by Regina Cole
Girlfriend. GIRLfriend. Gi-RL-friend. No matter how she said that hateful word in her head, the meaning didn’t change.
Drake wasn’t just going through some kind of weird phase, sowing his oats or whatever the fuck you called it. He was moving on. Had moved on. With some hussy bitch from Texas who probably had three buck teeth and a family tree that looked like a yardstick.
Her scream of sheer frustration rattled the original Brendan Monroe print that hung by the patio doors.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. None of this shit was supposed to happen. Belinda put her hands on both sides of her head and stared straight ahead.
The place they had lived stared back at her, empty, empty, empty. Just like her hopes and dreams for the future.
Hollow. No life. Going nowhere fast.
“What the fuck am I supposed to do now?”
She’d meant to scream the words, but the whisper that escaped her lips gave her no satisfaction.
The doorbell rung then, and she walked toward the entry without really tracking.
Leaning toward the peephole, she frowned.
“Daddy?” She opened the door and was greeted by her father with an armload of flattened cardboard.
“Got something for you,” he said as he pushed past her into the foyer. Setting his burden down on the white Berber carpeting, he brushed his hands off on the navy blue slacks he wore.
“What’s this?” She nudged the pile with her toe, wrinkling her nose at the smudge of dust left on the tip of her white sneaker.
“Boxes.”
“No, shit,” she drawled, crossing her arms and lowering her brows. “Why did you bring them here?”
“It’s time, baby.” The look in Chief Pearce’s eyes was sympathetic, but with a definite hard edge that Belinda had only seen once or twice in her entire life.
Her stomach flipped, and cold sweat popped out all over her body. She backed away, shaking her head.
“What—what do you mean? Time for what?”
“I’ve already talked to the landlord,” he said, bending down and picking up the top piece of cardboard. Deftly, he assembled it.
Not just a box. A moving box.
“I’m not moving,” she said automatically as he pulled a roll of tape from his back pocket. “Drake will be coming back soon.”
“Baby, he’s not coming back.” The screeching sound of the packing tape unraveling made her jump. “It’s time for you to move on.”
“No, it’s not,” Belinda snapped. She stormed past her father, scooping her purse and keys into her hand. One hand on the doorknob, she paused, and her voice was deadly quiet. “He is coming back. And when he does, you will never see me again.” Tossing a look full of the anger and pain she felt over her shoulder at her stricken father, she spat the parting words. “I hate you.”
She slammed the door behind her and ran to her car, the raindrops making it hard to see where she was going.
Oh. Those weren’t raindrops. They were angry tears.
Dashing them aside, Belinda cranked the engine of her Audi and stared at the dash.
She couldn’t let him go. She would not let him go. This woman was the problem. It was all so clear now. He’d been on his way back to her, then some Texas skank had thrown herself at him.
Now he was stuck there until the bitch let him go.
The tiniest notion struck her then, a tendril of hope burrowing through the clouds of despair in her frontal lobe.
Everyone had something to lose. Even the stranger who’d answered Drake’s phone only a little while ago. It was simple, really. Enough stress could cause anyone to break. And if this woman broke?
Drake would come back home, where he belonged.
A wave of confidence passed through Belinda, and her angry desperation turned to triumph.
Yes. She could and she would make him come back. And if she had to ruin some anonymous bitch to do it?
So. Be. It.
15.
“Hopeful Paws, this is Everly, can I help you?”
“Hey, baby girl.”
The warm, velvety voice poured through the phone like audio chocolate. Everly smiled as she coiled the cord around her pinky.
“Hi, Drake.”
“I just got off shift. You want to meet me at our restaurant for dinner?”
Their restaurant. The sushi place they’d gotten takeout from and eaten by the lake while watching fireworks. Over the past ten days or so they’d eaten there at least four times.
It might have been the food, or the service, or the atmosphere, but mostly it was the tie between them that made it special. Everly wasn’t sure if Drake felt the same way, but she loved the place just because it had become their “thing.”
She’d have eaten sushi every night for the rest of her life if it meant her fireman was sitting in the booth next to her, staring at her with that warm, hungry look in his eyes.
Her sigh was heavy and heartfelt. “I can’t. Allison and I are supposed to go over the plans for the charity golf tournament. She’s made reservations at this swanky place, and she’s volunteering, so I can’t—”
“It’s okay.” And his warm, laughing tone assured her that it was. “Call me when you’re done?”
“It might be late. I’d hate to bug you if you’re sleeping.” She leaned a hip against the front counter, watching through the window as the sun’s last rays disappeared over the horizon.
“You’re a dream worth waking up for.”
As the handset descended toward the cradle, Everly couldn’t help grinning like a fool.
How could she have been so nervous about this? It had been amazing being with him. He got her better than anyone other than Jesse seemed to. Their dogs got along great, they liked the same food, TV, and music, and Drake was as big of a fan of a Sunday afternoon nap as she was. Especially when it started with some energetic exercise of the naked variety.
So why was she still nervous about their relationship?
Jesse was convinced it was just her old hang-ups dying hard. And there was some truth to that.
