Toronto Collection Volume 3 (Toronto Series #10-13)

by Heather Wardell

  Those words made me think, and I realized that had been the problem all along.

  Lance's book. Not mine.

  He had wanted to tell some variation of my story that would make him famous again. It had never been about me for him.

  Rightfully, I'd said no to that.

  But Lance wasn't the only option.

  I turned to a new page in the notebook, and thought about where I would start my own story if it were up to me. Which of course it was.

  With the assault? I was about so much more than that.

  Earlier, back when my relationship with Christophe began? There were so many books like that, about how a woman sinks into a disastrous relationship without realizing it, and I didn't want to write another one. I wanted to write about how I rose again.

  After the assault, I'd spent two years stuck. Then...

  I knew where to start.

  I took a deep breath, and wrote, "The prosecutor's closing argument was reaching its peak."

  The trial, and the way it reawoke everything for me, had been the start of my becoming the woman who'd been able to go to bed with Jake with nothing but joy. My new story started there.

  I kept writing, my pen flying so fast that some of my words were barely more than a scribble, until I'd finished describing the trial's closing arguments, ending with how I'd been sure I'd be able to forget everything.

  I'd been wrong about that. But I didn't need to forget. I just didn't need to look back. What had happened would be part of me forever, but not the most important part.

  I'd write my story, like how Mike had written his, and then I'd keep moving forward.

  I was more than the words Christophe had written on me. More even than the words I would write myself. I was Alexa. Friend, lover, cat owner, editor, reader, karaoke singer.

  Survivor.

  FIFTY MILLION REASONS

  Chapter One

  I glanced at Zack, wondering how he'd take what I was about to do. I'd never tried it in front of him, but it was now Saturday night and I hadn't had an opportunity all week so I said to the cashier, "How much does the driver behind me owe?"

  She blinked. "Why?"

  "I'd like to pay for his order."

  "Do you know him?"

  I shook my head and tried for an 'I'm not insane' smile. "I like to pay it forward, that's all."

  "Okay," she said, stretching the two syllables to enormous length. "I'll check his total."

  While she did, Zack said, "You're weird. And what happens if he's bought like three hundred sandwiches?"

  I shrugged. "Then I can't pay for him. But I kind of doubt that'll happen. Never has before."

  "You've done this before? Why? You're giving away your money. Money you earned."

  I turned to face him and realized yet again how much he looked like his dad. Like his dad would look if he weren't always exhausted. "Yeah, but it makes people happy. And it makes me happy too."

  His forehead wrinkled. "Why?"

  Before I could tell him, the cashier said, "Um, hello?"

  I turned back as she went on with, "He owes $3.73."

  "Perfect." I held out a twenty. "Please pay for him too."

  She took the money, then hesitated. "What do I say if he asks me why?"

  "Say Angela's crazy?"

  I shot Zack a look then said to the cashier, "Tell him I hope he has a great day, and he can pay it forward to someone else if he wants."

  I got another mile-long "Okay" from her and she went off to the cash register, and I returned my attention to Zack. "I might be crazy, but here's the thing. Someone did it for me years ago and it made a huge difference. I was... having a hard time back then," I said, not wanting to detail the breakup that had destroyed my life plans to my little buddy, "and it made me feel so happy. Like the world could be a good place after all. So I started doing it myself and now I try to do it at least once a week. And doing it still makes me happy. I like imagining that maybe the person behind me has had a terrible day, and then I give them a little gift. Not even four bucks, but it might change everything for them. It might turn their day around."

  "But it might not. What if it's some millionaire back there? Four bucks won't make a difference to him."

  I shrugged. "Then he'll probably think I'm an idiot. But I feel all giddy and excited when I drive away, and that's worth a few dollars."

  The cashier returned with my change and my coffee and Zack's iced cappuccino, and as I drove off I did indeed get the rush of happiness I'd told Zack I would. He was right that the person might not appreciate it, but I was right that I had still put a good thing out into the world. I'd made a difference.

