Only Once: A Single Parent- Hollywood Romance

by Ashley Munoz

  Only Once

  Ashley Munoz

  Copyright © 2021

  by Ashley Munoz & ZetaLife LLC

  ISBN: 978-1-7337919-3-9

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  This book is protected by Federal and International Copyright Laws. No part of this book whether in electronic, physical or audio form, may be reproduced, copied, downloaded, sold or distributed in any way including via PDF format. This includes electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or any other form of information sharing, storage or retrieval system without the clear, lawful permission of the author. Except for limited, sharable quotes on social media, or for the sake of a review. There is absolutely no lawful permission permitted to upload a purchased or borrowed electronic copy of this book to any free book sites. Screen shots of book text or kindle passages are not allowed to be shared on any public social media site without written permission from the author. The Cover is also under Copyright via the designer Tiffany Black.

  This book is a work of total and complete fiction. The story was thought up from the authors curious and thoughtful brain. Any names, places, characters, businesses, events, brands, media, situations or incidents are all made up. Anything resemblances to a real, similar, or duplicated persons or situations is purely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication or use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Cover Design: Tiffany Black from T.E. Black Designs

  Editor: C. Marie

  Proofreader: Tiffany Hernandez

  Formatting: Ashley Munoz

  Created with Vellum

  To my very first love, Ryan.

  Our memories are stuck in my chest like an extra set of lungs, giving me life. I guess fate had other plans for us, but I’ll always be thankful for what we had and what it inspired in me.

  Gloria, you were an angel when my world was full of demons.

  Thank you for your kindness.

  Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 37

  Epilogue

  Facts about the book:

  Also by Ashley Munoz

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Sneak Peek of Tennessee Truths

  Prologue

  9 years old

  I hated when it rained.

  While other girls my age spun and danced in the summer rain, I never felt the call to move my feet or let my hair soak in heaven’s downpour. Instead, I’d hide away, under my tree, praying for the sun.

  “Bexley, come here.” My mother’s hoarse voice rang through our tiny trailer, grating across my skin. Slowly, I untangled my legs from the warmth of my bed and padded to her side. She had the lottery show on, the one that always had her smoking an extra pack of cigarettes and yelling like a madwoman once it was over. I always liked the little balls that pumped and jumped in the plastic machine, but Momma never seemed to be happy when they’d finally land.

  “Since it’s raining, you’ll need to stay near the house…you know how the mud gets around here…so don’t go wandering off when your daddy gets here.”

  I nodded my understanding. She didn’t have to remind me of these things. It was why I hated the rain. Whenever my father came, Momma always told me to leave the trailer…said they had grown-up business to talk about.

  For some reason, my daddy only came to see my momma on Tuesdays and Fridays, usually during lunch time. I hated it because he’d stay so long, and if I wasn’t quick enough, I’d miss lunch entirely. Momma never seemed to care if I ate on those days…one time, Daddy was here until the streetlights came on and I was still huddled in the grass, under the large sycamore. I remember wishing on the stars I could see through those big branches that time would hurry up and school would start. At least during the school year, I was only kicked out when Daddy showed up randomly on the weekend every now and then.

  Daddy never wanted to see me, though he had given me a plastic tube filled with candy close to Christmas. Otherwise he only came to talk to Momma. I heard him yelling at her about as often as I accidently saw them doing grown-up things. If Momma’d had her own room, I s’pose I wouldn’t have caught them kissing or any of the other things I wasn’t supposed to see. Like the time my daddy threw money at my momma while she cried for him to stay…but he was always leaving.

  When I was little, I figured daddies not seeing their kids was normal. Like lions or something…how the mommas raise the kids and the daddies just hunt and don’t spend much time with the kids. Now, as a nine-year-old, I knew from seeing my friends’ families that mine was different.

  “Can I say hi to him this time?” I bit my lip, wishing I didn’t feel so silly for asking. He never wanted to say hi to me. If he saw me at all, he acted like I wasn’t there.

  My mother’s laugh got tangled in my chest.

  “Honey, he doesn’t want to see you.” She shuffled the green and pink papers in her lap, flicking her cigarette into the tray on her left.

  Normally, I’d leave, but this time, I wanted to know.

  “Why not?” Had I done something wrong? Jessie from school told me the reason my daddy wouldn’t want to see me was because my hair was as white as lightning; she said he probably thought I was a witch.

  My mother let out a sigh, her curly hair sky-high from the hairspray she used, always making it stick in place. Her makeup was done in pastel blue, and her off-the-shoulder sweater revealed her aqua blue bra. It was my favorite color out of all the colors she owned.

