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  Loved

  Rebekah Dodson

  Published by Rebekah Dodson, 2019.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  LOVED

  First edition. September 20, 2019.

  Copyright © 2019 Rebekah Dodson.

  Written by Rebekah Dodson.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1 | Ellie

  Chapter 2 | Matt

  Chapter 3 | Ellie

  Chapter 4 | Matt

  Chapter 5 | Ellie

  Chapter 6 | Matt

  Chapter 7 | Ellie

  Chapter 8 | Matt

  Chapter 9 | Ellie

  Chapter 10 | Matt

  Chapter 11 | Matt

  Chapter 12 | Ellie

  Chapter 13 | Matt

  Chapter 14 | Ellie

  Chapter 15 | Matt

  Chapter 16 | Ellie

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  Further Reading: Abby's Promise

  About the Author

  To all the artists who inspired the creation the book, I thank you. Your music helped create these characters, I just gave them a voice.

  Chapter 1

  Ellie

  “ELLIE! GET YOUR BEHIND in this sweet convertible! The reservation says we can check in as early as 11am!”

  “I’m coming, I’m coming!” I slung the purple shoulder bag over my arm and grabbed the black pull handle on the matching rolling suitcase. I had to juggle my bag, purse, suitcase, and steaming hot coffee. It was so damn early to be heading on the road – barely six a.m., and this early in September, still a little dark. Sunrise was almost an hour away.

  My best friend, Camden, or, as I had called her since the 8th grade, Cam, was waiting next to a bright red, brand new Mustang convertible with the top all the way down. While I worked hard in school to get my degree in hospital administration, Cam had partied instead, which led her to pursue a job as a caterer. There was no way she could afford a car like this. A rental? For a four-day weekend trip?

  I shook my head, laughing. “Did you seriously rent this car for a weekend getaway, woman?”

  “Yes, lady, as a matter of fact I did.”

  I felt the familiar giddiness I’d had for the last week of so flood me again. I couldn’t help but gush, “I still can’t believe you won tickets to Moscato Vineyard, oh my god!”

  “I know!” She jumped and clapped. “I never win anything, so when I was the tenth caller...”

  I laughed. “I swear, I’ll never make fun of your country music obsession ever again.”

  “Speaking of which,” she reached into the car and pulled out her phone. Flicking the screen with a flourish, the heavy guitar and some southern crooner voice pounded out of the speakers. “New Luke Bryan single just hit!” she screamed. “Isn’t it just amazing?”

  I resisted the urge to cover my ears. That was one thing Cam and I could never agree on: I loved my trendy pop music, but she was always going on about her Eric Church, Lee Brice, and even Baylee Littrell. I’d be over here singing badly about walking away and falling in love and she had to party it up with tractors and beer and swimming holes and badly broken hearts. Ew.

  “But look at this car!” I yelled over the music, motioning for her to turn it down, even though most of my neighbors would be at work at noon on a Friday. With a roll of her eyes and a flip of her braids, she finally obliged. “I mean, how did you afford this?” She winced as I said it and I felt guilty for blurting it. Her face lit up then, and confused, I just gaped at her. “What?”

  “I got the Lakeshore-Williams job!”

  “You didn’t!” I shrieked with her. Forgetting my luggage, I rounded the car in two seconds and pulled her into my arms. “Cam! That wedding was huge – five figures, right?”

  “With an eight-thousand dollar down payment!” She was nodding, but her eyes were glassy, like she was going to cry. “So I upgraded our rental.” She wiped at her eyes. “Now put your shit in the back and get in, we’re going on vacation to a five-star resort!”

  She flung the door open and popped the trunk. I gently hauled my purple case beside her matching knock-off designer bags, perfectly matching black and gold woven colors, which she probably bought at the local Kmart—Cam was frugal like that—and shut the trunk lid softly. I rounded the car and slid in the front seat next to Cam. She was already in road trip form: sunglasses on, lip gloss smack-checked in the mirror, and a silly wide-brimmed white “old lady” hat perching crookedly on her head.

