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Isthereanythingbetteronthisplanetthanacupoftriplechocolatefrozenyogurtwithalmondsandcoconutshavings?I’msurethereis.Butrightnow,it’sgettingmethroughthisshittyday.Workwasanightmare.Thecopierbroke,andthetechniciantookforeverfixingit,soIhadtostaylateandcatchup.Iskippeddinnerandwentstraightfordessert.Iregretnothing.
To add to the shit pile, my divorce from my husband was official yesterday. A year and a half after I walked in on him banging his personal assistant on our bed, I’m free of him. I’m thrilled that it’s done. But I’m left with the age old question that plagues us all after a traumatic emotional event: Now what?
At age 29, I’m starting over. And to make things more difficult, I wasn’t aware of how dependent I’d become on Jeremy until the divorce process. I didn’t have a job because I was spending my time gaining clients for his construction business. The house was in Jeremy’s name, a fact I overlooked when we bought it.
Despite everything, he tried hard to win me back. He drug out the divorce, offering everything he could think of. He would put the house in my name and take me to Italy, like we planned years ago. We would start trying for a family. He would attempt to spend more time with my brother and dad. All things I wanted before I walked in on him balls deep in Amber, the personal assistant I hired for him. She and I had even become friends. We would often eat lunch together and went out for drinks once. So yea, that one still stings a bit.
I think Jeremy was clinging to a pretty future that, if I’m honest, would never happen. I married him because he convinced me he was thoughtful and caring. But it was all a lie. A lie I told myself, and he made me believe. Someone like that wouldn’t do what Jeremy did. If I took him back, we would both be settling. I wasn’t enough for him, or he wouldn’t have felt the need to seek intimacy elsewhere. I was just blind to it.
At the end of it all, I walked away with a reasonable monthly alimony check and a few shreds of my dignity. My best friend Vera came with me to get my things from Jeremy’s house before they had even served him the papers. I had to force my protective cop brother, John, to stay behind upon pain of disownment. Jeremy gave me a hug, which I returned even though it made my skin crawl. I wished him well and walked towards John’s borrowed truck in the driveway. Jeremy stood on the porch. His hands were in his pockets, his smile sad, as if to apologize for rejecting the love I gave him.
I could almost hear my mom laughing at me and calling me pathetic. She left us when I was ten and we haven’t heard from her since. She could be dead for all I know, but she still follows me everywhere. I wasn’t good enough for her or Jeremy. John and Vera would scoff if they knew how I felt, but it changes nothing.
Shoveling a big scoop of fro-yo in my mouth as I walk towards my apartment building, I close my eyes and hum in pleasure. I check my watch and curse. My heels click faster on the pavement as I hurry to make it home in time for the start of my favorite trashy reality show. I decide to take a shortcut through the alleyway to save a few minutes.
I only have eyes for the deliciousness in front of me, so I’m halfway down the alley by the time I register my surroundings. My dad and my brother are career cops, so when the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and a shiver travels up my spine, I stop walking and consider how stupid this is. My gaze shifts around at the dim objects and I come to a stop. Trash cans and an overflowing dumpster line one wall. I glance past the mess, then my eyes snap back and a strangled gasp bursts from my lungs when a figure steps out from the shadows.
It’s too dark to catch any of his features, but he’s bigger than me. My eyes widen when he pulls out a gun and aims it at my face. My body freezes as my heart threatens to beat out of my chest. I’ve made bad choices in my life, but this might top the list.
“Give me your bag. Now.” His voice is harsh and intimidating. But because I’m on a roll with making poor decisions, I put my spoon in the frozen yogurt and lower it to the ground. He can have my purse, but I’ve been dreaming all day about this chocolaty goodness. Priorities.
His intense gaze follows my movement, and he loses patience. “Now!” I jump at his shout and teeter off my heels and onto my pencil skirt covered ass. He curses and rushes at me, grabbing my purse and yanking it off my shoulder. The strap gets twisted and stuck on my arm and he pulls hard. Pain shoots up my bicep and I cry out as the strap breaks.
“Help! Someone help!” I scream into the night as loud as I can. The guy grabs my injured arm as he points the gun at my face again, and I clamp my mouth shut. I whimper as his hold tightens.
“Stupid cunt.” He sneers at me, then shoves me back onto my ass and stands, still pointing the gun at me. He hesitates for a second, like he’s trying to decide if he should shoot or not. I stare into the barrel of the gun and suck in a breath as his grip tightens on the weapon. Words freeze in my throat. This can’t be it. My life can’t end here. A final thought pumps through my rationalizations. Of course, the universe wouldn’t even let me finish my fucking fro-yo before I die.
Oh God, John will never forgive me for this. My brother will be so annoyed and ashamed at my stupidity.Dammit.
He opens his mouth to speak, but a shout gets his attention and he looks up at the entrance to the alley. With a curse, he bolts in the opposite direction, shoving the gun into a holster under his shirt. He disappears around the corner and I let out the breath I was holding.
Running footsteps approach from behind me, and someone stops and kneels at my side. I continue to stare down the alley where my attacker disappeared, gasping for air as my eyes burn.
“Are you ok?” The voice is a soothing rumble, like water flowing over shifting riverbed rocks. My hand flies to my rescuer without permission, and it lands on solid muscle. I look over at it resting on a bicep and my gaze trails up his chest and neck, past his square jaw, a trimmed beard surrounding plump, soft looking lips and high cheekbones, and comes to rest on a gorgeous pair of pale blue eyes. I gulp and blink as a few tears fall down my face.
“Are you hurt?” he asks when I keep staring like an idiot. His expression is so compassionate I melt on the spot.
I shake my head no, but my eyes don’t leave his. It’s like I’m caught in a tractor beam. He might be the most attractive man I’ve ever seen. He’s wearing workout clothes and a Padres ball cap over milk chocolate brown hair. This can’t be real. Am I hallucinating? I track a bead of sweat that trails from beneath his hat and slides down the side of his face. He ignores it, but I watch its progress with interest.
“Do you think you can stand?”
I nod and he takes my arm with a gentle hand, but I hiss in pain. His hand jumps back to his side.
“Shit. I’m sorry.”
We both look at my arm. “May I?” he asks.
I nod again, and he helps me out of my blazer. With a gentleness you wouldn’t think he possessed, he rolls up the sleeve of my blouse. I watch his handsome face as he assesses the damage. It turns from concerned to what I can only describe as stone faced anger.
I glance down and see bruises in the shape of fingers already forming. He glances at me, does a double take, and his face softens. “I don’t think its broken. You should be ok, but have a doctor look at it just in case.”
My neck cranes back as he stands. He holds out his hand to me and I slip my palm in his. Electricity shoots up my arm and throughout my body at the contact. I’m losing it.
He pulls me to my feet and steadies me with his other hand at my hip when I wobble on my heels. I yank my gaze away from him and a soft sigh flows out of my parted lips as I stare down in dismay at my frozen yogurt spread all over the dirty asphalt. I bring my eyes back to his and he quirks an eyebrow with a soft smile.
“I just wanted fro-yo.” My voice is quiet and childlike, almost a whine, and I question my sanity.
