Page 17 of Run for the Money

“I wish. I could have understood that. I had all his passwords, and I combed through his texts, his emails, all of it, praying I’d find another woman. A man. Someone. Anyone. A reason.” I fiddle with the edge of a cocktail napkin, uncomfortable. “There was nothing.”

Hundreds of legal briefs, extremely organized tax documents for the mountain property he co-owns with his brother, two thousand photographs of me. Not a single whiff of infidelity. He wasn’t lying. He didn’t hate me. He just didn’t love meenough.

“Did you check his social media?” Nick asks. “See if he was following anyone suspicious or unusual? Any weird tagged photos?”

“He didn’t have social media. Thought it was a waste of time,” I explain. “But his half-brother has it, and posts a lot. A month after he left me, I saw my ex, Paul, in a group photo at his brother’s engagement party. A week later, he shows up at my mom’s gallery, flirting with a woman who works for one of Mom’s friends. I went…a little nuts stalking her social media. Pretty sure I’ve seen everything she’s ever posted online. Best I can figure, they didn’t meet until a few weeks after we broke up.”

“People do date again after break-ups,” Nick says sympathetically.

I hold up a finger to silence him. “Haven’t gotten to the baggage yet.”

I have Nick’s full attention, which isn’t helping the somersault situation in my stomach.

“I was at a fundraiser at the end of the summer, and the new woman showed up. Like a psycho, I cornered her and asked if she was dating him, and she said no. So, I called Paul’s brother and asked him to help me win Paul back. Our brilliant idea was for me to go up to this mountain property they own to give Paul a romantic surprise.”

I pause, unsure how the next detail is going to land. The internet stalking is already humiliating, but at least I did all of that in the privacy of my own home. Fully clothed. But if he’s going to understand all the ways my heart’s been pulverized, he has to know what Paul said to me on the mountain, and to do that…I have to explain what I did on the mountain.

“I laid myself out naked on a bed of roses in Paul’s cabin,” I say quickly. “The woman—the one who told me they definitely weren’t dating? Turns out that was a lie and they’re definitely a couple, so she’s the one who found me.”

“Okay, that’s pretty bad,”Nick admits.

It might be the light in the bar, or maybe his beer, but the tip of his ear looks redder than the rest of his face. The rest of his expression is neutral, though, as if this isn’t the most humiliating thing he’s ever heard.

“Did I mention it was the brother’s wedding weekend? Or that afterward, Paul shouted for the entire freaking mountain and all their guests to hear that he hadn’t loved me in months, but he was ‘deeply and irreversibly in love’ with this other girl from the first day he met her?”

He lets out a low whistle and slides the whiskey sour back to me. “I understand the urge to throw things a hell of a lot better now.”

“Ironically, he might be able to help you with your dad. He’s a lawyer, and he’s obsessed with justice and righting wrongs, so he does tons of pro bono work. If he can’t handle your case, I’m sure he knows someone who could. I’ll text you his contact info.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he says.

I shrug. “He never has to know I’m the one who referred you. Trust me, he’s a sucker for a sob story. He’ll help you out.”

I pull out my phone and send the information to Nick before he can argue more. Free legal help is hardly the justice I want from Paul, but I don’t want Nick to lose his horses. Worst case scenario, Paul can’t help him and so all of this simply wastes Paul’s time. I’d love to waste Paul’s time—four years of it, if possible.

Nick looks at his phone screen and his brow furrows. “Jesus, Melanie. Tell me this is a coincidence. Tell me this man isn’t the Paul Walters I’m thinking of, and he’s not related to Diana Walters.”

This time, I definitely blush. “Can’t. ’Cause he is.”

He stares at me, aghast. “No. Melanie, what the fuck? What kind of a masochist are you? What the fuck kind of asshole is this guy? How did that even start? I’m sorry, I just can’t wrap my head around this. Four years? With Diana’s brother? Why?”

Shoot. I’m going to cry again. I press my hands to my face, in the hope that holding my eyelids shut with my fingertips will keep the tears inside my tear ducts where they belong.

“I know it doesn’t really sound like it from what I’ve told you, but Paul’s a good man,” I whisper. “He’s the kindest person I’ve ever met.”

“Agree to disagree,” Nick mumbles.

I ignore his interruption and press on, not sure why I’m so compelled to tell him this. It’s not something I advertise, but it’s bubbling out of me now.

“I messed up with Diana. It’s my fault she got hurt. But Paul loved me anyway. At least I thought so. I figured if a man that good could love me, then it was forgivable. I was a good person. I was lovable. Seems I was mistaken on all counts.”

My fingers aren’t doing a great job at keeping the tears in. I keep my hands against my face anyway because I don’t want to see any judgment in Nick’s face. He nudges my foot, and when I don’t react he does it again.

“Put your hands down and look at me.”

“Why?” I whine.

“I want you to see how serious I am right now.”

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