When I Let You Go (Let Me Book 6)

by Lily Foster

  I was basically in a fetal position for the next two hours. His words were like a hard slap to my face. Not just because they were words of rejection, but because everything he’d said was dead on.

  At quarter to ten I had to drag my sorry ass out of bed, quickly wash the smell of sex off my skin, and head downstairs to open the store. Unless we were booked for a wedding, Saturdays were typically quiet. You’d get a few people coming in for cash and carry bouquets, but the bulk of our business was made up of corporate accounts and regular customers with set preorders in place. I busied myself making the few deliveries that were set to go out, but spent most of the day running Dylan’s words over in my mind.

  I never had the urge to call Larson or French by their first names. And it didn’t take a rocket scientist—or Freud for that matter—to see that I was pretty skilled at keeping both men at arm’s length. A man I knew was on his way to becoming a priest and a newly divorced man desperate for some rebound affection—even my choice in men showed a deliberate desire to maintain my distance. But I didn’t want that kind of relationship with Cole—I mean Dylan. I was ashamed to admit this even in the quiet of my own mind, but I wanted to be his girlfriend. I wanted to be someone very special to him. That day we sat in Central Park looking out over the pond, my mind had even conjured up the image of a strong and protective Dylan rowing our own children in one of those boats, doting on them.

  Waiting for the delivery guy to take the arrangements out to the truck, I stood back for a moment to look over my day’s work. Each piece had a haunted, dark quality to it. I toyed with the idea of changing the Happy Birthday arrangement to something more colorful and upbeat, but decided against it. They were pretty awesome, if not a bit on the stark side. Fusion lilies interspersed with barren branches stained black. Golden Zebra irises mixed with white orchids. Birds of Paradise making up an arrangement that stood nearly three feet tall.

  I decided on a whim to make a fourth arrangement. A short, square glass container packed with nothing but Snow Fire tulips. The fluttery, fringed white petals were stained with what looked like blood. His words had cut deep, so it seemed fitting. Cueing up his address in the database, I loaded this one onto the truck myself.

  Nothing.

  Not a word since he stormed out of my place Saturday morning, and the ache in my chest got heavier with each passing hour.

  I was glad I had Hyacinth to keep me busy on Sunday. Otherwise, I might have been fool enough to keep chasing after Dylan, to beg him for another chance. I had little to my name other than my pride, and I wasn’t willing to sacrifice any more of it.

  “Cinthy!”

  It was Rachel bounding into the house, making a beeline for her favorite baby. The three boys and Jake followed behind, holding trays and cake boxes.

  “Way-way,” Hyacinth answered happily, holding her arms open in anticipation of being picked up. I loved witnessing the bond forming between the two of them.

  “Bet that’s how Kasia was with you when you were a baby,” Jake said, smiling down at me.

  The smile I returned to him was laced with sadness. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

  He squeezed my shoulder. “Mama and Tata are right behind me and I wanted to talk to you.” Looking back to the boys, he said, “Guys, just give a quick look around the lawn for goose poop, ok? Last time we played soccer out there I had to wash everyone’s sneakers afterwards.”

  “What’s up, Jake?”

  He rolled his eyes, smiling. “I had to hear all about Dylan, Dylan, Dylan last week after that fundraiser. He made quite an impression on Rachel.”

  My cheeks heated at the mention of his name. “Um, yeah, but I think his mom was the one who wowed Rachel with that dress.”

  “It’s swimming on her but she puts that dress on every day after school and dances in front of the mirror in it.” He looked out the window to where the kids were chasing after one another and added absently, “It makes me smile and breaks my heart at the same time.”

  “You should have seen her that night, Jake. She was so happy and,” I tried and failed to hold back my own tears, “Rachel was so proud. Everyone…All of those important people knew Kasia and they were talking about her, about her work. Rachel was drinking it all in. So was I.”

