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  Final Strike

  Vanessa M. Knight

  Final Strike

  Copyright © 2021 by Vanessa M. Knight

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  Published by Inked Publishing

  Cover Art © 2020 by Qamber Designs & Media

  Edited by Nancy Canu

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  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, or events, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

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  ISBN: 978-1-7344206-3-0

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  Extras

  About the Author

  Other Books by this Author

  Thank you to all the authors that work day and night to put words on the page. Every book is a new journey that inspires me to keep going.

  Chapter One

  Julie Connolly was hiding. She hadn’t crouched behind the casket or anything—mostly because there wasn’t a casket. But she was standing behind a giant wreath of flowers, watching another random guest walk toward her across the muted green funeral home carpet. Hide was a strong word. She wasn’t hiding. She was standing off to the side, giving others access to the urn holding her father’s ashes.

  The guest stood in front of the burnt remnants of a cold man and cried, dabbing her eyes.

  See? Julie wasn’t even needed.

  She was tired of the platitudes. Tired of the lies. People holding her hand, telling her how wonderful her father had been. What a great man he’d been.

  They were trying to be nice. Or they didn’t know him. He was the furthest thing from great. He’d told her how imperfect she was every day of her life—too fat, too stupid, too lazy. Too much like her mother. It was only fair she saw him for the ass he was.

  Even after he’d ended up in prison, many people didn’t see the real him. She was lucky—or unlucky. She’d seen it all.

  But the sea of people in the funeral home didn’t know. They didn’t know their tears were wasted on a man who wouldn’t have shed a tear for them.

  “You shouldn’t be hiding.” The nasally voice grated on Julie’s last nerve. And that the nasally voice noticed Julie was hiding made it so much worse.

  “I’m not hiding.” She obviously wasn’t doing a good job of it. “I’m taking a moment to breathe. I’m mourning. My father died.”

  “Yes.” Bettina Wilcox—the woman Julie’s father had been dating for the last few years—clamped her hand around Julie’s arm. Her nails dug into Julie’s skin. Perfect black suit dress. Dyed blonde hair pulled taut into a bun, not one hair out of place. Not one flaw.

  Except for the fact that she was a raging bitch.

  “Your father has died. Show him respect.”

  “You’re hurting me.”

  “You are representing your family. Your father. Be the gracious hostess you were taught to be.” Bettina herded Julie toward the back of the room, where the urn stood on its pedestal.

  “I just need a moment for myself.”

  “No wonder he couldn’t trust you to be the executor of his will. You only think about yourself. Please try to remember this is about others, as well. Now go.”

  Go and talk to people that didn’t know her. Or care.

  An old family friend hobbled over, all covered in black. Mrs. Smith. Her face was a mask of sadness.

  Julie yanked her arm free from her father’s grieving girlfriend without too much resistance. Although Bettina’s supposed grieving did nothing but cause Julie grief.

  Julie moved toward the older woman and further away from Bettina. She rubbed the skin beneath her arm, where she could imagine she’d have tiny bruises in the shape of talons. “Thank you for coming,” she told Mrs. Smith.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Julie wrapped the old woman in a hug.

  Mrs. Smith pulled back, still wearing a haunted look. “I just can’t believe I’m seeing you twice in one month.”

  “Me either.” Julie had just gone to the funeral of Mrs. Smith’s grandson. He was Cody’s age. And he had been the center of Mrs. Smith’s world. One leukemia diagnosis and two years later, her grandson was gone, and she was destroyed.

  Not that Julie blamed her. If she lost her son, she didn’t know what she’d do.

  Mrs. Smith shook her head, that haunted stare never leaving. “I have to find Bettina. Call me if you or that precious child need anything.”

  “I will.” Julie watched her disappear toward the back of the hall, looking for Bettina—on purpose. The concept was foreign to Julie—like trying to find Hitler. Why bother?

  A hand grabbed her arm and Julie almost told Bettina where to shove it. She wasn’t hiding anymore. She was talking. Representing the family as she was taught. What more could she possibly want?

  Julie pulled her arm back ready to strike. But instead of Bettina’s scowl, Julie’s boss and best friend Allison Byrnes stood in front of her. Thank goodness.

  Julie practically jumped at Allison, pulling her in for a hug. “Thank God you’re here.”

  Allison let out an oomph. “Are you okay?”

  “Bettina.” Julie let her go and Allison nodded. If anyone knew the aggravation that was Bettina Wilcox, it was Allison. Julie had shared her personal demon stories enough over the years.

  “Just think, after today, you never have to see her again.”

  “One could only hope.” Julie would love to think that she’d never see Bettina again, but she’d never been that lucky.

  Allison led Julie back to the end of the line leading to the urn. “Where’s your father?”

  “In the gold-embossed vase over there.”

  “They cremated him already?”

  Julie shrugged. “Yep.”

  “That’s so Bettina of her.” Allison shook her head. “It’s not like anyone would want to face him. Maybe get some closure.”