Everly stacked Charlie’s Post-it notes behind the computer screen. She’d let Charlie go home early, since it was a Tuesday evening and pretty darn dead around there as far as foot traffic. Just another ten minutes and she could lock the doors, change into the nicer clothes she’d brought for her dinner with Allison, and head off to meet her fundraising chair.
The phone rang again, and halfway hoping it was Drake, Everly picked up the handset once more.
“Hopeful Paws, this is Everly, how can I—”
“Stay the hell away from him.”
The words dripped so much malice that Everly nearly dropped the phone.
“What?”
“You heard me.” Everly’s heart started to pound in alarm as the female voice continued. “Stay the hell away from him or you’ll be even more sorry.”
“I think you’ve got the wrong number.” Anxiety peaking, Everly looked out the window, but the parking lot was empty.
“I know exactly who you are and what you’ve done. Bitch.” She spat the name at Everly, and then the line went dead.
The handset fell slowly from Everly’s ear, the dead air sounding louder than a gunshot. Her hand shook, and it took three tries to get the damn thing back onto the cradle.
She sank onto Charlie’s rolling black office chair, grateful that she somehow managed to keep the thing from skidding out from underneath her. For some reason her knees weren’t up to the task of keeping her upright anymore.
What the hell had that been about? Who was that mysterious person trying to warn her away from? She hadn’t done anything wrong, so what did that woman mean, what she’d done?
“It was just some random creeper,” Everly said, forcing herself to stand despite the way her spine still tingled. “Some unhinged weirdo who gets off on making people uncomfortable.”
Even though there was still eight minutes until closing time, she crossed the lobby and locked t
he front door. No one else was coming in tonight, and she needed the extra time to pull herself together to get ready to meet Allison.
Fifteen minutes later, dressed and with a fresh coat of gloss coating her lips, Everly rushed from the back door of Hopeful Paws to her Jeep. She didn’t feel totally secure, even with the car doors locked behind her.
That phone call had weirded her out, for sure. Punching the radio power button, she dialed the station to a beach music channel. With a bippy Beach Boys tune accompanying her, she drove the short distance to the swanky restaurant Allison had chosen.
Before she left the car, she argued with herself for a minute about calling Drake. He’d say it was nothing, because it was nothing. She was stupid for letting it bother her.
Shoving her phone into her purse, she opened the door and headed into the restaurant, her heels clicking determinedly on the well-lit walkway into La Belle Italia.
The hostess escorted her to a table in the far corner, where Allison sat nursing an enormous glass of red wine. Her normally perfect blonde hair was slightly mussed, as if she’d been running an irritated hand through it. Her phone was up to her ear, and her expression was anything but happy. She waved to Everly and gestured at her to sit down.
“…telling you, it’s completely false. Would I steer you wrong? This organization has gone above and beyond for animals in the city of Dallas, and the fact that you’re willing to back out because of this is incredibly disappointing, Alan.”
Everly’s heart dropped for the second time that night. Alan Wharton was the head of Branch Motors, the biggest corporate sponsor for their charity golf tournament. They’d already started advertising. If Alan pulled out now?
It would be incredibly difficult to find another sponsor on such late notice.
“It is. Yes.” Allison’s sigh was loud. “Fine. Let’s talk then.” She killed the call and pillowed her head on her arms. “Everly, feel free to shoot me.”
“Why would I shoot you?” Everly reached over and patted Allison’s shoulder, even though she felt like mimicking her pose.
“Because I just lost us the sponsor for the tournament. Alan’s yanking his contribution. And several of the smaller sponsors are pulling out too.”
“Why? What went wrong?”
Allison pulled herself upright, and some of the normal steel went back into her spine. An angry light shone in her green eyes as she stabbed out the passcode to her iPhone and showed Everly the screen.
“This.”
It was the Hopeful Paws Facebook business page. The first post on it was a review.
Cannot believe that people are fooled by this company. They scam people for contributions to this so-called charity and then use the money for cars, vacations, and offshore accounts. They borrow dogs from other shelters for events so they appear legit, but don’t be fooled. I give this place zero stars.
“There’s more,” Allison said grimly, and scrolled down.
Six, seven, eight new reviews, all stating pretty much the same thing. And they’d all been posted within the last day.
“Who’s doing this?” The catch in Everly’s voice was unavoidable, but she held back the tears with pure rage. How dare people insinuate she was stealing money? She’d lived off ramen for the first six months of the shelter’s existence just to make sure that ends would meet.
“I don’t know. But they sent those accusations directly to the sponsors of the tournament. And Alan doesn’t want anything to do with the fallout from this. He’s covering his ass because of that supervisor he just fired for embezzlement.” Allison took a big sip of her wine. She frowned down at the spotless white tablecloth. “I’m sorry. I promised you this would be a big moneymaker, and now we’ll be lucky if we’ve got enough in the fundraising budget to cover the advertising I’ve already done. I hate letting you down like this.”
“No, Allison, you haven’t let me down. Are you serious?” Everly reached over and grabbed Allison’s hands in both of hers. The other woman’s fingers were long, slender, and elegant, her perfect manicure making Everly’s short, unpolished nails look stubby. But despite their difference in personalities and circles, Allison was sort of a friend. And Everly refused to let her blame herself for this.
