You Were My Sunset, Not My Forever

Two years into my divorce battle with Dennis Whitney, I ran into my first love, Mick Sanchez, at a high school reunion.

Over dinner, more than a few classmates brought up how perfect we'd been together back then, sighing over how we'd fizzled out without a proper ending.

Outside the restroom, Mick stopped me.

"The case still isn't settled?"

"Would you mind having your ex-boyfriend as your lawyer?"

I smiled and didn't refuse.

After that, Mick threw everything he had into winning the divorce for me. I walked away with fifty percent of Dennis's assets.

On the day of the signing, I overheard a conversation between Mick and Dennis outside the door.

"Stealing critical evidence under the guise of opposing counsel, hiding assets. Impressive tactics, Attorney Sanchez."

"If Sarah Sullivan ever finds out you're working for us, that her so-called fifty percent is pocket change compared to the real fortune, you think she'd lose her mind?"

Mick's face was stone cold. He dropped his voice to a warning.

"Dennis, I don't work for you."

"Everything I've done is for Jane's happiness. If you ever betray her, I'll make you pay a hundredfold."

My knuckles went white around the door handle. A sharp, needling pain shot through my chest.

The "Jane" they were talking about was Jane Henson.

Dennis's secretary. His mistress on the side.

——

I drew a long breath and pushed the door open.

Both men turned toward me at the same time. Neither face showed a trace of anything wrong.

"Sarah, come sit over here."

Mick spoke first, waving me over.

Their conversation still echoing in my ears, I tightened my grip on my purse strap and walked toward him.

Mick pulled out a handkerchief and gently dabbed the water stains from my clothes.

"I should've picked you up, but the car broke down halfway."

"It's pouring out there. You didn't get caught in it, did you?"

I shook my head. He kept explaining as he pulled out my chair.

All four years of college, Mick had taken care of me exactly like this. Attentive to every detail.

In the months since our reunion, while he handled the case, he'd been even more devoted.

Friends around us teased him constantly. "Mick, you're going to spoil her rotten."

"This is the real deal. He was just waiting for her to be free."

Others weren't as kind. They laughed behind his back, called him a fool picking up another man's leftovers.

They'd dredge up the ugly details of our breakup, all those stale old stories, and say Mick was pathetic, a lovesick dog who'd forgotten the scars she gave him.

But Mick acted like he heard none of it. He covered my ears with his hands.

"I already lost you once."

"This time, I will never let myself lose you again."

I believed he still carried a torch for me, that he genuinely wanted us to start over.

Now I knew. All of it had been my own delusion.

The tenderness in front of me was a trap, custom-built and sweetened just for me.

I looked at the chair he'd pulled out, set my purse down on it, and leaned a little closer to his side.

"Pull the documents together first. Let me take a look."

Mick nodded and highlighted the key sections one by one. When he leaned in close, a crisp, cool cologne drifted off him.

I tilted my head, listening carefully.

Every now and then I smiled and leaned toward his ear to whisper something.

Dennis lounged against the back of his chair, eyes half-lidded, a flicker of scrutiny cutting through the lazy pose.

"Attorney Sanchez really does go above and beyond with the complimentary services during a case."

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you and my ex-wife had something going on."

The two remarks slid out of Dennis, flat and unhurried, like a blade drawn slow.

He was far from pleased.

The two people in front of him were too close.

Even the way their gazes met and lingered was enough to set his teeth on edge.

No one answered. I simply looked, quietly, at the man across the table and the one beside me.