Addicted to Love (17 page)

Her mother raised her hand.

“Yes, Mom?”

“By saying true love, aren’t you playing into the romantic myth that there is only one love out there for us?”

“You’re right. Thanks for pointing that out. I need help just as much as everyone else. That’s why I started the group. Okay, we won’t use the terms ‘true love,’ ‘soul mates,’ or anything else that indicates fanciful, romantic thinking. Does anyone else have anything they’d like to contribute?”

No one else offered to speak.

“All right, then, the meeting is adjourned. Same time next week. Remember, if you have the urge to do or believe something romantic, give one of your fellow romanceaholics a call. I have handouts with the list of names and phone numbers. There’s coffee and cookies on the table in the back if anyone would like to stay and chat.”

As Rachael headed for the coffeepot, feeling as if the first meeting had gone quite well, Rex Brownleigh sauntered over.

“I gotta tell you, Rachael,” he said, “I’m really impressed by your initiative. It took guts not only to graffiti the Valentine billboard but to start this group. You’re being proactive, taking charge of your life.”

“So are you, Rex.” She smiled. “By coming here.”

“I was wondering . . . ” Rex paused, ducked his head, shuffled his feet.

Omigosh
, she thought,
he’s going to ask me out
. How was she going to handle it? She should have expected something like this to happen in a group of romanceaholics, but she wasn’t prepared.

Gulping, she felt the smile leave her face. “Um . . . yes?”

He raised her head, met her gaze. “If you’d be interested in getting even with Trace Hoolihan.”

That took her by surprise.

“He shouldn’t get away with treating you so badly,” Rex said.

Revenge, Rachael knew, was never an honorable motive, but it was a very human one. Temptation took hold of her. It wasn’t the normal temptation of romance. It was a different kind of thrill. One she’d never experienced before.

Well, she rationalized, if revenge could release her attachment to Trace, ultimately wouldn’t that be a good thing, even if her motives were less than pure? He certainly hadn’t been thinking pure thoughts when he’d said those unkind things about her on national television.

Politely tell Rex no and walk away
, said her principled side, but her all-too-human side won and instead she said, “What do you have in mind?”

Rex grinned. “YouTube.”

“Pardon?”

“You know, the Web site on the Internet where people upload videos —”

“I know what YouTube is,” she interrupted. “What I don’t get is how that’s going to help me get even with Trace.”

“We show your side of the story.”

Rachael shook her head. “I don’t really see the point.”

“Vindication.”

She had to admit, she wanted it.

“And,” he said, “it’d be a great forum for Romanceaholics Anonymous. The more people you reach with the message, the more people you help.”

She wanted that even more. “What exactly do you have in mind?”

T
WO WEEKS HAD
passed since the parking meter incident and Amusement Corp’s visit to Valentine to see the town and review Kelvin’s proposal. Nervously, he waited for a call back. They’d promised to contact him by the end of the previous week. Now it was Wednesday and there was still no word. The time lapse made him realize exactly how much he wanted this deal to go through. Not just for himself, but for the good of his hometown.

“Any messages?” he asked Rex when he returned from lunch, noticing a blob of Higgy’s chili pie on his tie.

“Amusement Corp didn’t call,” Rex said.

He was tired of playing cat and mouse. Tired of being in the “depend” role. He was going to take the bull by the horns. “Get Amusement Corp on the phone for me,” he said and stepped over to grab a paper napkin off Rex’s desk.

In the process, he dislodged a trifold brochure that fluttered to the floor. Kelvin bent to pick it up, barely glancing at it as he laid it back on Rex’s desk. He was halfway to his office door before he did a double take, backpedaled, and snatched up the brochure.

Has Romance Made Your Life Unmanageable? Take Charge of Your Future Today. Join Romanceaholics Anonymous.

“What in the hell is this?” he asked Rex.

Hand poised over the telephone, Rex shrugged as if he had no idea what Kelvin was talking about, but he looked sheepish.

“Romanceaholics Anonymous.” Kelvin flipped the brochure over. “They meet at the public library every Tuesday night. Who ever heard of Romanceaholics Anonymous?”

“It’s a new twelve-step program.”

“I get that,” Kelvin snapped. “What I don’t get is what this brochure is doing on your desk.”

