THE LAST GOOD MAN: A Reverse Age Gap Romance (CASHMERE AND INK)

Chapter 39

MELODY

Thursday

Twenty-four hours passed,and I still feel like shit, although I’m sure it wasn’t his intention.

He said what he said because we’d gotten to a point where it became unavoidable.

All this time, I thought I had it right.

I was who I was and couldn’t change that. I thought it was about fate and luck and all that crap. Something I needed to learn to find the best man.

When, in fact, it was a ‘me’ problem.

I needed to unlearn everything I knew about myself and replace my beliefs.

But even if I embrace new beliefs, living with Jax is still a dangerous proposition, so how am I supposed to reconcile these two?

It doesn’t matter.

It might not matter, as we have hit a roadblock, and I’m not sure there is a path forward.

Last night felt like Isleptin razor wire, and work felt like Isluggedthrough mud, so my session with Aretha couldn’t come soon enough.

I push the door to her office open and make myself comfortable.

I’m early and grateful for spending a few moments alone. The windows are open, and a gentle breeze blows the curtains.

I set my black purse down, run my hand over my bun, and slide onto the couch.

I only spend a second, tense in my gray skirt suit, before I push up and head straight to her desk.

She must be in the back if she hasn’t stepped out.

Regardless of where she is, I follow that pestering voiceinside my headthat nudges me to search her drawers.

The book where I found the piece of paper with his nameis missing.

So, there it goes.I open every drawer and look for his file.There must be a file.

Maybe she’s keeping it separately since this is her pro bono work, and I’m sure there are requirements regarding the paperwork.

There’s no way she doesn’t take notes.

Footsteps ring in front of the building, and her voice mingles with someone else’s before drifting through the air.I straighten and glance out the window.

Holding a brown paper bag, she talks to a man.

Good.

I have a few more seconds left.

Feverishly, I look through the files. No luck.

Sighing, I slam the last drawer closed and look around the room. There is not one unchecked spot.

Disappointed with my fruitless efforts, Ispin around anddo the unthinkable. Wakeher computer.I’m no hacker and don’t expect it to work, but I try to guess her passcode and type in her date of birth.

Stupid, stupid luck.

I gain access and have no time to gloat as her voice inches closer to the entrance.

Where do I look?

If her fascination with him is real, I should find a folder with his name typed in bold letters.

JAX.

There it is.

I double-click and open a file. An anger management plan fills my view. Another file talks abouthisprogress.I needhernotes—her notes, like whenshe’sscribbling down silly stuff about my life.

Her voice moves up the stairs, and the window of opportunity closes. I have no time to check the rest of the files except for one. I grasp one name at the top of the page.

Tim London, and the words following that name… Jax’s father.

That’s it.

I close the file and folder and click on sleep, hoping her computer doesn’t freeze, as mine does sometimes, and crafting a plan to keep her busy in case it does before the screen goes dark.

I dash away from her desk, and she finds me by the door, staring at an old photograph of Manhattan framed and hung on the wall.

“I always get nostalgic when I see this picture,” I say calmly, my arms crossed over my chest.

Her gaze lingers on me for a few seconds before going down my attire, which has becomea habit of hers.

It gives her clues on how I feel that day.

And today,my appearance couldn’t be more misleading. I look sharpand rested, but it’s all good foundation, moisturizer, and stubbornness.

My hair is up for a neat appearanceand my suit makes me look like everything is under control.

The real me is the freak going through her stuff.

I tip my eyes to the bag.

“Is that your dinner?” I ask.

“Yes.”

She walks to her desk, and I hold my breath, hoping no clue has been left behind.

“Ready?” she asks unexpectedly.

“Oh. Yes. I thought I was early.”

“You are early.”

She gives me a fake smile.

“We can start right away. Just give me a second.”

We both sit, talking nonsense for an hour.

That happens sometimes.

I can’t openmyselfup and talk about what happened last night, not only because Jax, aka Jack, is a secret but also because the issue is moot.

Aretha can’t add anything to what Jax said.

I get it. It all makes sense now.

I need some time to clear my head and change my ways.

With this being said, Jax might no longer be a possibility.Maybe he never was.

Perhaps he came into my life to teach me a lesson I’d spent too damn long learning by talking to my therapist.

Who knows?

Whatever the real meaning of this twist, I have no desire to talk to her about my men.They’re no longer my men, and I’mno longer searching for that one perfect man.

I need to get real and accept my fate. Whatever that means, being single orbecoming a mafia wife––that will never happen––there’s no point in playing footsies with fate.

So when we’re talking about my job, landlord, and searching for a new home, I can tell how bored she is by how she struggles to keep the corners of her mouth up and her eyes open so she doesn’t fall asleep.

None of my musings make it to her notepad.

It’s like nothing significant happens in my life, and I’m as bored as she is. Frankly, I can’t wait to get out of here, subconsciously wanting to run into him.

It would do me no good, as I don’t even know what to say to him if that happened, but I’m willing to wing it.

We both shift our eyes to the clock on the wall when a sigh succumbs at the bottom of my chest.

I need a few seconds to compose myself and not leave a trail of regrets in my wake.

But my mouth can’t stay shut as I gather my things and watch her move to her desk.

“Still doing that pro bono work?”