  “Simplest way to put this: you aren’t enough for him. While I don’t mind you running around here…he does.”

  “But why? I don’t talk, I don’t take up much space…maybe I can just talk to him about his day or show him I know how to make grilled cheese now?” He’d be proud—no one else my age was allowed to use the stove as much as I did.

  “How can I explain this to where you’ll understand…” She let out one of those heavy sighs, the ones that seemed to always make me feel like I was falling through the floor. “You like ice cream, right?”

  “Yeah…” I tangled my fingers together, ignoring how dirty they were from using the burnt pieces of wood from the next-door neighbor’s fire pit. I liked to draw pictures of animals with them. One time I asked my momma for paints or colored pencils to draw with, but she said we didn’t have the money. That was okay though; burnt wood worked nicely if you pressed it right.

  “Well…everyone has their preferred flavors. Your daddy likes chocolate—it’s his absolute favorite—and while I
may be like chocolate, you are not.”

  “What am I then?” I wanted to think if I were to be any ice cream flavor, it would be strawberry or pineapple.

  “Remember that flavor you ain’t never liked?”

  I screwed up my nose, thinking of the gross blended flavors of strawberry, vanilla, and chocolate.

  “Well, you’re like that: sweet, and good for the right kind of people, but not everyone’s first choice. You’ll see when you’re older.”

  Somehow my little heart felt like it had shrunk to the size of a marble. How could I be the worst kind of flavor? I was nice to everyone, even to Momma when she was mean. I didn’t understand what I had done to deserve such a disgusting flavor…but that night I realized I didn’t want to be someone’s second or third—or last—choice.

  I wanted to be someone’s favorite. I would do anything to be someone’s first pick.

  1

  The violent pop of pink against the harsh lime green walls made me immediately regret this decision. My left eye twitched, silently begging me to blink in rapid succession until the vibrancy of the room stopped. I wonder what black charcoal lines would look like on these walls.

  My fingers itched to grab hold of a piece of black coal and draw fat lines along each plane, dividing up the vivacity of the room. Sure, most people wouldn’t use charcoal on walls, but I’d grown up drawing on every surface imaginable. Call it a nervous tic. I liked the challenge of the less-than-perfect surface to cast my art on, having to hold my piece perfectly to get the lines right.

  “Thanks for your patience.” A woman in khaki shorts and a much softer, appealing pink shirt smiled at me, interrupting my thoughts of art. I forced a tight smile because yeah, my interview was supposed to start fifteen minutes ago.

  When I had arrived, I’d been told to stand near her office door and wait. It was next to the changing room in what looked like a small luxury gift shop. So, I’d awkwardly loitered while clinging to my resume.

  “No problem.” I gripped the piece of paper in my lap, unsure if I was supposed to hand it over to her or just forget it. No one ever really addressed whether bringing one was a good idea anymore. I knew if you happened to get an old-school boss and didn’t have it, you’d be at a disadvantage. If not, you just looked like an idiot.

  “So, this all looks great. I think you’d be a good fit with your customer service background.” She smiled, her white teeth beaming against her tan skin, vibrant just like her office.

  “Yes ma’am.” I hid a wince as my accent made an appearance.

  I’d lived on the west coast for the past thirteen years, so thankfully most of my drawl had started to wane…but every now and then it would peek through. What I didn’t want this woman to do was dig into why I had a slight accent or double-check my references.

  If she dug around in my past, she would find out I had obtained those customer service skills by working as a clerk at the local supermarket in my hometown of Pharr, Texas. That and Motel Six—definitely not the prestigious marketing firm and the telecommunications company listed on my resume.

  “You’ll mostly just be helping us gauge some of the new health code requirements—it’s been a bit of an upset for some of our members, and of course our guests.” She continued clicking her mouse, moving it around while looking over my resume on the computer screen.

  On instinct, I gripped the useless sheet of paper in my lap. While waiting for my interview to start, I’d overheard an irate customer yelling about some new policy that was being enforced. The poor girl on the other side of the counter had looked like she had no idea how to handle angry customers.

  “I specialized in customer retention for years, so this will be a walk in the park for me.”

  Lie.

  But I had once talked Stacey Gorman out of cutting Julianne Jones from navel to nose with her daddy’s hunting knife. Apparently, Julianne had been getting friendly with Stacey’s boyfriend at the Stutzmans’ bonfire.

  “Great. Well, I hope the age differences won’t be too frustrating to deal with. If my assumption about you is correct, you’ll fit right in.” She stood, smiling.

  Age difference?

  What in the heck was she talking about? I didn’t have time to ponder it too long before she stuck her hand out, ending our interview by promising to be in touch.