  Julie heard the tremor in her friend’s voice. Allison had been held at gunpoint by Julie’s father. If anyone other than Julie needed some of that closure it was Allison—or Allison’s husband, who’d actually been shot by the man. Speaking of… “Where’s Adam?”

  “They’re all coming later on. There was a big case they’re working and they couldn’t get away right now.”

  The fact that they were even considering coming at all warmed Julie’s chest. Policework was always stressful, and they probably didn’t need the added stress of a funeral for a man who was nothing but evil to them. “They don’t have to come—”

  “Are you kidding? They’re your friends. Adam is your son’s uncle. Of course they’ll be here.” Allison stepped over to the urn as they hit the front of the line.

  “I’ll give you a minute.” Julie stepped away. The last time Allison saw Julie’s father he’d held a gun to her head. She deserved a minute of privacy.

  A tear slid down Allison’s cheek as she spoke to the urn, too low for Julie to hear. Then she turned to Julie and offered a watery smile.

  Julie wrapped her in a hug. “Are you okay?”

  “I will be.” Allison wiped away the tears as they headed toward the breakroom. “How about you? Did you get a chance to say any last words?”

  “Not yet.” She’d said everything the last time she’d seen him.

  “You should do that…” Allison smiled at someone behind Julie. “I’m glad you came.”

  Julie turned around, hoping to see one of her friends. But not a friend at all. It was Benjamin Mooring. His dark-blond hair hung over his blue eyes. She knew they were blue. She’d swam in those eyes and almost drowned.

  Ben Mooring.

  Ex-boyfriend.

  Ex-lover

  Current co-worker.

  Current heartache.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss.” Ben slid his arms around her. Strong arms. Arms that felt more like home than they should. She blamed the funeral. Funerals were sad. Between the sadness, the frustration of dealing with Bettina, and wishing she’d had a relationship with her father that didn’t suck, she was inches away from eating her feelings. Well, eating all the cookies laid out for the guests.

  And having Ben this close, holding her so tight after everything they’d been through, was like taking the turns on Space Mountain. She’d taken her son Cody on that ride a couple years ago. It made her head spin and left her gasping for breath.

  Déjà vu.

  He kept mumbling, “I’m so sorry,” and other platitudes. When anybody else said that, it was cold and distant. They hadn’t known her or her father well enough to know what she’d lived through. But this man knew it all. He knew more than even her friends knew.

  She’d pined after Ben for years before they’d dated. Things had been good once, during the year they
spent together. All the hugs they’d shared. All the love they’d had beat against the back of her throat. Her head pounded. Her eyes stung. The ball in her throat grew thicker and heavier.

  Because it all disappeared once Ben found out about Cody’s father. He’d been cruel. That rollercoaster was on track to do a loop, and she was going to lose her lunch.

  Ben’s arms were wrapped tight, and she forced her hands between their bodies, pushing against his chest. He must have noticed her squirming, because he let go. Just let go.

  Julie’s foot snagged on the carpet when she tried to put some space between them. She grabbed onto the nearest thing she could reach, which happened to be the refreshment table. Fabric slipped between her fingers as she landed on the floor.

  A tray of cookies crashed down on her head. Coffee spilled over the side of the table. Thankfully it had been sitting out for a while, because it wasn’t hot enough to burn the skin—just a bit uncomfortable.

  Ben set the empty tray back on the table and kneeled down next to her. “Are you all right?”

  All right? Julie stared at the crumbled cookies sliding along her dress. Her hip hurt. Her hands stung. And she was lying in a puddle of coffee. “I’m okay.”

  “What are you doing?” Bettina hissed in Julie’s ear, her hand squeezing Julie’s arm, nails digging in to her skin as she pulled. “Get up! If you can’t take this seriously, you should just leave.”

  Tears stung the back of Julie’s eyes. This was her father’s funeral. Of course she took it seriously. She couldn’t just leave. Could she? The crazy in Bettina’s eyes stopped her from asking.

  “Let her go.” Ben towered over Bettina, his face locked in a mask of fierce.

  “Mother.” One of Bettina’s daughters walked over. Her scowl could’ve been aimed at her mother or Ben, but more likely it was aimed at Julie. “Don’t let her ruin today.”

  Ruin? It was a funeral. What part was so pleasant that an accident could ruin it? Bettina did release her claws from Julie’s arm, and as much as Julie wanted to be thankful to Bettina’s Mini-Me, she didn’t have time. She had to get away. Away from Bettina and her replicated daughters. Away from this funeral. Away from Ben.

  Julie ignored the crumbs clinging to her dress. Who cared if she was covered in cookie? Who cared that she’d made a complete ass of herself? Well, maybe she cared. But there wasn’t one thing she could do about it.

  She turned on her heel and headed toward the back room where the kids were running around burning off steam. She just needed to grab Cody and she was out of here. Why stay? This funeral was all about Bettina anyway.

