Both his lifelines, eyes closed, sleeping peacefully.
He looked up to the ceiling, sending up a silent prayer. He kissed the two pads of his fingers and pressed them over his heart, remembering Amber and their unborn child.
I know you two were watching over me…put Chloe in my path. All I wanted to do was forget my past. But I’ve come to realize, I’m not supposed to. And now I have Oliver Drew. Oh, Ambs… I remember the name we decided for our unborn son. Drew was a piece of me and you...that’s why I named Oliver after him. I promise I will never forget you and I will love you both. Always.
He moved across the room, sat at the edge of the bed as Chloe slowly opened her eyes.
“Hey, babe. You dozed off,” he whispered, taking the Secret Agent Jack Stalwart book from her hand and placing it on Oliver’s night stand. “Go to bed, I’ll finish tucking him in.”
Chloe gently shimmied her arm from under Oliver, rose from his bed, kissed Ollie on his forehead.
“I’ll be waiting for you in bed, my handyman.” Chloe leaned down and kissed Julian then retreated to their bedroom.
He fingered back Oliver’s outgrown hair, pondered over his angelic face and the freckles sprinkled across his little nose and cheeks. He began to reminisce the day his son was born, one of the happiest days of Julian’s life when the doctor laid him on Chloe’s chest to hold their son for the first time.
Half Julian, half Chloe.
A son that would carry on his name.
He was perfect.
Julian turned on the nightlight, dimly illuminating dancing stars on the ceiling, then pulled up the blanket to cover him. Ollie’s mouth went slightly agape, and he moaned as he turned to his side.
“Do you know how much I love you, son?”
“Love you more, Dad,” Oliver mumbled sleepily.
Julian pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Goodnight, my super-secret agent.”
THE END
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“Do you know how much I despise you right now, Channing?” Phoebe hissed through gritted teeth, as she glared at her childhood friend adorned in a strapless trumpet chiffon white gown.
The two women had known each other since they were eight years old, disagreed and argued frequently, then with a glint in their eyes and their typical smirk to one another, wondered how in the world they remained best friends throughout the years.
As Maid of Honor, Phoebe fulfilled all her obligations. She’d gone with Chloe to pick out the perfect wedding gown and shoes, invitations went out on time, and Phoebe hosted a weekend bridal shower. The morning of Chloe’s big day, she gifted a massage to destress the bride, then they were on to hair and makeup.
Everything went according to plan with no hiccups. Phoebe achieved her duties except for one more thing the bride deemed mandatory…
“It’s not Channing anymore,” Chloe scolded, giving her mauve and lavender calla lily bouquet a shake in Phoebe’s face. “It’s your last requirement and a tradition.”
“Tradition my ass.” Phoebe shoved the flowers down.
“And that traditional ass of yours has been so uptight that if I stick a piece of coal up there, it will be another engagement ring…so I need that ass of yours for one more duty to fulfill for the new Mrs. Chloe Channing Cruz.” She raised a brow, a shit-eating grin widened her face.
“I don’t care if your new name is Chloe-freaking-Kardashian.” Phoebe parked her hand on her jutted hip. “I refuse to be part of this shenanigan.”
Phoebe looked over Chloe’s shoulder as the DJ brought the microphone close to his mouth. “Come on, single ladies… Don’t be shy. I need you out here on the dancefloor if you want the bride’s prize.”
The bride’s prize, more like a curse. Phoebe rolled her eyes and folded her arms.
Ladies from around the reception hall sprouted from their chairs. Some moved slowly and some quickly, ready to claim their spot on the wooden surface, shimmying to Beyoncé’s “Single Ladies” playing through the speakers.
Phoebe scanned the large room. Many familiar faces sat around the white and silver linen-covered tables embellished with a variety of purple flowers and crystal glassware.
Every guest was dressed to the nines. Long gowns, classy cocktail dresses, three-piece suits and bowties. Phoebe internally rolled her eyes. This was a ‘Chloe-kind-of-wedding’, not only because she was the only child to Judge Frank Channing. But it was a fairytale where her best friend met Julian Cruz, her knight in shining armor.
