Page 19 of Say Yes to the Death

An hour later, Claire pulled into Tyler’s driveway with a joyful heart. Every cell in her body shimmered with energy and light as she pulled the door open so Tyler could exit. Tyler had reluctantly transitioned back to his wheelchair, as the doctor had firmly instructed him to ease into using his prosthetics. She walked him to the front door, a prosthetic leg in each hand. It was going to be a stunningly beautiful proposal for two wonderful people.

She deposited his new legs in the bedroom. A flash of light from the window revealed the red marks on her wrists where she had rubbed her skin raw trying to escape. The joy evaporated. A knot grew in her stomach.

“Hey, Tyler?” she asked as she turned to leave.

He spun around to face her. “Yeah?”

“Sorry if this is a weird time to ask. How did you…” she paused, searching for the words. “Overcome everything that happened to you?”

Tyler pressed his hands together. “It was tough. Really tough. I was angry for a long time.” He trained his eyes on the bay window in the living room, and he looked a little older than he had in the car.

“I don’t think I would have been able to dig myself out if it wasn’t for my therapist,” He added.

Therapy. It figured.

“He helped me figure out how to let go of the anger, how to move forward,” Tyler continued. “He reminded me that I’m so much more than my limitations. And then there was Ericka, of course. She was my rock, my legs, my wings. She gave me something to fight for. I knew she deserved the man I could be, not the angry, bitter shell that was left behind.”

Claire bit her lip. The feelings were back. Another tear threatened to leak out. “Hey, save that for your proposal speech, okay?”

Tyler’s gaze swung back to her. His brow furrowed. “Are you doing okay? I know you said you didn’t want to talk about it?—”

“I’m fine,” Claire interrupted with a smile. “I just think you’re amazing. And I’m really glad you’re in a better place.” She leaned over and gave him a hug.

“If you ever want to talk about it?—”

“Thank you, Tyler. Really.” She straightened back up. “Seven more days. Oh, here.” She pulled a laminated sheet from her purse and handed it to him. “The master timeline for the next week. I’ll see you soon.”

She stepped down the ramp and got back into her car. Tyler waved from the window, looking slightly less happy than he had earlier. Damn it. She should have just kept her questions to herself.

“Why don’t you just ask your clients about the most traumatic event of their lives, dumbass?” She muttered to herself as she waved back.

As she backed up, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. With her streaky mascara, she now bore an undeniable resemblance to Marilyn Manson. Awesome. That would definitely help repair her relationship with Rachel.

She pulled into a parking spot at the grocery store and refocused on the next task—dinner with Luke’s velociraptor of a mother. She had completely and utterly blown her first impression. Was it even possible to recover from a faux pas of that magnitude? And what would it be like to dine with a frigid, machete-up-the-ass defense attorney like Rachel? Claire had a sinking suspicion that even if she secretly hired a team of three-star Michelin chefs, the dinner would not be up to Rachel’s standards.

Claire stepped inside the store and dialed Nicole’s number.

“Hey, Claire. What’s up?”

“Just trying to mentally prepare for my dinner with the Antichrist.” She inspected a hunk of romaine lettuce and set it back down.

“Oh, god. I forgot that was tonight. What are you going to make?”

“Five courses. Bacon-wrapped scallops, crab bisque, garden salad, chicken marsala, and banoffee pie.”

“That’s ambitious,” Nicole said. There was a shuffling sound on her end. “If that doesn’t convince her that you’re awesome, nothing will.”

“She’s probably a vegetarian.” Luke had declined to offer any details about his mother’s dietary habits. It was not his most helpful moment.

“Then that bitch can have salad and pie.”

Claire snort laughed and clapped a hand over her mouth. “I love you. How’s your day going?”

“Excellent. I’m prepping a shoot for Venor’s alumni event tomorrow.” Nicole was an up-and-coming photographer with her own studio and gallery downtown.

“An alumni event? Why weren’t we invited?”

“We were. You said it was ‘a thinly veiled excuse to squeeze every last penny from our pockets.’”

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