Fair Lakes Series Box Set

by Kaylee Ryan, Lacey Black

  She used to be mine.

  Balling my hands into fists, my eyes focus in on the W tattoo, a constant reminder of the failure I am. I couldn't keep her happy, and this job was the reason. I didn't put her first, but in my mind, I was doing just that. I was securing us financially for the future, for the family we never got to have. I let myself get zoned into giving her the world, yet lost her in the process.

  I miss my wife.

  I miss her with an ache deep in my soul. I fucked up, and I don't know how to fix it. I've tried to call her a couple of times since D-day, with no answer. I've sent text messages that have gone unread. I've done everything but show up on our— I mean, her doorstep. Picking up my phone, I pull up my calendar to see what day it is. They've all become one big blur these past two weeks. My chest literally hurts when I see the reminder for today.

  Three weeks until Winnie's birthday.

  I was so busy last year that I didn't remember her birthday until the day before. I rushed out to buy her a gift, ended up with a necklace, a heart-shaped pendant that apparently, she already had. In my defense, I never pay much attention to those kinds of things. Not when I can stare into those green eyes of hers, or run my fingers through her soft silky hair, grip her ass… You see where I'm going with this. I should have paid more attention. So I added a reminder starting today to alert me once per week until the day is here. Never again did I want to fail her like that.

  My finger hovers over the reminder. I should delete it. I'm just torturing myself by leaving it on my calendar, but I can't do it. I can't bring myself to remove it, delete her from my life.

  “What did that phone ever do to you?” Chase asks from the doorway of my office.

  Closing my calendar, I set my phone on my desk. “What do you want, Chase?”

  “Aww, you're still in a shitty moody,” he coos.

  “Fuck off. Do you have a reason for interrupting me? I'm trying to get some work done.”

  “Right,” he says with a laugh, drawing out the word. “You looked more like you were trying to plot ways to blow up your phone.”

  “Again, did you need something?” I ask, my irritation rising.

  “Yeah, I need the linen contract for the West location.”

  As I mentioned, All Fit is expanding. Just locally, we are currently in the easternmost part of the state, making the original location also the east location. We have two new sites in progress; one in the west and one in the south. I'm searching for properties for the north location too. It's not like I want to be worldwide, but I'm making strides here in my home state, and I'm proud of that. I just wish Winnie was here to share it all.

  “Harrison,” Chase prompts.

  “Sorry, I don't think I've run across that one yet.” I sift through the piles of paperwork and folders that litter my desk. I've gotten shit done these past couple of weeks.

  “Careful, we might lose you to all that paper,” Chase jokes.

  “Very funny, jackass. I’ve had a lot going on.”

  “Listen, man. I know you’re torn up about the divorce, but you need to start moving on. You can’t live your life pining after her. She’s gone.”

  “She’s not gone,” I bite back.

  “Yeah, Harrison, she is. She divorced your ass. You’ve got to move on.”

  “I don’t fucking want to move on!” I shout, way too loud for this time of day. I have a gym full of customers out there. "I don't want to," I say, softer this time. “It was a mistake, a huge mistake, and fuck me if I know how to fix it."

  “Let's go out tonight. We can have a few beers at Twist of Lime. You need to put yourself back out there.”

  “Jesus, Chase. Do you hear yourself right now? The ink is barely dry on the divorce papers, and you're already pushing me to find someone else.” Not that I'm surprised. Chase and Winnie got along, but he never could understand how I could tie myself to one woman. He's a self-proclaimed bachelor and owns it like a boss. You would think that I would have envied him, but it was the exact opposite. I felt sorry for him, and I still do. I may be divorced, but I know what it's like to come home to the love of your life. To fall asleep with her tucked tight against your chest and wake up the same way. I know what it's like to have her wake me up in the middle of the night to make love, and me her. Chase kicks them out before the condom hits the trash can. I know what it's like to always have her in my corner, always. Sure, we lost our way, but in no way could I ever regret the time we had together.

