One more night vegas aft.., p.1
One More Night (Vegas After Dark Book 3), page 1
ONE MORE NIGHT
Vegas After Dark
Book 3
TORY BAKER
Contents
Foreword
Prologue
1. Tyra
2. Mace
3. Tyra
4. Mace
5. Tyra
6. Mace
7. Tyra
8. Mace
9. Tyra
10. Mace
11. Tyra
12. Mace
13. Tyra
14. Mace
15. Tyra
16. Mace
17. Mace
18. Tyra
19. Mace
20. Tyra
21. Mace
22. Tyra
23. Mace
24. Tyra
25. Mace
26. Tyra
27. Mace
28. Tyra
29. Mace
30. Tyra
31. Tyra
32. Mace
Epilogue
Epilogue
What’s Next?
Just For You!
About the Author
Also by Tory Baker
Foreword
Dear Reader, music is such a huge part of my life and especially when it comes to writing.
Here’s the playlist that help get me through writing Nico and Journey’s book. I hope you enjoy!
Late Night Caller Playlist
Copyright © 2022 by Tory Baker
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.
Please respect the author and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials that would violate the author’s rights.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, 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.
Cover Design by Yoly at Cormar Cover Creations
Cover Models Aaron and Grace
Photographer by Utterly Unashamed and Cadwallader Photography
Editor Julia Good with Diamond in the Rough Editing
Created with Vellum
To my editor, the words she spoke about Tyra and Mace’s story will stick with me forever.
Prologue
Tyra
One Year Earlier
“I’m doing the right thing, right?” I ask my best friend, Celeste, for probably the eighteenth time since this date has been set. Von, my four-year-old, is currently at daycare. His father, well, that’s the entire reasoning as why I’m questioning that this is what I should do.
“Tyra, only you can answer that question. I hate like hell you’re going through this and that you won’t even let me come to at least hold your hand.” That’s Celeste for you—there no matter what, even if I’m second-guessing myself.
“I tried, God, I tried my hardest. It’s not like Mace would even go to counseling.” I’m defeated—there’s no two ways around it—emotionally and mentally at my wit’s end. That’s why, a month ago, I tossed in the towel after two years of basically being a roommate to my own husband and called an attorney. There was only so much begging, pleading, and crying a person could do without losing their own self-worth.
“You did, Tyra, don’t doubt that. Right now, it’s about you and Von. That’s all it can be about.” More people need a friend like Celeste. Sure, my parents are amazing, and I’m talking beyond terrific, taking Von when I’ve had an appointment that wouldn’t work around his daycare schedule, helping me move out of what was our home and into the smaller two-bedroom condo we moved into a week or so ago, finally getting situated, albeit sparse because there wasn’t a single thing I was adamant about taking. A fresh start was what I wanted, even if that meant hitting thrift stores and garage sales, repurposing furniture in the form of sanding, staining, or painting. That’s what I did, well, minus Von’s bed. That came brand new. Safety was a concern, and not having something rigged in case my rambunctious toddler decided to be a monkey and jump on the bed.
“I know it’s the only thing to do, but the gaping hole in my chest is making me think otherwise.” I never wanted to be that statistic, the sixty percent of married couples ending in divorce, and maybe that is partly my fault. I wanted what my parents have, to be totally and completely in love with my husband the way my mom is with my dad. The dancing in the kitchen while cooking, Von coming between us or making gross noises because we’re kissing, that’s all gone now, and I’m not sure I’ll ever have it again.
“That’s it. I’m meeting you at the courthouse. No friend of mine is doing this alone. Then we’ll go out afterwards, and you can get rip-roaring drunk. In fact, stay where you are. I’ll swing by and pick you up.” I hear the keys rattling in the background and know Celeste won’t take no for an answer unless I buck the fuck up.
“Celeste, I’m okay, really. I’ll call you when the papers are signed, but I think this is something that needs to be done alone. If you could call my parents and ask if they’ll take Von after daycare so we can grab a drink, that would be awesome.” I’m attempting to put on a fake game of pretending to be okay when inside the walls are closing in.
“Consider it done. I still don’t like that you’re doing this without me. Is Mace going to be there?” Celeste asks the million-dollar question. I’m sitting in my car after arriving at the courthouse early, wanting to be out of the house and away from myself even though that’s not entirely possible.
“He waived that right. Mace is a complete and total stranger to me. I’m just surprised he still sees Von at this stage in the game.” Our beautiful boy—dark hair, tanned skin, lips the exact same color of his father’s, and the only thing he seems to get from me is our matching green eyes. There are times I look at him and see Mace staring back at me when he was little, like in the picture his mom shared with me, and I see the beauty in everything his father gave him, down to the dimple on the right side of his cheek. Other times, my heart aches so badly knowing that what Mace and I had is completely obliterated.
