Wash

“I’ve changed my mind. This is the absolute worst day of my life.”

* * *

Weeks passed, and I continued to mourn my loss of Jake. Every breath and movement took effort. Some days, the pain was so overwhelming that I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t function, and couldn’t control the tears. No one understood what I was going through, but everyone tried to be of some comfort on the rough days, and I appreciated that. On other days, I felt like I could manage. I hardly ate and woke up in cold sweats left over from my nightmares. I knew I’d never get over the loss of Jake dumping me, and I’d learned the hard lesson that in the blink of an eye, one’s whole world could take a swan dive; the elevator from heaven to hell was a fast-moving one. One minute, my life had been perfect. I’d been a princess with her Prince Charming. Then, in the next, I was a damsel in distress all over again. How will I ever move forward? I wondered. My heart was torn.

Sometimes the grief was so paralyzing that I had to remind myself to breathe. I knew there was no roadmap to get me through the throes of pain, but I hated that it hurt so damn much and for so damn long.

“I love you, Jake…and I miss you,” I whispered. “Not a minute goes by when I don’t think about you,” I muttered, recalling his beautiful face, those captivating features that I missed so much.

Everyone told me it would get easier in time, but it hadn’t—not after all those weeks. Knowing I’d never feel Jake’s touch, see his beaming smile, or hear his laugh again was almost unbearable. I missed the way he said my name, and it pained me that I wouldn’t feel his hand in mine. I’d never be able to look into his beautiful blue eyes again. There would be no more romantic dinners under the stars, no more slow dances, no more romantic birthday celebrations. All of that had been stolen away from me, leaving a giant, gaping hole in my heart.

I could still hear his voice in my head, could still feel his touch. It was something like that old country song I’d heard on the radio somewhere: I couldn’t stop loving him. I simply didn’t have the strength. As I went through his clothes, I could still smell him. All of my senses told me that he was right there in that room with me, that nothing had changed, but it had. It had all changed for the worst.

Chapter 2

Five years later…

I crossed my legs and glanced out the window, watching the sheets of rain pelt the glass and the ground and the trees. I’d buried my mother three months ago, and I’d finally summoned the courage to hear the reading of her will. Losing her to cancer was like having my heart ripped out. She’d always been such a strong, guiding, domineering force in my life. Sure, she always criticized my friends, choices, and lifestyle, and she totally controlled my dad. She always nagged me for everything she found inappropriate, which was everything from fast food to a minor curse word to a skirt above the knees. In fact, she found fault with me no matter what I did, but I didn’t care. She was my mother, a damn good one, and I loved her for it. Beneath that hard exterior of hers, I knew she always had my best interests in mind, and even during her hard-fought battle with that cruel disease, she’d tried to look out for me.

A tear slipped down my face, like the raindrops on the windowpane, as I met my lawyer’s gaze. “Can we please get started? Being here is just making all of this more painful.”

It was seven p.m., and I’d spent the better part of the day taking high-fashion photos of glamorous models in designer gowns. I still had to review the pictures and write up the article. As a fashion journalist and photographer, I always seemed to have to take work home with me. Honestly, after the day I’d had, I just wanted to take a hot shower and curl up with a good book and an even better glass of wine—anything to take my mind off the pain and loneliness of having yet another precious person ripped out of my life. After her death, I’d cried every night and even at work in the bathroom. In the midst of those emotional meltdowns, I felt the world crashing all around me.

My attorney looked down at his watch. “He’s late.”

“Who’s late?” I inquired.

“Your mother left very specific instructions, and we have to abide by them,” he said.

I hoped he’d give me a little clue about who our mystery date was going to be, but he remained secretive and mysterious. Mr. Shelby had been my mother’s lawyer for thirty years, and she’d trusted him completely. I knew there was more to the whole thing than he was telling me, and I could tell by his nervous twitch that he was up to no good.

“Please tell me what’s going on, Mr. Shelby,” I begged. “You know how much I hate surprises.”

Lifting a brow, he recited robotically, “I’m sorry, Miss Roberts, but according to the terms of the decedent’s Last Will and Testament, I am not permitted to mention his name.”

“But who else would she include? All of her closer friends and the rest of my relatives have already received whatever she bequeathed them. I thought I was the only one left.”

He picked up a file and smiled a grin that looked even faker than his toupee. “Please just be patient a while longer.”

My mind raced with questions. I was really the closest person to my mother. My father had died two years earlier from a heart attack, and I had no siblings. My mother had been a lonely child, so I just didn’t get it. We were just a small, close-knit family, so it didn’t make sense that she’d brought in an outsider.

Mr. Shelby looked at me. “You may want to check your face. It seems your mascara is running.”

I rolled my eyes. “Well, excuse me for crying. This is very difficult for me.”

“That’s understandable,” he said softly, sounding surprisingly human and handing me a tissue.

I pulled out my compact and stared in the little round mirror at my bloodshot hazel eyes. I looked so tired and beat. I used the tissue to wipe the blackish-gray rivers from my cheeks and to touch up my raccoon eyes with the Samsonites under them, then fixed the long brown strands of hair that had insisted on falling out of my French braid. Fortunately, my clothing had stayed pretty much intact; I’d opted for a long-sleeved, covered placket blouse tucked neatly into fashionable black slacks.

A knock on the door made me glance up, eager to see who we’d been waiting for.

“Come in,” the lawyer said.

When the heavy walnut door creaked open, my jaw dropped. There, standing before me, was my high school sweetheart, though he somehow looked like a stranger. Speechless, I stared at his beautiful face. His rain-soaked black locks fell around his shoulders in silken ebony waves. My eyes slid up his towering body, gliding over his high cheekbones and the dark stubble shading his sharp jaw.

I felt like I’d been struck by lightning. My breath froze in my throat, and my stomach clenched. The last time I’d seen the man was when he’d stood me up on my wedding day, five years prior. Now, all that loneliness rushed right to my head again, leaving me lightheaded. All over again, I felt like that broken girl in the fluffy white gown, shooing guests away from the ceremony that was not meant to be. I had no idea how to react to such an unexpected intrusion. I couldn’t breathe, and the attorney’s office seemed to suddenly grow smaller and hotter.

He just stood there, staring at me with those baby blues, those eyes I thought I’d spend the rest of my life getting lost in. He was casually dressed in a white T-shirt that stretched over his broad shoulders and tucked into a tight pair of jeans. He was all grown up, far more muscular than the last time I’d seen him. He was more manly, more masculine, but that didn’t stop me from wanting to punch him right in the jaw, just to make him feel the pain I’d felt on the most horrible day of my life. I’d never been more humiliated, shocked, and devastated. It had felt like a bunch of Romans had taken a battering ram and hit my stomach a thousand times. When he’d run away like a coward, when he’d abandoned me, he had, quite literally, knocked the wind right out of me.