Across the Horizon

by Aly Martinez

  But I couldn’t.

  Not now.

  Not ever.

  Before my emotions had a chance to breach my carefully crafted smile, I cleared my throat and told Charlotte, “Dr. Laughlin is spending the day in the dunking booth.”

  She tsked her tongue against her teeth. “I thought we discussed the human dartboard?”

  Sighing, I rocked back in my metal folding chair and crossed my legs. “I decided it might be a tad too violent for the kids.”

  “Yeah, but the dunking booth isn’t nearly as satisfying to watch.”

  “I don’t know about that.” I leaned in close, partitioning off my mouth, and whispered, “I filled the tank with ice water and paid the pitchers from the local high school baseball team to rotate through the line for a few hours.”

  “Niiiiice,” she praised.

  My lips stretched, and I prayed she couldn’t see the agony simmering beneath the surface. “If he’s going to fire me, I’m going to earn it.”

  “What are you talking about? He’s not going to fire you.”

  “Oh, please. How long do you think he’s going to keep his ex-wife employed after I take him to the cleaners in divorce court?”

  “I don’t care what happens between you two. He’s not firing you.”

  I reached across the table and squeezed her arm. “You’re sweet, honey. But it’s bound to happen. And I’ll be honest, I’m not sure I can spend my days watching him parade around with whatever nurse he’s got his eye on next.”

  She scoffed. “There isn’t a woman in that office who would touch him with a ten-foot pole after the shit he and Tammy pulled on you. Besides, that office is half mine. You aren’t going anywhere.”

  God, that felt good knowing that someone still had my back. Though it didn’t change the facts. Moving on couldn’t be done while standing still.

  I shot her a warm smile. “And I appreciate that, but, Charlotte, it’s time for me to move on. A man you love treats you like that, you don’t sit around pining after him.” I smoothed down my respectable, but still form-fitting dress, which I may or may not have worn just to torture Greg, and finished with, “You put on your tightest little black dress and your best pair of heels and strut into the future.” My voice caught, but my smile never faltered. “Life sucks sometimes. You and I know that better than anyone else, but we only get one.”

  Her face suddenly paled and I regretted saying that immediately. I should have known better than to compare our lives. I had not become best friends with a woman like Charlotte Mills without learning to walk the sensitivity tightrope.

  But if I apologized, it would only make her feel guiltier and more embarrassed. So, going against my natural inclination to fix and meddle, I held my breath and silently waited for her to lead us out of the awkwardness.

  After several seconds, she sucked in a deep breath and replied on an exhale, “Enough heavy for one day.”

  “Yes. Yes. You’re right.” I offered her a tight smile. “Go on. Get out of here and have some fun.”

  She started away when suddenly I remembered why I’d called her three times yesterday and threatened to burn her house down if she didn’t show up today. I’d promised the catering guy a one-on-one with my best friend.

  “Oh, wait, Char!”

  She turned to face me. “What’s up?”

  “Do me a favor and take this over to the guy at the grill?” I thrust an empty pickle jar in her direction. “He needs a way to collect the tickets for lunch.” I smiled—attempting to keep my enthusiasm locked away.

  When her body locked up tight, I knew I’d failed.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Like what?”

  She pointed at my mouth. “Like that.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about?” I lied.

  She was going to kill me. That much I was sure of, but I’d lost any sense of fear when the blond-haired, blue-eyed, gorgeous specimen of a man Porter Reese had shown up an hour earlier to cater the Fling. He had it in his head that he was going to convince Charlotte to treat his son. This would never happen, but after one glance at his muscular shoulders, his scorching grin, and a bare ring finger, I’d hoped that maybe he could convince her of something else—like maybe to get naked with him.

  I pressed the jar into her hand. “You should go talk to him.”

  We both turned to look in his direction, finding a cloud of smoke billowing high in the air. Scrunching my nose, I sent up a prayer for the sake of our patients and staff that The Porterhouse was really as good as the Yelp reviews had insisted.