“Um.” Rex shifted uncomfortably. “I went to the first meeting last night.”

Kelvin narrowed his eyes. “Who’s behind this?” His first thought was Giada Vito.

“Rachael Henderson.”

“That meddlesome woman? What’s her problem?”

“She thinks Valentine pushes an unrealistic view of romance,” Rex said. “There’s a lot of people in town who agree with her.”

Kelvin snorted. “Are you really that clueless?”

“What do you mean?”

“Without that supposedly unrealistic view of romance, this town wouldn’t even exist.”

The phone picked that moment to ring.

They both jumped. Rex looked grateful as he reached for it. “Mayor’s office, Rex Brownleigh speaking.”

He pressed the hold button and shot Kelvin a look. “It’s Amusement Corp.”

Kelvin did a jig all the way into his office. He closed the door, counted to ten, and then picked up the extension. “Mayor Wentworth here.”

“Mayor, Jackson Traynor, Amusement Corp.”

“Jack. How are things?”

“Just fine. I want to apologize for not getting back to you sooner.”

“I’ve been so busy I hadn’t noticed,” Kelvin lied smoothly. “I hope you’re calling with good news for Valentine.”

“Um, that’s the reason for my delay.”

Jackson Traynor’s tone of voice had Kelvin’s testicles drawing up tight.

“We ran your proposal past our research team and there were some concerns.”

“What kind of concerns?” Kelvin had spent ten years preparing that proposal. It was spotless.

“Are you aware that Valentine’s town charter prevents the construction of a project of this size without seventy-five percent approval from the taxpayers?”

“Is that what has you worried?” Relief pushed out his fear.

“Frankly, yes. We loved your proposal, but your remote location is a strike against you and we can’t commit to this project until you have a bond election.”

“I can guarantee the votes. My family brought tourism to this town. The constituents will do whatever I want.”

“We did a straw poll while we were in town and you don’t have as much of a lock on the town as you might think you do.”

“Meaning?”

“Your approval rating is only forty percent. Apparently a lot of people in Valentine are thinking about voting for your opponent.”

Giada Vito. Kelvin narrowed his eyes. “I’ll get those votes. I’ll get that bond election passed.”

“I really hope that you do, Mayor, because we’re gung ho on your project. But we’re looking at another property site outside Tyler and we can’t finance both. You have until November to pass this bond,” Traynor said. “Otherwise you lose out.”

Kelvin hung up the phone feeling at once elated and belligerent. Between them, Giada Vito and Rachael Henderson were trying to hijack his town and he’d be damned if he was going to let them get away with it.

R
ACHAEL GOT A
copy of her wedding video from Tish, who’d taped the ceremony. In between dishing up meals at the senior citizen center as part of her community service, she spent her spare time at Rex’s house creating her YouTube montage.

Making the video was a painful experience, but useful in helping her overcome any lingering attachment she had to Trace — and hopefully to romantic love. Every time she watched the moment where her supposedly idyllic life crumbled, her resolve to forsake romance strengthened.

Idealizing men and marriage was not the road to happiness.

There she was in her wedding dress walking down the aisle on her father’s arm. A traditional church wedding with all the trimmings. She’d planned it since she was a child. Making scrapbooks of it and gathering items for her hope chest. Doves and candles. Orchids and white roses. A soprano soloist warbling “A Forever Kind of Love.” Six bridesmaids. Her sister Hannah’s adorable three-year-old daughter as flower girl. The works.

It was the most perfect of wedding ceremonies.

Until the critical moment when the pastor asked, “Does anyone have any objections to the union of this man to this woman?”

It must have been cosmic timing.

In the hushed momentary silence of the church came the distinctive ringing of a cell phone.

With a clutch in her throat, Rachael recalled the fateful moment. The irritation she’d felt over the sheer rudeness of the guest who hadn’t thought to silence their cell phone before entering the chapel.

“Speak now,” the pastor said on the video. “Or forever hold your peace.”

Rachael remembered beaming up at Trace, wishing the minister would hurry up and get to the good part. The part where he pronounced them husband and wife and they would walk hand in hand into their happily-ever-after.

But that moment never came.

“Here it comes,” Rex said, timing the sequence of events
for the video. “Wait for it, wait for it . . . three . . . two . . . one . . . ”

“Since no one has any obj —”

“Stop the wedding,” Trace Hoolihan’s agent, Bob Boscoe, said, shooting to his feet.

