I know,I texted back.By me.
I saw him across the street in his long, black overcoat, his dark hair ruffled in the breeze. A smile lit up his face as he spotted me, and several women mistook his greeting me for them, returning his grin with interest. Watching him saunter over to one, a stunning redhead in a beige cashmere coat and red stilettos, I shook my head. Guess his assistant would have to wait a bit longer. I left him to his latest conquest and walked inside.
The sign at the entrance to the dimly lit church stated that the Lost in New York Support Group would meet in Room Three. I briefly considered turning around and leaving, figuring Frisco was occupied and wouldn’t miss out on getting the woman’s number to chase me down the block.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” a voice muttered in my ear, and I answered without thinking.
“Me either. I was thinking of leaving.”
“Don’t. At least there’s someone else who feels like I do.”
Light-blue eyes met mine, and I flinched at the obvious pain in his face.
“Oh, sorry. Hi. I’m Presley. Press for short.”
“Hi, Press.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Nate. Nice to meet you.”
Chapter Two
Well, the view was a hell of a lot better than I anticipated when I signed up for this damn group. The guy, Presley, was hot as hell with that silky hair hanging around his face and burning dark eyes. Of course, I wasn’t here to get laid. I was here to figure out what the hell was wrong with me.
Great job, fabulous home, and an invite to all the “in” parties and openings. And frankly, my dear, I didn’t give a damn about any of it. It was all like white noise around me because none of it mattered. I grew up worshiping my father, wanting to be exactly like him, molding myself to his image…only to have it all blow back in my face like spit in the wind when he dropped dead three years ago.
Did I mention it was in his girlfriend’s bed? A fact sprung on my mother when the police called to tell her to come to the hospital. She presented a stoic face—we all did—but discovering her husband of fifty years, the man she loved and had children with, had been cheating on her with her best friend, was horrifying. Aunt Jillian had been like a second mother to my brother Ethan and me. Now I understood why. She’d been like a second wife to my father.
“How long have you been seeing each other?”My mother, pale and tearful, had confronted Jillian, who’d had the nerve to show up at his funeral.
“About five years.”
A grimace had tilted my mother’s lips.“After my surgery. How nice.”
Six years earlier my mother had to have a double mastectomy, and the effects of the surgery and chemo had tested her will to live. My father had been by her side through it all. But not afterward.
“Whit was scared. He thought he was losing you.”
“And so you had no problem comforting his fears by taking him to your bed. And then you killed him.”
“Killed him? He died of a heart attack.”
“In your bed. If he’d been home with his family where he belonged, it wouldn’t have happened. Get out of here and don’t ever come back.”
Jillian had faced me, but I refused to meet her gaze. She was the enemy. She’d stolen my father from our family, and I could never forgive her. Who in their right mind could forgive someone who’d slept with a married man? A man with a family. Her best friend’s husband.
It was after the funeral that the insomnia started. For three years now, I’d yet to sleep more than four hours a night. I’d lie in bed, eyes burning, legs restless and twitching, but all I could see was my father’s lying, cheating face. My anger, myhurtat what he’d done to our family, betraying my mother while she lay sick, ran circles in my head like a hamster on a wheel. I’d built my whole life around trying to be as good as Whit Sherman, only to find out the emperor had no clothes. So who was I really, if everything I’d always yearned to be was built on a lie?
“I guess we should fill out these name tags?” Presley picked one up from the small table by the entrance and wrote his name with a magic marker, which he handed to me when he was finished.
I did the same, peeled off the adhesive, and stuck the name tag on my suit jacket lapel. I set the pen down and gestured toward the open door. “Let’s go inside.”
The room was set up with chairs in a loose circle, with a second half circle around the back of the room to accommodate spillover. Around ten of the fifteen chairs were already occupied, and several people stood around talking to each other, coffee cups in hand.
I took the seat next to Presley, admiring his long legs in the expensive cut of his suit. I wondered if he was gay. If he had a partner. Thinking about his full mouth might help get me through another restless night. He caught my admiration and blinked, his cheeks turning pink as his gaze darted to the opposite side of the room. Sweet. That answered my first question. The vibes were there. I settled into the uncomfortable chair and checked out the other people in the group.
Two women, obviously sisters, sat across from me, holding each other’s hands. A few younger men and women sat staring off into space. One guy had a picture clutched in his hand, while a woman with bright-purple hair wept silently, wiping the tears from her cheeks.
“This is pretty intense.” I hadn’t realized I’d spoken out loud until Presley answered.
“Yeah. There’s no way I’m saying anything.”