  She looked at me with her hands at ten and two. “Three days at an all-inclusive vineyard and winery resort. Moscato Vineyard is going to be ahhh-mazing. You ready, bestie lady?”

  I bit my lip, thinking of all the paperwork I was leaving behind at the office, and the four pressing malpractice court cases I had to file with the judge. St. Martin’s, the hospital where I worked, had hired 15 new staff last week, and with three new malpractice suits to submit to insurance I was way, way behind. I forced myself to smile. “I suppose.”

  “You didn’t bring any paperwork with you, did you, El?”

  “No,” I lied. Cam would never find it.

  “Good.” She cranked the engine to life and hit the gas so hard we both lurched forward as she burned rubber down the street. It was short lived, when the stop sign at the end of the condo complex stood in our way.

  Cam glared sideways at me as we merged onto the small highway outside town. “It’s not buried under your boring granny panties in your suitcase, is it?”

  I tried not to gasp. She knew me too well. “Cam, I swear ...”

  “Liar!” she yelled as she pushed the car forward, not bothering to see if the other drivers had even stopped. With the top down and the wind rushing past us on the freeway, there was no reason to even protest.

  We merged off onto the busy, packed interstate. Even though we’d got a head start at noon, traffic was still bad. We had a two-hour road trip on I-5 as we headed south from Seattle. First stop was Portland, then jump on the I-84 for an hour east to Hood River. I flipped my phone on and glanced over email with the check-in instructions. I didn’t really know where we were going, just some place out near Multnomah Falls, or as Cam said, “Somewhere we still don’t have to pay taxes and shit.” I tapped on a link to their website at the bottom of the email.

  Moscato Vineyard – Let us take care of you at your home away from home!

  Home away from home. Matt had said that, when we bought our first home, almost a decade ago. Five years since the divorce, and I couldn’t admit I still thought about him sometimes. Even when I was with my fiancé, well now ex-fiancé, Henry. I scrolled through the gorgeous pictures of the resort, which overlooked the Columbia Gorge. There were rustic cabins, a spa, and horseback riding. Fancy as hell. I winced and put my phone to sleep. I was flattered when Cam had asked me to go, of course, but could I really afford this time I should be working?

  Maybe Cam was right. God, I needed this vacation. Even if I did have a pile of paperwork. I needed to get my head on straight once and for all and get Matt and Henry out of my brain.

  The spatter of Washington rain hitting my cheek ripped me from my nostalgia, and Cam promptly pushed the button for the cover to crank over us. She turned to me without even missing a beat. “What’s wrong with you, El? Trouble in paradise?”

  I shook my head, pretending it really was nothing. “I’m fine.”

  “Oh, shit, girl, you are not fine. What happened with Henry? I thought you guys were working it out?”

  I just stared at her, my eyes welling up with tears. Cam knew me like the back of her hand – that is, when I was feeling down, she could s
ense it a mile away.

  “I don't want to talk about it.”

  “Elaine Catherine Louis Sinclair!”

  I resisted the urge to cringe. When your best friend uses your full name, it’s worse than your mother at times. Not that I would know. “We were going different ways, that’s all.”

  “Uh huh.” She glared at me with side-eyes.

  “As in, he wanted to sleep with other people, and I didn’t. He picked up the last of his things yesterday.”

  “Oh, shit, Ellie. Are you all right?”

  I noticed Camden had slowed the car down, specifically due to the tractor slightly off the road in front of is. She glanced in the rearview mirror as the rain pelted the soft cover of our convertible. “This slow a-hole ain’t going anywhere. We can pull over and have a good cry if you want.”

  That was Cam for you—on my condo doorstep with a bottle of wine and a ticket for four days away from everything, and then offering to have a “good cry.” Cam acted tough as nails all the time, but at some point her therapist had said crying was good for the soul and she took every single word to heart.

