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  We’ll Begin Again

  Laurèn Lee

  Copyright © 2018 by Laurèn Lee

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction, and any similarity to other persons alive or dead is purely coincidental.

  ISBN-10: 1985572974

  ISBN-13: 978-1985572973

  Created with Vellum

  For all the American Veterans—

  You are not forgotten

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. William

  2. Amelia

  3. Amelia

  4. Amelia

  5. William

  6. Amelia

  7. Amelia

  8. Amelia

  9. William

  10. Amelia

  11. Amelia

  12. William

  13. William

  14. Amelia

  15. Amelia

  16. Amelia

  17. William

  18. Amelia

  19. Amelia

  20. Amelia

  21. William

  22. Amelia

  23. Amelia

  24. Amelia

  25. William

  26. Amelia

  27. Amelia

  28. Amelia

  29. Amelia

  30. Amelia

  31. Amelia

  32. Amelia

  33. William

  34. Amelia

  35. Amelia

  36. Amelia

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Laurèn Lee

  Prologue

  Snowflakes floated delicately downward from the sky and twinkled under the tall street lamps, which glittered in the man's desolate eyes. His father always told him as a child that each snowflake was unique, and no two were ever the same. The minutes wore on, and each frigid flake clung together and stuck to the ground, coating the sidewalk in feathery dust.

  The man shivered and pulled the ratty blanket tighter around his body. The cold shook his being to the bones, and he wondered if he'd ever be warm again.

  The bench he laid on held his frail body with ease. During the day, mothers and children, business professionals and wanderers claimed the benches as their own, But, at night, it was his. This bench was his couch, his bed, his castle, his home.

  The man blinked rapidly as the flakes clung to his eyelashes. The heavenly precipitation reflected in his eyes, as did the waning moon glowing in the sky. His beard caught flakes, too. It grew well past his chin; he didn't have access to a razor. His frozen dog tags lay against his neck. At one time, he would have given anything to trade the desert for the snow. Now, he wished for the sun and the sand.

  Laughter echoed in the distance. He imagined a group of friends pouring out of the pub, hand in hand and arms laced through each other’s. They probably had a few drinks together after work. Maybe they had families to go home to and maybe not. They were thick as thieves, and they all had a warm bed calling their names.

  He forgot how alcohol tickled his tongue during the first sip. Hell, he couldn't remember the last warm meal he consumed. Every morning, he hunted for breakfast behind cafes and in their dumpsters for fresh scraps. Lunch and dinner were harder to come by. He'd been shooed away more times than he could count. No one wanted him loitering around their restaurants. Bad for business.

  He closed his eyes and settled in for another brutal night, alone on the streets and under the starry night's sky. While the weather chilled, the idea of another lonely night made him feel even more broken.

  Chapter One

  William

  September eleventh changed my life. And not in the way the average American felt the day a group of sick fuck terrorists crashed into the towers. My pain was different; my father was in the first tower that fell. But, wait, it gets worse: September eleventh is also my birthday.

  At eighteen years old, I had no goals, no dreams, no desires. I was a kid about to become a man and had no idea what I wanted out of life. Most of my friends planned on going to law school or becoming a doctor. Me? I just wanted to play video games and drink Monster until I crashed.

  My indecisiveness infuriated my parents. My mom, an executive assistant, and my dad, a businessman, wanted me to grow up to be successful enough to move out and buy a house of my own. My father, in particular, had an incredible work ethic. While his hard work and dedication to his job positively impacted his company, it didn’t always benefit our family. I spent countless nights as a child sitting by my window, waiting to see my father stride up to our front door.

  My parents wanted me to be rich, just like them. Money didn't matter to me, though. Maybe because I'd grown up affluent, or perhaps because I didn't feel like I needed it to be happy. I don't know. All I thought back then was my future was far away, so why worry about it?

  Even though my parents pressured me about adulthood, my childhood was incredible. My favorite moments? The simple ones. Like, one day my father came home early from work, which was incredibly rare, and took me out of school. We called my mom at her office and told her there was an emergency, and she had to come home right away. When she arrived, Dad and I had ordered a pizza and picked out a bunch of movies from Blockbuster. Naturally, my mom wasn't thrilled about how we enticed her to leave work, but she was so surprised, all she could do was laugh. We blew off our responsibilities for the day and had a movie marathon on the couch.

  Or, another time, a massive snowstorm hit the city and snowed us in for a few days. The power went out soon after the local anchor announced the school closings in our area. At first, I was scared without power, but my mom lit candles all around our brownstone. We played board games under the subtle flames around us and napped together on a nest of fleece blankets I created on the floor. When the power eventually came back on, I cried like a little girl. I wanted to spend more time with my parents in the dark. Without cell phones, without the computer, and yes, without the TV.

  The simple days were my favorite days.

