Page 5 of Broken Bodyguard

“All the cheese you could ask for,” she confirmed with a finalthwack.

The knife was the signal. Our Friday evenings were set, and mine looked a lot more exciting than I’d originally planned. I ran up to my room to get changed. This felt like a date night with myself, which was appropriate, given the transformation I’d undergone over the last year and few months.

I’d spent the first six months post-separation in transition mode: move out of the house I’d shared with Jericho; figure out how to renew my teaching license; start the job hunt; begin a new life under my parents’ roof while saving up for a down payment. The last nine months had been more about starting to relax a little. Settling in. Navigating my way out of “married” status.

Things were going well—at least, as well as I could hope for.

Maybe tonight you’ll even see a cute guy or two.

Something strange pinged inside me. It felt like longing, a deep, core-shaking kind. My mind instantly flitted to Troy, the man I’d met during my holiday trip to New York City. Grace and I had gone to visit Mercedes and Willow and Trace—and by extension, the entire Fairchild clan—and met a man I still couldn’t forget.

I smiled to myself as I shed my dark slacks and puffy, cream sweater. Troy and I had only shared one long evening together at the Fairchild Christmas party a few weeks ago. It had been full of happy conversation, Willow and Grace chasing each other around the apartment, and such top-tier catering that I still hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the filet mignon. Everyone else called him Trojan there, but when I tried to do the same, he stopped me. “I like it better when you call me by my real name,” he’d said, and just remembering the rough scrape of his voice could still knock the wind out of me.

I thought about that man far too often to be considered sane. Maybe this was just the lonely life of a divorcee now. I bit at my bottom lip, recalling the tiny details I’d loved most about him: the scruff on his jawline, the heat that had poured off of him, the way he’d felt so strong and secure next to me. He was like a handsome bear, and from the second I’d met him, I wanted more of him.

But you won’t get more. He’s in New York, and you’re here. Besides, what would he want with a single mom?

I frowned as I reached for a pair of jeans, shimmying into them before checking the fit in the stand-up mirror. I remembered suddenly I hadn’t checked my phone in awhile. I fished it out of my purse, the screen lighting up with missed messages.

JERICHO: So are you planning on coming by with Grace anytime soon?

JERICHO: You could at least answer me.

JERICHO: Do you have to be such a bitch?

JERICHO: Forget it. Don’t bring her over. But you and I need to square some things away right now.

Any good mood I’d cobbled together fell away. Jericho had a bad habit of being a completely unpredictable co-parent. He’d disappear for two full weeks, and then show up demanding a full weekend with Grace. That wasn’t happening on my watch. Not when he’d been growing increasingly agitated by the smallest things.

I drew a deep breath, looking through my clothes in the closet. I needed something with long sleeves, thanks to Jericho. My forearm still throbbed from my visit earlier that week. I’d taken Grace to visit him and his parents at their house—a neutral area, or so I’d thought. Jericho had gotten so agitated about the divorce papersyet againthat he’d yanked on my arm as I tried to hurry out the door, bringing me crashing into him, nearly clipping my chin on the doorway. Grace hadn’t seen it, thank God. But the bruises he left behind were more than visible. And I didn’t want anyone to see them.

Not Grace. Not my parents. Not even myself.

They were just a reminder of a phase of life I wanted behind me.

I opted for a loose fitting boho shirt with long, wide sleeves and a V-neck. Feminine but modest. I gathered my purse and a new paperback, and set off for the kitchen to say goodbye to Grace and my parents. Once I was out the door, snug in my puffy winter coat, the crisp winter air gave me a surge of energy.

This was my night out. Who knew what fun I might find? I headed for a trendy-looking bar and restaurant I found from a quick internet search. Someplace new and hip. Perfect for a single mom like me trying to begin the next chapter of her life. I sang to myself as I blasted Taylor Swift on my drive downtown, trying to ignore the way my phone kept lighting up with incoming texts.

JERICHO: Do you not know how to use a phone?

JERICHO: Wow. Just went to your parents’ house and nobody’s home.

JERICHO: Are you trying to keep my daughter from me? Answer me.

I pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant, my stomach doing flips. I didn’t know why Jericho wouldn’t just let me go. Custodial arrangements for Grace was one thing; this weird control he kept trying to exert over me was entirely different. I stuck to my guns when this sort of thing cropped up, enforcing boundaries I’d never had while we were married. But something behind his texts tonight had me worried.

Just go enjoy your night. Don’t think about him anymore.

I hurried through the car-cluttered parking lot, pushing into the warm, fragrant air of the trendy brewpub. A hostess led me to a seat at the bar per my request, and as I slid onto the barstool, I received an image from Mercedes showcasing a gourmet dish with squirts of lavender and green on the edges of the plate…and not much else.

MADDIE: Wow that looks fancy. Is that what they’re calling dinner for two these days?

MERCEDES: Trace’s non-profit is hosting a gala and this is the appetizer. I’m about to lick the plate. Pregnant and starving.

MADDIE: Don’t be uncouth. Get a very dainty spoon.

I snapped a picture of the bar and sent it to her.

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