same girl as the day before. So Brad hadn’t told everyone the engagement was off. She didn’t know what to do with the information.

“Mr. Goode isn’t in. I’m so sorry,” the girl said.

Gwen forced herself to smile. “It’s okay. I need to leave this for him. Please make sure he gets it.”

“Of course.” The girl set the envelope next to her keyboard. “I’ll tell him you were here.”

“Thanks.” Gwen didn’t want to hang around and be chummy. This wasn’t part of her life anymore. When she reached home again, she dropped by the mailbox and frowned at the pale pink card in the stack of bills and catalogs. It was from an aunt in Florida, but it wasn’t Gwen’s birthday or anything.

As soon as she got inside, she thumbed open the card and slid it out. Her heart crumbled at the handwritten note, congratulating her on her engagement. Gwen sank into a nearby chair and dropped her face into her hands. God. This sucked so much.

Gwen stared at the congratulatory card as seconds turned into minutes, her mind numb at first, then kicking loose and spinning up to a thousand miles an hour. She grabbed her phone and dialed the last incoming number. She wasn’t surprised when it went straight to voicemail. “This is Gwen Debson. Say I figured out what you were talking about earlier today, hypothetically. I’m hoping you can recommend an alternative contact for me. Email me back if you have a name.” She would have been more descriptive in her message, but with Jim’s refusal to talk about details earlier, so she figured this was the best way for him to claim plausible deniability.

She moved into her home office and woke up her sleeping laptop. If none of the posts she had to pick from for her blog felt right, she would put up something else instead. She let the words flow, not pausing to over-think them, but hoping they still felt true once they were on her screen.

Dear lovers, lovelorn, and heartbroken,

They say there are only two absolutes in life—death and taxes. I’d like to argue that. It’s also a fact, to me an undeniable one, that a lot of relationships are bad. At the far end of the spectrum, there’s the horrific and unspeakable. Somewhere in the middle, falls the intolerable. The things that happen that aren’t unforgivable sins, but certainly feel like it at the time. The moments that make you wonder what the fuck the other person was thinking.

In the past, we’ve shared hundreds of stories. A lot of them based on my personal experience. Because I tell the stories, I tend to get off looking like the what-the-fucked. Like the person who did no wrong. I’m not perfect, though. I screw things up too, and I think I may have done irreparable damage.

Or maybe, like so many relationships that fall at the extreme other end of the scale, this one wouldn’t have worked out. Wouldn’t that have been nice? If we didn’t have to deal with the consequences of our mistakes, and could all just say it wasn’t meant to be?

I’m not sure where I’m going with this, my lovelies. I think I’d like everyone to consider there are two sides to every story, and sometimes it’s not the other person who’s at fault. And to the man I wronged, I’m sorry. More than I can every say or make up for.

This site will be undergoing some changes over the next few months, so I ask in advance you pardon our dust. We’ll still focus on stories of the lovers, lovelorn, heartbroken, and anyone else who thinks love is 2Gud2BTru, but the tone is about to shift.

Until then, make sure you visit our latest sponsor.

She finished the post with a link to TooGoodToBeTrue.com, and published it. When she switched to her email, she was surprised and pleased to see Jim had already sent her a reply, along with a note that said he hoped it worked out. She texted the new lawyer name and phone number to Brad, along with a note that said
specializes in custody cases.
Her fingers hesitated over the screen for a moment, and then she added,
I miss you,
and clicked
Send
before she could talk herself out of it.

She didn’t know if he’d read either note, and a gnawing ache asked what she’d do if he ignored her comment. It was something she’d deal with if she had to.

****

Brad took his credit card from the bookstore cashier, handed the top book from the stack to Drea, and followed her back to his car. His phone buzzed. Aggravation told him to ignore it, but last night’s fiasco still rang in his head. True, Drea was already with him, and Emily had called about half an hour ago, to say they were on their way home, but he’d take an irritating message over ignoring an important one.

The note was from Gwen, and he paused in the middle of the parking lot, mind blanking.