Every single time Rachael saw it, a sick feeling rose inside her. Hand to her stomach, she took a deep breath and forced herself to watch, even though she desperately wanted to close her eyes. Aversion therapy.

The minister looked startled. Every gaze in the place turned to stare at Boscoe.

Except for Rachael’s.

As if caught in a surreal dream, the on-camera Rachael just kept smiling — denying reality, determined that she was going to live the dream even if no one else was cooperating.

It was scary sad.

Rachael cringed and squirmed in Rex’s rolling swivel chair, parked beside the bank of computers lining his living room wall. Rex was at the keyboard, making adjustments to the color, sounds, dimensions. Enhancing and enlarging. Splicing and merging. He clicked the mouse, zooming in on Boscoe’s face.

“What is the nature of your objection?” asked the minister.

“Trace,” Boscoe said, pushing aside the guests as he headed toward the altar waving his cell phone. “You’ve just had an offer from the Chicago Bears. They want you in as first-string wide receiver.”

Rachael saw it happen all over again as, deep in her soul, she felt the moment she’d lost him. The pure joy on Trace’s face as he let out a whoop, stepped away from Rachael and into Boscoe’s embrace.

A heartbeat passed.

She relived the taste of bile spilling into her mouth. Experienced all over again the bone-crunching disbelief of shattered dreams. She smelled the cloying scent of too many flowers. Heard the shocked intake of the spectators’ collective breaths.

“Trace?” Rachael’s trembling on-camera voice whispered tentatively. Her eyes were wide, the smile on her face slipping. “What’s going on?”

She was so pathetic.

Self-loathing took hold of her and she had to close her eyes and breathe deeply to fight off the nausea. She’d seen the video six times since the wedding and every single time it still clipped her hard.

“I’m going to Chicago,” Trace crowed.

Not
we’re
going to Chicago, but
I’m
going to Chicago.

“But what does this mean?” Her voice rose. On-screen she was blinking rapidly, swallowing repeatedly.

“I’m sorry, Rachael,” Trace said, looking contrite. “But this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance to get back into the game. The wedding is off.”

The church had erupted. People scrambled to their feet, surging the altar, most of them rushing to congratulate Trace.

And there she stood in the midst of it all, buffeted around like foam on the ocean. She saw Delaney step forward to wrap an arm around her shoulder. On-camera, her face went deathly white and she looked as if she was going to faint.

It wasn’t the anger or disappointment or hurt that upset Rachael the most. Rather it was her wimpy reaction that made her want to reach out and slap her own silly face.

How could she have been so gullible, so naive, so trusting?

“Idiot,” she muttered.

“Fool for love,” Rex said.

“Just plain fool. I can’t believe the way I twisted myself around for his affection.”

Awkwardly, Rex patted her shoulder. “It’s okay. This is therapeutic. You’ve got the proof of your mistake right in front of you and we can all learn something from it.”

He was right.

“Hey,” Rex said. “Look what I did since the last time you were here. This ought to make you feel better.”

With a few finger strokes to the keyboard, Trace’s head morphed into that of a jackass. He turned to the camera and brayed.

Rachael burst out laughing.

“Thatta girl.” Rex chuckled along with her. “It gets better. Watch this.”

He changed computer monitors and switched from her actual wedding video to the one he’d created for YouTube. The music began. It wasn’t the music from her wedding, but rather “Love Stinks” by the J. Geils Band.

“Once upon a time,” came Rex’s deep-throated voice-over, “there was a beautiful young girl from Valentine, Texas, born on Valentine’s Day, who’d been taught to believe truly, madly, deeply in the romantic myth of finding her Prince Charming and living happily ever after.”

On-screen, Rachael appeared on her father’s arm walking through the door of the chapel, looking radiant in her wedding gown, beaming brightly, the beautiful floral bouquet clutched in her hand. The picture of dreams come true.

“She thought she’d found the perfect man.”

The shot cut to Trace standing at the altar looking ultracool and impossibly gorgeous with his thick mane of blond hair swept back off his forehead and his lantern jaw thrust forward. The traditional black tuxedo fit him like a fantasy, the pink rosebud boutonniere at his lapel a promise of everlasting love.