The Perfect Comeback

by Kacey Shea

  The Perfect Comeback

  Kacey Shea

  Kacey Shea Books LLC

  The Perfect Comeback

  Kacey Shea

  Copyright © 2017 by Kacey Shea Books LLC

  All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. All characters and storylines are the property of the author and your support and respect is appreciated. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Editing: Brenda Letendre, Write Girl Editing Services

  Proofreading: Christina Weston, Erin Toland, & Melissa Hake

  Cover Design: Najla Qamber, Najla Qamber Designs – www.najlaqamberdesigns.com

  Photography: Wander Aguiar – www.wanderaguiar.com

  Cover Model: Forest

  Created with Vellum

  Also by Kacey Shea

  Firefighters

  Caught in the Flames

  Caught in the Lies

  Rock Stars

  Detour

  Derail

  Hinder

  Replay

  Sports Romance

  The Perfect Comeback

  Uncovering Love Series

  Uncovering Love

  Uncovering Desire

  Uncovering Hope

  Uncovering Love: The Wedding

  Dedication

  For everyone brave enough

  to fight for love.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Also by Kacey Shea

  Thank You

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Mia

  Some girls love flowers. I prefer them dead. Cards and candy? Only if they’re covered in blood and guts. Fake of course. I’m not an animal.

  Most women love dates that include romantic candlelit meals, fancy clothes, dessert and wine, followed by a leisurely stroll along the moonlit shore. Blah! How completely boring and stereotypical. I’d rather go have a shootout, of the paintball variety, and grab take-out for a movie marathon at home. The wine part though, that can stay.

  I’m not your average thirty-four-year-old single woman. I mean sure, I live alone in my overpriced Chicago apartment because the extra rent means the building’s safer, right? And I have a cat because don’t all mentally healthy people own a pet? At least, that was my intent when I adopted Mick Grimes from the rescue shelter. He came with the name Midnight or Smokey or Mr. Whiskers—some generic crap like that, but my new companion serves a higher purpose. Now, when my co-workers ask me a question like, “What’d you do last night, Mia?” I’m able to answer, “Mick Grimes and I had dinner, watched a movie, and then he snuck into my bed. Such a snuggle bug, that Mick Grimes.”

  Except my cat is a total dick. Really ruined my fantasy for pet ownership, and now my answer is more along the lines of, “Oh, you know, the usual. Had dinner, watched a movie, and then I had to scrub off the shit Mick left on my LA Comic Con 2014 sweatshirt. He loves me, but he likes to keep me on my toes. Idiot was at it again with the toilet paper roll after I went to bed! I guess that was my fault for leaving the bathroom door open again.”

  See? Dick.

  Has me half tempted to rename him Negan.

  But that’s okay. My asshole cat can’t sway my love for Mick. Or Daryl, or Tallahassee. No, because if you haven’t already guessed, I am hopelessly addicted to everything Wandering Dead, Zombieworld, and Man of the Dead. It’s not only shows and movies, either. My infatuation extends to comics and books. If it contains a dead heart, I’m in.

  It’s most definitely my impetus for pursuing a career in video game design. That, and my childhood gaming obsession. My friends think it’s awesome that I do what I’m passionate about for a living, but to my mother I’m a disappointment. She’d rather I settle down with a nice man, and foresees nothing but spinsterhood on my horizon. She’s not exactly wrong. The only difference is that while she sees it as a death sentence, I see it as living the dream. My career, my apartment, my free time spent doing what I want . . . I can’t imagine it gets any better. I don’t have to share my food, or pretend to care about someone else’s day, or shush a guy when my favorite show is on.

  Sure, there was a time when I expected more. A companion to share my passion, my love, my life. Maybe I’m just not that girl anymore. Hell, it’s clear there isn’t a man out there for me, not unless I lower my standards and become a woman I don’t recognize or am proud of. But I won’t do that.

  You’d think in my line of work the sausage-fest of single, intelligent gamers would manage to provide me a match made in virtual heaven, but let me tell you something. Nerds are assholes, too.

  Yeah, I tried opening myself up and that only got me bitten in the ass. So instead, I’ll stay true to myself and enjoy the good life. Sure, I’m a little cold. But it works for me, and anyone who doesn’t like it can move along. Besides, I’ve always despised cuddling.

  I shake my head, knocking away the random thoughts spinning through my brain, and focus on the screens that occupy half my cubicle. This project, which some egghead creatively coined Project X, is my current obsession. I don’t even care about the insane hours it’ll take to meet the deadline. It basically combines all of my favorite television shows. Violence and zombies of top notch graphic design, epic storytelling and witty humor, and when we launch this baby in a few more months, our company’s reputation as one of the top fantasy game producers will be solidified.

