Chapter 1 Caroline
CAROLINE
My forehead sinks into my palm, and I squeeze my tired eyes shut as I listen to the loans specialist on the other end of the phone tell me why they won’t be going ahead with my application.
“But I can pay. If I could just take a three-month payment break at the start of the loan…”
Even I hate the desperation in my voice, and it’s clearly not doing anything to convince the woman on the other end of the line that they should lend me money.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Leveson. We can’t help you.”
The voice is firm, and I know there’s no point in trying to change her mind.
“Thank you for your time,” I mumble before ending the call and slamming my phone down on the desk.
My mug jumps, and cold coffee sloshes over the rim. I watch it trickle down the side of the “Girl Boss” mug, leaving a muddy trail through the cheerful pink block writing.
With a heavy sigh, I open my laptop. I’ve filled out numerous online loan applications in the last two days and gotten more rejections than I care to count. I can’t handle any more calls with sympathetic but firm loan specialists today.
It’s time to turn my attention to the task I’ve been putting off all day.
There are forty-three unread emails in my inbox. I scan the bold subject lines.
“Where’s my order?” “Missing order.” And the passive aggressive “Thanks for ruining my health kick.”
My fingers are shaking as I open the first one. I’ve been dreading this all day, but I can no longer ignore my angry customers.
The first email is pleasant, simply wondering where their order is. They remind me that the money has already left their account and they paid for three day delivery, but that was two weeks ago.
I hit “reply” and paste the template response I created last week when I realized how far that asshole ex-business partner and soon-to-be ex-husband had ripped me off. It explains that we’re having supplier issues and I’ll send their order out as soon as I can.
I spend the next two hours replying to emails, trying to appease my upset customers, some of whom I’ve met personally at events, and pray that none of them ask for a refund.
By the time I’ve finished replying to the emails, my eyes are strained and my neck stiff. I get out of my chair and stretch, rolling my shoulders as I walk to the window.
My home office is on the second floor. I spend a moment looking at the palm trees that line the road, swaying in the wind.
My shirt sticks to my body in the heat, but I daren’t put the air conditioning on.
I’m not sure I’ll be able to pay the rent next week.
I don’t want to add any unnecessary bills.
A wave of bitterness rises in my throat. This was supposed to be my time. After raising my daughter practically on my own, it was my time to finally do what I wanted in life.
The move to LA, launching the food supplement business, the new husband.
But look how it turned out. A failing business, a crook for a husband, and now it’s sticky hot and I’m stuck in my home office trying to get myself out of this mess.
I push myself against the open window, letting the faint breeze sweep across my brow. My eyes close and I strain my ears, listening for the sounds of the ocean.
I’m only a few blocks away, but I may as well be inland. The only noise I hear is the continuous flow of traffic that never seems to stop. So much for the LA dream.
When I open my eyes, I catch sight of a dark car parked across the road. My heart leaps into my throat.
What if it’s him? What if it’s Paul, my ex-husband?
Fear grips me, and I step back from the window, my heart hammering in my chest. My ex took my money and he ruined my business, but that wasn’t enough. He said if I reported him, he’d kill me and come for my daughter.
Yeah, nice guy I got involved with.
With my blood thumping in my ears, I peer around the side of the curtain to take a better look at the car.
The window is open a crack, and through the top of it I catch a glimpse of a bald head—a large bald, shiny head that I’d recognize anywhere.
The panic subsides, and my heart slows in relief.
It’s a different ex who’s scoping out my place. Because, yeah, in addition to having a failed business, I have not one but two failed marriages.
You’re supposed to be wiser as you get older, but at thirty-eight, I’m more of a hot mess than I was at eighteen.
The relief that it’s Tony in the car and not Paul is soon replaced by indignation.
Ever since I accidentally let slip that Paul had left in bad circumstances, Tony think’s it’s his duty to come down here to LA whenever he can to keep an eye on me as if I can’t look after myself.
It would be sweet if it wasn’t so hypocritical. For all the years we were married, he was in the military. He left me alone more days than he was home. I had our daughter alone. I practically raised her alone.
I knew when I married Tony that he was going into the military. After all, it had always been his dream. But I wasn’t prepared for the life of a military wife.
We always knew we’d get married one day, but when I found out I was pregnant at eighteen, it sped things up. Tony had already enlisted, and he wanted me to be looked after as a military wife. He wanted to know I wasn’t on my own when he was away.
And I was looked after. But it was lonely.
I hated Tony being away so much. I hated that I was raising Amy on my own. I tried for twelve years to make it work, but finally Tony agreed to a divorce.
Now he thinks he can come down here and stake out my place like he’s on some military mission. Well, I’m not his responsibility anymore.
After the divorce, I moved out of the military compound. I got a house for me and Amy and focused on raising our daughter.
I started a health supplement business on the side, but it only flourished once Amy turned eighteen and I had more time to focus on the business.
Tony was back for good by then, so I figured he could be there for Amy. It was my time. She moved in with her dad, and I moved to LA with Paul.
Everyone said LA is where I need to be for health supplements, and it’s only a few hours from the Sunset Coast but it feels like a world away.
I miss Amy. I miss the ocean. And if there’s a part of me that still misses Tony, I keep it buried deep inside me. That ship has sailed.
So when I see him out my window, keeping watch again, all I feel is anger. He wasn’t there when I needed him, and now he’s here when I don’t want him.
I march down the stairs and out of the front door. As I cross the road, he winds his window down with a sheepish look.
“What are you doing here, Tony?”