“Shit, maybe this will give him a swift kick in the ass. After you’re done with the heavy stuff, text me. I’ll pick you up from your place, and don’t worry; Von will get taken care of, too. This afternoon, it’s time for you to lick your wounds while licking the salt off your hand before sucking down as much tequila as it takes to get you through the day, okay?”
“Just so long as you’ll hold my hair when the time comes.” Tequila doesn’t make my clothes fall off like the country song says it does to certain people. What it does to me is give me a killer hangover in the form of throwing up, sleeping on the bathroom floor at one point, and waking up with a headache from hell. Apparently, I’m a glutton for punishment, and Celeste will be there right along with me.
“Oh, I’ll be there; don’t you worry your pretty little head. In fact, we’ll hire a car so we can both collapse as soon as we’re in for the night. Now, head up, shoulders back, and knock ‘em out, tiger. The sooner this shit’s done, the sooner you can start moving on,” Celeste states. As I’m waiting for the clock on the dash to change for me to make my way into the building, I’m people-watching as they come and go, wondering why they’re there and if I’m one of the many who are here to do the same thing.
“I can do this. Love you lots. I’m going to head inside. Their air conditioning is cheaper than running my car out of gas,” I reply.
“Good idea. Love you, Ty.” We hang up. I turn my car off, take the key out of my ignition, grab my purse, and throw my phone into the monstrosity I use as a purse along with a diaper bag even though my son is potty trained. Now, I use it for a change of clothes, a snack or two, wipes because he’s a boy and has a tendency to get messy, and a couple of bottles of water. I’m stepping out of my car and straighten my black cotton T-shirt-style divorce dress, jean jacket that will have me sweating in a few minutes if not seconds, and stylish sandals. After today is said and done, this outfit will either be retired or donated. No woman needs to keep something to remind her of the day she signed her divorce papers to a man she’s still hopelessly in love with. I’m such a fool. After today, I’ll be a single fool at least.
ONE
Tyra
Present Day
Here I am, once again questioning if I’m sane or not. Nobody has to answer that; the proof is in the pudding. The mirror in front of me shows that I’m clearly trying too hard, and why I thought agreeing to a blind date when I know with every depth of my being that I’m not ready confirms that.
“Mom, I don’t want to leave the house tonight. Why can’t you stay home with me?” Von interrupts my inner monologue, inadvertently giving me an out as well. Except I can’t, right? I could text the guy my now ex-in-laws set me up with, cancel, and then call Von’s grandparents and do the same. The relationship I have with James and Leah is amazing. They saw what was happening between Mace and me, the toll it was taking on not only me, but on their grandson as well. His parents have stepped up to the plate in a way they should never have had to, picking up Mace’s slack caused by own selfishness.
“I can stay home. I know grammy and grampy were looking forward to having you tonight, though. Are you sure staying home is wh
at you want to do?” Selfishly, I hope Von says that’s what he wants. I’m even crossing my fingers that things go my way.
“Well…” He pauses to come up with the right words. “Do you know if they have my favorite ice cream?” His eyebrows are at the roof of his hairline as he considers the prospect that they’d have anything less than what he likes. I swear they ask him each and every time before he comes over on what should be Mace’s weekends.
“I think that’s a silly question. Don’t they always have all of your favorites?” Which they do, down to the toys. Von is the only grandchild on both sides of our families, the apple of their eyes, and can do no wrong. I get it because I think pretty highly of my not-so little boy.
“Fine, I’ll go, but pick me up early tomorrow morning, please?” he begs. I planned on doing that anyways, seeing as how I have a rare Saturday off. The spa I work at is open six days a week. Having two days off consecutively is like winning the lotto.
“What are you scheming for our Saturday? I thought we could get up, scrub the house, go grocery shopping, and then maybe hit up the park?” His little nose scrunches up until I get to the part about the park.
“Okay, pick me up after the boring stuff. You look really pretty, Mom. Are you going out with Auntie Cece?” Always the inquisitive one with questions galore along with a compliment. One day, he’ll make a woman very happy.
“I’ll do that. It won’t be too early though. Unless you want to help scrub toilets?” I’m trying to veer him away from the path of asking too many questions about the reason I’m dressed up instead of the scrubs I wear to work or the jean shorts and tank top I’m usually in when not at work.
“Does anyone really want to scrub toilets?” Von answers me.
“Nope, but it has to be done. So, if you’re packed for the night, we can get this show on the road?”
