The One You Can’t Forget

by Loren, Roni

  “Rebecca.”

  “It’s bullshit for me to go up there and talk about it as if I’m the heroine in this horror story. I wasn’t. If it had been a movie, people would’ve cheered when I got shot. You know that. I feel like a hypocrite giving some inspirational speech. I wasn’t the heroine. I was a villain.”

  Her father’s expression turned thunderous at that. He crossed the room and sat in the chair across from her. He pointed a finger at her, his stare nailing her to the spot. “Rebecca Anne, don’t you give me that line of crap. You almost died that day. My only child almost bled out in the place where she was supposed to be safe.” His expression tightened, a rare flicker of emotion surfacing, but he quickly covered it.

  “You have overcome so much. I saw you all those months after. I watched you fight all those dark emotions that tried to take you down. You are here because you’re a fighter. You have become a strong, successful woman despite all those challenges. If that isn’t heroic, I don’t know what is.”

  Rebecca blinked, her chest constricting and her eyes burning. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard her dad say something so complimentary and with such conviction. “Dad…”

  “I haven’t forgotten what you told me all those years ago, but you holding on to any blame is ludicrous. Those two boys were disgusting, demented human beings. I don’t care what happened between you and that kid. The only ones responsible for those deaths were the two people pulling the triggers and their parents for not seeing what was in front of them.” His tone was grave and resolute. “You have zero responsibility for what happened.”

  She closed her eyes, forcing herself not to cry. She heard his words, but she couldn’t accept them. Categorizing people wasn’t that easy. Trevor hadn’t always been a monster. He’d been on the edge. But you didn’t fall over the edge without being pushed.

  She’d pushed.

  She shook her head. “It’s not that cut-and-dried.”

  “Of course it is. Those kids were ticking time bombs. Why do you think the cornerstone of my campaign is being tough on early criminal offenses? If those boys had been handled differently when they’d committed those first petty crimes the year before—shoplifting, underage drinking, graffiti—that shooting would’ve never happened. They would’ve already been locked up or in some juvenile program.” He reached out and put his hand over hers, his tone fervent. “If I get elected, we can changes things, Rebecca. I know I’m putting a lot of extra work on you with the campaign, but that’s because there’s so much riding on it. And I need your voice behind it, reminding people why all of this is so important. Don’t you want to make a difference?”

  “Of course I do,” she said, feeling sick to her stomach. “But…”

  “Good. Then you’ll talk long and loud and proud. I have another event Saturday after next and have put you down as a speaker. You will show people what you’ve been through, what you’ve overcome, and why you’re still fighting. All those friends and teachers you lost at Long Acre, they can’t speak for themselves. They can’t fight anymore. But you can. You can be their voice. And then I can make changes happen.”

  The words were digging into her like painful pinpricks, drawing blood. She could hear the silent message in his words. You owe them.

  God, did she.

  She swallowed past the bile trying to rise in her throat. “Okay,” she said quietly.

  “Okay?” he asked, catching her gaze.

  “Yes, sir.”

  He nodded. “Good, now—”

  “I’m not sure if it’s manly to smell like vanilla cupcakes, but that shampoo of yours—” Wes’s words cut off, and Rebecca cringed.

  She could see her dad’s face when he caught sight of Wes somewhere behind her, saw the souring of his expression.

  Rebecca turned around, bracing herself, but it was worse than she’d thought. Wes was standing in the doorway with just a towel around his waist.

  “Uh, I’m sorry,” Wes said, jutting his thumb to some unknown place behind him. “I was just…”

  Her father stood, his jaw clenched. “Rebecca, I didn’t realize you had company.”

  Rebecca took a breath. She was a grown woman. This was awkward, but there was no way she was going to apologize for it. Her father was the one who’d shown up unannounced. “Dad, this is Wesley Garrett. Wes, this is my father, William.”