  If she said that over and over again, she might actually believe it.

  In the spacious back room, children ran around on the scuffed linoleum floor and tumbled on the furniture. A babysitter stood guard near the door. “Hi, Mrs. Connolly.”

  Julie didn’t have the energy to correct her. Everyone defaulted to Mrs. when a woman had a child. How could they know it hurt as much as it did? She’d never been a Mrs. Ever. Something her father always made sure she wouldn’t forget.

  Cody bounced on the couch holding Stuffy Puppy, a plush tan dog with black floppy ears, as one of the other children bounced next to him. His five-year-old giggle floated around the room, sinking into her soul, a balm for all the wrongs in the world. That sound was her everything. That boy was her everything.

  His smile covered his whole face. His cheeks were red, and his golden-blond hair bounced with every jump. His favorite toy knocked him in the head. He was having so much fun.

  She hated to steal his happiness. But they had to leave. “Cody.”

  “What?” He held the back of the couch and bounced.

  “Time to go.” She waited for him to cry and stomp and pout. Instead, he jumped down from the couch and ran toward her. Thank goodness. She didn’t have it in her to fight with another person today.

  Julie leaned down to catch him. He bypassed her and ran to the man standing behind her.

  “Ben!” Cody yelled, and jumped into his arms. “I was jumping on the couch like at grandma’s. And I held on to the back like you showed me.”

  “Great job, little dude.”

  When had Ben taught Cody to hold on when he jumped on the couch? Which Cody was not allowed to do. Jump on the couch, not hold on. But Cody knowing Ben well enough to throw himself into his arms—when did that happen?

  Cody had been so young when Ben and Julie broke up. She didn’t think Cody would remember him. She was wrong.

  “Cody, can you grab your coat?” It was the tail-end of spring in Chicagoland, and it shouldn’t be cold. But the cold hadn’t quite snapped yet.

  Ben put him on the floor, and her son ran to a couch by the door and sifted through the coats.

  “So I’m surprised Cody remembers you.”

  “I’ve seen him a few times when I had to drop some things off at Loraine’s.” Loraine was Cody’s grandmother on his father’s side. She was a godsend and more like family to Julie than her father had ever been.

  Ben had spent time with her son. She didn’t know if that made her want to hug him or punch him. Cody ran to Ben and held up his coat.

  Decision made. She wanted to punch him.

  How many times had Julie wanted Ben to be there for her? How many times had she prayed he’d come back to her? Too many to count. But he’d been kind to her son. Like now.

  Ben slid Cody’s little arms through the sleeves. He pulled the jacket around his shoulders and checked the cuffs. He was so attentive as he made sure that Cody didn’t get his fingers caught.

  Fine. She wanted to hug him. Ben was so good with Cody. Her son talked animatedly about one of his many cartoons and Ben nodded, asking questions. He didn’t just pretend to be interested, he actually seemed interested. Almost like he’d watched the show.

  “Do you watch Nickelodeon?” Julie asked, curious.

  Red crawled up his neck and ears. “Only a few times with Cody.”

  “Why are you watching TV with my son?” That might have come out a bit too harsh, but he’d given up any right to her son when he walked away.

  Allison walked in the room. “Hey, kiddo.”

  “Auntie Allison.” Cody jumped over to Allison, who’d married Cody’s uncle over the summer. Not only Julie’s best friend but also family—and Julie’s boss, too. She wore many hats.

  “I think I saw a swing set outside. Why don’t we go see?” Allison swung her stare between Ben and Julie before leading a very talkative Cody out the door.

  “So I’m not allowed to talk to Cody?” Anger tinged the fire in his eyes.

  “It’s confusing for him.” For her.

  “He doesn’t even remember us.”

  Knife to the heart. Because they never really existed. Wouldn’t that be so much easier if that were true.

  “I like spending time with him.” He slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans as his shoulders slumped. He looked devastated. And having seen how much Cody seemed to light up when he saw Ben—she couldn’t take that away from him. Either of them, really.

  “Fine. He seems to like you.” Taking away something from Cody because of emotional discomfort wasn’t in her vocabulary. Her son was first and foremost. “But don’t teach him to jump on furniture.”

  Boundaries were good.

  “Okay.” He smiled. “We could go out for coffee next week and talk about what I should avoid teaching him.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Keep putting up those boundaries. She didn’t want a confusing relationship with Ben. She’d loved him and he’d crapped all over it. Oh, who was she kidding—she still loved him. But that didn’t change the whole crap thing.

  “Why?” He ran a hand along the side of her face, wedging a piece of hair behind her ear. “I think you and I are a great idea.”

  “We tried that. It didn’t work out so well.”

  “That was my fault.” His face held all the regret Julie had felt—all the pain. Julie never regretted her son. But she’d regretted how Ben found out. She should have told him herself. But she was afraid of how he’d react. Which, given his reaction, was founded.