Page 1 of The Best You've Ever Had

Prologue

Layla

“Act like you love each other,” Mom and her best friend, Brandy, coo as they snap a picture. Ben, Brandy’s only child, and I stand side-by-side, awkward pre-teens in hideously festive Christmas sweaters.

“Disgusting,” I mutter under my breath, just loud enough for him to hear.

As soon as our moms turn away from us, he yanks my ponytail, prompting me to reflexively sucker punch him in the stomach. He doubles over with a dramatic groan and I stare down at him, feeling a mix of pride and concern about the trouble I might be in.

“You deserved that,” I whisper—right as our moms look back at the commotion.

“Layla, while I appreciate your fighting abilities, you need to apologize,” Mom says over her shoulder.

Ben looks up at me and winks. Thus, proving he’s not even inthatmuch pain. He’s obviously very theatrical, but this issue is ongoing for the both of us, so our parents are nearly immune to our antics by now.

He stands, holding his stomach and trying to hide his smirk. “I’m ready for my apology.”

“I’m sorry, Benny.” I clear my voice, not out of nerves, but so he can hear me perfectly clear. Then I lean in to deliver the kill. “I’m sorry that you’re such a little fucker.”

“Layla Elizabeth Reed!” Mom yells, pinching the bridge of her nose. She doesn’t even seem the least bit surprised. I did learn my colorful language fromsomewhereafter all.

Brandy tries to conceal her laughter, while her son’s mouth hangs open in disbelief.

It’s not the beginning, and it sure won’t be the end of our battles.

Chapter One

Layla

Present Day - Twenty Years Later

Everything about Christmastime is a lie wrapped up in an annoyingly, shiny red bow. Everyone swears it’s the happiest time of the year—full of holiday cheer, the giving and receiving of presents, and quality time spent with loved ones.

But I can tell you now that’s wishful, bordering on delusional, thinking. From where I stand, Christmas is nothing more than the pressure of spending money and a harboring resentment for having to hear a family member ask you for the hundredth time if you’ve met someone to settle down with yet.

There’s a reason why in my line of work divorce filings soar on the Monday after children return back to school from winter break. The stress of the holiday only highlights the dislike between two people. Another case in point for why Christmas is in fact the worst.

At least it’s good for business. Being one of the best divorce attorneys in the city has its perks during this time. And nothing saysscrew you, Dadlike watching yet another unfaithful grown man cry when it doesn’t go his way in court.

Fifteen years ago—the week before school’s winter break—I had come down with a fever during math class, and decided to cut out early. As I walked home, I stared whimsically at all the holiday decorations lining our street. Snowmen inflatables, reindeers drinking out of twinkle light streams, candy cane lined paths. Christmas was my thing—I loved everything about this season. It was magical. It was happy. It was intoxicating.

And then it all came to a screeching halt.

I walked in on my family man of a father balls deep in our neighbor, Megan. There was nothing more I could do than cover my eyes and turn around—frozen, as my entire world came crashing down around me like thick shards of glass.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Dad had said, as he and Megan rushed to cover themselves up.

I’m not sure if he thought I was a damn fool, or if it was his knee-jerk reaction to tell a flat out lie. Obviously, I had seen him and our twenty-something neighbor with both of their boney asses hanging out. How was I supposed to interpret that? They fell on top of each other and their pants just so happened to fall down too?

As I ran to my room, locking the flimsy door behind me, my father stood on the opposite side. Pleading with me. Telling me he loved me and my mother very much. That he made a mistake, and it would never happen again. He asked what he could do to make it up to me. What he could say to convince me not to tell my mother. Then threw in a stark warning that if Mom found out our family would be ripped apart. As if it would be my fault for the destruction of it if I told her what I’d seen.

I stood there in silence. Listening to him, and loathing him to a new degree with every sentence that came out of his phony mouth. The image of my father was tarnished within seconds. The realization that he was purely an illusion based on carefully constructed lies. He had played subpar doting fatherand husband all too well. But that day, my blinders were taken off, and I saw life and love for what it truly is—a fucking sham.

If someone could cheat on my angel of a mother, then none of us stood a damn chance of finding true, unwavering love.

Now I’m on a plane, back to my hometown of Havenbrook, to create more difficult memories during this splendid holiday season. But if there’s two people I’d go back for, it’s my mother and her best friend Brandy. Last week, during my usual call with Mom on my commute, I instantly knew something was wrong. Through sobs thick with sadness, she told me that Brandy’s dad, Mick, had been diagnosed with end-stage pancreatic cancer. He had been too stubborn to go in for the increasing pain he’d been experiencing over the years. And when he finally was seen, it was too late.

The thought of Mick hurting is enough to bring me to my knees. With both sets of my grandparents having passed away before I could form any memories of them, he has been the grandfather I never had. The fun grandpa who smells of cherry cigars, lets you eat way too much sugar, and has absolutely no filter.

---