  In the fall of 2001, I enrolled, with some difficulty, as a freshman at NYU. I had average grades, played sports in high school and joined a club or two my senior year. With the help of my grandparents, my mom's parents, NYU reluctantly accepted me. I'm sure the hefty donation my Papa and Nana sent helped. I hadn't chosen a major yet, so I registered for electives. This didn't please my parents. They constantly urged me to pick a major as though the world would end the very next day. Little did we know, it would.

  That Tuesday started off like any other day of the week. It was my birthday, and my only plans consisted of going to my favorite Italian spot around the block with my parents for dinner. I wasn't huge on birthdays. I didn't like the attention. I had a few classes in the morning: Biology and Intro to Psychology. Bio started at eight in the morning. I wanted to skip, but I missed the last two lectures. My professor didn't take attendance, but I realized if I missed too many classes I'd fall too far behind to catch up. Biology bored me to death; I didn't want to torture myself having to teach myself at home.

  I lugged my lean, six-foot-three body out of bed, dressed in a pair of dirty jeans and a black V-neck tee shirt. I sniffed under my arms and wrinkled my nose. Unfortunately, I didn't have time to shower, but it was just a dumb class. Wasn't like I went to campus to scout for chicks. Most of the girls at NYU were too stuck up for my taste, anyway.

  I loved living so close to campus. The short distance between home and school allowed me to walk on fair weather days and take in the one-
of-a-kind city sights along the way. The vendors, the coffee shops, the hustle and bustle of the city took my breath away.

  The lecture that Tuesday centered around the endocrine system. I nearly fell asleep on my desk. Professor Binds spoke with one of the most monotonous voices I'd ever heard. If someone wasn't snoring ten minutes into the lecture, then pigs were flying across the Brooklyn Bridge.

  Class wrapped up around 8:40; I decided to skip Psych. I wanted to visit my dad at work and surprise him. I hadn't visited his office in quite some time, but I figured he could possibly take an early lunch, and we could hang out. It was my birthday, after all. How could he say no? But, once I walked outside and into the city air, something seemed very wrong. My bones ached with anxiety.

  Sirens screeched in the distance; smoke billowed into the brilliant blue sky, and everywhere I looked, people pointed in the direction of the World Trade Center. I held my breath and peered in that direction, too. Then I saw it: the smoke was coming from the towers. Girls cried, and mass panic had begun to spread like wildfire. I stood frozen. The smoke was coming from a part of the building I knew quite well. Without a doubt, I knew the fire and flames licked a floor of the tower I'd visited often. I could point out my father's office in a picture of the World Trade Center in the blink of an eye. In my very core, I knew my father was dead.

  Chapter Two

  Amelia

  "Charlie, are you almost ready?"

  "Yes, Mom!"

  "Are you almost ready, or are you 'Charlie ready?'"

  "Uh, maybe somewhere in the middle?"

  Every morning I struggled to motivate my bright-eyed, blonde-haired fourth grader to climb out of bed, dress, brush his teeth and gather his schoolwork. I sounded like a broken record when I called out and asked for a status. I, on the other hand, had no problem getting ready in the morning. That is, until today.

  Our apartment, still lined with packed boxes, created a maze for Charlie and me to weave around. If we walked through without knocking anything to the floor, it was a miracle. We only moved here two weeks ago. Today was Charlie's first day at a new school, and it was my first day at a new job.

  Despite moving to a new city, Charlie’s routine remained the same, and he still couldn't be ready on time if his life depended on it. Some things never change no matter how much distance is put between your past and future. However, I couldn't afford to be late. What kind of professional was late on their first day of work?

  "Charlie, I mean it! We have to leave in T minus five minutes!"

  "I heard you the first couple of times!" Charlie shot back.

  "Did you? Because you're still not out here tying your shoes yet, mister!"

  I tossed and turned for hours and hours last night. I couldn't help but wonder what my new boss would be like or how my coworkers would treat me. I thought about what kind of coffee the office provided. Did they have K-cups or coffee grounds? As if that's an important life decision to make.

  A whirlwind by the name of Charlie flew around the corner and into my arms.

  "Ready!"

  "You're getting heavy, kiddo."

  "That's because I eat my vegetables and drink milk."

  "You do?" I gazed at him suspiciously.

  "Well, sometimes I do."

  I set him down and ruffled his soft, blond hair. When I found out I was pregnant, all I cared about was having a healthy child. I didn't care if it was a boy or a girl or if they looked like me or not. Charlie was the best damn thing to come from my failed marriage. Silver lining.

  "You look pretty, Mama."

  "Thanks, Tater Tot."

  I spun around dramatically as my navy pencil skirt hugged my hips. My dirty-blonde hair twirled, and my leather heels clacked against the floor while I made a full turn. Looking in the mirror this morning, I realized the woman I wanted to be returned my gaze. I'd curled my elbow-length hair, put on makeup and spritzed my favorite Chanel perfume on the nape of my neck. While I'd developed a few wrinkles since my prime, I continued to smile brightly despite my age. I never thought I'd miss dressing up, but after weeks of moving and wearing nothing but sweatpants, my feminine side purred.

