The One You Can't Forget

  But when they revealed Adele to the class fifteen minutes later, and he saw the looks on the kids’ faces as they removed the blindfolds, the emotion surged full and fast. And when a few of his students barreled into him with an enthusiastic group hug, he finally pinpointed what that feeling was. Happy.

  He’d forgotten what that felt like, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt it quite like this. Rebecca had given this to him with no strings or ulterior motives. Here you go, Wes Garrett. Have a piece of your dream and a smart, beautiful woman to share it with.

  It all felt a little too good to be true. He’d learned to be wary of that because the few tastes of it he’d had in his life had been quickly followed by the rug being yanked from under him. But he pushed the worry down for now. Right now, he was here. Right now, he was happy.

  When all the kids hurried toward the bus to explore, Wes reached out and grabbed Rebecca’s hand, giving it a squeeze.

  She smiled his way. “I think they approve.”

  He wanted to say so much. To tell her how much richer this experience was with her there. To tell her that she had no idea what she’d really given these kids. Given him. But all he could manage was, “Thank you.”

  * * *

  Rebecca toweled off her wet hair as she padded barefoot to the guest bedroom to get a set of clean sheets. She and Wes had grabbed takeout after finishing up at the school for the day and headed to her place. Wes had been so excited in his boyishly pure way on the way home that the effect had been contagious. So much so that Rebecca hadn’t been able to bring herself to show him the police photos yet. She wanted this day to be protected—a perfect, happy memory. So she’d decided to put it out of her mind for the night. Enjoy the moment.

  She had. They had barely gotten through dinner before ending up in bed. The buzz of seeing the project get started had been too much and had translated into an insatiable need to touch each other. And even though they’d still been filthy from the hard labor, they hadn’t had the patience to get cleaned up first.

  The sex had been great. But her sheets were a loss.

  She smiled to herself as she took a pile of folded sheets off the shelf in the guest closet. She’d never wanted someone so badly that she hadn’t cared about being a sweaty, dirty mess—or him being a sweaty, dirty mess. There was something freeing in that, primal. Not just acceptance of imperfection but embracing it, rolling around in it, and not giving a damn about anything but that person and that moment.

  Rebecca clutched the sheets to her chest and listened to the old pipes creak in the wall as Wes showered. She hadn’t officially invited him to stay the night. They hadn’t done that yet, and it felt like a precarious move with the whole friendship thing. But they were both adults. Sharing a bed was just sleeping in the same space. It didn’t have to be a thing.

  She sighed. Maybe it was a thing.

  She left the guest bedroom, planning to change the sheets before making any further decisions, but the sound of a knock on her door broke her from her thoughts. She frowned and walked out into the living room, setting the sheets on the back of the couch and making sure her robe was tied. Another hard knock followed, and she glanced at the clock.

  It was only eight, so maybe it was a package or something. None of her friends would stop by this late without calling. She headed to the door and peeked through the peephole, finding a familiar face shining in the glow of the porch light.

  “Rebecca, open up. I know you’re home,” her father called out.

  She cursed and pressed her head to the door. She’d managed to avoid her father at work today, thereby avoiding any conversation about the brunch. She’d known it was a temporary stay of execution, but not this temporary.

  There was no use in trying to avoid him, but she needed to get him out of here quickly. She cracked open the door. “Um, hey, Dad. It’s a little late—”

  He stepped forward, not giving her an option not to back up, and walked in. “It’s not late. I just left work. I expected you to still be there, too. I had an event I needed to talk to you about.” He glanced at her. “But look at you. You’re already in pajamas. Must be nice.”

  She stiffened and shut the door behind him. “I didn’t have anything on my schedule tonight. And after last week’s twelve-hour days, I figured I’d earned an early night.”

  He strode into her living room and turned, arms crossed, not sitting down. “It seems you’re all about cutting out early these days. Like doing two words of a speech and leaving.”

  Her teeth pressed together. “Dad—”

  “You left me with a lot of questions to answer on your behalf. The people at the event were quite concerned. And disappointed not to hear your speech.”

  She sat on the arm of the couch and sighed. “I’m sorry, Dad. It wasn’t my plan to make a fool of myself onstage, and I didn’t mean to leave you with cleanup duty. But I was in no condition to socialize afterward. I felt terrible.”

  “Because you missed breakfast,” he said. “By this age, I would think you’d know how to feed yourself before a big event.”

  “Feed my—Dad, I had a panic attack onstage,” she blurted out.

  She glanced toward the hallway, but the pipes were still creaking. Wes was still in the shower.

  Her father frowned like she’d spoken a language he didn’t understand. “A panic attack? You speak in front of people all the time. You’re a lawyer, for God’s sake.”

  “I talk about law. About cases. About divorce,” she said, keeping her voice low. “It’s not the same. I can’t get up there and talk about Long Acre like that. You, of all people, should get why that’s so hard for me. You need to stop scheduling me for these types of events.”

  “Rebecca.”

  “It’s bullshit for me to go up there and talk about it as if I’m the heroine in this horror story. I wasn’t. If it had been a movie, people would’ve cheered when I got shot. You know that. I feel like a hypocrite giving some inspirational speech. I wasn’t the heroine. I was a villain.”