  “Is that your answer for everything?” I said softly, wiping at my eyes. “Henry and I didn’t work out, that’s all.”

  “You had your wedding venue picked out,” Cam said, swerving around the tractor finally and urging us even faster. “I’m sorry, bestie, that really sucks. You know, one of my waiters, Frederic, he’s pretty easy on the eyes. Once he finished business school I’m sure he’ll be...”

  Cam droned on for a few minutes about her employee, which I knew would end the same way as it always did with her complimentary: so if you want his number just let me know. It wasn’t that Cam was like that all the time, but—

  “...desperate times call for desperate measures, El, so if you want his number, let me know.” She shrugged. When I didn’t answer, she added, “If it wasn’t for your damned criteria, it’d be easier to find you a man.”

  I didn’t want to talk about my ‘damned criteria’ as she called it. Why can’t a girl have a list of what she likes and dislikes? Especially at thirty-four? “What, like you found the entire football team in high school?” I snapped, but I meant it as a joke, and Cam just laughed.

  “Yeah and they was good boys, too, except Mikhail, he was a tool. Not much in the pants department, if you know what I mean.”

  I chuckled and rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I remember that guy.”

  “How could you?” Cam shot back. “You only had eyes for Matt then.”

  I winced at that. It had been true. Since our junior year, when he transferred from Portland to Vancouver for school. It came as a surprise that we both went to Washington State, and all through 8 years of college afterwards. We were a dream couple: the hospital administrator and the lawyer. Everything was perfect.

  Until the day it all fell apart faster than anyone could have imagined.

  She shot me a look. “Come on, Cam, it’s been six years. Matt’s gone.”

  “I know.”

  We were silent for a minute. Not even Cam had her usual witty comebacks to cheer me up. “It’s the week before school starts, maybe the Moscato Vineyard will be brimming with hot, intelligent college dudes that fit your list. The kind with glasses, degrees, and those god-awful plaid button-up shirts you seem to adore.”

  “I do not—”

  “Matt, Jamie, Luke, Henry. All highly educated, all obsessed with button down shirts and plaid sweaters. Is that on your criteria?”

  “No, but—”

  “You should probably add it, then.”

  I just shook my head again and reached for the radio knob. The whish of the wipers and the patter of the rain was nice, but I needed something a little less depressing, especially given our current conversation. My birthday was in two days, and I didn’t want to think about Matt or Henry or new hires or paperwork. I really wanted to think about being thirty-five. Half my life, basically. I was starting to feel those phantom back pains that plagues all women my age, and I often felt the curse of older women was going to appear any day, though that was certainly ludicrous. I hated to admit it, but Camden was right. Jamie, Luke, Henry. A professor and two doctors. Luke and Henry had the same country club membership. All highly educated, brilliant, smart. Too smart. They saw through my lies every time.

  But Henry ... I thought he was different. I thought he was the one who could fill the void in my heart left by Matt.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about my last conversation with Henry: it was exactly thirteen days ago, but I remembered it sadly:

  “What’s this?” I couldn't think of anything else to ask. What does one ask when they come home for lunch to their sexy fiancé of two years hastily packing his dozen pairs of black shoes in a box and two suitcases near the stairs?

  Henry froze, on his knees in front of the closet, which I could see from the bedroom door was already cleaned out. His slacks and plethora of shirts were laid neatly on the bed. He regarded me like I was an apparition.

  “I wanted to tell you,” Henry sighed, looking up at me. He pushed the box shut and stood. Striding over to grab my shoulders, he pecked me on the cheek. “I love you, Ellie, but this just isn’t going to work out.”

  “Work out?” I dropped my purse on the floor, as well as the bag with his favorite burrito from down the street by the hospital. It rolled away from us. I blinked at him. “We planned a wedding, Henry. You asked me to marry you. What are you talking about?”

  “I know, it’s just ... you’re so busy. We never see each other.”