  Growing up, my mother reminded me of my beauty, but never forgot to reiterate the importance of being healthy, too. When I found the time, I worked out at the gym or ran outside. Before Charlie, I almost had a six pack, which I proudly revealed at the beach or by the pool. Now, the six pack is more of a two-pack, but I’ve done what I could. After all, there were only so many hours in the day, and between raising a child on my own and working my ass off, there wasn't always time for myself.

  "Ready for your first day?"

  "I hope I make new friends," Charlie whimpered.

  "You will, babe. Just like you made new friends at your last school, you'll make new ones here, too."

  When a recruiter called me and said a law firm several hundred miles away had an opening for a corporate attorney, I told them I wasn't interested. How could I move my child across the country in the middle of the school year? I had excellent credentials, though, and a phenomenal win/loss ratio. The recruiter called me every day, upping the ante with better benefits, higher pay, and other opportunities I’d be afforded if I accepted their offer.

  "Isn't there someone more qualified? Surely I can't be the only attorney who'd fit the bill?"

  "Ms. Montgomery, the partners want you and only you. You stirred the pot after that case last month, and my bosses want you on their staff."

  Hint: I helped one of the largest technology companies in the country acquire another smaller business and their accompanying patents. The buyout cost more than four hundred and fifty million dollars. And yes, I got it done in record time.

  After weeks of coaxing and a phone interview with the managing partner, I finally said yes. Once I realized I'd have the chance to start fresh somewhere far away from my ex, I accepted the job with no regrets. It took another few weeks for Charlie's dad to agree. I think he fought me for the sake of argument; he only hosted Charlie two weekends a month as it was. Not to mention, he planned to remarry in a little over two months, so he was tied up with planning. Good thing he had one marriage under his belt so he’d know what to do the second time around. Cue the bitterness I still carried with me. We divorced less than two years ago, and now he was engaged to remarry? The man worked fast, not that I could blame him.

  Anyway, Charlie, my partner in crime, and I were leaving on a jet plane and headed to the big city.

  Chapter Three

  Amelia

  Charlie jumped into the backseat with his iPad in tow. He never left home without the damn thing. Sometimes, I wish I never bought him one. Weren't kids supposed to play outside, roll in the dirt and make a mess? My kid's eyes were glued to it. More often than not, I pried it out of his tiny fingers, which naturally sent him into a fit of rage.

  "How's your game?" I questioned dryly.

  "Can't talk. I'm on level twenty-eight, and I'm about to face the boss."

  "Alrighty then," I trailed off and turned the radio on a little louder. Even though my son didn't want to talk to me, I'd grasp entertainment in the form of singing my heart out to the newest pop song that I didn't remotely know the words to. Charlie giggled in the back seat while his thumbs pounded furiously on his game console.

  Charlie's new school was located a few blocks away from our new apartment. With a new city, though, comes new traffic patterns. It took twenty minutes to reach the elementary school, which happened to be enough time for the boss to face destruction.

  "Okay, kiddo. Hand it over," I said.

  "Do I have to?" He pouted.

  "Yes. You know the rules. No taking the tablet to school." The last time I let Charlie bring his prized possession to class, he was caught red-handed playing Angry Birds during Math. I believed his punishment was fair and just: I banned him from ever bringing it to school again.

  I know, I know. I'm a mean mom.

  "Do you want me to walk you in?"

&
nbsp; "I'm not a baby, Mom. Sheesh!" Charlie rolled his eyes. Even though he physically took after me, the eye-rolling was purely his father. I had to speak to him about that soon. I couldn't have my son acting like a jerk. More importantly, I didn't want my son acting like his dad.

  "I'll be here to pick you up before the after-school program ends, okay?"

  I stretched to reach the back seat and kissed Charlie on the cheek.

  "Bye, Mom!"

  Just like that, my boy started a new school. He didn't even want me to hold his hand.

  Damn.

  I checked the clock on my dashboard and realized time alluded me. I thought I set aside enough time for taking Charlie to school, but it seemed as though traffic didn't care about my plans. I sped to make it on time. The irony wasn't lost on me: an attorney breaking the law. Hardy-har-har.

  I flew downtown in record time and scored the very last spot in the ramp a block away from my new firm. I'd heard I would have trouble finding parking, but that was an understatement. My pulse quickened, and I grabbed my purse, my Vera Bradley lunch tote, my briefcase, and lukewarm coffee.

  Please don't be late on your first day, I thought.

  It took less than a block for me to realize heels were a bad choice. I limped and moaned with every painful step. When you don't wear stilettos for a while, it's fairly easy to lose your sense of balance. You also forget how much they hurt like an SOB. Tomorrow, I'd wear comfy shoes for the walk to work and bring my pumps to change into once I reached my office. Some days, I'm Super Mom and the Queen of the World. Others? I'm a hot freakin' mess.