“I’ll go pack. It won’t take me forever.” He puts emphasis on the word forever. “Where are you going, Mom?” He drags the m out at the end of my name. It’s hard when your son lives with you more than eighty percent of the time and doesn’t know where I’m at or what I’m doing; his little mom sonar goes off like a parent tracking their teenager when they just got their license.
“I’m not going out with Aunt CeCe tonight. She’s with Uncle Wylde. I’m meeting a few friends for dinner.” My best friend’s now husband has taken not only Von under his wing. He makes sure that if something goes wrong and I can’t get it fixed, he takes care of it. Wylder Hayes is a lot like Mace was in the early days before he joined the rat race, thinking we needed the best of the best when all we really needed was him.
“Well, for the record, Mom, I’m not so sure about this.” How is my son five and have the intellect of someone the age of a grown man? He must get it from his daycare because it’s surely not from me or his father.
“I’ll take that into account. Go grab your bag, and I’ll meet you in the living room, okay?” I’m making sure my outfit looks okay, that my hair isn’t doing something funky, with its riots of waves lying right instead of doing this weird swoop that is uncontrollable at the worst of times. And don’t even get me started on makeup. Too much? Too little? Being a woman is not for the faint of heart.
“Okay, but don’t take too long. You’re perfect just the way you are.” If there’s anything I’ve done right in my life, it’s Von all the freaking way. The divorce is a blip on my radar in the grand scheme of things. As long as Von is happy, then so am I.
“I promise not to. Don’t forget to pack Bear.” Von has multiple bears, all named Bear. The one I’m talking about is the original he’s had since before he came home from the hospital. The one Mace gave him as an infant, the one he still carries no matter what house he’s at, and I love that even though he’s this man-like child, there are still some elements of the toddler boy deep inside.
“Mom, I never forget Bear.” I kiss his forehead, albeit briskly because he’s already moving a million miles an hour, and that might work in my favor in the overthinking department.
“I know.” I stand up, smooth out the skirt of my dress, and take one last look at the mirror, ninety-nine percent sure I’m making a mistake with this whole blind date situation. I guess it’ll be another one of those things that you’ll learn from.
TWO
Mace
I’ve ruined a fuck of a lot of things in my life. The woman who dropped my son off at my parents’ doorstep is probably the worst. She’s my wife. Fuck, Tyra isn’t my wife, not for a year now. I’m a son of a bitch, a workaholic, a lousy excuse of a father allowing my job to run my life. The second worst fuck-up of my life is abandoning my son. It’s why I’m here now on a weekend that isn’t mine to spend a night with my son while he’s at his grandparents. I don’t blame Tyra, not at all. I dealt her a shit hand, and there are only so many bad hands one will take until you fold.
“Dad!” I brace for impact, only making an appearance when I knew Tyra was reversing out of the driveway. She still looks as beautiful as ever, even more so than the first time I ever laid eyes on her, back when life was simpler, before I got stuck in this rat race of life, chasing the dollar and leaving my family in the dust. It all started when my boss called me into his office, asking if I’d like to make partner in the law firm. It felt like life was settling into place. Tyra wouldn’t have to work full-time, Von could be home more than at the Montessori-style daycare he’s at now that costs a fucking whack. I would have suggested changing his school years ago, but he’s thriving and clearly excelling in talking, learning, and having fun while doing it.
“Hey, bud, how’s my man doing?” I bend down, pick him up under his arms until we’re at eye level.
“I’m good. I thought you were working?” My own boy knows how much I work. Five years since he’s been born, and that’s the most of what he knows about me. Not that I’ve tossed the football around in the backyard when I have a day off or that we eat ice cream for dinner some nights, that we for sure don’t tell Tyra about, but that he thought I was working.
“Nope, not tonight. You mind if I spend some time with you while you’re here?” It took my dumb ass too long to tell my boss to take his shot at partnership and shove it up his ass. It took me until today for that to happen. I have a pile of money in the bank even while paying child support for Von, and that’s why starting next week, I’ll be opening up my own law firm. A few of the other lawyers caught wind of what I was doing and walked out right along with me.
“The whole night?” Von asks with apprehension in his tone.
“Yep, I’ll even be here when you wake up. What are your thoughts on French toast, bacon, and eggs?” The way to my boy’s heart is definitely through his stomach.
“Awesome. Pizza and ice cream tonight, though, right?” He and my parents have a Friday night ritual, where they make homemade pizza followed by all the dessert Von can get his hands on, usually in the form of a banana split or hot fudge sundaes.
“You got it.” Von hugs me, Bear between the two of us. His scent of baby lotion that Tyra has him rub all over after a bath mixed with the sweet perfume that’s all her and what her now house smells like washes over me, solidifying that for the first time in years, I’ve done the right thing.