  “What the hell is he doing?” she asked.

  I nudged her shoulder. “I don’t know. Go ask him.”

  She swung a murderous gaze my way. “Are you trying to set me up with that guy?”

  “Dear God, no.” I slapped a hand over my heart. “I’m about to reenter the dating world for the first time in nine years. I can’t afford to risk that you’ll praying-mantis a hot one like that.” This wasn’t totally a lie, but trust me when I say Charlotte needed a man far more than I did. And when I caught sight of Greg watching us from the dunking booth, pain and betrayal stabbing me in the chest, I decided that maybe men should be off the table for a while. “Stop being so damn suspicious,” I told her. “He looks like he could use some help, and I’m smart enough to know that you’re about to find somewhere to hide for the next hour until you can leave. So do us all a favor and do it over there.” I gave her a rough shove in his direction. “Go make sure there will be edible food to serve people and then you have my full permission to leave in two hours.”

  “One hour,” she countered.

  “One and a half.”

  “One hour, Rita. I need to get up to the hospital.”

  I rolled my eyes. “One hour and fifteen minutes.”

  She extended a hand toward me. “One hour and I’ll pay to keep the baseball team until five.”

  Now that was an offer I couldn’t refuse. “Deal.”

  I watched her long, dark hair sway as she walked away. Then I cringed when orange flames shot up from the grill.

  Okay, so maybe Yelp had been wrong.

  I was Googling the nearest burger joint, just in case, when I heard her soft voice.

  “Hey,” she said, drawing my attention up. Tammy fucking Grigs was staring back at me.

  With narrow eyes, I gave her a slow once-over. Her long, brown hair was down, flowing over her shoulders in waves. Pearl studs decorated her earlobes, and a classic black maxi dress clung to curves she had clearly been hiding beneath her scrubs.

  She didn’t look anything like she had the last time I’d seen her.

  The gray was gone in her hair, and the crow’s feet around her eyes had been covered with makeup.

  Her brows were sculpted.

  Her nails were manicured.

  Her entire look was polished from head to toe.

  It was all I could do not to throw up right then and there.

  She looked exactly like a woman Greg would date now.

  Because she looked a lot like me.

  “Can we talk?” she asked.

  Nope. Nope. Nope.

  “You need to leave,” I hissed.

  She lifted her hands in surrender. “Please, Rita. I’m not here to cause trouble.”

  Blood thundered in my ears as I rose to my feet and repeated, “You need to leave!”

  But she didn’t leave…and her next two words changed my life forever.

  Life is weird. People spend so much of it searching for something.

  Keys.

  Remotes.

  Phones.

  Love.

  Happiness.

  Security.

  And just when you think you’ve found it all, the universe laughs, snatching it away and sending you right back to the start.

  But everyone knew for there to be a start, there had to be an end.

  The end of my marriage had come the day I’d found Greg’s
texts with Tammy.

  The end of our relationship had come when I’d kicked him out of our house.

  Then the end of any lingering ties, past or future, had come when I’d sat in Charlotte’s office after finding out that my philandering soon-to-be ex-husband hadn’t given me a STD…or a child.

  But I’d been wrong on all accounts.

  The real end of Greg and Rita Laughlin came on a warm Saturday in March at The North Point Pulmonology Spring Fling.

  And it came from Tammy fucking Grigs’s mouth.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  My stomach dropped and the Earth tilted as her words struck me like a physical blow. My heels sank into the grass as I stumbled backward. At the last second, I found purchase on the corner of the table and miraculously stayed upright.

  She rubbed her flat belly and smiled weakly. “Greg told me you’ve asked him to work things out. He’s such a good guy that he hasn’t had the heart to tell you about the baby yet, you know…after what happened.” She pointedly flicked her gaze to my stomach.

  My empty stomach that had once held my child before we’d miscarried. The pain seared through me, but Tammy continued.