“Dad, move.” Drea’s command prompted him to step out of the flow of car traffic.

It was a lawyer’s number and a name. Sweet of her, but he wouldn’t replace Ned. Or maybe he would.

It was the
I miss you,
that froze his thoughts and momentum.

“
Dad
.”

He shook his head, not managing to clear the circus of feelings wreaking havoc on him, and he let her into the car. He slid in next to her, as his phone rang again.

“I’ll be reading.” Drea’s pout was almost audible. She opened her book and slid down in her seat.

He couldn’t ignore his disappointment that it was the office, and not Gwen. Not that he needed it to be her. A simple message didn’t fix anything. “This is Brad Goode.”

“Hi, Mr. Goode.” Molly, his receptionist, practically chirped into the phone. That was why he’d hired her, though. Great communication skills. “I’m sorry to bug you on your day off.”

“It’s fine. Is everything all right?”

“Oh, definitely. As far as I’ve heard, anyway. I wanted to let you know your fiancée dropped something off for you a little while ago. I thought you might want it sooner, rather than later.”

A fist clenched his heart at the realization he was going to have to tell
a lot
of people the engagement was off. As the idea grew, he realized he didn’t dread it because the list was so long, but because he didn’t want it to be. “Any idea what it is?”

“I didn’t open it.”

“Thanks, Molly. I’ll be there soon.”

“Where?” Drea asked as he hung up and started the car.

“The office.”

“Aww.” Her pout grew. “I thought this was our day. You promised.”

“I know. I’m sorry. We’ll only be five minutes. I’ll walk out in the middle of someone talking to me, if I have to. And you can raid the vending machine.”

“I can have anything I want?”

“Mountain Dew, even.” He didn’t mind her dipping into the sweets, as long as she didn’t overdo it. She was old enough to deal with the rush. Besides, she’d love it, and Emily would hate it.

“Awesome.” She gestured in the general direction of his office building. “Make it so, driver.”

True to his word, they were out of the office in three minutes, and she had the soda of her choice. He pulled the contents from the envelope as they headed back to the car. The short note from Gwen only made her earlier text more cryptic. It said he needed to scan the documents, do with the information what he would, and probably talk to a new attorney.

He was pretty sure he hadn’t told her how the case went yesterday. Maybe Drea did. Still, the sudden interest in his legal history was a little odd. He itched to see what was on the drive. It would wait, though. Next up, Drea wanted to see some new movie with witches her age, lots of magic, and strangely absentee parents.

When they got out of the theater, a message from Emily waited on his phone. She was home. He could bring Drea back now. Then another, thirty minutes later, telling him not to fucking ignore her; she was serious.

He rolled his eyes. “Time to go home, hon.”

Drea’s pout returned but this time reached her eyes. “Okay.”

The single word added to the already growing pit inside him. “I’d bring you back to my place if I could. You know that, right?”

She nodded. When he dropped her off, he stuffed her new books into her bag, made sure she had everything, and then watched to make sure she got inside okay. He had zero interest in talking to Emily right now. Anything he’d say would sound like incoherent yelling about how fucking stupid she was last night, and that was something he wanted to do without their daughter as an audience.

Back home, the emptiness sank in again. So quiet. So… devoid of anything. He tried to banish the thought. At least now he had time to look at whatever Gwen gave him.

When he opened the first document, concern filled him. It was the ruling from his case on Monday, with a few of the details circled. He opened one document after another and realized they all had a handful of things in common—lawyer, judge, and outcome.

He didn’t know if it was enough to get someone to kick off an investigation, but it was enough to motivate him. Anger spilled into him. He sent Ned an email—this would be in writing—terminating their contract and telling him their friendship was out, too. It was almost five. He prayed he’d catch this new guy.

“Olsen and associates.” A polite, sterile sounding man answered the phone.

“Hello. Is Eric Collins available?”

“I’m sorry, but he’s stepped out for the evening. Would you like to leave a confidential message?”

