Boomerangers: A second chance romantic comedy (Cajun Girls Book 1)
Boomerangers: Chapter 2

“Spencer?” my secretary, Annie, blares through the intercom, interrupting my daydream.

I reach out to press the intercom button on my phone. “Yes?”

“Boss is here to see you.”

Just great.

I sure hope he isn’t here to give me shit about the episode with Mr. Monroe yesterday. I’ve been seeing the Monroes for a few months, trying—successfully, I thought—to help them work through their intimacy issues. Then out of nowhere, they show up, turning my office into a freaking Jerry Springer episode. My bookshelf was tossed on its side, papers and glass from broken picture frames strewn around the room. It was a complete disaster. Apparently, Tom had walked in on Sue and her best friend, Rosalie, going at it on the couch. He’d rushed right on over here without even making an appointment to rat her out. Only, I’d had other clients in my office. He’d barged in with Sue hot on his heels. A shouting match ensued, my office was destroyed, and we’d had to call security to escort them out of the building. I’d apologized profusely to the Boudreauxs for the interruption. It was all I could do. In the seven years I’d practiced here, nothing like that had ever happened.

I slide my mouse across the desk to wake my computer then click the little X on Facebook before buzzing her back. “Send him on in.”

A lump forms in my throat as the French doors to my office swing open and Dillon Bourque saunters in. Damn, that man is sex in a suit. The whole room fills with the scent of his spicy cologne. It usually gets me all flustered, but today it’s just making my stomach churn with nausea.

“Spencer, we need to talk.” He looks so serious. There’s not the slightest hint of a smile on his lips, and his eyes aren’t the lust-filled orbs that normally make me uncomfortable in an entirely different manner.

Oh God, Is he going to fire me?

I try not to freak out, but I can’t help it. When I’m nervous, I tend to develop diarrhea mouth. “Dillon, what happened yesterday was completely out of my control. I wasn’t aware that there was another woman involved. I only know what they tell me and—”

He holds up his hand, cutting me off. Dillon, who is usually amused by my rambling, is stone cold—almost lifeless. “I know . . . that’s not why I’m here.”

My hands begin to sweat as he starts pacing around my small office. I’m going to vomit if he doesn’t put me out of my misery soon. I try swallowing down the sick feeling lodged in my throat then nod, signaling for him to go ahead.

“There’s no easy way to tell you this, Spencer . . .”

Spit it out already!

“Try using words.” It comes out flat, lacking my usual sarcasm, but patience is not my greatest virtue.

“We’re shutting down the clinic.”

My fingers dig into the leather arms of my chair as the room begins to spin. There’s no way that I just heard him correctly. “No.” The lone word comes out as a plea as my head begins to shake from side to side. I feel faint. I can’t breathe. Dillon’s voice morphs into something resembling the teacher from Charlie Brown, but I completely tune him out in my panic. All of my focus is on the ability to draw air into my lungs, which seem to be failing me at the moment.

Before he has even finished speaking, my office door flies open and Gina bursts into the room. Her short, blonde hair that’s usually styled to perfection is sticking up on all ends, her pasty white skin a nice shade of crimson. She’s a wreck. Guess he got ahold of her first.

“Goddamnit, Gina!” Dillon growls, fisting his hands in his hair.

She glares at him before turning in my direction. “I’m so sorry, Spence.” My best friend rushes over, wrapping me up in her arms as her tears soak my shirt. “He just left my office. I wanted to come right over, but he insisted on being the one to tell you.”

My lip begins to quiver. “Why?”

Dillon’s throat clears, his exasperation with the two of us evident on his face. “All right, I’ll leave you girls to it. For what it’s worth, I’m really sorry, and you’ll both have nice severance packages.”

Gina breaks from our hug, spinning around lightning fast and leveling him with devil eyes. “Oh, you buzz right the fuck off, Dillon Bourque.” She’s like a possessed little pixie. I have never seen her get mad at Dillon, ever.

Dillon’s jaw ticks for a moment before he finally shakes his head in defeat and turns to walk out. On his way, I hear him stop to tell Annie to cancel all of my upcoming appointments and to let my clients know that NOLA Sexual Health is no longer seeing patients.