“This is your fault, you know?” Ryland’s slender hip bumped Phoebe’s.
Phoebe twisted her lips as she glared at Ryland, the third best friend to the trio, the other Maid of Honor and roommate. Ryland Marie O’Hare looked like a Barbie doll, with crystal-blue eyes, peach lip gloss, rosy cheeks and her wavy blond hair that tumbled past her shoulders, looking ever so elegant in a violet gown.
Ryland had moved into Chloe’s old bedroom when she returned from Switzerland after working there for a couple years and Phoebe was so happy to have her back. But at the moment, her comment had put her on Phoebe’s shit list driving the proverbial bus over her back.
“Feebs, you were the one who pushed Chloe to let her hair down, unlock her chastity belt and look what she does…marries the hottest guy on the island. I hope the next time I go on vacation, I find a hot guy like Julian,” Ryland continued, her eyes veering to the groom and his friends at the bar.
“You can get out of the driver’s seat now, Ry. I think you left some skid marks on my back,” Phoebe countered. “You’re supposed to be neutral, like Switzerland…and remember, I know where you sleep!”
But Ryland was right.
Phoebe told Chloe to take a chance on the hot chauffeur-handyman. But little did any of them know, Julian had been Chloe’s undercover bodyguard assigned to protect her from a psychopath. A chill crawled up Phoebe’s spine remembering the agony when Chloe was in the hospital after she’d been shot. Their love story was made for the movies and of course they got their happy ending.
“My husband is hot, isn’t he?” Chloe gloated, her gleaming eyes on Julian at the bar.
Ryland nodded, turned with Chloe to watch Julian raising a shot glass to cheer. “Of course he is. And girl, he knows how to work a tux! I need to find a man like him.”
“Then it’s settled. You go out there for the both of us.” Phoebe pressed her hands to Ryland’s shoulders. “Besides, I gotta go make.”
“Make?” Chloe asked.
“Yeah, I gotta go pee. I’ve been holding it since the ceremony.”
“I call cock-a-doodle-bullshit!” Chloe rebuked with her infamous made-up words as her French-manicured finger pointed to Phoebe. “Speaking of…if you don’t get your MOH ass out there, I may use my blackmail card and slip about the diarrhea Pampers episode.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Phoebe huffed, giving the death stare.
“Try me.”
The dreaded story of a nine-year-old little girl’s mistake. Phoebe ate a piece of her dad’s chocolate Ex-Lax and loved it so much she ate more. How was she to know what the damn chocolate bar did?
Needless to say, Phoebe wore Pampers for almost a week and wished she’d never told her two best friends. Anytime Chloe or Ryland got a chance to blackmail Phoebe, this was their ammo.
Ryland laughed. “Ten points for Doctor Cruz.”
“I swear you’ve become a changed woman now that you married an ex-SEAL.” Phoebe pointed her wiggling mauve fingernail at Chloe. “You seriously need to get laid again soon, Bridezilla.”
“Oh, I plan on it. On our three-week honeymoon in Fiji, baby.” Chloe bit her bottom lip, winked and walked toward the DJ.
Ryland hooked her arm in the crook of Phoebe’s elbow. “Let’s go MOH.”
“Did I mention this totally sucks?” Phoebe pouted as Ryland pulled her to the dancefloor.
“Hey Fee, what’s the matter with you?” Ryland asked, concern in her eyes. “I thought you’d be the first one to be out there. Always trying to win the prize.”
“That prize is not one I want to win. Anyways, I’ve got work on the brain. Been under a lot of stress lately, not to mention my mom is here.”
“Everything okay at work?”
“It’s my creepy boss…and I’ve been getting these weird notes.”
“I don’t know why you won’t report your boss. It’s sexual harassment, you know?”
“He hasn’t really done anything that I can make a serious compliant about. It’s his word against mine.”
“Phoebe, seriously? It’s obvious he’s making you feel uncomfortable by suggesting sexual favors or asking you out on a date.”
“Thanks for your concern, Mom. When it goes too far, I will report him.”
“And what weird notes are you referring to? Are they from Mr. Bauer?”