  He drew in a shaky breath. “God…Sometimes I don’t know how they can wake up each day and go on. They talk about her all the time, repeating something she once said or something silly…Like the time she made minion costumes for all of us one Halloween. We looked like six giant, yellow marshmallows.” When I laughed, he looked at me and said, “I don’t know when I’ll get there. Anytime a good memory pops up, I want to fucking die myself, crawl into the ground…Anything to be with her.” He took in my shocked expression and shook his head. “I’m just rambling…Of course I’m committed to them, Vee. My life is about making their lives good, and helping them to be everything they’re destined to be.”

  “Jake, I don’t know what to say.”

  “I started going to a group therapy thing…A grief group.”

  “I think that’s great.”

  “We’ll see…Anyway, I wanted to tell you that whatever’s going on with you and Dylan Cole?” He smiled at me, a knowing smile. “Alex told me. So I just wanted you to know that Kasia would be good with it. I used to hate the guy…Used to fear Kasia would wake up one day and realize she’d picked the wrong man. But she did pick me and I know he’s lived a good part of his life hurting because of that. Never once did she have a bad thing to say about him. I think he’s a good person, and more importantly, I think he’s grown up.”

  “Well, I’m not sure anything is going on.”

  My aunt and uncle came in then and I shot Jake a look. I wasn’t ready to talk about Dylan with anyone. In fact, even the mention of his name caused me pain. This was the first time I’d ever come completely clean with a person—about my childhood, about the way I was with men, revealing my shame—and Dylan had obviously decided that I wasn’t worth the trouble. I turned my phone off as we sat down to Sunday dinner, angry at myself for checking my phone like a pathetic loser every half hour since he left me Saturday morning.

  Lesson learned.

  Monday morning I was dragging ass. I think I managed to sleep a total of one hour the entire night, two tops. I didn’t even have the energy to blow dry my hair, making my way downstairs right at ten o’clock dressed in a pair of sweats and flip flops with my hair up in a wet ponytail.

  I barely had a moment to turn on the register before she came through the door.

  “Loyola Tennis? I played for Spence. We always wiped the courts with you guys.”

  I was confused for a moment before looking down to see my high school’s logo on the hip of my sweatpants. “Oh,” I said, but I think it came out like a question. I wasn’t running on full speed this morning.

  “You must be Veronica.”

  Now my back was up because this woman was fixing me with a glare that was borderline murderous.

  “Cat got your tongue?” She advanced a few feet closer. “I asked if you were Veronica, the slut who fucked my husband.” She laughed. “I know you are because you’re just like her. You know that’s why he wants you, right? You know he’s daydreaming about sticking his dick in her when he’s with you, don’t you?”

  “Wh-wh-why are you here?”

  She tossed the card I wrote for Dylan onto the counter and waited. My breath caught at the sight of it. “Do you know why she left him?” She didn’t wait for me to respond before snatching the card back and saying, “It’s because he can’t be satisfied. He was fucking both me and my best friend while he was supposedly in love with Kasia.” Her teeth clenched when she said my cousin’s name. “He likes that, screwing two girls at once. And he also likes to invite one of his buddies to join in and tag team his girl. Has he asked you for that yet? If he hasn’t, he will. Nothing’s off limits for Dylan Cole.” Cocking her head to the side, she asked, “Can you handle all that, little gir
l?”

  I couldn’t help my voice from shaking when I said, “I want you to leave.”

  She smiled, admiring her perfectly manicured nails painted a candy apple shade of red. “I let him get us both off last night when he came crawling back to me—nostalgia and all that—but I’m done with him. My advice to you? Stay far away from Dylan Cole.”

  The woman I now knew to be Cecilia Cole turned on her heel and sauntered out the door.

  My secretary buzzed through right after I settled into my chair on Monday morning. I was in a foul mood so I’m sure I snapped when I said, “What is it?”

  “Mr. Cole, Mrs. Melanie Sheffield is here to see you.”

  What the fuck is she doing here? It was all I could do not to say those words out loud so she could hear me through the intercom. “Send her in,” I said, doing nothing to soften my clipped tone.

  “I’d say it’s a pleasure to see you, but it’s early in the morning and I’m already up to my ears in shit.” Exasperated, I asked, “What can I do for you?”

