The Right Choice (Duet)

By Treva Harte

His Best Man: Chris always knew where he was going and how to get there, but when his wife walked out on him and the girls, he realized not knowing what’s important in his life might be the problem. He’s lost touch with his daughter, his friends, and himself during his marriage. And then Bill -- his former best friend -- drops back into his life.

Witness to the Wedding: Bill and Chris have never had an easy path, and dealing with the aftermath of Chris’s marriage doesn’t make life easy. With Chris’s soon-to-be ex threatening to take their family from them, Bill’s worried loving Chris and his girls just won’t be enough.

Publisher’s Note: The Right Choice (Duet) contains the previously published novellas His Best Man and Witness to the Wedding.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Changeling Press
• Release date: Sep 19, 2020

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The Right Choice (Duet)

Treva Harte

All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2020 Treva Harte

BIN: 009538-03091

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Publisher:

Changeling Press LLC

315 N. Centre St.

Martinsburg, WV 25404

www.ChangelingPress.com

Editor: Karen Williams

Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

Adult Sexual Content

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Table of Contents

The Right Choice (Duet)

His Best Man

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Witness to the Wedding

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Epilogue

Treva Harte

The Right Choice (Duet)

Treva Harte

His Best Man: Chris always knew where he was going and how to get there, but when his wife walked out on him and the girls, he realized not knowing what’s important in his life might be the problem. He’s lost touch with his daughter, his friends, and himself during his marriage. And then Bill -- his former best friend -- drops back into his life.

Witness to the Wedding: Bill and Chris have never had an easy path, and dealing with the aftermath of Chris’s marriage doesn’t make life easy. With Chris’s soon-to-be ex threatening to take their family from them, Bill’s worried loving Chris and his girls just won’t be enough.

His Best Man

Treva Harte

Chris always knew where he was going and how to get there. He’d had the best friend in the world, been tops in his class. He’d known he was going to be a lawyer when he grew up and he planned to get married and have kids. Then came real life. When his wife walked out on him and the girls, Chris realized that he doesn’t know for sure why, but not knowing what’s important in his life might be the problem. He’s lost touch with his daughter, his friends, and himself during his marriage.

And then Bill -- his former best friend in the world -- reappears in his life and catches Chris at his most inept and lost. The two of them aren’t sure they can become friends again but they have a long history together and, as they reconnect, it’s better -- and hotter -- than Chris had ever fantasized it could be. Then his wife returns and Chris has to reassess what he wants once more.

Chapter One

Christian

Christian Zacharias Ramsey!

I had graduated as valedictorian of my high school class. I’d been in the top ten percent in my state college. I’d held down a job, a marriage, and graduated respectably from law school, all at the same time.

What are you thinking? Why didn’t you tell me everything?

But when my mother used my full name and that tone of voice, I squirmed in my seat.

Right now there isn’t much to tell, Mom.

She gave me The Look. It wasn’t quite as scary as my late father’s wither-you-at-the-root glare, but it was pretty damn effective.

Father of two, husband for almost eleven years -- well, I’d scratch that last from my litany pretty soon, but for now I was still a husband…

Let me judge that for myself, Christian.

My inner I am worthy speech collapsed on itself, the way it usually did when I hit the parent disapproval zone. I took a deep breath and mentally stepped back. Sometimes detached was the only way for me to function with my family.

I can’t tell you much. I’m kind of… floundering myself. That sounded all right. Floundering didn’t mean wallowing or despairing or just fucking depressed and confused.

When a man’s wife leaves home, something is going on. You’re supposed to be bright. What happened? Mother’s face tightened. Is it another man?

My breath caught. She couldn’t know. No one knew. It had been years --

Oh.

If there is, I don’t know about him. Stephanie left a note and said she was done and I could deal with the kids for a change while she sorted things out. That’s all.

That’s all? Mother frowned deeply. A good wife would never do such a thing. Have you --

"Nothing, Mom. I didn’t do anything. That might be part of the problem. I’d had plenty of time to think about it before my mother invited me over for a mandatory lunch-and-interrogation session. But since the babysitter can’t stay late, I have to go now before she quits. I can’t pick it apart for you. I don’t even understand it myself."

