––––––––

Twenty-Four Hours Ago...

––––––––

I’m twenty-five years old and divorced.

To say that my life has taken a dramatic turn in the wrong direction is an understatement.

But, the thing is, as women, we always want to see the best in everyone—I truly believe that. The problem with doing it, though, is that we tend to shadow all the little things with our optimism and choose not to see things as they truly are. We aren’t stupid, I’m not saying that, but we damn well know how to convince ourselves that things are sometimes better than they might really be.

Which is exactly how I ended up married to Austin Robertson two years ago. Don’t get me wrong, he was nice, and affectionate, and attractive. He said all the right things, and he did all the right things.

The problem is, he was saying and doing all those right things with a few other women, too. Yeah, multiple women. Seems I was a part of his own personal harem and didn’t even know it.

When I found out for certain—which really means: When one of his mistresses came forth and introduced herself because she was “just feeling so awful for sleeping with him for the last eight months” (yeah, insert sarcasm here)—I left him. I filed for divorce, and even stuck to my guns when my lawyer advised me I was entitled to half of everything we had. That included Austin’s Internet marketing company, which allowed me a pretty tidy sum of money.

I didn’t want his money, and I still don’t. And, if my husband would’ve just acted apologetic, been somewhat sincere in his apologies to me, I might never have let my lawyer go up to bat for that kind of settlement.

But Austin didn’t apologize to me in any heartfelt way. What he did do was curtly and assertively request that I see reason when it comes to the splitting of our assets and understand that his business and the income it generates is exactly that—his.

Funny, that’s exactly how I’d felt about my husband during our marriage. There was a time when I thought that he was mine, too.

Needless to say, I was awarded fifty percent of his business profits. I also got to keep the condo we’d once shared.

I should be happy. Or relieved that it’s finally over. I should be thinking about all the ways I can move on now, get on with my life.

Instead, as I leave the courthouse, all I feel is empty. I don’t want Austin’s money, or the condo that he moved out of weeks ago. And I sure as hell don’t want a failed marriage under my belt.

I want the life I thought I had. With the husband, and the career, and my own cozy little nook in the world to come home to at night.

But as I get in my car and drive back toward home, I know that all I have waiting for me is an empty condo and a bottle of wine in the door of the fridge. My boss at the office I work at has been kind enough to allow me a few days off to deal with the legal proceedings of the divorce, so I know I have nowhere I need to be tomorrow.

And no one to check in on how I’m holding up.

It’s such a depressing thought, and in an attempt to distract myself from it, I check my cellphone when I pull up to an intersection with a red light.

How are you holding up?

I laugh out loud. Well, I guess there’s always one person who checks up on me. Leave it to Zach to be the one to ask. Not my parents, not my coworkers...Zach. I swear he can read my mind sometimes.

Quickly, I send him back a text. All settled. That’s that. Onward and upward.

I don’t wait for his reply, tossing the phone back onto the passenger seat. I know he knows me too well to believe I’m so nonchalant about it all.

Zach and I have been friends since grade school. In elementary school, he was the one who punched the boy who called me a sissy for not wanting to go down the tallest slide in the schoolyard at recess. In high school, he was my prom date—and I use the term date loosely, seeing as we just drank raspberry vodka from a flask and spent the evening telling each other that we were going to get up the nerve to ask our high school crushes to dance. It never happened, but we had fun together anyway. In college, we went to separate schools, but did manage to crash a party or two at each other’s campus.

It was always a good time with Zach Delaney. Fun-loving, carefree, no drama, no rules.

And no romantic connection, despite what other people might have thought. We almost kissed once at my college graduation—yeah, he showed up and cheered louder than anyone else in that room—but we both started laughing before it happened.

Thank God we dodged that bullet.

That’s not to say I haven’t ever wondered what we would’ve been like as a couple. Would it be weird? Was the connection between us something that could survive a relationship status, instead of just friendship?

If Zach ever wondered the same thing, he didn’t mention it.

Besides, I started dating Austin and ended up marrying him.

And look how well that turned out. I don’t need another botched relationship, and I sure as hell don’t want to ruin the kind of friendship Zach and I have managed to keep all these years.

It takes me fifteen minutes to get across town and into the parking lot of my condominium building. I wasn’t expecting him, but I’m also not surprised to see Zach standing there with his tattooed arms and his mischievous smile.

“You can’t park there,” I chuckle as I climb out of my car, purse in tow. “These spots are reserved for tenants. Guest parking’s over there, you know that.”

“And you know I don’t give a shit,” he grins. He reaches into the interior of his truck and pulls out a pizza box and a six-pack of beer. “Thought you might need some cheering up.”

I stand there and stare at him. There’s one thing I won’t deny about Zach Delaney—he’s hot. Once a lanky, sandy-haired boy with a thin build, he is now broad in the shoulders and built like an athlete. And that’s because there isn’t a sport the man can’t play; his football scholarship was proof of that.

Finally, I laugh at his blatant disrespect for the rules. “Good Lord, you’re going to get yourself in trouble someday. And I don’t need cheering up, I just need beer. Are you and that six-pack a package deal?”

“You better believe it.”

“Well, I guess you can come, too, then.”

But Zach has already fallen into step with me. That’s just how it is with us. Easy. Simple. We joke, bicker, and get on each others’ nerves, but we’re still there when we need a friend.

Like I do, right now. And he knows it without me having to outright admit it.

I think that’s the part I appreciate the most, not having to say it out loud.

Zach follows me into the building and we take the elevator to the seventh floor. He doesn’t push for conversation, mindful of the elderly couple sharing the elevator with us on the way up, and I don’t offer anything, either.

Once we’re in my apartment, however, that’s a different story.

“I don’t need details, Gab. Just tell me, did Austin cry? Tell me he cried.”

His hopeful, smug grin makes me laugh out loud. “You’re just horrible, you know that?” I shake my head, catching the beer can when he tosses it at me. “And, no, unfortunately he saved his tears for behind closed doors. But, you know him. Those tears are for his precious money, not for me.”

“Let him cry, Gab. If he thinks that’s his biggest loss in this whole deal, the guy’s an even bigger douchebag than I thought.” He cracked open his beer can and held it out toward me. “You deserve better, pretty lady. Cheers to you finally finding it.”

I can feel my throat tightening with the emotion I’ve held in all day. Zach always knows how to make me feel special, and his words mean more than he knows.

But I don’t agree with him. While I do believe that I deserve better than the likes of Austin Robertson, I’m also too broken to believe I’ll ever find someone now—and not just someone better, but someone at all.

I give him a half-hearted smile and toss my beer can back at him, taking the open one and clinking it with his once he opens it. The least I can do is lie to myself, tell myself I’ll eventually move on.

Maybe if I say it enough, someday I’ll actually believe it.