by Tinley Blake
The house is listed on the market.
Shelly is hiring herself an assistant, and do I know anyone good?
Brad's lawyer has scheduled a conference call for nine AM Central time.
I'm likely to start my period today—that last one came from Flow, the app I use to track my cycle.
I click on the link and view my house. The photographer did a great job capturing the space, and then I reply, thanking the agent. My next message is to Shelly. I send her the link and tell her I'll think on the assistant thing for her. She replies with a heart-eyed emoji. I accept the invitation to the conference call and then message Doug and ask him what the plan is. It's fifteen minutes after eight here, which means I have forty-five minutes to prepare.
Breakfast is being plated when I shuffle into the kitchen. My muscles are still warming up. After the aerobic sex last night, it might be a good idea to do some yoga and stretch them out before I try anything more strenuous.
"Morning." I wrap my arms around his torso and lay my head against his naked back. The muscles along his spine bunch when he moves. Neo wakes from his nap on the floor beside his food bowl and begs for attention with a wag of his tail. I leave the warm comfort of Cal and sit on the floor next to him. "Morning to you too, old man."
"He resents that statement. Tell her, Neo. You’re not old, are you?"
"The lawyer messaged. I have a conference call this morning."
"About Brad?"
"Yeah. I'm just ready for this to be over. Maybe I should just give him some money and—"
"No. You're not going to be bullied into giving him a damn thing. If you want to out of the goodness of your heart, then fine. I won’t tell you what to do or not to do, but I refuse to let him push you to the point of giving up."
"I don’t want to. I'm just sick of it all."
"I know, baby, but it will be over soon and you won’t ever have to hear his name again." He holds out his hand, and after placing mine in it, pulls me to my feet with a quick kiss on the crown.
"Put some food in your stomach and take a cup of coffee out to the she-shed. You'll have all the privacy you need there."
"The she-shed? Is that what you’re calling it?"
"What do you want me to call it? She-shed, Heifer-hut, Bitch-box?"
"How about studio?"
"I guess that works, but Cheryl got a she-shed so I thought you should too."
"Oh, my God. Thanks, Jake from State Farm. Where did you leave your khakis and red button?"
"Get over here and eat, woman." He pulls my arms, dragging me closer.
I shove food into my mouth with the exuberance of a toddler in a highchair with a bowl of spaghetti. Up until then, I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. When we finish, I make a cup of coffee and take Cal's advice.
The studio is cool even with the sunlight streaming in. If you walked in, there is no way of knowing this used to be a utility building. They did an amazing job transforming it. Now it resembles a tiny home. After placing my coffee on the table, I light a candle and prepare for the call. Doug messaged me back a list of things we will be discussing and strict instructions on how and when to reply. Basically, if I have a question, I message his cell. When or if an offer is placed on the table, I text him my reply. If I had an extra phone, then I could have muted the conference call on one and kept Doug on the second, but I didn’t think about when I was inside and the call is about to start, so I don’t have enough time to run back in.
I type in the dial-in number and type in the code to join the chat room. Doug is already in there. The automation asks me my name. That’s the first and only thing I will say during this call. Everything else will be communicated by Doug.
I'm in. Going to mute the call so no one hears me cursing, lol
Good idea.
Within five minutes, all parties have joined. Hearing Cindy's voice in the background when Brad states his name takes me off guard. I didn’t realize the two were still involved. It reiterates the fact that I was being used and reinforces my desire to make sure Brad doesn’t get shit from me.
"My client is willing to settle for three hundred thousand in order to keep the matter from going to court."
No.
"That's a hard no."
"In that case, my client is willing to accept one hundred thousand if he is able to keep the home the couple bought together.
I bought that house.
"I think it’s safe to say that we are not willing to accept any settlement. What we are willing to do is discuss the repayment of funds used by your client over the course of four years, including but not limited to the use of my client’s credit card accounts and personal checking. If an agreement can be made for the timely repayment, then we are willing to not seek further criminal filings against your client for identity theft as well as theft of property."
"Hold."
What the hell? Can I do that?
We just did.
"My client has advised me that any charges made were during their relationship and not subject to recompensating."
"Your client used federally protected funds via credit cards not in his name. Please advise your client of the law."
"Hold." Brad's lawyer, Mr. Ward, mutes his side of the call so he can discuss how to continue with Brad, who I assume is in the room with him.
"Is your client willing to offer anything for his time and effort put into creating and building the company known as Fresh Start? As a founding member of the company and the person in charge of the daily running, he feels he is owed something." He's reaching for straws now, and everyone on the call knows it, but my heart still skips a beat. My hands shake while I type out the reply.
He didn’t.
"We are willing to offer acceptable compensation if your client can prove he was a part of the company in any aspect. I have a set of three questions along with the answers I am emailing to you now. If he answers any of them correctly, we can discuss compensation."
Wait, what are you doing? I text Doug frantically.
Don’t worry. If he gets any of them right, then I'll personally pay him.
His confidence does little to ease my stress.
"Agreed."
"First question: What date was Fresh Start originally created?"
It takes Brad a few moments to answer. I hear Cindy whisper, and I cringe. "January 2016."
