Love Rehab Read online

  Published by Louise Bay 2016

  Copyright © 2016 Louise Bay. All rights reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  ISBN – 978-1-910747-38-4

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

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  Acknowledgments

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  Books by Louise Bay

  King of Wall Street

  The Nights Series (a series of standalones)

  Parisian Nights

  Promised Nights

  Indigo Nights

  Faithful

  Hopeful

  The Empire State Series

  Read more at www.louisebay.com

  Mackenzie

  Anyone would think I’d be a pro at shopping for wedding dresses. After all, this was my third engagement. Fact was, I’d never gotten this far. My previous two engagements had ended before any invitations had been picked, or venues visited. And I’d never tried on a gown. Now I was standing on a podium in a white dress, in a bridal store dressing room, I was seriously considering eloping to escape all the attention.

  There was too much to think about. The flowers—my mom had ordered lilies, but they reminded me of funerals. The catering—I thought a barbeque would be fun. Phil, my fiancé, had picked a fine dining menu. The band—my suggestion of a Motown act had been replaced by a big band by the wedding planner. And then there was the fact that Phil had seemed a little distant in these last few weeks. I guess the pressure of trying to get things right was getting to both of us.

  I needed some fresh air … or a shot of tequila.

  “You look beautiful,” my mother said, grinning down at my gown. I exhaled. She was happy and that loosened the tightness across my forehead a little. Weddings were as much about the mother of the bride as anyone else. Luckily for me, Phil and my mom wanted similar things, which made it easy to keep everyone happy—I just had to be quiet. When we’d started the planning process, I had been concerned that tempers might fray, voices raise, but they were on the same page. I was the only one at odds. I’d hoped to end up with something a little smaller, a little less formal.

  I glanced into the mirror at the faces of my mother and my two best friends, Kennedy and Rose. It was comforting to be here with my entire world. Anywhere Kennedy and Rose were, I was the happiest, the most relaxed—the most myself. They knew me better than any two other people ever had. Friends since kindergarten, we’d always shared everything of significance in our lives. My wedding would be no different.

  “You look like a princess,” Rose said, upbeat as always.

  I slid my hands down the satin of the bodice, careful not to snag my nails on the smooth, shiny fabric. Kennedy smiled and, trying to control my response, I lifted the corners of my mouth.

  I was only a tiny bit frustrated that Rose and Kennedy both agreed with my mom and seemed to like the dress. Couldn’t they see this wasn’t me?

  Maybe I should stop being so picky. Did it matter if the gown was me, so long as it was appropriate? The thing was, I thought I looked a little ridiculous, like I was seven years old and playing dress up. As if this was one big game of pretend. Princesses wore dresses like these for state banquets and balls—formal affairs. My wedding was at the Boston Fairmont. It was nice, but it wasn’t a palace and I wasn’t a princess. And white? Who was I trying to kid? No sex before marriage was one argument my mother hadn’t won.

  In college, I’d let loose, as settling down wasn’t on the agenda until after graduation. I’d tested a theory that certain types of guys liked to fuck the same way. Were jocks strictly no-foreplay? Yes, but they were hardly the only ones lacking those skills. Was missionary the preference of nerds? No, they spent way too much time on their computer watching porn to be okay with one position. What type of man had the patience to go down on me until I came? I’d abandoned that part of the experiment due to lack of evidence.

  Those experiments, fun at the time, were in my past. My future was all about Phil. And he was the reason I was contemplating this dress. I knew if my mother liked it, he was bound to. He should get the wedding he wanted. These things were important to him and he was important to me. I wanted him to be happy. Phil might not have been the first man to put a ring on my finger, but as they say, third time’s the charm. A really good guy. He was made to be an excellent husband and father. And our sex life? It was … fine. Good even. Maybe not the best I’d ever had. He was more jock than nerd, and I definitely wasn’t about to make a breakthrough with my oral research, but he certainly wasn’t the worst. And anyway, orgasms were the reason God invented vibrators.

  Just stick to the plan, Mackenzie.

  “And you think strapless suits me?” I asked, forcing myself back into the moment. I’d always imagined I’d be married in a 1930s style, satin dress—understated and easy to dance in. The corseted ball gown was so tight across my ribs it felt as if it were chasing away my breath so I couldn’t escape. The skirt was so big, I was pretty sure I could disappear if I sank to my knees at the altar. The dress really belonged on someone else—someone who’d always dreamed of a dress fit for a princess.

  But judging by the faces in the mirror, this was the dress. It did make my waist look small, which had to be a bonus. There was always an upside to be found—that’s what I needed to focus on.

  “And they can have this ready in eight weeks?” my mother asked the saleswoman. “The sooner this gets done, the better.”

  For my mother, getting married was the most important thing I would do in my life. Well, other than staying married. Perhaps she wanted me to have the life she hadn’t, or maybe she just wanted me to be happy in her own controlling way. I’d never asked her—it would have meant skirting the edges of a discussion about my father. And we never did that.

