The One You Fight For

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  Books. Change. Lives.

  Copyright © 2019 by Roni Loren

  Cover and internal design © 2019 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover design by Dawn Adams/Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover image © LWA/Getty Images

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  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—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks, Inc., is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

  (630) 961-3900

  Fax: (630) 961-2168

  sourcebooks.com

  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  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

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Epilogue

  A Sneak Peek at The One For You

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  To those who have lost someone they love to violence, may you find peace and a path to your happily ever after.

  Chapter

  One

  Dr. Taryn Landry had learned that talk of sociopaths was not great first-date material. Yet somehow, on Friday night, she found herself going on about the topic and watching her date lean a little farther back in his chair, his eyes drifting to the cell phone he’d set next to his plate at the too-fancy restaurant. A cell phone that had vibrated about every fifteen minutes through the meal. Apparently, Doug the financial planner was in very high demand.

  “Yeah, so,” she said, clearing her throat and trying to find a natural end to her rambling, “based on my research and the results of other studies, I’ve developed a program I hope to implement in schools. Most of the traits and factors that lead someone to violence aren’t immutable if you catch them early enough. A lot of people have that bad seed theory in their head, but I refuse to believe there’s nothing we can do, and the research is supporting that belief.”

  Doug lifted his gaze at that, as if just noticing she was still there. “Right. That’s…interesting.”

  Yep. He hadn’t heard a word she’d said. Awesome. But she wasn’t surprised. She hadn’t conducted a formal study, but she’d collected enough anecdotal evidence to know that she sucked at this whole dating thing. People wanted to talk about breezy stuff on dates—what Netflix shows they were bingeing, what hobbies they had, which cities they wanted to visit one day. She didn’t have time to have favorite TV shows or quirky hobbies or to take vacations to exotic places. She had research, developing her program, and teaching. She barely had time to sleep, much less be recreationally well-rounded.

  Why had she subjected herself to a date again? She could’ve been home and in her comfy clothes by now. Instead, she was here in uncomfortable shoes and even less comfortable conversation. Maybe she’d agreed to this because she liked the idea of dating someone. When she came home late at night, lugging a pile of research and student papers with her, she sometimes imagined what it would be like to have someone to call or have dinner with, or more than have dinner with. That was probably what had landed her on this blind date—the idea of these mythical things. But in actual practice, dating was just straight-up painful.

  She took a long sip of wine as her date glanced at his phone again. “Do you need to check that?”

  “Huh?” Doug glanced up guiltily. “Oh, no. It’s fine. Well, maybe I should check in case it’s work.”

  Taryn shrugged, expecting the answer. She had a degree in reading people, but Doug’s behavior didn’t require a doctorate to decipher. “Knock yourself out.”

  At least she could tell her friend Kincaid that she’d given this a shot. Kincaid had set her up on this date because Girl, I worry about you. You need to get out of that research lab and live a little. Doug is smart and a sly kind of cute, like an eighties teen movie villain.

  Taryn had pictured a young James Spader, which had gotten her to reluctantly agree to this, but Doug would never have been able to pull off feathered hair and a white suit. Also, she suspected he had a mild case of narcissistic personality disorder—which was probably why he’d shut down when she’d started talking about sociopaths. They were in the same psychological family. He was probably insulted.

  Or maybe she should learn to shut up about the research part of her job and just tell people about the more straightforward part—that she taught psychology at a university. When people asked about what she did for a living, they usually were just being polite and didn’t actually want to hear the details. She liked details—telling them and hearing them. People’s life stories were endlessly fascinating to her. She collected them like other people collected photographs of interesting places. What made someone tick, what led them to their career, what made them who they were. But even she’d had trouble finding something interesting about Doug the financial planner.

  Date experiment conducted. Experiment failed. Oh well. This outcome would’ve matched her hypothesis anyway. Blind dates had a high crash-and-burn rate. She wouldn’t have gone on this one if Kincaid hadn’t looked so damn sincere and concerned about Taryn’s lack of a social life. Her friend didn’t want her to be lonely, and Taryn loved her for at least trying. However, now she was ready to get home, get in her pajama pants, and compile the final data for her presentation.

  Taryn checked her watch, and when she saw that Doug was still scrolling through something on his phone, she pulled her own phone from her purse. Two missed calls and a text alert filled her screen. Two from her mother. One from her dad.

