Love You Better (Better Love 1)

My smile is so big that my cheeks hurt. My stomach is aflutter with butterflies, and I can tell I’m blushing like a schoolgirl with a crush. It’s so not me.

This isn’t at all in any of my plans, and I’d be lying if I said it hasn’t been a point of anxiety in the recesses of my brain. I’m not good at living in the now, without considering how every move will affect the future, but I’m making a concerted effort to do as Kelley asked and take this a day at a time.

I know there are things I’m going to have to talk to him about soon—where I was for those fifteen months we didn’t speak, why I left, what I’ve dealt with since.

I need to tell him, and I’m terrified of his reaction.

What if he treats me differently? What if he’s angry for letting him think the fallout was his fault? I’m not too proud to admit that I would be heartbroken.

But I can’t think about that yet. There’s nothing I can do about it right now anyway.

So, like everything else that overwhelms me, I file it away in my mind under For Later Review and focus on the more immediate issues.

Like the meeting for the Harrison estate case.

I’m ahead in my classes and already squared today’s absence with my professor, and Amelia said the work I’ve done for the case has been perfect. Today, I get to sit in on a meeting that is sure to be heated, and as nervous as I am, I’m eager for the experience.

I walk into Pierce, Pierce & Associates at 1 p.m. on the nose. Our meeting is at two, but I want to help Amelia, Ms. Pierce, and Mr. Davis, the attorney who specializes in estate law, prepare.

When we’ve been briefed and the files are all in order, Mr. Davis calls Geoff at the front desk and tells him to show Mr. Harrison to the conference room.

Mr. Harrison introduces his son, Brandon, his daughter-in-law, Allison, and his grandson, Matthew. Then for the next three hours, I sit back and listen to the two men argue about the will. Mr. Harrison tries to maintain his composure, but Brandon is full of rage, and several times Mr. Davis has to remind him to lower his voice.

The whole time, when I should be listening to Ms. Pierce and Mr. Davis discuss the legal options, I can’t keep my eyes off the boy and his mom. His mother reminds me so much of my own. She’s weary. Disheveled. Overworked. Sad.

And the boy? His despair hits me so hard that I have to fight off tears. He’s not much older than Jacob. Does Jacob look like that when I’m not around? Lost and alone? Not for the first time, I’m overwhelmed with the guilt of leaving him.

This is exactly why I want to get into family law—to advocate for kids and mothers like them.

My life could have been very different if my family had someone advocating for us. Had my mother known about her options, maybe she would have left my father before he got drunk and wrecked his truck and left us destitute with credit card debt up to the ceiling. Or maybe, after Jacob’s dad abandoned him to go back to his big city banker job and rich family, my mother would have known she could legally hold him accountable for a portion of Jacob’s medical bills.

If someone was there to educate my mother and fight for us sooner, I wouldn’t have had to shoulder so much responsibility as a child. Instead, she thought her only choice was to take it all on herself, and I was left to pick up the things she couldn’t juggle.

I hope that after today, Allison and Matthew will have the advocates they need.

15

I have been waiting impatiently for this date all week. I have everything planned. I just hope I don’t come on too strong, because I pulled no fucking punches. Ivy’s giving us a chance, so I fully intend on proving to her that it’s worth it.

I have to hold myself back from jogging toward Ma and Pop’s firm. It’s fucking ridiculous how badly I’m jonesing to see Ivy.

Now that I’ve had a taste of her, I can’t get enough. It’s like she’s the last pint of craft beer on tap, and I just crossed the Boston Marathon finish line. I’d say glass of water after crossing the Sahara, but that’s too cliché, and Ivy is anything but cliché. Ivy is definitely craft beer. Unique, high-quality, fucking intoxicating.

Pulling open the mirrored glass doors to the firm, I’m about bowled over by a big guy sporting a furious expression.

“Fuck off,” he grumbles at me, and I step back and throw my hands up, but not before flashing him a look that says what the hell is your problem, asshole. When he stomps past me, I stride through the doors and up to the reception desk.

“Hey, Geoff,” I greet my parents’ front desk manager.

“Well, if it isn’t Prince Pierce. What brings you in to our fine establishment today? Ready to claim your birthright and cross over to the dark side?”

Geoff chuckles at his own joke; he knows I would sooner string myself up by my baby toes for all eternity than become an attorney.

“You wish you co

uld see my pretty face every day,” I quip back. “I’m actually here for Ivy. She said she’d be done at five.”

“They should be out soon.”