  “What do you think she's doing, Harrison? Do you think she's sitting at home pining away for you? She wanted this, dude. The papers are signed, you have to accept it.”

  “I don't know how I'm going to do that,” I say honestly.

  “I don't know, man. What I do know is that you can't keep going like this. You've busted your ass—” He hesitates. “—you lost her from all the work you were putting in, at least that's your version. Are you just going to let all this slip away?”

  Frustration tears through me. I want them both. I want this franchise to be successful, and I want my wife. Finding the folder he needs, I quickly sign off on the linen contract for the West location and hand it to him. “I did it for her,” I tell him. “All of it, for her, for us and now that she's… now that we're divorced, I don't see the point.”

  “You need to get your shit together, man. This is your livelihood. With or without Gwendolyn, this is who you are. Unless you plan to pull the plug and lose the money and time you have invested, I suggest you pull your head out of your ass.” He points to the stacks on my desk. “You’ve got shit to do. Don’t get so far inside your own head, inside your pain and forget that. You have to keep going.” He turns and walks to the door. Stopping just at the threshold, he turns to face me. “If you did it for her, make it worth it. Make it the best it can be, the best I know you can make it. If you want to fight for her, fine, but don't throw away your career. Hire more people, delegate whatever the fuck you need to do to make this happen.”

  I drop my pen on my desk and sit back in my chair, running my hands through my hair. “What do I do then?”

  “You meet me tonight at seven at Twist of Lime. We’ll eat greasy food, have a few beers, and shoot the shit. Other than that, you want your wife back… you fight for her.” With that, he leaves my office.

  Fight for her.

  How in the hell do I fight for her when she won't even talk to me or return my calls? Grabbing my phone, I dial her number. It rings six times and then goes to voice mail. I didn't count the rings. I didn't have to. I've already counted them. Countless times while holding my breath, waiting for her to answer. “Hey, Win, it's me. I was uh… just calling to see how you're doing. I miss you. I know I'm not supposed to say that, but it's true. I miss you. I miss us and… just call me. Please.”

  Tossing my phone back onto my desk, I think about what Chase said. I agree it's time I pull my head out of my ass before I lose everything I have left. I'm not going to hire someone to do the work I'm fully capable of doing. Besides, it will be a good distraction, at least I hope it will be. I need to throw myself into work and let it consume me. I can't make her call me, or return my text messages, no matter how badly I want to. How do you fight for someone who doesn't want you to? How do I convince her that we made a mistake?

  Shaking out of my thoughts, forcing them to the back of my mind, I grab the first folder and get to work. I need to focus on what's here and now. Maybe she just needs some time, perhaps if I give her that, her heart will ache like mine and one day when I call she'll pick up. That's my new plan. I'll continue to call and text and engross myself in work. I am waiting for the day she reaches out. It doesn't matter how long it takes her. I'll wait forever.

  I always assumed there would be time. I thought that we would figure it out. Days led to weeks, and weeks led to months. The next thing I knew I was being served with divorce papers. I can’t say why I didn’t fight then. I guess maybe I thought we wouldn’t go through with it. Regardless, I never should
have let it get that far. I never should have signed those papers.

  I want my wife back.

  I push through pile after pile, signing invoices and contracts. I lost myself in the job, something that I’m apparently, extremely good at. It’s not until my phone alerts me to a message that I break my concentration.

  Chase: 30 minutes

  Shit. Looking at the clock, I see it’s six thirty. Shutting down my laptop, I grab the items that need to be mailed so I can drop them off on my way to the bar. Lucky for me, I pull into the lot just behind Chase.

  “Didn’t think you’d show.” He smirks when we’re both out of our trucks.

  “A man’s gotta eat, right?”

  “See? That’s the spirit.” He slaps me on the shoulder and pushes open the door.