I’ll be doing some intensive prayer on this, Christian. And so will the church prayer circle.

Lovely. I needed the whole church gossip network activated and aware of my humiliation. Thanks. But I really have to go --

Call Daniel Timmons.

Huh?

I’ve heard of him. He’s considered an excellent divorce lawyer. Martha Etherbert swears by him. She did very well with her last two divorces.

A shark in the divorce waters. That’s who Daniel was. I know him. I was hoping --

Perhaps that will bring Stephanie to her senses. If not, the family needs to be protected from anything that woman might do.

For eleven years, Stephanie had been the angel who made her Christian into a worthy family man. Now she was that woman. Mom was loyal to her family by blood; I had to give her that. I’m a lawyer, Mom. I’m aware --

She sighed. I suppose you had better leave the girls with me. I’m getting a bit old for this, but for the good of the children --

No! I mean, thanks, Mom, but they’ve already had enough confusion this week.

Christian. Zacharias. Ramsey.

Oh shit. Now she was separating each name into three weighty sentences. Yes?

You are a man.

Yes.

Those little girls can’t grow up with just a man.

All right. I was a man. At least we agreed there, although I had my doubts about whether she believed what she said. I was almost thirty years old, and it was time to show my mother -- metaphorically only, thank God -- that I had balls. Time for us both to believe in what I was. And definitely not time for her to take control of someone else’s childhood. I’m not just a man, Mother. I’m their father. I’m the parent who is sticking around for them. And I’m not leaving them to anyone else to raise. Thanks for lunch. Good-bye.

I admit I did walk a little faster than usual to the safety of the outdoors before Mom got over being speechless. But I didn’t run. Point to me this time. That made about 4876 to 1 in this particular parent/son matchup. But maybe it was the start of a trend.

Riiight.

I let out a deep breath once I got the car onto the road. I wouldn’t have put it past Mom to leap out and plaster herself against the car window to stop me. But I’d made it out alive. Another point to me.

Shit. Now all I had to do was back up my words. If I didn’t, I would hear about it for the rest of my life.

What the hell did I know about raising girls? That had always been Stephanie’s job. What the hell did I want to know about raising girls? Not much. I’d always tuned out most of the whining and fighting that they seemed to do. Damn it, I was working a solo practice and jumping out of my butt most of the time. Stephanie had been the stay-at-home mom. The carpool person. The family organizer. The wife, damn it.

I swallowed. Fuck this… this nightmare.

We were supposed to have a marriage. I’d promised. It was a lifetime thing. I’d given up eleven fucking years -- my social life -- most of my friends from high school and college. Everything I’d ever wanted.

So things hadn’t been so good for the last year or two. Or three. We’d stayed civil. We’d worked things out. We had a good partnership going. An understanding.

You’re an asshole. My grip on the steering wheel hurt, it was so tight.

Apparently we hadn’t had anything but eleven wasted years.

And two kids.

Two kids who stared at me like I was a zombie when I came in the room and tried to pretend we were going to do things together. Annie was going to turn eleven in two months, and Pen had just turned ten. The only reason I knew Pen’s date was because my calendar alert had told me two weeks ago. I’d never forget Annie’s. I’d gotten married exactly seven months before her birth. I’d first gone out with Stephanie about two months before then.

Maybe the wonder wasn’t why I was getting divorced. It was why we’d hung on so long.

I began to figure out how much I owed the babysitter and whether I had the cash in hand. And how much more I’d pay in overtime if I played it safe and stopped at the bank first. I’d never had to worry about this chicken shit before, but it was almost a relief to let my mind spin around that problem instead of the other things I should be worried about. That was the way to play all of this. Just keep to the things I had to do and stop thinking, stop feeling. I’d end up with an ulcer if I didn’t shut my damn emotions down soon.

I would have pulled it off, I think, but it was at that moment I got my damned blast from the past. Sometimes I remembered things so clearly that it was like I was reliving it. I swear it sounded like Bill’s voice was in my ear.

It was all too vivid, including the frustration.

* * *

Why do you let her get you down? She bitched at you. The sky is blue. Water is wet.