As soon as the door clicks into place, I leap to my feet, pacing a hole into the floor. “What’s going on, Gina? We have plenty of business. There’s no way we’re going under. This can’t be because of that shit yesterday, can it?”

I’ve never seen my best friend this angry. Well, except maybe when I showed her that text from Alex a few years ago. She is beet red, and that little blue vein throbbing in the center of her forehead looks ready to pop. “That fucker fucked one of his fucking clients and we’re being sued!”

My eyes bulge. Well, that is not what I was expecting. “He-he did what?”

“Apparently, it’s been happening for a while. She got pissed at her husband and threw it in his face a couple of days ago. The husband is suing.”

It’s going to be okay. We’re going to be okay. I just need a plan.

What’s the plan, Spencer?

I drop the final box of my personal belongings into the back of my Tahoe and slam it shut. This all feels like a sick dream. It’s hard enough to earn respect in our profession without people assuming we’re running a fucking brothel, but with Dillon bringing the damned stereotype to life, Gina and I will never be able to practice in this town again.

I can’t believe that asshole. How could he be stupid enough to sleep with a client? In his damned office, at that. How could he do this to us? To Gina and to me? It’s not like he couldn’t get any piece of ass he wanted. He’s freaking gorgeous, smart, successful . . . I just can’t wrap my mind around it. But then again, I know better than anyone men always think with their fucking dicks.

I can’t stop the steady stream of tears that are lining my face as I pull the door open and curl into my seat. My hand is shaking so violently that it’s hard to get the key into the ignition. After several attempts, I finally insert the key and the engine roars to life. The air comes on, blasting cold wind in my face. God, it feels good. I rest my head on the steering wheel, allowing the air to cool my flaming skin. When I finally get control of my tears, I pluck my phone out of my purse and scroll down to the Ms, pressing my finger on Momma.

“Hey, Spence! What’s up?” The comfort in her voice wraps around my heart like a warm blanket as my eyes fill with new tears.

You know that feeling when you’re barely holding it together and someone asks you what’s wrong and you just kind of lose it? It’s gone.

“M-Momma,” I stammer, sobbing into my hands.

So much for that control.

“Are you okay, baby? Are the boys all right?”

“They’re, umm . . .They’re fine. It’s just . . . well, Dillon fucking slept with a client and now they’re shutting the whole place down. I have no freaking job because of his dumb ass. How the hell am I going to support three children with no job, Mom? He ruined everything just to get his fucking dick wet and—”

“Slow down and stop using that filthy language. You know I hate it when you talk like that. I raised you better, Spencer Rose!”

I snort out a laugh, choking on my tears. Leave it to my mother to chastise me for my unladylike mouth in the middle of a breakdown. “Sorry,” I mutter.

“Now, as for the rest of it . . . you’re gonna get your ducks in a row, hire some movers, and come home. You can stay with me ’til you sell your place there and find a decent job. Hell, you can stay here even after that.”

“Mom, I don’t wanna inconvenience you. It’s not just me, you know.”

“Nonsense. I’ve been all alone in this big house since your father died last year, and I would love the company. You always said if you could move the clinic to Cedar Grove you would. Well, now there’s no need. Come home.”

She makes it sound so simple. Like it’s not a big deal for me to just pack up three kids and move hours away. Like my maniacs won’t completely disrupt her life. I don’t think she has any clue what she’s in for, but what other choice do I have right now? As much as I don’t want to leave the city, I won’t be able to start over here. Not with the scandal Dillon created.

It’s Monday. If I tell the kids tonight, that’ll give them the rest of the week to say their goodbyes. My job was really the only thing keeping us here, and it would be nice not to constantly worry that I might run into Kyle’s sperm donor around town.

Guess we’re going back home. Small town Louisiana, here we come.

“We’ll be there Saturday. Thanks, Mom.”

“Love you, baby. It’s gonna be all right. You’ll see. Change is hard, but sometimes it’s a blessing in disguise.”

There’s a lilt in her tone that leads me to believe that there’s something she’s not telling me. I just hope she knows what she’s in for. Living with three boys is a hell of a lot different than a week-long visit every couple of months.