  “Anyway…woman to woman, I felt like you deserved to know.”

  Utterly confused, I blinked at her.

  Words were coming out of her mouth, but none of them made sense. I wasn’t trying to convince Greg to work things out. He was the one who had spent the last two weeks attempting to schmooze his way back into my good graces. It had been wasted effort from the start, but what could he have possibly thought was going to happen if and when I found out he’d gotten her pregnant? That I was going to sit on the couch, knitting baby blankets for his illegitimate child?

  Fuck.

  That.

  I shouldn’t have been surprised by this sudden revelation. Not that Greg had knocked her up and then kept it a secret or that Tammy had shown up to rub it in my face. The two of them clearly deserved each other.

  But as much as I wanted to deny it—it still hurt like hell.

  She took a step toward me, keeping her voice soft and low. “For what it’s worth, I’m truly sorry, Rita. We didn’t plan this thing between us. But sometimes, love happens when you least expect it.”

  I opened my mouth to say something, but I had no idea what was going to come out. I hoped I was a strong enough woman that it was going to be a colorful variation of “go fuck yourself,” but I feared it might also be a precursory croak before I burst into tears.

  I’d lost everything because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants. And, now, he was going to walk away with a new woman and a fucking baby? A family. Everything he knew I wanted.

  How was that fair?

  Suddenly, the man of the hour joined the conversation.

  “Rita,” he called, jogging over. “Is everything okay?” His shoulders shook with a shiver as water dripped off his soaking-wet clothes.

  My baseball team had been doing their job, and it pissed me off that this bitch had robbed me of the ability to bask in my evil handiwork.

  “Just great,” I ground out.

  Greg turned his nervous gaze on Tammy. “What are you doing here?”

  She smiled up at him. “I just wanted to stop by and—”

  “She came to tell me about the baby,” I announced, masking my pain with a heavy dose of annoyance.

  He winced, his head cranking to the side like I’d slapped him. And God, did I want to slap him.

  “Congrats,” I chirped, turning to walk away. The anger and emotion swirling inside me caused tears to prick at the backs of my lids. But there was no way I was giving either of them a front-row seat to my impending breakdown.

  Roughly, he caught my arm before I could make my escape. “I was going to tell you. I swear. I’m not even sure if it’s mine.”

  “What the hell, Greg?” Tammy yelled.

  He ignored her and moved closer, his front becoming flush with my back.

  “Let me go,” I demanded, fighting against his hold while trying not to make a scene. The last thing any of us needed was to incite more office gossip.

  Greg refused to let go, and I winced when his fingertips bit into my arm. But his words were what caused the most amount of pain.

  “Rita, please. I love you.”

  As crazy as it was, a part of me believed him. In his own warped way, he did love me. And with his fingertips searing against my skin, I wanted to take that love, twist it into something dark and dirty, and then torture him with it until he was broken and ruined on his knees.

  Just. Like. Me.

  And in my next breath, it was as if God were a scorned woman who understood exactly how therapeutic revenge could be.

  Because she sent me an angel.

  He was tall and lean, but the muscles of his pecs strained against his designer white T-shirt. Don’t ask me how I knew that it was designer. It just was. Or maybe it only looked like it was because his hard body could make anything appear expensive. His hair was tousled and sandy blond, but it was trimmed and clean like he’d spent an exorbitant amount of money to make it shaggy. Dark denim hung low on his tapered hips, traveling down long, muscular legs before falling haphazardly into unlaced boots.

  I froze, unable to draw breath into my lungs, when his angry, blue eyes met mine then flashed up to Greg.

  “Get your hands off her, asshole.”

  Dear merciful Lord, the man was gorgeous.

  * * *

  The sweet smell of cotton candy danced in the air as I folded out of my car. Remixed pop songs performed by children echoed through the packed parking lot. For a moment, I almost felt bad for having screwed with Porter when he was staring down a crowd like this. I loved to give my brother shit, but not at the risk of an angry mob of children declaring mutiny.