  "You're smiling," Zack said.

  "Told you. It makes me feel good. Even better than when that person did it for me, and that was pretty awesome."

  He gave a faint grunt, which I took to be disbelief and a pre-teen's weary acceptance of the cluelessness of adults, but when we were standing in line to pick up our Thai food Zack leaned in and whispered, "Pay for the guy behind us maybe? He looks tired."

  It hurt, but I had to say, "I can't." I'd heard the guy on his cell phone planning out a lot of food to buy, and though I'd have loved to help because he did seem tired and stressed and had had to cut some things from the order because he didn't have the money, I simply couldn't afford to pick up his tab.

  When we were outside again, I said, "Sorry, Zack. His bill was a little higher than I can handle. It's cool that you wanted to though."

  He shrugged. "You seemed to like it. Thought it might be fun to see you do it again."

  "Next time we go out I will. Oh, and you can do it yourself. Bring a few bucks."

  He shrugged again, but I thought he might.

  We drove home then headed up to his apartment, high-fiving each other in the ancient elevator at our luck that it was working tonight so we didn't have to hike up all those stairs. Once we'd creaked up to the twelfth floor, Zack unlocked his badly-in-need-of-a-painting door and started to take the food to the living room, but before he'd gone more than a few steps I said, "Take those filthy boots off before your dad kills me."

  "He's not home, he won't know."

  "Oh, yeah? You planning to mop?"

  He looked down and saw the muddy prints he was leaving, then mumbled what I was sure was the kind of word his dad didn't approve of him mumbling.

  I said, "Pardon?" in an 'I dare you to repeat that' tone.

  He kicked off his boots and put the food cartons on the coffee table, then grabbed a handful of paper towels from the kitchen and began wiping the floor. "Nothing. I didn't say a thing."

  I smiled. "Good."

  He smiled back, rolling his eyes, then said, "Call of Duty after we eat?"

  "You know it." We'd originally planned to hang out at my place but my much-loved-and-heavily-used video game system had finally given up its electronic ghost last night. "Eat lots. You'll need your strength."

  He laughed, swiping up the last of the dirt. "Yeah, right. I'll destroy you."

  We went on taunting each other as we loaded our plates with food and collapsed on the couch to suck it down before starting the game, and a thought I'd had many times before hit me again.

  If I'd managed to have a child, if I hadn't missed out on everything I'd planned for my life, would that child have been like Zack?

  I liked the idea.

  I'd never met Zack's mom, but I could see so much of John in the kid that I found it hard to believe there could be much space left over for her characteristics. Tiff and John had separated two years ago and divorced last year, and he and Zack had been living two floors up from me since the week of the separation. I'd enjoyed living in the building much more since they'd been around.

  Once we'd finished stuffing our faces, I made Zack help me tidy up though he was desperate to play and I wasn't far behind him. I'd been a gamer all my life and not many people could give me a run for my money any more. In fact, I knew only two. Zack and John.

  "
What time's your dad coming home again?"

  He grimaced. "Eleven, I think."

  "What's with the face?"

  He contorted his expression even more. "I don't like Lacey."

  John had been seeing Lacey for about a month, and when I'd met her at his birthday dinner two weeks ago I didn't much like her either. She had a way of clinging to his arm and acting like they'd been together for years that grated on me. But I wouldn't tell Zack that, so I said only, "Well, at least they went out. Otherwise you'd be stuck playing Call of Duty with her."

  He laughed. "Yeah, right. I wouldn't bother. She just holds down 'fire' and spins in circles. Lame."

  That didn't surprise me. "Well, let's see if you can do any better. Ready to die, little man?"

  He made a show of cracking his knuckles. "No way."

  We played, killing and being killed in about equal measure, until the batteries in Zack's controller suffered their own death. While he went off to the junk drawer to hunt for more I rubbed my tired eyes then realized it was well after the draw time for the week's record-breaking fifty-million-dollar lottery jackpot.