After ending the call, I switch over to my messages, which had been blowing up while I was on the phone. With a quick glance at the clock, I note the time: 3:30. The boys are just getting home from school. I was a nervous wreck about letting them stay home alone for the few hours after school until I get home in the afternoons, but since they turned twelve last summer and aged out of the sitter, I didn’t have much choice. I’m normally staring at the phone, waiting for their texts letting me know they’ve made it home. I’ve gotten so caught up in the drama today that I wasn’t even aware of the time.

Landon: Hey, Mom. We’re home. Can you get burgers for dinner from that deli near your office? Pleeeeeeease? No onions, extra pickles.

Me: Sure thing, baby. Do your homework.

Landon: Thanks! Don’t have any.

Lake: Mom, don’t be mad at me. I have a project. Can you pick up a poster board and colored Sharpies on your way home?

Me: Why would I be mad at you for having a project?

I already know why. I’d bet my ass this project is due tomorrow.

Lake: Uh, it’s due tomorrow.

Me: Figured. I got it. Do the rest of your homework.

Lake: Yes, ma’am. Sorry, Mom.

Oh, these boys.

They are going to be so upset. They’ve been attending Saint Augustine with the same kids since pre-k. They’re going to hate me for making them leave.

I stop by the burger joint to grab dinner, hit up Walmart for supplies, and finally make it to Kyle’s daycare just minutes before they close.

“Mommy,” he squeals, running toward me on his wobbly little legs before wrapping himself around my calf.

“Hey, baby, did you have a good day?” I ask, bending to lift him into my arms.

He nods, his eyes widen, and he sniffs. “You ’mell good, Mom.”

“I do? Well, you smell stinky! Did you poop in your pull-up?”

Kyle shakes his head. “I not did dat. Mya do dat.”

Mrs. Stevens and I both suck in our lips and cheeks, trying not to laugh. “Mya pooped in your diaper?”

“Her did,” he insists with the most innocent puppy dog eyes ever.

“I did not,” Mya, Mrs. Steven’s four-year-old granddaughter, shouts, stomping her foot on the floor and crossing her chubby little arms across her chest.

“Liar, liar,” Kyle chants, tilting his head from side to side.

Mya’s bottom lip starts to tremble and fat tears drip from her eyes.

“It’s okay, Mya. I know you didn’t do it.” I pat her little, blonde head and that seems to appease her. “That wasn’t nice, Savage. We don’t lie, and we aren’t mean to our friends.” My eyes narrow at my son, who every day is more and more deserving of the nickname his brothers gave him. Thank God he’s impossibly cute. The bad is strong with this one.

I make Kyle apologize to Mya and give her a hug before walking over to the changing table to clean his mess then putting him in a fresh pull-up for the ride home. I’m just about to walk out of the door when it hits me that he won’t be coming back.

With my heart in my throat, I take a few extra minutes to explain what happened at work and that we’ll be moving this weekend. By the time I finish, Mrs. Stevens and I are both in tears. She’s been his sitter since Kyle was two months old. I’m going to miss her, and I know that she will miss Kyle very much. Goodbyes suck.

As I pull up to my house, the wind is knocked out of me. It’s small and it’s old, but it’s ours. We live in a great neighborhood, and this has been our home for going on five years. I’m going to miss it, even if I do complain about the lack of space.

Am I doing the right thing? I can’t help but wonder. That’s probably the hardest part of being alone—having to make all of the major life changing decisions for this family myself.

Before I’ve even turned off the truck, Lake and Landon come barreling out of the house. Lake goes right for Kyle and begins unbuckling him, and Landon straight for the food. He’s eating out of the bag before he even gets inside of the house.

“Did you had a good day, Yake?” I hear Kyle ask his brother.

“It was all right, Savage. Did you make anyone cry today?”

“I in shrouble, brudder. I make Mya cry.”

I watch their interaction in the rearview mirror, and it takes everything in me not to laugh at Kyle’s pitiful face.

“That’s okay. Tomorrow’s a new day, my man. Do better.”

“Lake!” I shake my head, pursing my lips. “Don’t tell him it’s okay to be mean.”

“But, Mom, look how sorry he is. He won’t do it again.”

Lake is Kyle’s biggest champion. He adores that little boy. It warms my heart to see how good he is with him because I know one day my boy is going to make an amazing father.