Don’t try to be my emotional advisor, Bill. Your insights aren’t useful. I shoved at Bill’s shoulder -- it was a little like trying to push a buffalo, not that I’d ever tried that with a buffalo. I’d tried and failed to move Bill plenty of times.

Bill shrugged and then had the nerve to laugh at me. My mother had made me feel like crap for enrolling in An Intro to Classics, and all my so-called best friend could do was laugh. I was interested in Classical Greece and Rome, damn it, but my parents didn’t care. So excuse me. For some reason I was missing the joke here.

Then Bill stopped laughing, grabbed me in a headlock, and whacked me lightly on the head. "Stop it. Just. Stop. Your mother does what she does. That doesn’t mean you have to react like you’re three. Ignore her."

I don’t think you’re exactly the right person to lecture me on how to handle parents, Master of Dysfunction. Have you spoken to yours since you left for college?

Nope. I’m done with them, man. And, you know, they leave me alone too. But shit, if I had to choose, I’d rather have my old man whale on me after a few beers than deal with your folks. At least he’d pass out eventually. Yours never stop.

I didn’t know where Bill got off comparing his parents to mine. His parents had been white trash -- I didn’t like saying things like that about parents, but Bill Sr. and Betty Lou defined white trash.

Bill didn’t, because he wasn’t like them or anyone else in his family. Admittedly he looked like your typical football jock. He was a big guy, all solid muscle, with a ferocious scowl when he wanted to use it. He’d gotten into college on a football scholarship and was taking something like physical education for his major. Mostly he didn’t talk a lot -- except to lucky me, of course -- so people figured he was stupid. But usually he didn’t see any reason to say things if people had already made up their minds.

Which probably made him smarter than me.

* * *

I leaned out of the car door, punched in my code at the ATM, and tried to be patient. I didn’t want to think about Bill anymore.

He was the one I’d missed most when my wedding cleaned out my list of friends. Because he’d been my best friend. My best man.

Not because he’d made love to me right before the wedding.

I grabbed the money and took a deep breath, trying to calm down.

Then I slammed the wheel with the heel of one hand. No. I was not going back there. Not again. Not fucking ever again.

So I drove and didn’t think until I got home.

When I pulled into the driveway, I saw the door fly open. The girls had been waiting to see me? Before my heart warmed too much, they got closer and let me have a better look.

Annie ran out to the car door first, her face streaked with tears. Pen was at her heels.

Annie shrieked at me, I hate her! I hate her!

They wanted to drag me into their war zone. Fucking wonderful.

I’m sorry, Mr. Ramsey! The teenage girl who had been their babysitter for the last year or so looked frazzled as she ran up behind them both. They started up just a few minutes ago and wouldn’t simmer down.

Annie thinks she’s so all-important because she’s going to middle school tomorrow, but she’s not. She’s never going to fit in there. Ever! Pen’s voice rose with each word.

Middle school? What had I missed? They were both still in elementary school. I couldn’t have totally spaced out graduation or something -- it wasn’t the end of school yet.

God. What the hell would I do after the end of school? I could already tell from the babysitter’s face that she was not going to be a viable option for a long, hot summer with two damn near feral preteens.

Later. I’d get to it later.

Give me a minute. What’s this about middle school?

Tomorrow. I know you signed the permission slip for me to go. Annie’s fair skin was blotchy with tears.

Probably I had. Jesus, if I paid as little attention to my contracts as the kids’ endless school paperwork, I’d be out of a job.

That’s tomorrow? I ventured.

"Yes! It’s the tour for next year, and my shirt is dirty, and no one washed it!" God. Annie was almost as fanatical as her mother about her appearance.

That stupid shirt isn’t going to make you look grown up --

Pen, you’re not being helpful. What the hell was the babysitter’s name? Jesus. Brittany, Bethany… Beverly. Go show Annie how to use the washing machine.

Annie sucked in her breath at midsob.

"Why don’t you --"

Dear God. How had I been given such a spoiled, useless brat?

I kept my voice calm. Because Pen and I need to have a talk.