“Yes, definitely. Thank you.” He tapped out a rhythm-less pattern on the table, while he waited for the voicemail to pick up. “My name is Brad Goode. I’m currently represented by someone I have reason to believe doesn’t have my best interests in mind. I’m told you specialize in child custody cases, and I’d like to speak with you at your earliest convenience.”

The same hollow feeling his condo held settled inside him after he hung up the phone.

Call Gwen
.

No. That was a painful road to go down. It was nice she missed him. He felt the same. But this wasn’t the right time for him to go chasing after an elusive
something
that was never really there. His heart balked at the suggestion it felt something less than sincere.

As he set his phone down, his thumb accidentally swiped the web-browser icon. Before he could close the window, Gwen’s website loaded. The damning post from the other day was gone, replaced with something new. Every muscle in his body tensed, as he read the post, including her apology. He gritted his teeth, drawing on the last of his willpower to squash anything beyond a clinical reaction.

Pretty words—that was how the site made its money. Meant to draw in readers who clicked on her links. If he focused hard enough, he could ignore that one of those links was now his, and presented as tastefully as he’d ever seen it.

Call her
.

No. The sooner they both moved on, the better.

****

Brad’s alarm shrilled him awake just after six. The last time he looked at the clock before he finally drifted off, it was almost five. Apparently he could add sleep to his list of things he missed. He downed two cups of coffee and shivered through a shocking cold shower, and almost managed to jar himself into consciousness. Two hours later, he settled into his office, scanning the emails from the day before, looking for what needed his attention now, and figuring out what he could delegate.

His cell-phone rang, and he grabbed it without looking, sleep still clouding his thoughts. “This is Brad.”

“Mr. Goode. This is Eric Collins returning your call.”

Several sharp degrees of alertness snapped through Brad’s veins. “Yes. Thank you for getting back to me.”

“Of course. Your message was a little vague, but I had my guy here do some research before I called you back, and I know who you’re working with.”

“
Was
working with.”

“Which is good.” Eric’s tone was clipped but friendly. “I can see the outcome of your case. Give me details.”

Brad was impressed the man was already on the ball. But it was more than that. Less than five minutes into the conversation, he already seemed more driven to help than Ned ever was. Maybe it was only because this guy felt he needed to prove himself, but Brad hoped he was sincere. Brad explained what had happened with Drea two nights ago. How dropping her off without notice was common practice for his ex-wife. How the judge continued to say Brad’s home life wasn’t suitable.

“
Not suitable.
Tell me, Mr. Goode, are you engaged in any illegal activities? Drugs? Prostitution?”

“No.” Brad might have been offended at the question, but he knew where it came from.

“Would you tell me if you were?”

“If I were that kind of person? Not until I had you on retainer.”

Eric laughed. “Smart man. Do you feel like your daughter is any immediate physical danger? Drugs in her mother’s house? Abusive boyfriend?”

Beyond nighttime abandonment? Brad ground his teeth together at the thought of her situation being worse. “No. Thank God.” He couldn’t fathom what he’d do to Emily if she put Drea through that, but he knew it wouldn’t be pleasant.

“Good. You and I need to talk face to face, but if you’re willing to work with me, I can file some paperwork for now. Petition for a new judge and venue and file preliminary paperwork for custody consideration.”

Ned had always dragged his feet when Brad made a request. Brad rarely questioned it, because he figured Ned was a friend, looking out for Brad’s best interests. That didn’t seem to be true anymore. “Let’s meet first. I can make time this afternoon, whenever you’re available.”

“Not today, but tomorrow morning is open. I’ll pass you to my assistant, and he’ll schedule some time.”

There was one more thing Brad had to know. “Do I have a chance?”

“There’s no guarantee. There never is in life, right? But I say your odds are good. Too bad you’re not a gambling man.”

“I’ll take it in this case.” Brad thanked him, booked a time slot and got the firm’s address, and disconnected. He felt better about the custody case than he had in months. Possibly since the divorce. Ned had never given him a positive answer, which felt like realism at the time. Now Brad needed a little bit of hope instead.