“Just get in the house.” I wave them off as I grab the Walmart bags and Kyle’s diaper bag from the back seat then kick the door shut. “You have a project to do.”

I decide on waiting until homework is done and we’ve all eaten supper before breaking the news to the twins. But, as I take my seat at the kitchen table, my pulse begins to race as it dawns on me. This is Tate’s weekend with the boys.

Fuck my life.

Just when I thought this day couldn’t get any worse.

Fighting back the urge to hurl, I pull out my phone, scroll to his name, and press send. It rings three times, and I breathe out a sigh of relief thinking I’ve gotten off the hook, but then I hear his voice . . . like nails on a fucking chalkboard.

“Listen, Spence,” he answers in that fake, apologetic tone he uses when he’s getting ready to blow off his kids. No greeting, not that I’m surprised. “This weekend is bad for me.”

Bad for him? Hah! “You don’t say?” I ask condescendingly. “Well, we would hate to inconvenience you. What is it this time? Taking Whorey Spice on another vacation?”

“Jesus, Spencer, grow the fuck up.”

I’m sure I sound certifiable when I begin cackling into the phone, because I damn sure feel crazy enough to chop his fucking pecker off and shove it down his throat. “Oh my God,” I finally say, dabbing tears from the corners of my eyes. “Wow, Tate, that’s rich coming from you.”

He groans. “You can be so immature sometimes, I swear to God.”

“Well, you know what, Tate? You’ve got me beat in the immaturity department on my worst day. Maybe you should have grown the fuck up when you planted two kids in my uterus then hauled ass and disappeared for five fucking years. Huh? Maybe you should have grown up then? Or maybe now? Now would be nice. Maybe you should grow the fuck up and put your children first for the first time ever. I was left with no choice but to grow up when I was left alone to raise our children.”

“Oh, man. Not this spiel again.” I can practically see his eyes rolling up into the back of his head.

I’m so angry, it feels like my veins will explode. He’s such a piece of shit and not even worth the stress he adds to my life. “Nah, it never helps, anyway.”

“Good, so we’re done?”

I wish. “No, I actually called for something other than to see if you were picking up the boys, although they will be absolutely devastated, as usual.”

“Why do you always try to make me feel bad?”

What did I ever see in this man? “I’m so sorry, Tate. I forgot for a second that the entire world revolves around you. I’m actually calling to let you know that we’re moving.”

“And I care where you live because . . . why, exactly?”

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, this man better thank his lucky stars he’s not standing in front of me right now. “Oh, I don’t know . . . maybe because your children live with me and I thought you might want to know where they are?”

He sighs. “I’ll get the new address from you next time I come get them. It’s not that serious that you had to make this big of an ordeal out of it.”

“We’re moving back to Cedar Grove.”

That gets his attention. “That’s over three hours from here!” he shouts. “Look, I don’t give a shit where you live, but I’m not driving that far to pick them up. You’ll have to bring them here or something.”

“That’s not how this works. It’s your responsibility to facilitate your visitations, and that includes getting the children to your home on your weekends—whenever you decide to actually take advantage of those. I have no problem meeting you halfway. Unlike you, my life revolves around their happiness, and for some unknown reason, they still enjoy being with you.”

“Whatever. I’ve got to go. Tell the boys I’m sorry I can’t take them this weekend, okay? We’ll discuss the rest of this when the time comes.”

“Why don’t you tell them you’re sorry? Why don’t you tell them you have better things to do? Why the hell am I always the one who has to do your dirty work, Tate?”

He huffs into the line. “Look, I gotta go. Tell the boys I love them.”

“Always such a—” pleasure talking to you, I finish in my head when I realize that the line is dead.

I hate that Tate doesn’t take more interest in our children. They deserve so much more from him. And, once again, I will bear the brunt of their disappointment. Then, I’ll add the icing to the cake with news of our move.

Here goes nothing.

“Boys!” I shout, cupping my clammy hands around my mouth. “Can y’all come in here for a bit? I need to talk to you about something.” I rub my palms nervously on my pants as I wait, pulling in a few deep breaths to calm myself.

Landon arrives first, and with one look at my face makes his own assumptions as to the reason I’ve called them over. “He’s not coming to get us, is he?”