  To Wes’s credit, he managed to walk into the living room with dignity and shake her father’s hand despite his state of undress. “Nice to see you, sir. I didn’t realize you were stopping by.”

  “Obviously.” Her father lifted a dark brow. “You’re the young man who gave my daughter a ride yesterday.”

  Wes choked a little and Rebecca closed her eyes, her face heating at her dad’s choice of words. A ride. He most certainly did. Twice. “Yes, Dad. Wes is…a friend.”

  “I thought you said he was working on the charity project with you,” her father said, sending her a look.

  “That too,” she said, trying to sound businesslike and like she wasn’t at all mortified by the current situation. “He’s the culinary instructor at an after-school program for kids. The money’s going to fund a food-truck project for his group that will help sustain the program long-term.”

  “I see,” her father said, his eyes back on Wes. “So, Mr. Garrett, do you make a habit of sleeping with women in order to get your program funded?”

  Wes stiffened like he’d been pinched.

  “What?” Rebecca said, horrified. “Oh my God. Dad, you can go now. This is ridiculous. Who I do or do not sleep with is none of your business.”

  Her father tucked his hands in his pockets, unmoved. “Well, I think it is my business when it’s my money this man is swindling you out of.”

  “Swindling?” Wes said, a thread of anger entering his voice.

  Her father looked back and forth between the two of them. “You’re taking advantage of my daughter, and I won’t stand by and—”

  Rebecca threw her hands out to her side. “Enough! Jesus, Dad. I’m thirty-one, not twelve. And I really appreciate that you think I’m so desperate that I’d have to pay someone to sleep with me. That’s really nice of you. Now, please, leave.”

  “Rebecca—” her father said.

  She pointed to the door. “Go. Or I’m never doing another campaign thing again. This is over the line. Next time you want to come over for a visit, call first, because, surprise, I have a life.”

  Her father was red in the face, but he turned and strode toward the door. When he reached it, she thought he’d just storm out, but he turned around. “No, Rebecca, what you have is a distraction. The daughter I know doesn’t cut out of work at three on a Monday. She doesn’t quit speeches. So I’d suggest if you plan on making partner, you get rid of this.”

  He stepped out and slammed the door behind him, leaving Rebecca staring slack-jawed after him.

  Wes cleared his throat behind her. “Well, that went well. I totally just guaranteed an invite to Thanksgiving dinner. I’ll bring the potatoes.”

  “Ugh.” She covered her face with her hands. “I am so exceptionally mortified. I’m sorry. I can’t even…”

  Warm arms slid around her, and Wes put his chin on top of her head. “For the record, I’d require way more money if someone were to hire me to sleep with them. I’m worth more than a rusted-out bus and some ovens. I’m at least worth a Viking range and a vent hood.”

  She laughed and leaned back against him. “I’m sorry…for whatever that was.”

  He turned her in his arms, a lopsided smile on his face. “You have nothing to apologize for. Your dad clearly loves you, but he’s got an interesting way of being protective.”

  “Yeah, threatening my job is really loving.”

  Wes put a finger under her chin, tilting her face to meet his gaze. “About that. If this whole food-truck remodeling is going to put your bid for partner in jeopardy, please don’t feel like you have to keep your obligation to me. I don’t w
ant to be that kind of distraction. You know I’d love for you to be there, but not at the expense of your career. Me and the kids can do the remodel. You can have a more advisory role. One that doesn’t make you leave work early.”

  Rebecca stared up him, thankful for the reprieve, but feeling a little numb from her father’s threats. Some part of her was panicking. She could be passed over for what she’d been working toward all these years, but she couldn’t connect fully to the fear. It was almost like it was happening to someone else. She let out a long breath and looped her arms around Wes’s neck. “I don’t know what I want right now.”

  He frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Never mind,” she said tiredly. “I don’t want to think about work. But I do know one thing I would like.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You to stay over.”

  He lifted his brows. “Yeah?”

  She nodded.

  “Would it involve Shark Tank?”