  I exited the prestigious sports building, feeling like I’d just stuffed my face into a warmed oven. I blinked against the hot sun and headed toward the parking lot, where my minivan was parked.

  Shoving my sunglasses on, I walked past a family headed toward the rows of shiny bike rentals. I was so far removed from labels and prestigious brands I didn’t know what on earth they were wearing, but I knew their clothes hadn’t come from the TJ Maxx clearance rack.

  I’d have to push past my discomfort with rich people if I was going to work here. It was literally designed to cater to the privileged and their guests.

  Rounding my dark-maroon minivan that had a few dents along the bumper and a crooked license plate, I dug for my keys. Two brand new Range Rovers sandwiched my car, making my gut sink. I wondered if there was an employee parking lot where I could avoid the vehicular superiority I’d encounter here. There had to be regular Joes who worked here, right? People with cars more than five years old…dents, dirt…I scanned the parking lot. That was a big nope based on my quick survey of the space.

  I stifled a sigh as I started my van. A godawful squeal emanated from under the hood, which meant it was going to be a good day.

  Around me, families in khaki and white cotton appraised me through designer shades. I didn’t care what they thought. I’d stopped caring a long time ago. I took out the map I’d snagged from the sports center and spread it across my steering wheel while I waited for my car to warm up. Once the squealing stopped, it was usually my green light to go. It hadn’t stopped yet. I used my finger to trail down the different partitions of land on the resort.

  Hawk Tail Resort had originally been built fifty years earlier, which was when they divided the estate into thirds. One third was reserved for owners who either lived in or rented out their homes, and a sports center with a splash pad was set up for that side of the butte. The second was for the massive sixteen-story hotel that stood like an ugly sentinel greeting all the guests who drove into Hawk Tail Resort, with the spa and restaurants centered closest to the hotel. The third was reserved for private villas bordering the eastern side of the river and the sports center that I was applying for. It was reserved for more recreational use, with an outdoor pool, bike rentals, and basketball and tennis courts.

  Locals came out to play the golf course or frequent the five-star restaurant, but few actually stayed here…unless, of course, they were owners. The fees alone to use all the amenities on the resort were more than I spent on groceries and gas in a month.

  No thank you.

  My engine finally went silent, just lightly thrumming under the hood, which meant it was time to go. Folding the map, I put my car in reverse.

  I was almost home, mentally patting myself on the back for not stopping anywhere for an easy dinner I couldn’t afford, when I happened upon a bit of a scene.

  Mrs. Wry was fisting the shirts of two children who were screaming and fighting with each other. She seemed to have impressive strength for holding back the kids the way she did, especially when the little one with golden curls shoved her left foot out to kick the boy.

  “Oh boy,” I muttered, putting my car in park in my driveway.

  As soon as I cracked my car door, the sounds of their shouting hit me in loud shrills and angry cries.

  “You did it, Cowe!” the little girl screamed, with a little lisp and an insanely cute whine.

  “I warned you to stop putting your dumb doll in there!” the kid snapped back.

  I eyed my front door, wondering if Mrs. Wry had seen me yet. I couldn’t count the number of times I’d caught her on that front lawn, gripping the collar of those two kids.

  �
��Oh, Bexley!” Mrs. Wry yelped in surprise, releasing the two hoodlums from her grasp.

  “Shit.” I hiked my purse up higher on my shoulder. “Problems again, Mrs. Wry?” I eyed the two stragglers in her yard distastefully. They were always doing this—yelling, screaming, fighting. Lord knew they got it from that lackluster father of theirs.

  “Well…there seems to be an issue here that we can’t overcome. Anyway…I’m just glad you’re back.” Her wrinkled features softened as she drew closer to my side of the yard and further from the two children.

  “Well…of course,” I muttered, unsure what else to say. Different day, same song and dance.

  “Where are you going?” Mrs. Wry asked, furrowing her thin eyebrows in confusion.

  “To start dinner.” I turned, heading up my porch steps, bending down to check on the potted plants. We’d had a bit of a heat wave and I hadn’t been home to water as often as I usually was. I stood, flicking my gaze one last time to the elderly woman in my yard.

  “What about them?” She pointed behind her, sputtering toward the kids.

  I watched the siblings with one eyebrow raised.

  “I’m sure they know their way home.” I opened my front door and slammed it shut behind me. Setting my things down, I could hear my neighbor yell at the two kids she’d left in her yard. I flipped through the mail that had been set neatly on the little entry table. Cole must have grabbed it earlier. Ignoring the front door slamming and the two hellions who entered, I began tearing into envelopes, silently praying for a random check or marriage proposal from a foreign prince.