  “I came to say I’m sorry.”

  That got my attention because Melanie never apologized. Like, she could run a red light and mow you down with her car and still manage to find you at fault.

  “That sour bitch made a crack about me in front of the other girls, in my own home no less, and she expects me not to hit back?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Mel’s eyes were wide. “Cecilia hasn’t stormed the castle since my party Friday night?”

  “Please explain yourself. I’m losing my patience.”

  “I got a little work done, all right?” Tipping her chin up to show me her profile, she added, “And I look fucking fantastic. Point is, no one ever would have known if CeCe would’ve kept her big, fat, artificially-injected lips shut.”

  All those girls had work done. It wasn’t a secret, but still, you didn’t out anyone. So I nodded. “Yeah, that’s a low blow.”

  She looked up at me wide-eyed. “So I may have mentioned your new, hot, young girlfriend to the others loud enough for CeCe to overhear.”

  “Go on,” I said through clenched teeth.

  “And I may have mentioned that Veronica’s related to Kasia.” She murmured, “Might have added something like, ‘He never got over her, so this comes as no big surprise.’”

  “Mel, that was mean, even for you…And I just don’t need the headache.”

  “The former Mrs. Cole had it coming, Dylan, so save your breath.” Fixing her ass on the corner of my desk, she waggled her eyebrows. “By the way, how’s the new romance going?”

  “Think I’m giving you any more ammunition?”

  “You’re no fun anymore.”

  The former Mrs. Cole barged into my office not three hours later, pushing past my secretary.

  “Did your driver bring you here?” I asked, taking in the blouse tucked only halfway into her skirt, the mussed hair and the glassy-eyed scowl. Cecilia was drunk.

  “Fuck you!” She collapsed onto the leather chair opposite my desk and murmured, “You’re seeing someone.” When I didn’t answer immediately, she raised her head and snapped, “You’re not seeing anyone? Melanie was lying?” Now she stood up on wobbly legs, pointing at me. “You haven’t been fucking your dead ex-girlfriend’s niece?” Sneering, she added, “Do you know how pathetic you are?”

  I was about to correct her—tell her that Veronica was Kasia’s cousin—but I refrained. “I’m pathetic?” I asked, referring to her drunken tirade routine. “Why are you here, Cecilia?”

  “Can you imagine how humiliated I was, hearing about my husband’s love life at an engagement party in front of everyone we know?” Ex-husband, I wanted to correct her, but again I thought better of it. “And the stupid little slut is sending you flowers?” Shrieking now, she added, “Sending them to our apartment?”

  With that, she flung a small card onto my desk. I turned it over to see the gold embossed letters of H&A Florist with a handwritten message underneath.

  I’m really sorry, Dylan. I do want you, more than anything. –Veronica

  I did everything in my power to school my expression, and it was hard because an atomic bomb blast level of joy was threatening to burst from my every pore. But I knew Cecilia must have been truly hurt by this, and—deep, cleansing breath—I never intentionally wanted to cause her pain.

  “I’m sorry you had to see this. And I’m sorry you heard about Veronica from someone else.”

  “Just how old is Veronica?” she asked, slurring her name. “She looks like she’s seventeen. Are you into that now?”

  “Jesus, Cecilia, let it go.” She was still standing there with her arms crossed and I was growing more bored and impatient by the second.

  “Does she remind you of her? Is that what this is all about?”

  “No. I didn’t know who Veronica was when I met her.”

  “Did you meet her while we were still married?”

  “Yes,” I said, raising my hands to placate her, “but nothing happened, Cecilia…Not until very recently.”

  She flopped back down onto the chair, defeated, holding her head in her hands. “I never stood a chance against her, did I? The entire time we were dating, when we were married…You wanted her back.”

  I could have countered, because it wasn’t entirely true. I had honestly given up on the idea of me and Kasia a while ago. But she’d never believe that, so what would be the point?

  She stood, smoothing her skirt down as she teetered on her heels. She didn’t look at me as she strode to the door, taking care to steady herself. “I hope you burn in hell, Dylan.”