  “The timing isn’t a problem,” the sales assistant said. “A diamante belt would really make this pop.”

  “Oh yes, a little more bling would be fabulous.” My mom, the queen of sparkles. Me? Not so much. But maybe that was what weddings required—bling, sparkle, beading—to signify the celebration of two people in love. It made sense. I just wasn’t sure it was me.

  The sales assistant tied a diamante-covered ribbon around my waist.

  “Perfect.” My mother clasped her hands together and gasped.

  It was certainly very … sparkly. I pressed my palm against my stomach, trying to wipe away the rush of nausea that passed over me. Nothing more than normal wedding jitters.

  I. Am. In. Love.

  Phil and I had known from the beginning that what we had was special. To prove it, he’d asked me to marry him eleven weeks after we’d first met. We’d immediately set a date four mont
hs out—if we were going to be together for the rest of our lives, why wait?

  Since I could remember, I’d planned my life down to the tiniest details. And most of the time my plans worked out. My father used to say to me, “You gotta have a plan for your life or you’ll end up with someone else’s.” Two days before my sixth birthday, I’d watched from the top of the stairs as my mother begged him not to go. We never saw him again, and I’d always wondered if we’d ever been part of his plan at all.

  Fifteen years later I graduated magna cum laude from Hillary Rodham Clinton’s alma mater—an unequivocal and lifelong stamp of approval, and the first part of my plan. After college, I became a teacher, and now I worked for the Massachusetts Department of Education. I was ticking things off the list.

  At twenty-four, I bought my own apartment—a slice of independence I thought important before starting my own family. I’d expected to be there just a year or so before I married, but five years later nothing had changed. And honestly, I loved the place. It was tiny and the stove only worked on the first Tuesday of the month, but I didn’t care. It was mine.

  I’d crossed everything off my list that I’d planned to have done by now.

  Everything except a husband.

  I thought I’d be married by now.

  I’d expected to be married by now.

  Time to get my plan back on track.

  “Can you pass me my drink?” I asked, as I glanced around for the silver tray that the sales assistant had brought in earlier. I took the alcohol from Kennedy and threw it back.

  “Mackenzie,” my mother scolded.

  I stared into my empty glass as if it were a crystal ball about to show me my future. If I could just fast forward to get some clarity, to know for sure that I was on the right track … I squeezed my eyes shut and counted to three.

  “This is the one.”

  “Really?” My mother clasped her hands together, and began firing questions at the sales assistant.

  Raised voices rumbled outside our private suite and it distracted me from the pain of the bodice for a second. The voices began to separate and I focused on one in particular. It was so completely out of place in this sea of women, but at the same time deeply familiar.

  Phil?

  What was he doing here?

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” he said calmly as he entered the room. My mother pulled at his arm, to get him out of the dressing room. His eyes tightened and his expression was one I’d not seen before. At least not on him. “We need to talk, privately.”

  What was so urgent that he needed to speak to me on my own, now? I smiled, trying to gauge the seriousness of his news.

  “We’ll just be twenty minutes,” I said, trying to keep my voice light as he stepped toward me, despite my mother’s grip around his arm. I tried to read his face. If he gave me more time, was willing to wait, then whatever he had to say couldn’t be catastrophic for me, for us.

  He shook his head, his eyes fixed on mine as if we were playing a silent game of chicken.

  Just twenty minutes.

  “It can’t wait,” he said.

  I wanted to pretend I hadn’t heard him, that he wasn’t here. Whatever he had to say, I didn’t want to hear it. A familiar darkness ran through me. It was the same feeling I’d had when learning to ride a bike—that certainty as I started off that I’d end up on the street, bruised knees and grazed hands. Pain was inevitable.

  I knew the expression of someone about to break off an engagement. I’d seen it before.

  This couldn’t be happening.

  Problem was, as I looked at the hard set of Phil’s jaw, took in the way he refused to acknowledge anyone else, I knew it was.

  Again.

  Mackenzie

  “Here you are, miss,” the flight attendant said as she handed me a fresh gin and tonic.

  I thanked her and slid the catch down, releasing the small, gray, plastic table in front of me, and I set down my drink. It was my third since we’d boarded and I was determined not to down this one. But I wasn’t making any promises. Self-medicating seemed like a good option. As much as I loved my two best friends, they weren’t good company in confined spaces at thirty-five thousand feet. Especially when they didn’t want to be there in the first place.

  “I really can’t believe we’re doing this,” Rose mumbled into her plastic glass, fogging up the inside the way a toddler might. I glanced over to find Kennedy reading a magazine but shaking her head, clearly sharing Rose’s sentiment.

