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 we
re 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.
He stared at his email for several minutes after he hung up, not quite processing anything. It had been a promising call, despite the lack of resolution. So why did his nerves still dance, as if a million tiny bugs wreaked havoc on his system? He shook his head, to clear away the cobwebs, and looked at his computer again. It still didn’t make sense.
Fuck. He grabbed his desk phone and dialed Molly.
“What’s up?” Her chipper voice increased his growing anxiety.
“I need you to do some research for me. This one may be a little difficult. And I want it today.” He’d hired her not only because she was scary efficient on the phones, but she could also track down any digital information. She was the one who figured out Gwen owned 2Gud2BTru.
“You’re speaking my language. Give me details.”
As he explained his request to her, the jitters ebbed, and the tightness in his neck relaxed. This might not work. It might end up being a complete waste of time. But today, he needed a little bit of hope driving him.
Chapter Nineteen
Gwen didn’t remember a longer Wednesday in the entirety of her life. She hoped being back at work would distract her from the fact Brad didn’t reply to her message. There weren’t enough customers to keep her mind occupied, though. She’d already finished scheduling for the next month, filled out her quarterly taxes, and planned a new advertising budget for the diner. Jaycie was out of town at some big, important gaming thing, so her showing up was out.
Gwen wiped the counter for the billionth time.
She couldn’t do this. Telling herself she didn’t care. Waiting for Brad to decide if he did. This biding her time and waiting to see what came next wasn’t like her on good days, and right now, it drove her to the brink of screaming. Fuck it. Tonight she was calling him. If he didn’t answer, she’d… She didn’t know. Stop by his house. She didn’t intend to go full-on stalker, but she wanted a chance to tell him how she felt. In the short time they knew each other, they always did that. Holding back wasn’t their thing, and they both deserved the truth at least one more time. If he didn’t answer his door or told her to go away, she’d have to. It would be an answer, even if it wasn’t one she wanted.
But this eternal waiting and second-guessing bullshit wasn’t working for her. Plan in place, her mind calmed. Until she realized she wouldn’t be out of here for another two hours. Plenty of time to focus on imaginary what-will-I-say scenarios.
Nothing too defensive. She’d been hurt, and lashed out. At the same time, she wasn’t willing to grovel. If he wanted that from her, he wasn’t the man she knew. Arg. The mental shout echoed in her skull.
The door chimed, and twisted her head toward the noise, grateful for the distraction.
When she saw Brad, her plotting and premeditation flew out the window, and a vise squeezed her lungs. He met her gaze and smiled, and layers of tension evaporated, to be replaced with a new height of doubt.
He took the seat in front of her. “I didn’t want to surprise you or back you into a corner.” His tone was even, not hinting at any emotion. “I thought you might not take my call, and I wasn’t sure I could wait until you finished work.”
She tried to force a neutral look to her face, but couldn’t find enough calm inside to pull it off. “It’s fine. It’s great. I hope. We can talk in my office.”
“I’d like that.” He stood and followed her to the small room.
As she walked, intently aware of his presence a few feet back—close enough to distract her, but not enough for her to feel him—she tried to find her earlier snippets of pre-rehearsed speech. He obviously had something to say, but she needed to be prepared. Unless what he had to say was, Stop calling and lose my number. His smile and the way he looked at her when he walked in didn’t indicate he thought anything of the sort, but she was a bit of a wreck from the last few days and couldn’t convince herself to discard the idea.
They stepped inside, and she closed the door behind him. “I’m listening.” The words came out terser than she intended. “I mean”—she paused to compose herself—“what did you want to talk about?”
Instead of answering, he closed the distance between then. When he cradled her face in his palms, the shock of his touch spread from her cheeks and pushed desire through her entire body. He crushed his mouth to hers, and a two-ton weight lifted from her chest. She gasped against his lips and leaned into him. Diving into the kiss. Memorizing the his touch. Imprinting his intoxicating scent into her thoughts.
They broke apart, and he searched her face, an unspoken question in his eyes. “I couldn’t help myself. I’d apologize, but I’m not sorry.”
She covered his right with hers and intertwined their fingers. “I’m glad you did it.”
“We have this habit when we’re together… It’s one of the things that first attracted me to you and hasn’t let me go since. You don’t hold back, and I never feel like I have to do the same. We speak our minds. We tell each other how we feel.”
Her racing pulse kicked up another notch at how his words echoed her earlier musings. She didn’t interrupt. Couldn’t find a response. Instead, she nodded.
“I need to do this one more time.” He traced tiny circles over her cheek with his thumb. “I don’t mean it to be some sort of entrapment or emotional blackmail. It’s me being honest, and if you don’t feel the same, I don’t expect you to pretend otherwise. I love you. I’ll understand if it doesn’t go both ways.”
The words swept through her, and made her feel light. Giddy and silly. She pulled his palm to her mouth and kissed along the calloused skin. A month ago, she wasn’t sure she’d ever hear those words said sincerely, and now she didn’t doubt them for a millisecond. “I love you too.”
“I love the way that sounds, coming from your mouth. Then again, I’m pretty fond of most things you say.”
“I’m so sorry about the blog post.” She still needed to say it. To know how it was going to impact whatever happened to them next. “I never would have—”
“I know. It’s done. It’s over. It’s okay.” He squeezed her hand. “I won’t lie and tell you everything’s going to be all right. I’m not sure yet. But you know as well as I do the hearing Monday probably would have played out the same, regardless of anything to do with us.”
He tugged her toward her chair and prompted her to sit. He fumbled for something in his pocket but never dropped her hand. “Once upon a time, a few week
s ago, we did this, and it wasn’t super romantic.”
She searched the past for an indicator of what he meant and came up blank. “Last time we were in my office, I’m pretty sure I ordered at you to get out, and you snapped at me for snapping at Drea.”
“Not that.” When he dropped to one knee, her heart surged into her throat. “If you’ll have dinner with me tonight, I promise champagne and roses and candlelight, but I can’t wait that long to do this.”
“Do what?” Part of her knew the answer, but it refused to surrender the words to the rest of her. Or maybe she just couldn’t believe it.
He held up a small jeweler’s box and popped the lid. Her eyes grew wide at the familiar sight. It was her grandmother’s ring. The one her brother pawned early on. A sob of happy disbelief lodged in her windpipe.
“Gwen Marie Debson, you’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met, and I’ve known some pretty incredible and gorgeous gals. It doesn’t matter; none hold a candle to you, body or mind. The last few days have been miserable, with me thinking we were through, and I don’t want to go through that again, so I’m hoping you’ll do me the honor of spending the rest of your life with me.”
“Yes. God, yes.”
He slid the ring on her finger, then rose and kissed her gently. “I probably shouldn’t admit this—it’s not manly or something—but at least a tiny bit of me was terrified you’d say no.”
“It never crossed my mind.” She held up her hand and watched the garish halogen light bounce off the rubies and diamond. “Where did you find this?”
“I’ve got a person who’s good at following digital paper trails. And I may have given her an unlimited budget, to make sure she did this as quickly as possible.”
“I love it.” She stood and pulled him to his feet as well. “The ring. The poetic proposal. All of it. Especially you.”
He grabbed her hips and spun her so her back was to her desk. With a light nudge, he prompted her to sit on top, leaving her feet dangling. The moment still felt surreal. Too good to be true. She almost laughed at the phrase that had become all but meaningless to her up to this point. Now the words had new life. New power behind them. And she was wrong; it wasn’t too good to be true. It was exactly as it should be.
Too Goode to be True (Love Hashtagged #2) Page 13