  On any other day I would have laughed in her face, because seriously, was she gunning for the lead on a daytime soap with that line? But today I happily let her have the last word. I just wanted Cecilia gone so that I could get to Veronica.

  “You are officially a Manhattanite,” my cousin Alex quipped, rubbing behind Chuck’s ears as he leaned into him. “You have every impractical amenity. You have a car—”

  “Never wanted a car. You and Henry bought that.”

  “You have a stove and a fridge but you’d stave without GrubHub.”

  I held my thumb and index finger close. “My kitchen is like a shoebox.”

  “You have a dog—”

  “I am a woman living alone in the city. I need him for protection.”

  Looking down at my Cavalier King Charles Spaniel’s droopy ears and sweet smile, Alex said, “My money’s on the intruder if this is your watchdog.”

  “You’ll protect me, won’t you Chuck?”

  Yes, I was officially baby-talking to my dog.

  I asked Henry to cover for me Monday afternoon. After the unexpected visit from Dylan’s disgruntled ex-wife, I felt jumpy and scatterbrained. I set out for a long walk to process everything she’d said. It hurt to hear Dylan described as a heartless cheater, even though I already knew that to be true. But she also made him out to be uncaring, depraved and vulgar, as if he’d take anything he wanted without regard for anyone else. The one line that kept replaying in my mind, tormenting me, was one of her parting shots: You think you can handle all that, little girl? I knew the answer to that question was most definitely no.

  Stumbling across the mobile pet adoption fair near Charles Schurz Park was divine intervention as far as I was concerned. I probably had a pouty face to match my new pup’s as I entered the wide trailer, but my spirits lifted in response to the sounds of all the dogs’ happy yapping. My little guy was in a corner cage, his head cocked to the side in a way that made him look vulnerable and sad. His hair, snowy white on most of his body, and rich, dark brown just around the eyes and ears, looked soft to the touch and I was desperately in need of a cuddle. It was love at first sight. And the name was easy. King Charles discovered at Charles Schurz Park—how could I go with anything else?

  Alex sighed, conceding, “He is pretty freaking cute.”

  “Cinthy’s going to love him.”

&nbs
p; “Henry already does. He bought some pricey organic dog biscuits and told me we have to get one of those in-ground perimeter fences so the damn dog doesn’t get lost when you bring him up.”

  “I have to thank him again. I felt like I was up for a job at the CIA with the background check they did on me. Henry hooked me up letting me take off yesterday too.”

  “I think it’s good they have a twenty-four hour waiting period.”

  “Definitely. Hey, maybe you guys should consider getting a dog. That way Chuck will have a friend to visit.”

  “Do not put that idea in Henry’s head.”

  “Did you hear that, Chuck?” I teased. “Uncle Henry’s gonna get you a friend! And the two of you are going to have a big, giant patch of grass to play on, and you can go out on the rowboat with me, and you’re gonna wuv, wuv, wuv chasing all the rabbits and squirrels, aren’t you?”

  The bell above the store’s door tinkled in the middle of my babbling, but I didn’t stop loving on my puppy until I heard Alex clear his throat and say, “Dylan…It’s good to see you.”

  I froze, my body hidden by the service counter.

  “You too, Alex. It’s been a long time. Oh, and congratulations…I hear you’re a father. How’s parenthood so far?”

  Alex beamed. “Best thing that’s ever happened to me and Henry. She’ll be two in April.”

  “Hyacinth, right? Veronica told me her name.” Louder, he asked, “Isn’t that right, Veronica?”

  Straightening up, I held Chuck in front of me like a shield. “Hello, Dylan.” My speech sounded stiff and formal. But how in the freak was I supposed to act? For the past forty-eight hours I couldn’t think of Dylan without picturing him standing at the foot of an ornately carved four-poster bed with me tied to the posts, him watching on and directing the action as some other insanely hot guy did dirty things to me. A blistering hot fantasy? Hell yes. But in real life I knew that wasn’t exactly my bag.