  “Quit moaning, you two.” I tipped my head back onto the headrest. I’d not slept since the Wedding Dress Debacle, as my mother now referred to the worst day of my life. My eyes were tired and my limbs heavy, but no matter what I did, I couldn’t shut off my mind or the overwhelming sense of panic that crashed over me every time sleep was near.

  My plan had been thrown off course. Again.

  I had to do something. Fix things.

  Time was running out.

  I needed to take action.

  Starting with a trip and a leap of faith. “It’s going to be good for us. We’ll get back to nature, or something.” I was tired of having to convince Rose and Kennedy they would enjoy the experience. Maybe they would; maybe they wouldn’t. Truth was, I needed this. Needed to be put back together and I didn’t want to do it alone. And really, if I’d asked them to walk the Freedom Trail naked, they would have done it. The familiarity of their whining was almost comforting. It was when people stopped communicating, stopped having sex, stopped saying I love you, that you knew you were in shit right up to your waist. Things hadn’t been right with Phil for a while and I’d just clung tighter until my fingers were bleeding, hoping that everything was going to be okay. I sighed and pulled out the safety card from the pocket on the seat in front and then slid it back inside. What I needed was US Weekly—something trashy to take my mind off what I was leaving behind.

  I’d expected to have the whole man thing nailed by now. After nearly thirty years, I’d paid my dues and should be eligible to withdraw from the man karma savings account that I’d been building up. But apparently, there’d been a run on the karma bank. I was officially an ex-fiancée three times over. Which was why I was on a plane heading to Oklahoma.

  “A getaway after major heartache is part of the BFF job description. I get that, but I can’t believe you’re taking us into the middle of frigging nowhere, Mackenzie,” Kennedy said from the window seat as she slapped her magazine down on her thighs. “When people get dumped they take their girlfriends to Mexico, drink cocktails and have sex with a hot cabana boy or two, maybe at the same time. They don’t go to Oklahoma and—wait. What is it we’re going there to do?”

  I loosened my seatbelt a little and twisted so my knees pointed toward the window and the two best friends a girl could get. Even though Kennedy was mad, I was glad she was here. I leaned over and squeezed her hand, wanting her to know how much I appreciated her being with me. She waved me away with a scowl. She’d never been good with physical affection. “You don’t know where the ranch is, so how would you know if it’s in the middle of nowhere?” I asked sleepily. I’d forgotten to give them the details. If they’d looked it up, they’d have focused on the camping, lack of spa facilities, zero Wi-Fi and no alcohol. I’d had a hard enough time convincing them to come as it was; I didn’t need them to find more reasons to say no.

  Kennedy looked at me as if I’d just told her that her vibrator was broken. “Oklahoma is in the middle of frigging nowhere.” Her voice got a decibel louder with every drink she knocked back.

  “You sound like an East Coast brat.” City girls through and through, the three of us had grown up in Boston and not strayed far, even for college. But right now, I needed something different. Oklahoma would be an adventure, and the ranch had promised a Brand New Me. For that I’d go just about anywhere. I’d once heard that if one person called you an ass you should ignore it, if two people called you an ass you should look in the mirror and if three p
eople called you an ass, you should buy a saddle. I was three strikes and out, but just not ready to buy that saddle. I wanted a fresh start.

  Plan two-point-oh.

  “And I’m good with that.” Kennedy grinned, raising her half-full plastic cup. “Lucky for you I love you.”

  The ranch we were staying at ran a retreat for women stuck with love lives they didn’t want. At the moment I’d try just about anything. If they could fix whatever was wrong with me, stop my fiancés from dumping me … Well, that sounded like a holiday made for me. I had nothing left to lose. With each one of my serious boyfriends I’d thought I had the answer, the key to the life I’d always planned—a family, a home, security, a place in the world. I couldn’t stay where I was, stuck in the cycle of rejection and confusion. Clearly, I needed professional help. I’d come to a fork in the road and I could keep travelling straight or try a new route.

  I needed a cure.

  I needed my plan back on track.

  I needed Love Rehab.

  “We both love you. And we’re here to support you.” Rose patted my arm. “I brought a robe, in case theirs aren’t soft enough. But you can borrow it. Do you think there’ll be massages and stuff?”

  I stayed quiet, trying not to wince. I was pretty sure how the robes felt would not be top of the agenda when the girls saw where we were going. I’d shown them the required wardrobe list—waterproofs, hiking gear and plenty of bug spray—and I’d nearly lost them, but clearly Rose was in denial. If she was expecting a spa, Love Rehab was going to be a rude awakening. I stopped one of the cabin crew and requested another gin and tonic.

  “Look, you love me, right?” I asked. “You just said you did.”

  Kennedy muttered under her breath, engrossed in the latest drama involving one of the Real Housewives. She loved scandal as much as her mother hated it. One of the reasons why she slept around was to annoy her mother. Rose nodded, giving me what she thought was a smile but was actually the face she used whenever we went out for seafood and we suggested oysters.