  This place is familiarity and sadness. It makes me think of my wife, and if I can’t be with her, this is the next best thing. Not bothering where Chase is headed, I set my eyes on the booth in the back corner, the one we always used to sit at. It’s torture but I sit there anyway. I slide into the booth and grab a menu even though I don’t need it. They’ve served the same things since we started coming here all those years ago. Chase eventually catches on to where I went and slides in across from me.

  “What are you feeling?” Chase asks.

  Really? Since when is he all about feelings? “I thought we came here to eat and drink?”

  He gives me a confused look. “We are. What are you feeling?” He points to the menu.

  Well, fuck. “Bacon cheeseburger, and fries,” I say, placing the menu back in its holder.

  “Ah,” he says, sitting back in the booth and crossing his arms over his chest. “You thought I was getting all soft on you.”

  “It’s been one of those days.”

  The waitress comes to take our order before he replies. “You decide what you’re going to do?”

  “Can we not do this again?”

  He holds his hands up in surrender. “Hey, I’m just trying to help my buddy out.”

  “Okay, what exactly do you suggest?”

  “Considering finding a new pu… companion,” he corrects himself, “is out of the question, your only options are to be a miserable fuck or fight for her.”

  “Tell me, ole wise one, how do I fight for her when she won’t return my calls?”

  He shrugs. “Go see her.”

  “Stalk her, that’s your answer? Terrific. I’m doomed.” The waitress drops off our food, and we both dive in.

  “I don’t know, Harrison. What I do know is that you need to figure your shit out. Work is suffering, you’re suffering.” He gives me a pointed look. “Man up and make a decision. Commit to a plan and make it happen.”

  The waitress brings us fresh beers, which is a good time to change the subject. “You find a truck yet?” I ask. He’s been looking to buy a new truck for a few weeks now but can’t seem to find what he wants.

  “Nah, just been looking. I’m going tomorrow to drive a couple. You want to come?”

  “Sure.” It will do me some good to get out of my apartment and not be at the office either.

  “Hey, there,” a sultry voice greets us. Looking up, I see a blonde bombshell. She’s stacked, curves for days, and she’s on the prowl.

  “You guys want to join us for a game of pool?” her redheaded friend asks. She too is a looker.

  Chase looks across the booth at me and raises his eyebrows, challenging me. “Sure, just let us finish up here.” I grab my beer and down it. “Let me pay the tab, and we’ll be right there.”

  “I’ll be waiting.” The blonde rakes her fingernail, which is bright red and pointy, down my arm. Nothing like Winnie’s rounded and white-tipped nails. Talk about sexy as fuck. Nothing hotter.

  “That’s what I’m talking about.” Chase holds his fist out for me to bump as soon as the ladies are out of earshot.

  “It’s just a game of pool,” I remind him.

  “It starts with a game of pool. Next thing you know Harrison’s got his groove back.” He wags his eyebrows.

  “Fuck off.” I slide out of the booth and go to the bar to pay our check. I order Chase another beer, but I switch over to water. No way do I want to make the mistake of taking one of them home with me or me going home with them. That’s not what I want.

  I want my wife.

  “Water?” Chase laughs. “You going soft on me, Drake?” he asks.

  “You’re on my team.” The blonde pushes her double Ds out for me to get a better look. It’s so predictable it’s comical. Winnie and I used to people watch on the nights we were here. She would have a field day with blondie.

  By the end of the first game, I’m over it. Blondie keeps rubbing her tits on my arm, my back when I’m leaning over the table. Her voice is like nails on a chalkboard, and I’ve had all I can take.

  “I’m heading out. Thanks for the game.” I walk my cue stick over to the rack and put it away.

  “No,” she whines. Yes, she whines as if she’s two. “I thought maybe we could go back to my place,” she says in her baby voice while sticking her lip out, pouting.

  Newsflash, ladies: guys don’t like the idea of fucking a baby. It’s not sexy, so don’t do it. It’s a sure-fire way to kill any hard-on he has going. As for me, she doesn’t do it for me. Her hair’s the wrong color, her eyes too. Her tits are too big, and those nails… She’s not Winnie, that’s for damn sure.