  For fear of being forced to tell my mother about my brother’s untimely demise, I tucked my apron into my back pocket and picked up the pace. I beelined for the small group of people who were standing around a table that I swear Roy G Biv had decorated himself.

  When I got within earshot, I opened my mouth, a request for directions poised on the tip of my tongue, but they died the moment I saw her.

  “Let me go,” she bit out, pained emotion carved in her smooth features.

  The tall, balding man moved into her space, his front flush with her back, and whispered something in her ear.

  I slowed, studying her reaction while trying to figure out what exactly was going on. It could have easily been a lover’s quarrel, but even still, the dick shouldn’t have had his hands on her. And when her face screwed tight, her lips pursing like she was fighting back tears, I decided not to wait to find out.

  “Get your hands off her, asshole,” I called, jogging over.

  “Mind your own business,” the man growled while not letting her go.

  I planted my hands on my hips. “Yeah, see. You have your hands on a woman. That’s kinda the business of every man here. Especially mine since I heard her tell you to let go.” I flicked my gaze to our damsel in distress and found her staring at me with wide eyes and a slack jaw.

  Oh, great. This was about to get awkward.

  It wasn’t unusual for people to recognize me. It was far more prevalent when I was in New York or LA, where everyone was on the lookout for the next famous face to walk past. But since we’d opened The Porterhouse and my house had officially been added to the Places To Visit In Atlanta Guide online, it happened a good bit when I was local too.

  Some fans froze and stared from afar.

  Some lingered, whispering and giggling until they found the courage to approach.

  Some screamed and yelled, snapping a million selfies before I had the chance to smile.

  And then there were the ones who had absolutely no concept of personal boundaries and threw themselves into my arms, lap, or car the moment our eyes met.

  But never had anyone reacted the way the blonde did as she broke free of the man’s hold.

  �
�Oh, honey, you came!” she said, launching herself into my arms.

  I narrowed my eyes and peered down at her in confusion. But considering that this woman was fucking beautiful, even if she did look like a senator’s trophy wife with her angled bob, pearls, and a knee-length black dress that hugged her in all the right places, I didn’t set her away. I was a gentleman like that.

  “Well, hello there,” I crooned.

  She tilted her head back, resting her chin on my pec and somehow shifted closer, the toe of her sexy, red heel brushing my boot to the point that our legs were practically intertwined. “Any chance you’d be willing to play along?” she whispered.

  I twisted my lips. “With what?”

  Her deep, green eyes turned worrisome as they searched my face. Then almost inaudibly she asked, “Are you married?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  Her nose scrunched adorably. “Fiancée? Girlfriend? Friends with benefits?”

  My gaze fell to her plump lips. “You offering or asking?”

  “Who the fuck is this guy?” the man rumbled, reminding me that the prick was still standing there and had unfortunately not fallen into a sinkhole.

  And then a wide and entirely fake smile tipped her lips as she turned, using my wrist to guide my arm around her shoulders. She wasted no time plastering her front to my side.

  “You missed me, didn’t you?” she purred. “You couldn’t get enough of me last night, so you showed up today for a little more.” She pushed up onto her toes, her soft, silky lips brushing my cheek. “Don’t worry. I missed you too.”

  My eyebrows shot up, but swear to God, the way her breasts pressed against me made my cock stir. “Did you now?”

  She nodded, and despite having no idea what the fuck was happening, I watched with rapt attention as her pink tongue peeked out to dampen her lips.

  Okay, so this was definitely different than the usual fan reaction, mainly because she wasn’t looking at me like she was a fan at all.

  She was nervous, but not because of me.

  Up close, the spark glittering in her eyes wasn’t recognition—it was…desperation?

  Sure, she was hot, and she smelled amazing: like honey and citrus. And the way she fit against my side—and probably under me too—was nothing short of perfection. But I didn’t think she knew who I was. And that might have been the biggest turn-on of all.