  Her father’s expression turned thunderous at that. He crossed the room and sat in the chair across from her. He pointed a finger at her, his stare nailing her to the spot. “Rebecca Anne, don’t you give me that line of crap. You almost died that day. My only child almost bled out in the place where she was supposed to be safe.” His expression tightened, a rare flicker of emotion surfacing, but he quickly covered it.

  “You have overcome so much. I saw you all those months after. I watched you fight all those dark emotions that tried to take you down. You are here because you’re a fighter. You have become a strong, successful woman despite all those challenges. If that isn’t heroic, I don’t know what is.”

  Rebecca blinked, her chest constricting and her eyes burning. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard her dad say something so complimentary and with such conviction. “Dad…”

  “I haven’t forgotten what you told me all those years ago, but you holding on to any blame is ludicrous. Those two boys were disgusting, demented human beings. I don’t care what happened between you and that kid. The only ones responsible for those deaths were the two people pulling the triggers and their parents for not seeing what was in front of them.” His tone was grave and resolute. “You have zero responsibility for what happened.”

  She closed her eyes, forcing herself not to cry. She heard his words, but she couldn’t accept them. Categorizing people wasn’t that easy. Trevor hadn’t always been a monster. He’d been on the edge. But you didn’t fall over the edge without being pushed.

  She’d pushed.

  She shook her head. “It’s not that cut-and-dried.”

  “Of course it is. Those kids were ticking time bombs. Why do you think the cornerstone of my campaign is being tough on early criminal offenses? If those boys had been handled differently when they’d committed those first petty crimes the year
before—shoplifting, underage drinking, graffiti—that shooting would’ve never happened. They would’ve already been locked up or in some juvenile program.” He reached out and put his hand over hers, his tone fervent. “If I get elected, we can changes things, Rebecca. I know I’m putting a lot of extra work on you with the campaign, but that’s because there’s so much riding on it. And I need your voice behind it, reminding people why all of this is so important. Don’t you want to make a difference?”

  “Of course I do,” she said, feeling sick to her stomach. “But…”

  “Good. Then you’ll talk long and loud and proud. I have another event Saturday after next and have put you down as a speaker. You will show people what you’ve been through, what you’ve overcome, and why you’re still fighting. All those friends and teachers you lost at Long Acre, they can’t speak for themselves. They can’t fight anymore. But you can. You can be their voice. And then I can make changes happen.”

  The words were digging into her like painful pinpricks, drawing blood. She could hear the silent message in his words. You owe them.

  God, did she.

  She swallowed past the bile trying to rise in her throat. “Okay,” she said quietly.

  “Okay?” he asked, catching her gaze.

  “Yes, sir.”

  He nodded. “Good, now—”

  “I’m not sure if it’s manly to smell like vanilla cupcakes, but that shampoo of yours—” Wes’s words cut off, and Rebecca cringed.

  She could see her dad’s face when he caught sight of Wes somewhere behind her, saw the souring of his expression.

  Rebecca turned around, bracing herself, but it was worse than she’d thought. Wes was standing in the doorway with just a towel around his waist.

  “Uh, I’m sorry,” Wes said, jutting his thumb to some unknown place behind him. “I was just…”

  Her father stood, his jaw clenched. “Rebecca, I didn’t realize you had company.”

  Rebecca took a breath. She was a grown woman. This was awkward, but there was no way she was going to apologize for it. Her father was the one who’d shown up unannounced. “Dad, this is Wesley Garrett. Wes, this is my father, William.”

  To Wes’s credit, he managed to walk into the living room with dignity and shake her father’s hand despite his state of undress. “Nice to see you, sir. I didn’t realize you were stopping by.”

  “Obviously.” Her father lifted a dark brow. “You’re the young man who gave my daughter a ride yesterday.”

  Wes choked a little and Rebecca closed her eyes, her face heating at her dad’s choice of words. A ride. He most certainly did. Twice. “Yes, Dad. Wes is…a friend.”

  “I thought you said he was working on the charity project with you,” her father said, sending her a look.

  “That too,” she said, trying to sound businesslike and like she wasn’t at all mortified by the current situation. “He’s the culinary instructor at an after-school program for kids. The money’s going to fund a food-truck project for his group that will help sustain the program long-term.”

  “I see,” her father said, his eyes back on Wes. “So, Mr. Garrett, do you make a habit of sleeping with women in order to get your program funded?”

  Wes stiffened like he’d been pinched.

  “What?” Rebecca said, horrified. “Oh my God. Dad, you can go now. This is ridiculous. Who I do or do not sleep with is none of your business.”

  Her father tucked his hands in his pockets, unmoved. “Well, I think it is my business when it’s my money this man is swindling you out of.”

  “Swindling?” Wes said, a thread of anger entering his voice.

  Her father looked back and forth between the two of them. “You’re taking advantage of my daughter, and I won’t stand by and—”

  Rebecca threw her hands out to her side. “Enough! Jesus, Dad. I’m thirty-one, not twelve. And I really appreciate that you think I’m so desperate that I’d have to pay someone to sleep with me. That’s really nice of you. Now, please, leave.”