Lake appears in the doorway with the little savage clinging to his leg just as his brother finishes asking the question. The anxious looks on both of their faces makes me sick to my stomach.

Well, if I’m gonna break their hearts tonight, I might as well give ’em a double whammy, right?

Fuck you, Tate.

Fuck you, Dillon.

Swallowing hard, I give them my most sympathetic face. “Sorry, guys. He’s not coming.”

Landon shrugs. “I didn’t really wanna go, anyway.” His eyes glisten with unshed tears. My poor love. He’s trying so hard to pretend it doesn’t bother him. Landon’s at that age where he thinks he’s too big to cry. Instead, he bottles up his emotions until they are forced to come out in angry outbursts.

“I don’t even care anymore,” Lake adds without an ounce of emotion. “I’d be more stunned if he actually did show up.” He shrugs. “I’d rather be home, anyway.”

“Can we go now?” Landon asks, trying to mask his pain.

Time to twist the knife. “Actually, there’s more. Can you two sit, please?” I pat the chairs on either side of me and they each take a seat. My kids stare at me expectantly while I take a few more deep breaths before delivering the blow. I clear my throat, feeling my pulse speed up. “The clinic is shutting down. I, uh . . . I lost my job today.”

Both boys stare at me with stunned expressions. It’s Lake who finally speaks up. “What’s that mean? Are we going to lose our house?”

“It means that we’re going to sell our house and move in with Gramma Elaine for a while. We’re moving to Cedar Grove . . . this weekend.” I force myself to smile, hoping that if I seem excited about it, they will be, too.

“What the fuck!?” Landon shouts, shocking me speechless.

It takes me a moment to register that my child just said that word . . . to me.

“Excuse me, young man?” My eyes narrow.

Landon doesn’t apologize or seem remorseful. Instead, he places his hands on the table and stands, sending his chair crashing to the floor behind him. “You can’t do this to us. It isn’t fair!”

Lake stares at his brother like he’s lost his damned mind, and I’m fairly certain he’s right. We’ve both kind of gotten used to Landon’s blow ups, but this . . . this is taking it to a whole other level. I don’t even know how to react.

Kyle starts running in circles around the dining room table, yelling, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I’m seriously about to have a freaking nervous breakdown.

Shutting my eyes, I pinch the bridge of my nose, and with all the restraint I can muster, grit out between clenched teeth, “Get to your room, Landon Michael.”

“I’m not moving.” Landon fists his hands at his sides, shaking his head. “I’m staying with Dad.”

I bark out a humorless laugh and have to stop myself before I say something really ugly about his piece of shit father. “You will do whatever I say. Get. To. Your. Room. Now!” I slam my fist onto the table, and all three pairs of my children’s eyes jerk my way. I can feel my blood boiling beneath my skin, and I know that I can’t go near my son feeling this way. For both of our sakes, he better get out of my face.

“Dude, listen to Mom,” Lake finally says, shoving his twin out of the kitchen. Landon must realize how pissed I am because he rushes off to his room without another word. Their bedroom door slams shut, rattling the thin walls of our shotgun house, and I don’t even flinch, fully expecting his dramatics. Lake scoops Kyle up as he comes back around. “Don’t say that bad word, little man. That’s not nice.”

“Fuck not nice, Yake?” Kyle’s little hands cup his brother’s cheeks as his face screws up in confusion.

Lake stifles his laugh, shaking his head. “Want me to get him ready for bed, Mom?”

This kid has such a tender heart. I know he’s upset as well, but where Landon is explosive with his feelings and reacts without thinking, Lake always puts others’ feelings above his own. Always.

I scoot my chair back and walk over to where Lake is standing with Kyle in the entryway. “I’m sorry, Lake.”

“It’ll be okay. He’ll calm down. You know how he is.” He should be upset about his father and the move, but all I see in those big blue eyes is sympathy for me. This boy is mature beyond his years. I don’t know what I did to deserve such a great kid, but I’m so very thankful. He’s the calm to our storm.

“Thank you for understanding.” As I take Kyle from him, I wrap my free arm around Lake’s shoulders before placing a kiss on his cheek. “Get to bed, baby. I’ve got Savage.”

“’Night, Mom. Love you.”

“Love you, too, baby.”

That went well . . .