  Shit. Taryn got that queasy pinch in her gut, and she almost fumbled the phone,
trying to quickly open the messages. She’d silenced her phone and had forgotten her nightly check-in text to her mother. Which meant red alert at her parents’ house if her mom was having one of her bad days. She quickly texted both of them back, feeling like a guilty teenager instead of a grown woman.

  To her mom: I’m sorry. I’m fine. Got caught up at work. All is well.

  She didn’t mention the blind date because that could potentially set off a whole other slew of panicked questions. Who is he? Are you in a safe, public place? What do you know about this guy?

  To her dad: Sorry. Out with a friend and had phone on silent. Is Mom okay?

  Her dad quickly responded: She’ll be fine. Enjoy your night. Thanks for getting back to us, sweetie.

  Taryn lifted her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose, guilt flooding her. How could she have forgotten? Was it really so hard to remember one text? She’d probably sent her mom into a tailspin and ruined both her and her father’s nights. Ugh.

  “Everything all right?” Doug asked, startling Taryn.

  She glanced up as the waiter dropped the check between them. “Um, yeah. Just a missed call.” She dropped her phone into her purse and reached for her wallet. They were definitely going dutch on this date. “Well, we should probably—”

  “Do you want to come by my place for a drink?” Doug asked, interrupting her and dropping a sleek, black credit card on top of the bill. It didn’t even have numbers on the front.

  The waiter swept in like a stealth bomber and took the card.

  Taryn blinked. “Wait, what?”

  Doug drained the rest of his wine and smiled. “My place. I don’t live too far from here, and it’s still early.”

  The chagrined smile he gave her said everything she needed to know. He was suggesting they sleep together. Even though they’d bored each other. Even though they had about as much in common as a grasshopper and a skyscraper. And he’d said it as if it were a totally normal thing to suggest.

  She tilted her head. “So even though we clearly don’t have anything in common and this date has been pretty boring, you’re inviting me to go to your place?”

  Now it was Doug’s turn to blink like an owl. His smile faltered. “Wow, you don’t pull punches, do you, doc?”

  She had a tendency to blurt things out and speak her mind, but she wasn’t going to apologize for it. “Am I reading the situation wrong?”

  He chuckled and adjusted his tie. “No, you’re not. I like your honesty. The date hasn’t gone as well as either of us had probably hoped, but I think we’re just two very busy people who have a hard time talking about anything but work. But”—he shrugged—“that also means we’re two people who could probably stand to blow off a little steam without worrying about who’s going to call whom tomorrow. You’re attractive and smart. Physically, we’d probably work out just fine. It could still turn out to be a good night.”

  Taryn considered him. That was the first thing he’d said all night that made some sense—or at least had a shred of logic to it. Maybe Kincaid hadn’t been totally off base with this match. When Doug dropped the smooth-talking, I’m Mr. Important act, he was almost likable. Almost.

  But it’d been longer than Taryn cared to acknowledge since she’d slept with anyone, and if she was going to break that dry spell, she wanted to make it count. She’d had It’s convenient and we like each other well enough sex before. It’d always been vaguely unsatisfying during and then awkward after. She’d sworn to herself after the last uninspired hookup that she’d wait for some kind of Oh my God, I must get this guy naked spark. So far, she’d only gotten that watching the occasional movie with a hot actor in it.

  She tried to imagine tugging off Doug’s tie and unbuttoning his shirt, running her hands over his chest, letting him touch her. Her internal interest meter swung to the far left, to the icy tundra zone. Nope.

  She pulled her purse onto her lap and gave Doug a polite smile as the waiter dropped the receipt and card back on the table. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ve got a lot of work left to do tonight.” And probably a James Spader movie to watch.

  “You sure?” he asked, looking genuinely disappointed.

  She stood and smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt. “Yeah. Thanks so much for dinner, though.”

  “Here. Let me walk you out.”

  She let him lead her with a loose hand on her lower back through the restaurant and out into the muggy spring air. A few cars whizzed by on the damp downtown street, but otherwise, this part of Austin was pretty chill on a Friday night—only a couple of restaurants and after-work-type bars were open, mostly frequented by the locals living in the condos along this stretch. The tourists had more exciting places to be. She’d always liked this part of town.

  She turned to Doug and put out her hand to shake his. “Thanks again. It was nice to meet you. I’ll be sure to call you when I decide to invest in some mutual funds.”

  His face lit up. “Oh great. Here, let me give you my card.”

  She didn’t have money for mutual funds, but she accepted the card and tucked it into her purse like a peace offering. “Thanks.”

