Page 14 of Soaring Free
“But Daddy was acquaintances with Shane’s dad, wasn’t he? The Williams family was always around social events and fundraisers when we were growing up.”
“Yeah, I don’t know, but somewhere along the way, the guy went from a friend to … an adversary? Nemesis? Take your pick. I didn’t really care that much about the alleged competition, but apparently, my indifference only increased his hatred toward me. Over the years, it was somewhat entertaining how worked up he would get about me, and I admit I poked the bear more than a few times. But any tiny lingering benefit of the doubt I gave the guy went out the damn window after hearing the bullshit he pulled on Savannah and their girls. Who does that? What a piece of shit. That’s not a father; that’s not a man. That’s a piece of trash.”
“Agreed. It’s one thing if finances are tight and tough decisions need to be made, but to do that just out of spite? That’s some messy karma and I’m more than happy to help balance the scales appropriately.” I laugh because anyone who underestimates my sister in the courtroom is an absolute fool. “And having you tag along in court a few times is a little mental warfare to play withthe guy, especially now that I know how … sensitive he seems to be about you.”
“This is going to be fun, and honestly, when’s the last time we got to have any fun on a case together, Pipsqueak?” I grin, knowing she hates it when I call her that.
“Nope, you agreed not to use that nickname at the office, Theodore. Get out.” She’s using her stern lawyer voice on me, but it doesn’t affect me.
“My bad, I must have forgotten,” I tell her, feigning innocence as I stand to head back to my office.
“Must be your age, old man.” She laughs in response and I hold back my own laughter until I shut my office door.
Chapter ten
“I told you Theo was smoking hot.” Vivian grins unapologetically and her vivid green eyes light up.
It is clear as day that Vivian and I are sisters—same but different. We both have the same long blonde hair just like Mama used to have, and we are both curvy girls. Vivian’s hourglass figure could walk a runway as a plus-size model, and I suppose mine could too, but I inherited an extra serving of the Callahan curves, as I like to call them. After three babies, my curves are even more … well, curvaceous, but I still walk with my head held high like Mama taught us—no matter where we are or what we’re doing. She did everything she could to instill confidence in us from a young age, and that lesson was foundational for both of us, one that we’re both trying to teach our own daughters.
But one of the striking differences between us is our eye color. Vivian has vivid green eyes, like Daddy’s, whereas I have blue eyes like Mama’s. They fade from pale blue to a darker blue along the edges, but right after I shower or if I’ve been crying a lot, they can have a slight teal tint to them—a sight I have seen way too frequently in the last two months.
“That you did, Viv. But that’s not why I chose their firm. I need a warrior, someone who is a shark, a general willing to choose the nuclear option if necessary. So, if the letterhead allows me to capitalize on any additional weak point of my enemy, that’s just the cherry on the top.”
“Yes, but…” my sister trails off while tilting her head toward me.
“But you’re right, he is very handsome. And goodness, that man has a commanding presence that just kind of sucks the oxygen out of the room, but like, in a good way,” I admit. “He also has those insanely strong arms I just want to touch. I bet he has the veins that pop out of his forearm too.” I fan myself a little.
“So … you think he is a little yummy.” It’s not a question but it does make me laugh.
“I would agree with that astute observation, yes, he is yummy, but I don’t think there’s anything little about a man like that.” I take a large sip from my iced vanilla latte and let my eyes wander around the shop. I can appreciate how good-looking Theo is, but it’s a moot point right now in my life.
I slowly inhale through my nose and let the scent calm my racing mind. The familiar bold, smokey smell of recently brewed coffee beans is like a hug from an old friend. Our local coffee shop is more like a modern-day town square in Forrest Falls. People can always be found—sometimes coming in multiple times a day—at Java Jive, having coffee dates with friends in the leather arm chairs near the stone fireplace, or discussing local events while sitting in the retro robin-egg blue bar stools along the large white counter.
I love Java Jive’s original white oak plank flooring so much that I had my interior designer match it when we renovated our guesthouse, even if you can’t recreate the worn grooves and scuffs from the countless foot traffic over the decades. My sister and I sit at one of the wooden tables by the front window, providing prime people watching both inside Java Jive and those walking by.
I called Jack on the way to meet Vivian, and his personal banker will have a credit card delivered to my house later today. Thanks to my brother, I can exhale and not have to worry about having money to buy basic necessities for my children. I cannot believe the man I married pulled this stunt. I thought I knew him, but these actions? No, these are not the actions of the man I married—not anything I ever thought he would be capable of anyway.
“But it doesn’t hurt that he has such an alpha presence and is very attractive,” Vivian stage whispers to me, snapping me back to the present.
“Careful, you don’t want Walker to hear you say that,” I tease. Her boyfriend is more than a bit territorial when it comes to Vivian, and I think it’s adorable. Her first husband really did a number on her when everything came out after his death, and I am elated to see my sister so well loved by a truly good man.
“Well, Theo isn’t that hot. I mean, there’s Walker hot and then everyone else.” Vivian and I finish talking about my meeting then move on to lighter topics—like the upcoming novel our newly formed book club selected. Two of her best friends, Lauren and Willa, are avid readers like we are, so when my good friend and next-door neighbor Stacy mentioned she wanted to find a book club to join, I decided to create our own. Most of us are moms but we all love a good romance novel where happily ever after is guaranteed, unlike my life, apparently. I’m hosting our first meeting next weekend and hopefully the weather cooperates so we can enjoy the outdoor living area—the same one Shane said we didn’t need and I use multiple times a week. The outdoor fireplace and heaters allow us to use the area almost year round. Yet another example that my husband really doesn’t know what he’s talking about when it comes to me and my life.
When I get home, there’s a flower delivery truck pulling away from my house. My birthday is in December but maybe someone is sending me flowers just to cheer me up. It’s no secret that it’s been a rough month, and while I love living here, there is no such thing as secrets in a small town like Forrest Falls. Gossip? Absolutely. Privacy? Limited.
I walk through the garage and house, opening the front door to solve the mystery of who sent flowers to brighten my day. Viviandidn’t mention anything, but that wouldn’t surprise me if she sent me flowers without telling me, wanting me to be surprised.
Although when I see the arrangement, my good mood is immediately soured.
You’ve got to be shitting me.
I pick up the beautiful bouquet while shaking my head and slam my front door shut. My favorite flowers are perfectly arranged with a card stuck in the middle. I set the arrangement down and rip open the card. The typed message is just two words:
I’m sorry.
Does Shane really think this is going to fix things? He has another thing coming. For multiple years now, Shane has sent me my favorite lavender roses on my birthday. I didn’t need big gifts from him, but I always loved that he remembered how much I adore the pale purple flower. It was a small reminder that my husband still saw me and thought I was worth the effort. Lavender roses aren’t always easy to find—especially around my birthday in December—so they need to be special ordered, but I have a special order for him. Starts with fuck and ends with off.
I rub my forehead in frustration; this is just a ploy to get me to give in. He’s trying to act all sweet and contrite so he ultimately still gets his way. I have to be stronger than to fall for this gesture that probably took him—or his assistant—five minutes to order online. I’m so tempted to read him the riot act, but instead, I take a cleansing breath before sending a calm email to my new attorney, letting her know about this and to inquire if it’s possible to request contact only be made through our attorneys at this point. I’m not interested in his attempts to make amends; his actions have been far too loud for me to even hear a floral apology at this point, let alone allow a simple typed out message of “I’m sorry” to wipe the slate clean. It’s not the flowers’ fault though, and they are pretty, so I decide to keep them, but the card is going in the garbage like the piece of trash Shane has turned out to be.