"Second Question: What is Fresh Start?"
"It’s a photography company. She takes pictures of people." He's so far off base with this answer. I can’t even figure out how he came up with that unless he sees me taking pictures for social media and just assumed I was a photographer. What did he think I went out of town for? Photoshoots?
"Third question: How many employees work for Fresh Start?"
I'm holding my breath now. He’s tanked the first two questions, but there is a chance he could know this one. I do most of the company paperwork from my office at home, including the deposit into my Square account for payroll. There are three other ladies who work in the office. One of them handles the timesheets, another weeds through branding consultations, and the last, a young girl we just hired last year, answers all the comments on Instagram and Facebook.
"Three, counting myself."
The pent-up breath I’ve been holding captive gushes out with the force of a typhoon. He's not getting a dime.
"Mr. Ward, please view the email now, as well as the attachments, and tell me how you would like to proceed."
"Hold."
This time, he is gone longer than any of the others, and I can only imagine the conversation he is having with Brad. When Brad bursts onto the line, I jump and almost pour coffee all over my legs.
"I'll fucking get you for this, Blake. I swear, if it’s the last thing I do, you will pay for this shit." A chill snakes down my spine. In four years, I have never heard Brad raise his voice. Not to a stranger, not during rush hour in a fit of road rage, and never to me. Before this moment, I would have been willing to bet
an astronomical amount of money on the fact that he wouldn’t. I would have lost.
"I have advised my client to drop the case. A formal withdrawal will be filed today. Thank you for your time."
"Thank you."
I disconnect from the conference call and dial Doug’s number. He answers on the first ring.
"Hey. Is it over?"
"I'll message you as soon as the withdrawal is filed, but yes, I think it’s over."
"How did you know he wouldn’t know the answers to those questions?"
"You didn’t see the same man we saw every day. He was oblivious to anything except what he absolutely needed to be aware of to keep you. There was never a chance he would get them right."
"Thank you, Doug."
"Anytime, Blake. You take care of yourself."
"You too."
After we disconnect, I take a few minutes to myself, trying to wrap my head around the situation. I don’t understand how I could have been so oblivious to the man he was after spending four years with him. Granted, the first year, we weren’t living together, but for three of the four years, we were. How did I not realize he cared so little?
Because he said all the right things.
Was I really so easy to fool?
A tap on the door pulls me from my melancholy thoughts. Cal waves through the paned glass and I beckon him inside.
"Are you done?"
"I think so."
"And?"
"He's not getting a penny."
"Then why do you look so glum?"
"I don’t know. How did he fool me for so long? Am I self-absorbed? Ignorant?"
"No, you’re none of those things. You trusted him, and because you trusted him, you didn’t look past what he showed you. You didn’t have a reason to."
"I'm usually a much better judge of character. Or at least I thought I was, but I spent four years with a man who was only using me for my money and five years with a best friend who I’m starting to think was in it for the same thing. I heard her in the background on the call, and now I can’t help but wonder if it was all a lie."
The thought occurs to me now, and I wonder how I didn’t connect it before, but Cindy is the person who introduced me to Brad. She knew what I wanted and needed in a man, and she found me the perfect one. Had they been planning this all along? I think back to the dozens of late-night conversations over ice cream and Moscato. How many times had she asked me why I hadn’t married Brad yet? How many times had she pushed the subject?
"I think Cindy may have set me up with Brad so they could both collect. Have they been together this whole time?"
"I don’t know, baby, and thinking about it isn’t doing you any good. Let it go and be thankful you caught on when you did."
"Yeah." I know he’s right, but now that my mind has latched onto the possibility, it won’t let go.
"Wait here. I'll be right back."
Distantly, I nod, or at least I think I do. At this point, I don’t know who I can trust or what friendships are real. I just handed my company over to Shelly, who I think is a real friend. God knows, she’s put in her fair share of work over the years. I want to message her and tell her my suspicions. It's easy to second-guess every decision after this type of betrayal, but in the end, I have to trust in myself.
Do you think Brad and Cindy were a thing before me and him? I'm starting to wonder if this was a scam and they were both in on it.
Oh, snap. Really? I'll do some digging.
Okay. Thanks.
Np. How's everything down there?
It’s good. You should come visit when I find a place to live.
Tell me the time and place and I'll be there.
I reply with a wink emoji and then go in search of Calvin.
35
#picnic
Calvin
Blakelynn's so distracted she doesn’t notice when I leave, but I have the perfect plan to take her mind off everything else for a little while. With the sandwiches made and packed, I head back outside to grab Blake. She’s halfway to the house already.
“Come on.”
“Where are we going?” she asks.
“A picnic.”
“Oh!”
“You can even ride that devil of a stallion if you want.”
“I want. I want. I want.” She jumps up and down, clapping her hands together.
“Well, get in.” Neo races through the yard when I open the truck’s passenger door, leaping into the seat in a single bound. “I guess you can come too, pal.”
Blake runs up to her room for a quick change of clothes and to grab her boots. While she’s gone, I pull the horses out and start saddling them. It’s a miracle, but Samson doesn’t pin his ears at me the entire time. When he first arrived, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to help him at all. Growing up, I always had an affinity for horses. Even the most aggressive ones tolerated and even liked me, but Samson was an exception. He hated everyone. Then Blake showed up, and since then, he’s made a complete one-eighty. She could charm the skin off a snake.