  “Sorry, I have an early day tomorrow.” I grab her hands that are clutching my shirt and remove them.

  “I thought you were going car shopping with me?” Chase asks.

  Fucker. “Yeah, I need to go into the gym beforehand. There are a few things I need to do before Monday.”

  “Oh, I love a man who works out.”

  “He actually—”

  I hold up my hand, stopping him. “Sorry, I really need to go. Chase, call me when you’re ready.” I turn on my heel and walk as fast as I can out of the bar. I hear Blondie yell in her whiny voice for me to come back, but I don’t bother to stop and address her. I need out of here. I don’t know why I let Chase talk me into this. I’m not ready, and I’m not sure I ever will be.

  Chapter 4

  Winnie

  Three weeks later

  I glance down at the phone in my hand, reading the text message for a third time.

  Harrison: I miss you. Hope you have a wonderful day.

  I don’t respond to this one, like I’ve opted not to for all the previous ones. Dropping the phone back on my desk, I run my hands across my tired face. That message makes nearly three-weeks straight of similar messages. Sometimes they arrive in the morning before I wake, some hit my phone sporadically throughout the day, and a handful reach me just before I go to sleep. The man knows my routine, probably better than I know it.

  He’s also persistent as hell.

  When the man sets his sights on something, he refuses to give in until he’s accomplished his task. At one time, it was one of the many things I loved about him. Now, I wonder why that determination stopped. When I was ready to leave, he didn’t stop me. Sure, he may have said he didn’t want to go—didn’t want to divorce—but his actions lacked the gumption I know he had. It was like, deep down, he wanted the separation. The divorce. Even though I really didn’t. I wanted him to fight. I wanted him to fight for me as much as I wanted to fight for him. I started off slipping on the proverbial boxing gloves and getting ready to duke it out to the finish, but when those nights remained as empty as our bed, I just… gave up the fight.

  The bell rings, letting me know I’m about to be hit with fourteen preschoolers, all anxious to tell me their weekend plans. My plans? I’m hoping to fall asleep tonight and wake Sunday morning. Tomorrow is a day filled with dread, though not for the reason you may think. The calendar lets me know it’s my thirtieth birthday, a day that most people celebrate and hate just the same, but it’s more than that. It’s a reminder of my failures. The life I had planned but didn’t have the ab
ility to follow through. Our plan.

  The plan that will never come to be.

  I push all thoughts of Harrison and our marriage out of my mind and stand to greet my students. As soon as I do, the nausea sweeps in, and I feel a little lightheaded. I sit quickly, setting a shaky hand over my stomach. This flu bug is going to be the death of me. I’ve been feeling crummy for several days, though I’ve never spiked a fever. My stomach protests just about everything I put in my mouth, and I can’t seem to shake the bone-deep fatigue that accompanies whatever strand of sickness I have.

  As a preschool teacher, I’m accustomed to sickness. I live it, practically daily. I’ve been puked on more times since school started this year than I care to even admit aloud. Young kids are still learning the signs of trouble looming, and often, by the time I’m made aware, it’s too late. The vomit is flying.

  They forget to tell you that part when you’re in college and student teaching.

  I meet them at the doorway, anxiously pushing aside the nausea. Pulling a mint from my pocket, I stick it in my mouth before the first student comes down the hallway. “Good morning, Allie,” I say brightly to the cute little brunette.

  “Hi, Mrs. Drake,” she replies eagerly.

  I wave her inside, ready to greet the rest of the class and ignoring the pang of longing I get every time someone says my name. Mrs. Drake. Technically, it’s Ms. Drake now, but little kids don’t seem to understand the difference, and I’m not really in any position to teach them that variance. Sure, I could have taken my maiden name back, but when the judge asked—and I knew she was going to—I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t go back. It was like I was erasing Harrison completely, eradicating every aspect of him from my life. He may not have been there physically, but by keeping his last name, I was able to hang on to a tiny sliver of what we used to be.