  She laughed, some of the tension leaving her muscles. “It would indeed.”

  “I’m totally in,” he said and kissed her. “Let’s break in these clean sheets and heckle some entrepreneurs, lawyer girl.”

  She headed to her bedroom with him, but no TV ended up being watched.

  And when they curled up and fell asleep next to each other late that night, Rebecca forgot to freak out about crossing lines and blurring boundaries.

  She’d worry about it all tomorrow.

  chapter

  TWENTY-ONE

  Wes turned the corner onto the road that would get him and his brother to their destination while Marco rambled on about the animal welfare dinner, the changed dates, and the logistical nightmare the event had become. Wes was trying hard to pay attention, but as they rolled closer to where he was taking his brother to lunch, Wes started to sweat a little.

  “So the whole thing has sucked up more time than I have to give, and organizing that kind of stuff is just not in my wheelhouse. All that talking, talking, talking. I spend my time dealing with animals who can’t speak to me for a reason,” Marco said, scraping a hand through his thick hair and making it stand on end, a habit he’d had since he was a kid.

  “The event will be fine. They’ll have my food to eat, so that will distract them from anything else that isn’t perfect.” Wes pulled into the small lot next to a redbrick building. “And flatten your hair. You look like you’ve been electrocuted.”

  “Yeah but—” Marco’s words cut off, his hand stilling on his head. “Wes, what the hell are we doing?”

  Wes turned off the engine. “Going to lunch.”

  “This is Ruby Blue Barbecue.”

  “I’m well aware,” Wes said. “I’ve heard it’s good.”

  Marco looked his way, dark brows lowered. “What are you doing, man? Torturing yourself?”

  Wes’s hands flexed on the steering wheel as he steeled himself for what he planned to do. A few steps away stood the restaurant he’d once owned. The building he’d spent nearly every hour in for a year of his life, paying attention to every detail, making big, bold plans. The dream he’d lost.

  After the divorce, he couldn’t even stand to drive down this road. He’d taken the long way around to avoid it. Then when he’d started the hard drinking, he would find himself sitting on the bench across the street, staring at the restaurant. He’d watch the new owners come and go, hating them, wanting to set a match to the whole place because if he couldn’t have it, no one should.

  But after a week of working on the food truck with the kids, Wes had woken up this morning with a thought that wouldn’t let him go. He’d already made lunch plans with his brother because he’d wanted to break the news of the food-truck project to him face-to-face, to explain to him why this wasn’t going to be a road to another downfall. Wes had realized that he needed to do it here.

  “I’m okay,” Wes said finally. “I want to do this. Maybe to prove it to you. Maybe to prove it to myself. I don’t know. But we’re going to have lunch here today.”

  Marco reached out and gripped Wes’s shoulder, his gaze serious, searching. “You sure about this, bro? You finally seem to be getting back on your feet. You’ve been happy lately. I don’t want…”

  Wes could feel the barely banked fear in his brother’s voice, the genuine concern, and it made his ribs tighten. Sometimes Wes felt smothered by his parents’ and Marco’s constant fretting about him, but in that moment, he saw the truth there. All of it was from a place of love. They’d seen Wes spiral into hell. He’d terrified them, and they didn’t want to lose him again.

  He patted his brother’s hand and smiled. “I’m good, man. Really good, actually. And I want to tell you all about it. In this place.”

  Marco held his gaze for a moment longer and then nodded. “Then lead the way, brother.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they were seated inside the high-ceilinged restaurant, a platter of barbecued meats and side dishes in the middle of the table on butcher paper. Wes had expected to feel like he was walking back in time, back into this space where he’d spent so many months, but the new owners had ripped out almost everything he’d put in. The only thing Wes recognized was the placement of the kitchen and a few light fixtures. They’d gone with the full Texas theme, trying for some combination of kitsch and cool, the bread and butter of the Austin market. We’re going to look down home but put enough twists on the standbys so that we can charge gourmet prices.