“Not sure. I don’t think so because he’s been so forward. So why send me flowers, secret admirer notes and text messages?”
“You think you should tell the guys? I mean, they are a security company with all the high-tech gadgets to find out who is behind all the text messages.” Ryland’s head tilted toward the three men at the bar, Julian, Dylan and Tyco who worked for KSIG, Knox’s Security and Intelligence Group.
“There’s no need to get them involved. It’s probably harmless—a crazed fan, maybe. Besides, I’ve got it handled.”
“Just promise me if it gets too scary, you’ll tell the guys. Because if you don’t, I will.”
“I promise.”
Phoebe’s harassing slimy boss wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle, tolerating his undertone innuendos of sex after hours or the many times Mr. Bauer asked her out on a date.
The creepy love notes and texts from a secret admirer had been making her feel unsettled, but none had been life threatening, though disturbing. The last note she received on her desk a couple of days ago concerned her the most.
Enjoy your friend’s wedding. Purple looks good on you.
She’d thought about going to the guys at the firm where Julian was now Head of Security since Knox retired, but didn’t want to scare her friends, especially Chloe. She’d been through enough.
Phoebe decided to ask one of her contacts at SFPD, Detective Nicholas Lopezleon, to look into it. There had been flower deliveries, love notes and even pictures of her at her random onsite locations during her segments. And anytime she received them Phoebe forwarded them to Detective Lopezleon. So far, no leads, and although the messages had progressed, they were harmless.
Phoebe was not only smart to inform the detective but also a tough one. She had a Brown Belt in Krav Maga and was ready to test for the next and final level. She was a woman ready to defend herself and kick some ass if necessary. Although skilled with the training she received, she also invested in pepper spray and a TASER gun as her backup.
“And your mom?” Ryland brought Phoebe back from her wandering mind.
“I’m going to do my best to show her I’m still the picture-perfect daughter of Penelope Hawthorne.” Phoebe rolled her eyes as she stood on the wooden floor, knowing her mother’s eyes were leveled at her.
“You never told her, did you?”
“Are you kidding? If I told Penny that Bryan left me for his career and another woman, I’d never hear the end of it. Failure is not an option for her. I had to tell her I left him, that I wanted to focus on my career. I need to save face every time with her and if I don’t, my ears would bleed from her damn nagging. I only tell her what she needs to hear. Heaven forbid I ruin her reputation in her celebrity world. The gossip pages and headlines would say, Daughter of Penelope Hawthorne left in the dust by cheating fiancé.”
“Feebs, I’m sure Penny cares for you.”
“When someone like her was once top model turned most influential fashion magazine editor, it’s all gotten to her head and image is more important to her than her daughter. Hence the façade I need to show right now—Picture-perfect Phoebe. Being part of this mythical toss is so stupid to me, but she’ll be watching.”
“So, you’re telling me you believe in the superstition?”
“Not in the least.”
“Well suck it up, Miss Poopy-Pants,” Ryland teased. “I think catching the bouquet is kinda romantic.”
“For a pathetic woman, so why should I take part in this?”
Ryland laughed. “Oh, come on. You don’t have to catch the damn thing. Just act the part.” Ryland nudged Phoebe’s shoulders with hers.
“Pretend? Hmm. I can do that. I’ve been doing that practically my whole life with Mom.”
Phoebe studied her mother sitting next to husband number six. She was definitely on her way to Elizabeth Taylor status. Penny’s massive ten-carat ring glittered brightly, red nails skimmed the glass’s stem, short bobbed black hair barely touched her shoulders and her makeup was perfection as if she had stepped out from a photo shoot.
Phoebe squared her shoulders and took a deep breath, remembering how her mother told her to stand…with confidence.
Just once, she wished Penny could have held the little girl Phoebe once was and told her it was okay not to be perfect, to just be yourself.
“You think that’ll be the last one?” Ryland asked, referring to Penny’s wealthy husband, CEO of his own jewelry company, Glass House Enterprises.
“I don’t know. And frankly, I really don’t care at this point.” Phoebe shrugged, disappointed at her mother’s gold-digging ways. “She’s all about status quo and being with the rich and the famous…picture perfect, remember?”