Annie smirked and stopped crying instantly. Beverly took Annie by the hand and led her into the house while I watched Pen scowl. Her lip jutted out as she did, making her look older and harsher than a kid should.

Spoiled and useless for one; nasty and unrepentant for two. I took a deep breath. I wasn’t going to think like that. I wasn’t going to sound like my parents at their worst when I talked to my children. The girls were just kids. I was the parent, and they were going to listen to me. They’d improve with age. Or I’d get used to them. Or something.

Or maybe I’ll just shoot myself. I realized I’d said that aloud when Pen’s scowl broke into something that looked terrified. Then she turned her head away.

Fine. Go ahead. Her voice caught in what sounded like a gasp or a sob. I almost reached out for her until she said, That’s pretty much what Mom did anyhow. And at least then we wouldn’t have to wonder if you’d come back for us.

Fuck.

* * *

I stretched out in the bed and shut my eyes. Just when I thought I’d had the worst day of my life, the next day showed up. It made me dread mornings. I held my breath, listening for more disaster. The silence was deep. Everyone else was asleep, exhausted by letting out all that emotion. I was the only one left standing, so to speak.

There’d been tears and screeching. Pen’s silence had been worse than Annie’s wails. Beverly the babysitter barely took time to grab the cash I offered before she ran out the door.

Too bad I couldn’t have run out too.

I wanted to think I’d won some kind of victory by sticking it out. At least at the end there had been a muttered, insincere apology from Pen and a clean shirt snatched from the dryer by Annie.

I wasn’t going to whine or dwell on crap. I needed to keep calm, keep my emotions from going haywire. I was going to --

I gripped my cock hard and pulled down with an exhale of breath.

I was going to take out one of my better memories, one I didn’t let myself examine that often, and get myself off. Sex, even sex with my hand, was an outlet for all the bad feelings I had to keep closeted. So I was going to jerk off. And then I was going to sleep as deeply as everyone else.

Just go ahead. God, yes. I needed that tonight.

* * *

This water is fucking cold, man! Bill yelped.

I ducked my head, pretending it was because of the spray and not because I was a little embarrassed. Sure Bill had seen me naked before, but it had been years. And I’d seen him naked, but -- well, years, like I’d said. Things had changed since we were twelve.

So? I like it cold. I picked up the soap and lathered my hair.

Since when does anyone want a cold sh -- Bill pulled me toward him and looked down. Naw, you don’t have a hard-on. So what’s the deal?

I wasn’t someone who spent a lot of time in the university gym’s shower, unlike some jocks I knew. You had to figure they were showing off their muscles and wonder why they were showing them off to other guys. That wasn’t for me.

But tonight I wasn’t going back to my dorm room until I was sure she was gone.

Why are you here anyhow? Who comes here on a Saturday night when you could be doing… anything? I made a vague gesture with my hand.

Somehow that wave managed to point out that I had four empty beer cans on the tiled floor of the shower and another two to go. Underage drinking on school grounds. That would get me in trouble if the school ever found out.

Not that Bill was going to tell. Instead he reached over and switched the water to hot.

Some of us get our fucking over with early and see our best friend walk into the gym on a Saturday night when he is supposed to be getting off with a hot chick. Bill tapped me on the shoulder, and I looked up. What’s wrong?

Damn it. Looking up was another mistake for the night. I could have handled him laughing, but he looked concerned. Bill’s gaze searched my face carefully, and then he leaned against the shower stall, dripping wet, naked, and more ripped than I would ever be in a million years. Hell, even his scars from football games gone bad looked manly and tough.

No wonder women said no to me while he got his fucking over with early.

How do you -- I swallowed hard. But if I couldn’t ask Bill, who could I ask? And I’d had at least two beers more than I usually allowed myself. I was loose. Sort of. I could do this. "How do you get women to, you know, do it?"

Do it? Bill sounded like he wanted to laugh.

You know, let a guy… I took a deep breath.

It wasn’t something Bill and I talked about a lot. I mean, he had women around all the time. He was a football player, so of course he had women. But we didn’t talk about banging them. Maybe he bragged with his jock pals and they compared notes. I didn’t have much to compare notes with, so it