  My biggest win had been two hundred bucks, and usually I won nothing, but I played weekly anyhow. Other than the break I'd taken from the lottery while I was with Shane I'd been playing the same seven numbers since I was eighteen, and though they hadn't come up big in all those years I couldn't bring myself to change them because they were the birthdates of my parents and my five siblings.

  I found my phone and realized the lottery group had texted me the winning numbers, as it did after every Saturday night's draw, but I hadn't heard it over the sounds of shooting and Zack's trash-talking.

  I skimmed my eyes over the message, but they got stuck on the numbers.

  The familiar numbers.

  My heart racing, I read them to myself again.

  And again and again.

  No matter how I read them, there was only one conclusion.

  I'd just won the lottery.

  And not two hundred bucks either.

  My family's birthdates were all there, all seven of them.

  Unless more than fifty people had used my numbers, I was a millionaire.

  Chapter Two

  Zack beat me handily for the rest of the night because my mind kept straying off the game and back to the lottery. For decades I'd been dreaming of how I'd spend a big win, of all the good I could do for my friends and family and the world at large. Could I truly be about to make those dreams come true?

  As my character slumped bleeding to the electronic floor yet again, I heard a key in the lock behind us and turned to see John walking into the apartment with melting snowflakes lingering on his brown hair.

  "Hey." He hung up his coat and kicked off his boots. "How are you two?"

  "I'm fine," Zack said, not taking his eyes from the screen where he was hunting for a new scenario for us to play. "She's dead again."

  John clicked his tongue sympathetically. "You letting him win, Angela?"

  I smiled at Zack's protest then said, "Nope, he's kicking me today. I'll get him next time, though."

  When John came closer, I noticed a smear of bright red lipstick on his neck below his ear. I swiped at my own neck in about the same spot, and John raised his eyebrows then went into the bathroom. When he returned, the lipstick was gone but his cheeks were nearly its color. "Thanks," he mouthed at me.

  I nodded, feeling my cheeks warming in shared embarrassment but also glad I'd been the one to notice. I'd never heard Zack say anything about expecting his parents to get back together but I still couldn't imagine he'd like seeing signs of another woman's affection on his father.

  "Zack, bedtime."

  "Come on, one more game. You can help Angela." He snickered. "She needs the help."

  "Sorry, man, I'm wiped out." I set my controller on the couch and got to my feet. "I'll get some sleep and then cream you next time."

  John glanced at his watch and grimaced. "Sorry, Angela. I didn't mean to be so late. Lost track of time, I guess."

  No doubt in Lacey's bed. "Not a problem. And you're not really late. It's just been a long day."

  He smiled. "Well, thanks again for watching the monster. Did he behave?"

  "About as well as usual."

  John mock-cuffed his son on the head. "I'm so disappointed in you."

  "No, you're not," Zack said, without missing a beat in his newly begun solo game.

  John shook his head. "Mouthy beast." To me he said, "Everything okay? You seem a little off."

  I shrugged. "Just tired."

  He grimaced again and nodded. "Sorry. Next time I'll be sure to be on time."

  I waved him off. "Honestly, it's not that. It's..."

  I wanted to tell him, but I couldn't. When I'd mentioned shortly after we met that I bought lottery tickets every week, he hadn't been rude about it but his disapproval had been evident. I'd wait to tell him until I knew for sure that I had the money.

  "What?"

  I blinked. "No, nothing. One of my trees isn't doing so well, that's all."

  He frowned. "Sorry to hear that. Did we mess it up when we took care of it last month?"

  "No, definitely not. You guys are the best tree babysitters ever. No, it's just not growing the way I want it to. It's supposed to be a cascade and it insists on growing straight up." I made my best frustrated face. "Bonsai. What can you do?"

  "Me? Not much. You? Something, I'm sure. Anyhow, I'll let you go take care of it. Got plans tomorrow?"