“I don’t see how being married six times is considered picture perfect, Feebs.”
“Neither do I.”
“Well, she looks happy.”
“Penny’s happy as long as Willy buys her whatever she wants, takes her to Canaan Island, Montenegro, Fiji or maybe just hangs out on his yacht for shits and giggles.”
“It could be worse.”
“How?”
“Penny could still be married to your dad.” Ryland wrapped her arm around Phoebe, rested her chin on Phoebe’s shoulder.
“True. I still remember those fights like it was yesterday.” Phoebe looked over to her dad who sat with Gage, her younger brother, on the other side of the room. The screaming, throwing glassware and the door slamming when Mom finally walked out the door and never came back. “Dad was so patient with her.”
The dredge of memories surfaced, and Phoebe remembered her dad and husbands number two, three, four and five. Penny left all of them for all the same reason—they didn’t make her happy and she wanted more. Grant Powell, Phoebe’s father, a software technician, couldn’t satisfy Penny’s red-carpet desires.
“Why didn’t he remarry?” Ryland’s chin jutted toward Grant.
“I think it’s because deep down Dad still loves her. He won’t admit it.” Phoebe shrugged. “He’s one reason I don’t ever want to get married.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not guaranteed the other will love you back. Why open your heart to disappointment?”
“Oh, Feebs. After seeing Chloe and Julian, you still feel that way?”
“I’m happy for those two lovebirds. But love and especially marriage is not for me. Sure, I love men, dating and sex. But I’m not in love with the thought of being loved by them. And I’m incapable of loving them back. Been there, done that. What can I say? I’m a cold-hearted bitch who will end up growing old with a dozen cats.” Phoebe pressed her lips, admitted what she feared the most. Being alone.
“I have hope for you, Phoebe Powell. I bet Cupid will bite you in that tight ass of yours and love will sneak up on you.”
“You want to bet me that I’ll fall in love?”
“Why not? Wanna put a wager on it?”
; “That’s absurd, you know?” Phoebe raised a brow. “A bet to fall in love?”
“Are you saying you’re too chicken-shit?”
“To love or to bet?” Phoebe asked, raising a brow.
“Both.”
“Ry, it’s a dumb bet. Plus, you know if you gamble against me, I always win.”
“Maybe this will be your first loss.” Ryland raised her pinky finger. “Seal the deal?”
“What’s the winning pot?”
“Hmm…how about the loser pays for a weekend trip to Napa?”
“Okay. You’re on.” Phoebe hooked Ryland’s pinky, then laughed. “Napa here I come.”
“Don’t celebrate too soon. I have a good feeling I’m going to win.”
The DJ’s voice roared through the speakers again while music filled the air. “Two more minutes, ladies. Get your booties out here.”
Superstition or not, Phoebe still wanted out of this traditional game. She thought about what Ryland said about love sneaking up on her.
Would that really happen for Phoebe? To fall in love? Phoebe internally shook her head, then laughed again. No way!
Phoebe stared at the herd of women in front of her. It was actually silly, giving false hope, to think the bride’s bouquet was some magical cherub and would lead them to their future husband if they caught it.
Unease flowed through Phoebe’s veins as she stood on the dancefloor. She needed an escape plan. Slowly and stealthily, Phoebe eased a step backwards then another, leaving Ryland’s side. Ryland was too busy chatting it up with one of Chloe’s colleagues to realize Phoebe had stepped away.
With every step back she took, success reigned, celebrating a proverbial pat on the shoulder. Until her back bumped into a wall of a man.
“My apologies. Am I in your way?” A low gravelly whisper warmed the edge of her earlobe. Goosebumps sprouted, her breath hitched, sending chills down Phoebe’s spine. “It’s nice to know how responsive you are to my touch. It’s very sexy.”
Phoebe wobbled in her heels, heart thumping into high gear at the warmth of his hand grazing up her arm, rendering her speechless. Damn he smelled nice, like clean soap layered with a crisp woodsy cologne, making the apex of her thighs suddenly throb.
Till I Found You: The Broken Hero Series—Book One Page 28