“Without you and Charlie, Hopeful Paws would not exist. I couldn’t have done all this on my own. You’ve been amazing.”
Allison sniffed, and nodded. “You’re right, I’m incredible and you’re lucky to have me.” Everly laughed as Allison winked. “And now, let’s get you a glass of vino while we plan how the hell we can yank this fundraiser out of the crapper. I’m not about to lose my reputation on this one. Alan Wharton can kiss my perfectly taut ass. I do this because I love it, and because it’s a hell of a lot better than meeting another wrong decision and getting married and divorced again. Now, let’s think.”
As Allison shot straight from the depths of despair into the heights of Plans C, D, and E, Everly couldn’t help but think how lucky she was to have a fundraising chair like Allison Kurtz.
The woman was like Gossamer with a chew toy—relentless.
Drake was lying in bed reading when his cell phone finally went off. He set down his tablet and reached for the bedside table.
The selfie Everly had taken with Gossamer last week smiled up at him from the lit screen. He grinned a little himself as he swiped the answer button.
“Hey, beautiful,” he said as he lay back against the pillows. “How did your pow-wow go?”
The sigh that answered him held about a million feelings inside it. “It’s too much to go into in a single conversation. Suffice it to say we’re in damage control mode.”
Drake frowned, sitting up in bed. “Damage control? Want me to head over?”
“No, I’m on the way to you, if you don’t mind. Shirley’s already got my dogs since I was planning to be out late, and she’s keeping them overnight.”
“Come straight here,” he said, already halfway down the hall. He switched on the exterior light and unlocked the deadbolt. “Anything I can do?”
“You’re already doing it,” Everly said, her tone grateful. “It feels so amazing to have you to talk to about all this.”
He stayed on the phone with her while she finished driving, but she didn’t go into any specifics. Pacing the floor of his living room, he wished she’d hurry. Whatever had upset her was not the usual kind of thing. He’d seen her upset before when an adoption fell through, or a dog failed its temperament test. Though they hadn’t been together long, he knew the sound of her voice when she was hurt or disappointed.
This was on a whole other level, and by the time her headlights finally swung into the lot, he was ready to beat the shit out of whatever or whoever had upset her.
She was his, and he’d be damned if anything hurt her on his watch.
“Hey,” he said from the sidewalk in front of his apartment. He couldn’t wait inside for her.
“Hi,” she answered as the driver’s side door shut. Her shoes dangled from their ankle straps in one hand, her purse and cardigan in her other. “Nice night.”
Drake glanced at the moon, which was hanging fat and low in the sky. “Yeah. It is. Let me take you inside.”
He took her purse and sweater and with linked hands the two of them walked into his apartment.
Across the lot, in a rental Toyota Camry that was the color of Two-Buck Chuck, Belinda stared at the front door that had just closed.
Behind them.
Drake and that scheming bitch were alone in his apartment together.
She wanted to scream.
It hadn’t taken that long to figure out who Drake was all up into. A few phone calls here and there, some online snooping, and the bitch from the charity auction was named and shamed. It was no more than she had suspected, but the confirmation stung all the same.
Everly Pitts. Pretty boring chick from all accounts, but for some reason, Drake was hardcore into her.
Belinda’s friend had promised her that he’d
sent the email to Drake’s account. The same story about the rescue’s donation scamming would have hit his inbox along with the forty most likely charitable donors in the area. Every major sponsor for animal rescue related events had received the anonymous message, as well as every review site Belinda and her friends could find.
It was out there. So why was Drake still listening to the bitch?
She wanted to run straight up to his apartment, pound on the door, and demand that he apologize. Yank that slut out of Drake’s house by her hair and kick her ass into next week. That was her man, and she wasn’t about to sit by while some skank whined and lied and schemed her way into the title that Belinda had been living for the past eight years to achieve.
Mrs. Belinda Hammerfell. It still had that nice ring to it, and she’d be damned if someone snatched it away from her.
Even though everything inside her screamed for her to get out, run across the lot, and take back what was hers, she reached for the ignition key and gave it a turn.
It was okay. She’d known this might not do it, so fortunately, she had a backup plan.
The bitch had better enjoy her last night with Drake. Belinda would make sure that it never—ever—happened again.
16.
Drake’s arm was dead asleep, and he couldn’t give two shits. He was happy. Happier than he’d ever been in his Goddamn life. And the entire reason for it was curled up on the couch in a Lake Texoma vacation house beside him, her head resting on his bicep as the movie’s final credits rolled up the flat screen TV’s glossy expanse. Well, her and the snuffling, snorting fuzz-ball curled up by his feet.
“I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to see Stranger than Fiction,” Everly said, stretching her arms above her head. Her movement disturbed the poodle who’d been halfway lying in her lap. “It was really good.”
“I thought you’d like it,” Drake said, regretfully rubbing the circulation back into his arm. Getting the feeling back into his arm was hardly as nice as being Everly’s pillow. Oh, well. Night would be coming before much longer, and then he could pillow her all night long.
