The Hot One(8)

I add up the evidence. All roads to Delaney seem to lead through her friends. They’re in nearly every picture. Like a pack. And like a pack, I bet they protect their own.

I type out a message.

“Hey, Delaney. Great seeing you this morning, and your friends. The dogs were cute, too. I see you’re doing massage now? How’s that going?”

But before I hit send, I look at the note.

Fuck it.

This isn’t what I want to say. This isn’t who I am. I want to see her. Talk to her. Catch up with her. I don’t want stupid bullshit. I’ve had enough of that. I’ve had plenty of meaningless dates and pointless conversations.

This woman was never pointless.

She was everything, and that’s exactly why I’d had to slice her out of my life once upon a time.

I hit the delete key and start over.

I ignore Clay’s advice. I’m going to parachute into this from the back hatch of the speeding plane. That’s the only way I know how to do things. Full speed ahead.

Hey, Delaney . . . seeing you this morning was a complete and utter shock. In case the look of surprise on my face didn’t make that apparent, I figured I’d put it in writing. I spent the morning at the zoo and the park with the girl I consider my niece—that sweet little lady who was watching me juggle. You may remember my cousin Clay. He has a daughter now, and I try to spend as much time with Carly as possible. I sure as hell didn’t expect to see you this morning, but I’m grateful I did. You’re as stunning as you always were, and as fierce and fiery. Glad to see you’re in New York City and enjoying life with good friends. I’d love to take you out for a drink and catch up. There’s a lot to say. Are you free this week?

I hit send.





3





Delaney



* * *



Dear Tyler,



* * *



How interesting to see you, too! My, how the years have flown. I’m doing great, thanks for asking. Yes, life is wonderful. So glad you inquired about that, too. I’m also single, but you didn’t ask that. You just assumed. Which makes me think you’re just the same guy you were before. In your note, you went straight for what you want, without thinking of what I might need to hear from you. And isn’t that what you did at the end? You put yourself first. You didn’t even ask what happened to law school. Did I go? Did I win another scholarship? You didn’t care, did you?

The thing is I wouldn’t mind having a drink with you. I used to love chatting with you. I adored our talks that spiraled well past midnight, drifting from politics to history to your beloved Los Angeles Dodgers, to what would make the world become a better place, and even whether ham or bacon was more abhorrent to this vegetarian girl. So, you’re right. There is a lot to say. But how do I know you want to hear it?



* * *



Delaney



The next morning, I stare at my phone and the draft of the message on the screen. I read it over for the seven hundred sixty-second time as I swipe on some blush in front of the bathroom mirror.

Fact is, I don’t blame him for my change in career. How could I? Tyler might have stepped on my law school dreams, but I’d made my choice before that final debate. I’ve got another man to thank for the change of heart. Dear old dad.

Just thinking of my father stirs up far too many mixed emotions—the bitter and the sweet. Funny, in an ironic way, how one phone call with him my senior year of college could change the course of my future. But that’s how it goes. Sometimes we just know when it’s time to make a change.

I’m so much happier in my chosen field than I ever would have been as an attorney.

But hell if Tyler knows that. The man didn’t even ask. Not one single question about what I’m doing, and that’s how he behaved the last week we were together. Distant, cold, focused solely on himself. That’s probably why I never even told him the details from that call with my dad, and the things my father said that made me rethink my future.

One little call.

One offhand remark from the man who left my mother, brother, and me. My dad called to congratulate me on being accepted to law school, even though he was wrong about the timing. Letters hadn’t been sent out yet. Then he said, “You’ll be a great lawyer, Delaney.”

“You think so?” I asked eagerly. I couldn’t help myself. I still wanted his support. I hadn’t had it for years.

“Absolutely,” he said, with the kind of certainty only a father can give his daughter.

“Why do you say that?” I was hungry for his praise. So damn desperate.

“You’re just like me. You love to argue. Like I did with your mom.”

I froze, the phone like a brick against my ear. I didn’t want to be like him. I didn’t want to be the way he was with my mom. I had no interest in that kind of fighting future.

After he hung up, I sank onto my mattress and I contemplated everything about my career choice. I didn’t decide immediately. Instead, I told myself I would do the final debate, and see how I felt in the competition. Would I still enjoy debating? Would I like arguing a point as much as I had before?

Or had my father’s words colored everything I thought I wanted for my future?

The debate would be my final test, and it told me all I needed to know about how to be happy.