A nonchalant smile tickles my lips as I yank the strap of my bag over my shoulder.

She inhales deeply as she slides into her seat, moves the mouse, and wakeshercomputer.

My stare is on her face while she absently navigates through folders or maybe checks her email.

“Uh… Yes. I’m still doing that.”

Her fingers run furiously across the keyboard, at odds with her expressionless face.

“I’m getting a new case next month.”

I freeze.

She pushes her gaze up and gives me a smile of icicles.

My legs feel like wool.

“What happened to the other client?”

“He asked to be reassigned.”

“Can he do that?”

She shrugs, no longer looking at me, focused solely on her computer.

I can’t move.

Has Jax asked to be reassigned because of me?

“Apparently…” she murmurs, obviously upset.

She finally rises from her seat while I get the hint and move toward the exit.

“I got a call and was informed thathehad asked for someone else.”

“Uh… Great…? I guess? For him, I mean.”

I mumble stupid shit while she walks with me, smiling with urgency on her face.

The woman is hungry, and she wants me gone.

“All right,” I say, stopping at the door. “I better get going then. See you next week?”

“Sure,” she mutters, and I’ve never felt her more detached and unhappy.

MELODY

“What’sthe name of that place again?”

The cab driver looks at me as I tell him the name of the diner.

“And then I need to go home,” I say.

He studies me in the rearview mirror before swerving his car away.I’m glad I no longer have to talk.

Slumped in the backseat, I stare blankly at the view and let these past twenty-four hours move through me like a waterspout. Angry tornadoes gathering steam under my calm appearance.

I feel trapped.

Anyone hooked on anything can tell you the worst feeling is when something puts its little claws into you and harshly pulls away.

That’s how withdrawal feels for me right now.

And unlike with cigarettes, I can’t carry a piece of himwith me.

He stated the truth and made me crumble. I will resent him for that at some point, but that point isn’t now.

How could I be so clueless?

Now I need to do two things.Learn who hereallyis and whether I have the guts to be with him.

When I thought I was old enough to know better, a younger man came along and put me in my place. Was I surprised by what he said about Marlowe and Thomas?

It wasn’t exactly groundbreaking news, but getting the saucy details about Thomas, the man with a soft erection, triggered my gag reflex.

Without a clear plan to remedy the damage, I start by tracking down Jax. I see some groveling in my future, although that might notevenbe an option.

The diner was the first place I had in mind as I walked out of Aretha’s office.

I can’t say it’s the best move, but it’s something.

It starts raining shortly after heading to the Bronx, and by the time we reach the diner, other than the few cars parked outside and a couple of tables with people indulging in food that still tastes homemade, there is nothing of interest.

I spot the kid who brought me food last time and ask the driver to pull closer and wait for me.

“Hey. Hey…” I call through the open door, pushing out of my seat.

The kid turns his eyes to me.

His collar is popped, his hair glistening from the rain, his shoulders drawn together.

I make a beeline for him, shielding my face from the icy rain.

“Do you remember me?” I ask.

He silently nods.

“I was with Jax––”

“I know who you are.”

His voice is dry, his gaze suspicious.

“Is there a problem?” he asks.

“No, no problem.”

I reach inside my bag and pull a one hundred dollar bill from my wallet.

“Have you seen him?” I ask, holding the cash up.

“Jax?” he says, his eyes going to the money and back to me.

I nod.

“No. Not today.”

“Does he come here often?”

“Once in a while,” he says, unsuccessfully trying to snatch the money.

“Do you know where he lives?” I ask, pulling my arm back.

“Lady...?”

His brow creases with frustration as he finally takes the money from my hand.

“He’s not the man to search for if he doesn’t want to see you.”

“Don’t be so preoccupied with me. I need to know where I can findhim.”

“You can’t find him,” he says, shoving the money into his pocket. “Someone like you,” he says, sizing me up, “can’t go where he goes. It’s not safe.”

“What about where he lives?”

“Run a search online. You can findhisaddress, but it won’t help you much. As I said before––”

I flick my hand up, cutting him off.

“Got it. Look…”

I reach inside my purse, and his eyes glisten with interest as if he expects more cash.

“What about we do this. You go inside, get me some food, and bring it to my car. I’ll tip you handsomely if you bring something extra with my food.”

Our eyes stay locked while he ponders.

“What does handsomely mean in your world?”

“Use your brain.”

He purses his lips.

“This is for food,” I say, shoving more cash into his hand. “I’m in the car.”

“What would you like?”

“What I had last time.”

I spin around and rush to the cab,where I instructthe driver to wait some more while the teen vanishes inside the diner.

A few minutes pass, and the kid pushes the door open and heads straight to the car. I open the door, and he hands me my food and a folded napkin.

“You have everything you need in there,” he says, glancing at the driver as if fearful he might be ratted out by him.

I don’t know what kind of business Jax is in, but hesurelyinstills fear in people.

“Thank you for your trouble,” I say, and our hands connect again.

This time, four hundred dollar bills go from me to him.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he says, with a clipped nod, swiftly straightening up before pushing his hand into his pocket and slamming the door shut.

Imove my eyes tothe driver, who watches me with unwavering interest.

“Go,” I say, gesturing at the road. “I’m hungry.”

Without a word, he steers the car away, and we roll toward my home.