  “Rebecca—” her father said.

  She pointed to the door. “Go. Or I’m never doing another campaign thing again. This is over the line. Next time you want to come over for a visit, call first, because, surprise, I have a life.”

  Her father was red in the face, but he turned and strode toward the door. When he reached it, she thought he’d just storm out, but he turned around. “No, Rebecca, what you have is a distraction. The daughter I know doesn’t cut out of work at three on a Monday. She doesn’t quit speeches. So I’d suggest if you plan on making partner, you get rid of this.”

  He stepped out and slammed the door behind him, leaving Rebecca staring slack-jawed after him.

  Wes cleared his throat behind her. “Well, that went well. I totally just guaranteed an invite to Thanksgiving dinner. I’ll bring the potatoes.”

  “Ugh.” She covered her face with her hands. “I am so exceptionally mortified. I’m sorry. I can’t even…”

  Warm arms slid around her, and Wes put his chin on top of her head. “For the record, I’d require way more money if someone were to hire me to sleep with them. I’m worth more than a rusted-out bus and some ovens. I’m at least worth a Viking range and a vent hood.”

  She laughed and leaned back against him. “I’m sorry…for whatever that was.”

  He turned her in his arms, a lopsided smile on his face. “You have nothing to apologize for. Your dad clearly loves you, but he’s got an interesting way of being protective.”

  “Yeah, threatening my job is really loving.”

  Wes put a finger under her chin, tilting her face to meet his gaze. “About that. If this whole food-truck remodeling is going to put your bid for partner in jeopardy, please don’t feel like you have to keep your obligation to me. I don’t want to be that kind of distraction. You know I’d love for you to be there, but not at the expense of your career. Me and the kids can do the remodel. You can have a more advisory role. One that doesn’t make you leave work early.”

  Rebecca stared up him, thankful for the reprieve, but feeling a little numb from her father’s threats. Some part of her was panicking. She could be passed over for what she’d been working toward all these years, but she couldn’t connect fully to the fear. It was almost like it was happening to someone else. She let out a long breath and looped her arms around Wes’s neck. “I don’t know what I want right now.”

  He frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Never mind,” she said tiredly. “I don’t want to think about work. But I do know one thing I would like.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You to stay over.”

  He lifted his brows. “Yeah?”

  She nodded.

  “Would it involve Shark Tank?”

  She laughed, some of the tension leaving her muscles. “It would indeed.”

  “I’m totally in,” he said and kissed her. “Let’s break in these clean sheets and heckle some entrepreneurs, lawyer girl.”

  She headed to her bedroom with him, but no TV ended up being watched.

  And when they curled up and fell asleep next to each other late that night, Rebecca forgot to freak out about crossing lines and blurring boundaries.

  She’d worry about it all tomorrow.

  chapter

  TWENTY-ONE

  Wes turned the corner onto the road that would get him and his brother to their destination while Marco rambled on about the animal welfare dinner, the changed dates, and the logistical nightmare the event had become. Wes was trying hard to pay attention, but as they rolled closer to where he was taking his brother to lunch, Wes started to sweat a little.

  “So the whole thing has sucked up more time than I have to give, and organizing that kind of stuff is just not in my wheelhouse. All that talking, talking, talking. I spend my time dealing with ani
mals who can’t speak to me for a reason,” Marco said, scraping a hand through his thick hair and making it stand on end, a habit he’d had since he was a kid.

  “The event will be fine. They’ll have my food to eat, so that will distract them from anything else that isn’t perfect.” Wes pulled into the small lot next to a redbrick building. “And flatten your hair. You look like you’ve been electrocuted.”

  “Yeah but—” Marco’s words cut off, his hand stilling on his head. “Wes, what the hell are we doing?”

  Wes turned off the engine. “Going to lunch.”

  “This is Ruby Blue Barbecue.”

  “I’m well aware,” Wes said. “I’ve heard it’s good.”

  Marco looked his way, dark brows lowered. “What are you doing, man? Torturing yourself?”

  Wes’s hands flexed on the steering wheel as he steeled himself for what he planned to do. A few steps away stood the restaurant he’d once owned. The building he’d spent nearly every hour in for a year of his life, paying attention to every detail, making big, bold plans. The dream he’d lost.

  After the divorce, he couldn’t even stand to drive down this road. He’d taken the long way around to avoid it. Then when he’d started the hard drinking, he would find himself sitting on the bench across the street, staring at the restaurant. He’d watch the new owners come and go, hating them, wanting to set a match to the whole place because if he couldn’t have it, no one should.

  But after a week of working on the food truck with the kids, Wes had woken up this morning with a thought that wouldn’t let him go. He’d already made lunch plans with his brother because he’d wanted to break the news of the food-truck project to him face-to-face, to explain to him why this wasn’t going to be a road to another downfall. Wes had realized that he needed to do it here.

  “I’m okay,” Wes said finally. “I want to do this. Maybe to prove it to you. Maybe to prove it to myself. I don’t know. But we’re going to have lunch here today.”