  It was like a slap in the face, and it tipped my teapot of anger over. “We work at a hospital together!” I nearly screamed in his face, my frustration boiling over. I felt the panic in the back of my throat and tried to swallow, but it was difficult. “Of course we never see each other, but we make time, we find ways...” We’d certainly found a way a few times in a broom closet, I thought, though it made me even angrier.

  “I know we’ve both been busy, but,” he ran a hand over his speckled with gray black hair, “shit, Ellie, I might as well tell you...”

  “Henry?” a voice called from downstairs, startling me. “Are you ready, baby? Before Elaine gets home?”

  I vaguely recognized it. Whoever it was, she worked at the hospital. I spun just as she poked her head in the doorway.

  “Elaine,” she spat the word out, her eyes wide as soon as she spotted me. “What are you doing here?”

  “I fucking live here,” I said angrily. “What are you doing here ... Jessica?”

  Jessica. Henry’s surgical nurse. My mind flew a mile a minute as I tried to think of him mentioning her, of “late nights” or “conferences.” Of course he had many of the latter, but what doctor didn’t? Besides a brief mention, I couldn’t recall him talking about her. I relaxed slightly - maybe they hadn’t, and this wasn’t what I was thinking. Please, please don’t let it be. Maybe she was just helping him get his stuff.

  While she floundered for an answer, pleading silently with Henry to answer, I narrowed my eyes at her and turned back to Henry. “How long has this been going on?” I spat at him.

  He touched my arm again, briefly. “About six months. I’m sorry, Ellie.”

  His words broke me. I burst into a sob and stepped past him and ripped a few dresses and some blouses and slacks from my side of the closet and shoved them in a small overnight bag from the shelf above them.

  “El? What are you doing right now?” Henry was asking. Jessica whispered something I ignored.

  I tossed the bag on the bed. I was crushing his designer shirts, and I didn’t even care. I watched him, holding back the tightness in my chest as tears spilled down my cheeks. “I’m going to stay at Cam’s for a while.”

  “Can we talk about this?”

  “No.”

  Henry crossed his arms, standing between me and the bitch he’d been sleeping with. “So you’re going to flee to that slut of a best friend, and you won’t even bother to ask why I fell
for Jessica?”

  I glared at him. I wanted to ask if he was stupid. “I don’t really care. And don’t you dare call Camden that ever again!”

  “Well, if you’d been more available, emotionally and physically...” Jessica quipped.

  Before Henry could hush her, I yelled over his shoulder. “It would seem the only slut here is you, bitch.” I slung the bag over my shoulder, snatched my purse off the floor next to the forgotten burrito, and pushed Henry out of the way. “Get your shit and get out by the time I come back.”

  “Ellie, don’t be like this,” Henry pleaded. “I meant to tell you, I just hoped it would be easier this way.”

  I didn’t bother to turn around, but I threw over my shoulder, “The only one of us that is fleeing here is you. Fuck off, Henry, and you, too, Jessica. You have twenty-four hours and I never want to see your faces ever again.”

  IT HAD TAKEN A HELL of a lot longer than twenty-four hours. Both of them had been on call, and “unavailable” to get their stuff. To add insult to injury, I ended up with the task in the end.

  I stared out the window at the endless brown farmlands that stretched in every direction beside us. In the distance, the Cascade mountains spread out to the east of the interstate, hazy blurs of gray and blue with white-topped peaks, even this early in the fall. Mt. Hood would soon loom in the distance across the Columbia River. I’d never been to Hood River, or rather seven and a half miles past it, where Moscato Vineyard was. It was the other end of the state from us, and though Cam and I had plenty of road trips to Portland, Hood River was one place we had never traipsed.

  Looking down at my phone, I realized the website for Moscato Vineyard was still open. I scrolled through their menu, looking at the restaurant, the spa, the wine tasting.

  “This place has apple picking?” I turned to Cam. “Really?”

  She laughed. “You’re sitting there all melancholy, thinking about apple picking?”

  “I mean, isn’t that a weird thing to do as an adult?”