Even on a day like today, when life is beating her down, she still manages to set my soul on fire. “Damn, woman, you are beautiful.” Her answering blush sneaks across her high cheekbones. Her lips curve into a sinful smile.
“You’re not too bad-looking yourself, cowboy.”
“Get your sexy ass on that horse before I decide to take you back inside.”
She winks and then double-checks the girth on her saddle. Once she’s satisfied with the snug fit, she slips a foot into the stirrup and launches onto Samson’s back. God, her ass in those jeans could kill a man. “Where to?”
“Do you remember that big oak tree?” The first time we made love was under the canopy of that tree’s branches, at dusk, without a care in the world for who saw. Not that anyone was around, but we could have been in a crowded room and not noticed another soul.
Her mouth tilts upward, the ghost of a smile on her lips. “The one by the creek? At the bottom of the hollow?”
“Yeah.”
“I remember.” And with that, she turns Samson with a tug of his reins and takes off. Spark and I follow at a distance to begin with, giving Blake space to let Samson work through his excitement. Studs are notorious for having built up stores of energy, and if you’re not careful, you’ll get a hoof to the shin. He prances to the side and hops, not full-on raring, but lifting his front legs off the ground a little. Blake controls him with little effort, laughing and joking with him the entire time. I take a mental photo of her poised and relaxed smile. Her smiles have been so few since she returned. The stress of the Brad situation has taken more of a toll on her than any of us realized.
“You wanna let him have a little head?” I don’t mention that my reason for asking has more to do with the vision of her flying through the air, wind coursing through her hair.
“I think he’d like that.”
“Let’s go.” Click, click. Spark stretches out underneath me. His stride elongates, his hoofs beating into the wet grass, clop, clop, clop. Once his trot levels out, I tug on the bit and his gait softens into an easy canter.
This right here. This is what I love. It’s a part of me, of the essence that makes me who I am. The thought of leaving this behind crushes me, but if the day comes where I have to choose between this and her . . . I wont lose her again. This ranch, these horses, the calm serenity of riding across a field at dawn, none of it compares to the way she makes me feel. Half of my life has been without her. Never again.
At the top of the ridge, Blake slows Samson to a gentle walk. Both horses are breathing heavily, a light foam coating their skin. August in Alabama is hotter than the hinges on the gates of hell. Even the trees are looking for shade. Rivulets of sweat pour down my back, soaking my shirt. In the South, the only thing worse than the blazing sun is the skin-melting humidity. You can’t walk to the mailbox without needing a shower afterward.
On the other side of the ridge is a hollow, and through it flows ch
illy creek water. We spent many summers searching for the underground spring that fed this creek, but we never managed to find it. The horses set the pace for descending the rocky hill. I lean back in my saddle and sway left to right with each footfall. When we reach the bottom, I climb off and pull the reins over Spark’s head. Neo races toward the creek with a splash. He’s never been able to pass up the chance for a swim. I lead Spark to the bank before tying him off under the shade of a giant oak.
“Are you hungry?” The saddle bags are filled with waters and a few cold beers. I hold up one of each, and when she points to the beer, I toss the water back in and grab one for myself.
“I could eat. What did you pack?”
“One ham and one turkey, some cheese, grapes, and a couple of packs of crackers.”
“Sounds good.”
The small throw blanket I tied to the saddle offers just enough room for us to sit side by side, but at least we’re off the grass. I pass her a sandwich, not knowing which one, and then spread out the rest. Neo, on the hunt for a snack, leaves his splashing fun and wanders over to us, stopping every few feet to shake out his fur. Sprinkles of cool water evaporate as soon as they make contact with my skin, but the few seconds are a welcomed refresher.
“I love it here.” Blake lies on her back, her hair fanning out around her head. She looks like an angel surrounded by a halo of light. The urge to kiss her consumes me until it’s all I can think of, so I lean over and lay my lips against her forehead, her cheek, her lips, her neck, and then repeat. I could die right now a happy man, following the giggle that bursts from her. She reaches for my hand and I give it. I’d give her anything.
Time passes, but neither of us notices. It could have been hours, minutes, days. The sound of thunder rumbling across the cloudless sky brings me back to the present. “Shit.” Sitting up, I glance around. Neo is asleep in the grass at the foot of the tree just outside the range of Samson’s hooves. Spark is munching on the few leaves he can reach from a low-hanging branch.
“Was that what I thought it was?”
“Yep. We should probably head back.” I start to gather up the remnants of our picnic while Blake rolls the blanket back up and attaches it to the saddle. Within minutes, we are loaded up and headed home. I keep an eye on the sky and a tight hand on the reins. Every time a boom shakes the ground, Spark shimmies to the side. He’s always been a skittish colt, which is why I try to take him out as often as I can to help him get used to the trail and naturally occurring problems like thunder or a flock of birds taking flight. Samson’s doing fine, which surprises me, considering his untrusting nature, but maybe that is only subject to the male species.