  Wes tried not to roll his eyes. The food was passable, but the whole vibe was so unoriginal and overdone that it made him gag a little. These owners were clearly from out of town and were trying too hard to look local. Texas was more than barbecue, cowhides, and country music. But that wasn’t Wes’s problem.

  Marco drizzled blueberry barbecue sauce onto a piece of quail. “Why the hell would they put blueberries in a sauce?”

  “So they can charge eighteen bucks for a meal,” Wes said, slathering a piece of corn bread with honey butter. “It won’t last. They butchered this opportunity. There’s a better place doing this kind of thing two blocks over.”

  “So why aren’t you freaking out?” Marco asked. “You seem almost too chill.”

  Wes shrugged. “I feel pretty chill.” He took a bite of his corn bread and swallowed. “You know how when you break up with someone, people say you need to go date someone else to kind of exorcise the previous relationship? Cleanse the palate?”

  “Yeah, I guess,” Marco said between bites.

  “So, that’s why I feel chill. My palate is cleansed. I’m dating someone else now.”

  Marco frowned. “Wait. Like a woman?”

  Wes shook his head. “No. Well, I am dating a woman. But that’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying I have a new project that’s stolen my attention. I feel…over this place now. Like it’s officially something that’s a part of Past Wes, not Present Wes.”

  Marco lowered his fork, wary. “A project?”

  “Don’t get that here-we-go-again face on yet. Just hear me out.”

  “I’m listening,” Marco said flatly.

  Wes took a breath and dove in. He explained to Marco about the food truck and how the school played into it. He told him how Rebecca had come up with the idea and how her company had donated the money. He told his brother all of it, down to the concepts the kids were batting around. To his credit, Marco listened without interrupting until Wes was done.

  “So,” Wes said finally, bracing himself for all his brother’s protests and counterpoints. “That’s why I asked you to lunch. I wanted to tell you that I’ll be in charge of something again and that you don’t have to worry about me. I’m in a good headspace about it.”

  “Wow,” Marco said, leaning back in the booth and letting out a breath like he’d been holding one the whole time. “That’s… Well, I think it’s great if you think you can handle it. I mean, I know cooking is what you love. I just didn’t know how you’d be able to do it again in a restaurant setting, all that stress
, all the temptation. The late nights. The party culture. But this seems like a way to do it where you get the good parts but not the bad. It’s pretty genius actually.”

  Wes grinned, and the muscles in his neck and shoulders loosened at his brother’s blessing. Until that moment, Wes hadn’t realized how much he craved that, how much he needed someone in his family to say, Yeah, we think you’re capable of pulling this off. “I need a voice recorder so I can play back that you called me a genius the next time you tell me I’m a dumbass.”

  Marco snorted. “Don’t get cocky.”

  “And for the record,” Wes said. “I think I could handle it either way. I could own a restaurant and resist the temptation. But I think this is going to be a really cool thing. For everyone involved. I’m excited.”

  “I’m happy for you, man,” Marco said, his smile genuine. “And you said you’re dating again, too?”

  Wes spooned some coleslaw onto his plate. “Yeah, Rebecca.”

  Marco’s eyes went wide. “Wait. Lawyer Rebecca?”

  “Yeah, we’re not calling it dating exactly because we didn’t want the pressure of labeling it. We’re friends who are seeing a lot of each other. But I’m feeling like maybe it could be more than that,” Wes admitted, saying for the first time what he’d been thinking too often lately. “She’s…really great. We’ve been hanging out or at least talking every night for a few weeks now. She’s funny and smart, and I know you’ve met her a few times, but she’s not what you’d expect a serious lawyer to be like.”

  Marco took a sip of his root beer, eyeing Wes in that way he used to when they were teens and Marco was convinced Wes had stolen something out of his room.

  “What?” Wes asked.

  He pointed the neck of his root beer toward Wes. “You’ve got that look in your eye.”

  Wes paused, fork halfway to his mouth. “What look?”