  “Mia!” Jared leans over the plastic divider that separates our work spaces. His eyes, brighter than the blue dye in his faux hawk, dance with excitement as he drops his voice. “We’re calling out Friday.”

  I merely lift my brow. I don’t anticipate flip-my-world-upside-down kind of news coming out of his mouth. Jared’s one to get excited every time Beyoncé drops a new album.

  “The Wandering Dead!” he whisper shouts.

  Now, that grabs my attention. I minimize the windows on my monitors and move to stand so our gazes meet over the partition that divides us. The desk digs into my belly, but I can’t help leaning forward even further at the promise of something Wandering Dead.

  “They’re holding an exclusive taping for fans at Navy Pier. We have to go. This is fucking epic, Mia!”

  “But how can that be? They wrapped up taping the new season last week. Are you sure this isn’t some joke or pyramid scheme?”

  “Mia, this is Wandering Dead. They’re not selling vacation rentals.”

  “They’re really coming to Chicago for this?”

  He pinches his lips together
and folds his arms across the Superman logo of his tee. “They’re stopping through on their way to Wander Stalker in Philly. It’s real, Mia. It’s fucking real.”

  Jared’s news sinks in, and as much as I hate it, I almost squeal at the prospect of being on my favorite show. “What do we have to do? What’s the plan?”

  He claps his hands and bounces on his soles. “Rae’s friend’s boyfriend’s friend owns some bar within walking distance.” He rolls his eyes, because although his sister Rae is cool, we can’t stand any of her bitchy friends. They’re all pretentious fashionistas. “We’ll take the train, meet there, and stand in line for hours. It’ll be like Backstreet Boys all over again.”

  Remembering the day we ditched school in tenth grade and waited hours for the chance for one glimpse from our favorite boy band fills me with amusement, and laughter escapes my mouth. We never even saw the backs of their talented heads when the bus arrived at the arena and security rushed the singers inside amidst the throng of screaming teens. But this time will be different. I can feel it. “I could kiss you right now.”

  Jared’s face twists with disgust. “Ew. Please don’t.”

  “Fuck.” I begin mentally picking out the outfit I’ll wear, along with stage makeup I need to stock up on before Friday, and sigh with delight. “I hope Mick shoves a stake through my skull.”

  “I’d like him to shove his gun somewhere a little lower.” Jared’s dreamy smile pulls wider and we both giggle.

  Yeah, we both have the hots for a fictional character and the actor who plays him. It’s one of the many reasons we’ve stayed best friends all these years. Similar tastes in eye candy.

  “So, which of us gets to break the news to Stanton?” I ask. Jared winces with a shake of his head. Rolling my eyes, I realize he’s going to make me take the hit. “Come on, Jared. This was your idea!”

  “I’m planning to have a horribly infectious cough with body aches in about forty-eight hours. I don’t know what your excuse is.”

  “We can’t do that. Not with Project X looming over us.” As much as I want to be there for the taping, I can’t sacrifice this game.

  “Fine. We’ll be honest.” Jared rolls his eyes. “And probably have to work fourteen-hour days to make up for it.”

  “Worth it, Jared. Totally worth it.” I plop back into my seat and spin my chair in a circle before stopping the motion with my feet. Hand back on my mouse, I glance over to my friend.

  He blows an exaggerated breath from his pouted lips. “Fine. I better get this over with while he still has coffee in his system.” He makes a show of stomping past the opening of my cubical on the way to our boss, taking extra slow steps in hopes I’ll call him back and offer to take his place. I follow his every movement and barely refrain from rolling my eyes at his theatrics. As he passes the opening to my cubical he steps back, drops his shoulders, and frowns. “I don’t wanna . . .”

  “Put on the big girl panties, Jared.”

  He eyes our boss’s office door. “But I go commando.”

  I’m tired of his whining, and I need to get back to work if we’re really gonna skip out on Friday. “Jared, just pull it off like a Band-Aid!”

  He straightens his spine but he can’t resist one final complaint. “Easy for you to say. This is gonna hurt me more than it does you.” He struts away.

  “Don’t forget to use lube!” I shout after him, drawing a few chuckles from our co-workers.

  He holds his middle finger high in the air without a look back.

  “Jared being a little bitch again?” Nick from accounting pops his head over my wall of computer screens. Nick the dick. My daily reminder that all men are jerks, and co-workers aren’t for dating. Or casual hookups. Or drunken escapades after community building days.

  I form a thin line with my lips and concentrate my gaze fully on my work before I answer. “Don’t you have a spreadsheet to format? Accounts to balance?”

  “Just trying to be friendly.” He huffs, and I don’t need to glance up to know he’s still there. Hanging around. Like a leach. Or a fly that won’t buzz off even though you sealed shut the jelly jar. Months ago.