  Other than a visit to my usual lottery retailer? "Not really."

  "Want to help me defeat the kid in a mission or two?"

  Zack laughed. "Better get a few more helpers."

  "Angela and I will do fine." To me, John added, "If you want to, of course."

  "Sure. Text me when you're up."

  John and Zack had both always been big on sleeping in on the weekends, but with his new work schedule John was now even more committed to it. He hadn't seemed to want to tell me why he'd switched away from the day shift at the grocery warehouse where he worked so I hadn't pushed him, but he no doubt needed that extra sleep since he now worked overnight Sunday to Thursday. I wouldn't hear from him until after noon, which would give me time to get my ticket checked.

  I checked it myself, in my apartment, against the official online results, and though I still couldn't get my head around the idea it did seem like my numbers had finally come up. I wouldn't know until tomorrow how many people had used those same numbers, but I was almost certainly one of them. I wouldn't believe it, though, until the lottery retailer's terminal confirmed it for me.

  I took care of my trees, giving all ten a little water and an inspection for pests and stray growth, and while I did that then got ready for bed I let myself look around at all the things I could do differently. My bonsai wanted far better lighting, I might be able to convince my grumpy landlord to let me replace the worn-out carpeting, and I would certainly replace my deceased game system and maybe replace Zack's barely-alive one too. I could buy us each every game we could possibly want. Why not? Not like I wouldn't be able to afford it.

  I wouldn't spend it all frivolously, though. I'd thought this through often enough to know that. A huge chunk would go to charity right away, and of course I'd give millions to my family and friends. I'd even considered taking everyone to Paris or somewhere else exciting. I would go to China to see the Great Wall, as I'd wanted to since I'd first heard of it in school, but I would do that alone because I'd always liked the idea of making it a solo trip. Still, I could pay for that and a huge group trip too and hardly notice the cost.

  I wouldn't let the money change me, but I would let it do as much good, improve as many lives, as it possibly could.

  Thinking of the great changes I would make felt wonderful, but as I settled into the old bed that I would replace with one fit for a princess the single change I could not make hit me and ruined my mood.

  I couldn't change myself into a mom.
>
  In the six months since I'd lost my uterus and ovaries to the same cancer that had killed my grandmother I had begun getting my head around the fact that my life wouldn't include seeing my own features in my newborn baby's face, but it hurt. The physical aftermath of the operation still lingered in the occasional twinges of pain from my incisions but the emotional side was far worse. I'd gone to the clinic, after all, to find out how to go about having a baby on my own, and instead I'd discovered I had cancer.

  The doctors had suggested I freeze my eggs for possible later use via surrogate but I hadn't had any way to scrape together the fifteen thousand dollars it would have cost to extract and store them.

  Now, of course, that might be pocket change.

  But my potential win had arrived six months too late.

  *****

  The next morning I woke up far earlier than I'd intended to, too excited to sleep. Though the kid situation still bothered me, it was a familiar nagging ache and easily overshadowed by the excitement of the money situation.

  Had I really won?

  As I drank my coffee I watched the Sunday morning news hosts clowning around before finally getting to the lottery numbers.

  "Only one winner last night, Jeremy," the ridiculously perky woman told her annoying co-host after reading out the numbers which did indeed match mine. "One lucky person is fifty million dollars richer."

  I wouldn't completely believe it until the retailer confirmed it, but I couldn't stop grinning. I was that lucky person. I had to be.

  "Why are we never that lucky, Katy?" Jeremy shook his head. "Whoever you are, I've got one question."

  I rolled my eyes, knowing what was coming since they did this every time the jackpot was significant, and sure enough they said together, "Will you marry me?"

  "Not a chance," I said to the television.

  "Fifty million dollars," Katy mused. "And tax-free too. Gotta love Canada!"

  They launched into a discussion of how horrible it would be to win a big jackpot in the United States and lose a huge chunk to the tax man, and I turned off the television and finished my coffee in blissful silence.