  “And if I run across any sociopaths, I’ll send them your way…” He cringed. “Wait, that was supposed to be a joke, but now that I say it out loud…”

  She smirked, amused. “It sounds like a threat.”

  His cheeks dotted with red in the glow of the streetlight. “I didn’t mean it that way. Sorry, after what you’ve been… That was kind of horrible. Sorry.”

  Her stance on Doug softened a little more at his obvious embarrassment. Maybe he wasn’t so much a narcissist as a guy trying to be smooth and confident when he was just as awkward at this as she was. Plus, once people knew who she was and her history, they inevitably put their foot in their mouth about it and forgot everything else about her. It was like some weird disease.

  She’d gotten used to it. Her past either freaked people out or morbidly fascinated them. She wasn’t sure which was worse—pity or rubbernecking. Flip a coin. At least Doug had made it through the whole date without asking her about the Long Acre High shooting. He got points for that. “It’s fine. I know that’s not what you meant.”

  His shoulders sagged in relief, and he met her gaze. “I really do think it’s remarkable what you’re doing. I’m not sure I’d be able to bounce back after something like that. I definitely wouldn’t be able to dive into research about school shootings. I’d probably never want to think about it again. I’d be a total ostrich.”

  She laughed, picturing Doug sticking his head in the sand in full suit and tie. “Ostriching is a valid reaction.” She slipped her purse strap over her shoulder. “That might’ve been the route I would’ve taken if I remembered that night like my friends do. But my mind has blocked most of it out.”

  His brown eyes widened. “Seriously?”

  She nodded, though she got that familiar uncomfortable twist in her stomach at the oft-repeated lie. “I lost my sister. I remember that part. But I have no solid details of the rest of the event.”

  “Wow, that must be kind of scary.” He tugged on his tie as if it’d gotten too tight. “I’m not sure I’d like knowing there are memories I can’t access. Doesn’t that make it hard to, like, move on?”

  Move on. Was that a thing people really did after something ripped your entire world in two? Move forward, maybe, but moving on seemed like a ridiculous expectation. That was like saying Why don’t you move on from your personality and get an entirely new one? Taryn lifted a shoulder. “I don’t have to remember that night to know how important it is to make sure those kinds of tragedies don’t happen again, you know? I’ve got all the information I need.”

  Doug tucked his hands in his pockets, his gaze serious as he nodded. “Now I feel kind of shitty that I was so checked out at dinner. I’d like to see you again, do better, really get to know you ins
tead of being so distracted by work. You think I can have a do-over?”

  Taryn smiled, though it felt a little brittle. Now she’d captured his interest. She was beginning to worry that the only thing others found interesting about her was her tragic history. That was goddamned depressing. “How about as friends next time? No pressure to impress.”

  Doug looked down at his feet and laughed lightly before meeting her gaze again. “Sounds like a plan.”

  Taryn stepped forward and gave Doug a quick hug, deflated about how the night had gone and ready to get home. “Have a good night.”

  They walked in opposite directions to get back to their cars, and she didn’t bother looking back to wave. Her steps were purposeful on the sidewalk, but her mind sifted back through the date, replaying the conversation, analyzing.

  Damn, she had been boring. She spent so much time with her colleagues, who thought the minutiae of research were top-level entertainment, and her students, who were forced to pay attention to what she said, that she’d forgotten how dry all that stuff could be to someone outside of that world.

  Ugh.

  Taryn pulled out her phone and texted Kincaid.

  Taryn: Thanks for the setup.

  It only took a few seconds for her friend to respond.

  Kincaid: Uh-oh, ur texting me before midnight. That can’t be good. Did I miss the mark?

  Taryn: Not ur fault. Apparently, I’m boring.

  Kincaid: WHAT? Did he say that? B/c I will kick Doug’s ass.

  Taryn: No. I’m saying it. I bored him.

  Kincaid: It’s not ur job to entertain a dude.

  Taryn: Correction—I bored myself. He was just along for the snore-worthy ride. I’m BORING.

  Kincaid: *hugs* You’re not boring. You’re brilliant.

  Taryn: The two aren’t mutually exclusive. Can be both.

  The phone rang in her hand. Taryn passed her parked car and kept walking, needing a bit of fresh air before the drive home. “Hello?”

  “Stop calling yourself boring,” Kincaid said without preamble.

  Taryn stepped over a wad of gum stuck to the sidewalk. “I’m just calling it like I see it.”