  I let my gaze snap up to glare a beat. “How ’bout you don’t. Now, if you’ll excuse me, they don’t pay me to be cordial.” With that, I’m overcome with inspiration for a new scum of the earth villain for level sixteen, and I let my fingers fly over the keyboard. Giant head, tiny dick, and puss leaking from his eyeballs. I shall call him Nick. I can barely contain my smile as a chuckle tries to escape my mouth.

  Oh, the ways I entertain myself.

  Nick finally bugs off. Back to his desk, his feet dragging with dejection, and I hear him mutter, “You’d be fired if they did.” Was I rude? Sure. But only because this dumb ass can’t take a hint. Or rather, he lives in a world in which it’s acceptable to hook up with a co-worker, tell everyone about it, and then bring his girlfriend of two years that no one even knew about into the office the next week. Yeah, he’s a dick of the worst variety. And I’m the idiot who fell for his quirky smile, dry wit, and fucking killer retro pinball machine collection.

  Never again.

  I’m good with my cold heart for one.

  Chapter Two

  Matt

  “Dude, you’re broke.” My brother slams the ledger on top of his desk, scattering a few loose papers across the polished mahogany surface.

  My senses are heightened but my gaze remains trained on the bound black book in which I record my livelihood. I breathe in the stale air, cooled by the constant hum of air conditioning so the building remains a consistent sixty-eight degrees. Comfortable. Only the coolness tightens my already anxious nerves. I’d rather be covered in my own sweat, working my muscles until they are loose and limber. Ready for battle. Ready to fight for what’s mine.

  Only this isn’t an opponent I can take down with skill and training. It’s a simple matter of math. Black and red. “I know things are tight, but—”

  “No, Matt. You’re broke-broke. Like, I’m not exactly sure what you were thinking, broke. You needed a loan yesterday, broke. Won’t make next week’s payroll, broke.”

  “I get it. Jesus. Fuck.” Blowing out a breath from the pit of my belly, I rake my fingers through my overgrown hair, tuck it behind my ears, and stroke the scruff that fills my face.

  Danny cocks one eyebrow. “What are you going to do about it?”

  A huff of humorless laughter pushes through my lips and I meet his stare. “You’re the accountant. Aren’t you supposed to answer that question for me?” My mouth pulls into a smile I don’t really feel.

  Danny’s concern only grows. “Matt—”

  “I know. Fuck.” I grip the arms of my chair. I have to face the reality I’ve been avoiding for months. No matter how hard I try, I cannot bring myself to accept the truth. I can’t even speak the words.

  Danny does it for me. “You’re not gonna close the gym, are you?”

  I shake my head because that can’t be it. I won’t go down without a fight. “No. I won’t do that. I’ll figure something out.”

  “You could always ask Pop.”

  “Don’t.” I shake my head. We may share the same father, but my little brother will never understand the relationship I have with dear ol’ Dad. There’s no way in hell I’ll ever ask for a hand up from that man.

  “Well, I wouldn’t have suggested it unless things are that bad, but we’ve already assessed the state of your finances.” The tight line of his lips pulls into a smile and I have to laugh because, fuck, what else can I do?

  “I can fight again.”

  “No.” He shakes his head adamantly. “You’re not doing that. Not after last time.”

  I know he’s right, but still. “I just need something to get me by until next month. My guy Xavier, he’s a beast. You should see him, Danny. This fight I have him in . . . That’s it. After that, he’s going straight to the top. I guarantee it.”

  Two years ago I stepped away from the octagon after repe
ated knocks to my head forced my decision, but I made peace with it. After a six-month stint of saving, planning, investing, and working more than just my muscles, I opened South Side Gym. The gym is my baby, and focusing on others’ training ignited a passion I didn’t know existed. Xavier’s an eighteen-year-old from a rough part of town, but with the right coaching and mentorship I believe he has what it takes to go further than I ever did.

  “I’m proud of you.” Danny nods. “What about calling Uncle Jimmy?”

  I groan because I really would rather not. “He’s almost as bad as Pop!”

  “Close, and I see your point, but he does own a few legit businesses.” Jimmy’s mixed up in several shady business ventures. Mostly gambling related, or at least we assume, but no one dares to ask. But like any good hustler in south Chicago, he runs a few fronts.

  “I guess I could see if he needs a temp for his painting crew.”

  My brother smiles. “See! I’m full of great ideas.”

  “You’re the best.” I laugh and shake my head. “Got any more in that Northwestern educated brain of yours?”

  He chews on the end of his pen a few seconds and pops his brows with his next words. “Hey, what about Zig’s place? He’s always looking for help.”

  “Work at the bar?” I tap my toes across the sleek hardwood floor of my brother’s posh uptown office and run my fingers over the whiskers that cover my face. I should shave soon. They’re getting a little long, even for me. “You think he’d be up for that?”