Breaking Hearts (17 page)

Finally, I saw a trace of the little boy he used to be. “Of course.”

I hadn’t heard from Sean since the house painting incident, and Kieran and I settled into a routine. We played together every morning. He went to Mom’s in the afternoon so I could work. In the evening, if Simon worked or was called out of town to investigate a fire, we ate alone. If Simon had a free night, he joined us. For a while, I believed Sean had given up. I got complacent again. Not that I didn’t still lock the doors at night. I’d also nailed the windows shut, which drove my firefighter boyfriend into a tame rant at least once a week. But mostly, I didn’t think about Sean or the danger of his ever coming to Storybook Lake.

It took exactly six months and eleven days for the last shreds of my peace of mind to be ripped away. I’d gone to bed early. It felt as though I’d just dropped off to sleep when I woke up panting and sweating, a scream dying on my lips, the smell of cigar smoke and sweat as prevalent as it had been in my dream. I wiped the salty moisture from my forehead with a trembling hand as I flopped back against my pillow. The digital clock read 3:07AM, but I reached for my bathrobe. Simon offered to sleep on the couch when he’d called earlier, but I declined.
Complacent.

Aside from my no-fear outlook on life, I refused because the temptation to touch him, to tear his clothes off, itched through me whenever he so much as glanced my way. And since Sean hadn’t signed the divorce papers, we were still in PG-13 land.

Maybe because the dream seemed so real, or because the lack of moon made the night so dark, or even because I had all but given up on sleep lately, I wished I’d taken him up on his offer. In the dark, the street lights cast eerie shadows on my walls.

I checked on Kieran, then walked into the kitchen, staring at the screen ID on my cell.
Un-freaking-believable.
Sean had to have some kind of magical power. I’d changed my number so many times since I returned to Storybook Lake, I almost applied for a job in the store. Somehow, he had it again.

I flipped on the light as I popped a pod into my coffee machine. When I had a fresh cup in front of me, I punched the envelope. A picture of me in the very pajamas I wore that night sleeping in my own bed filled my screen. I ran down the hall, dropping the phone on the way. Scooping my son into my arms, I took off almost before I had a good grip on his limp, sleeping little body. I drove like a pack of hungry wolves followed me, and I had a T-bone strapped to my back.

Finally, after what felt like hours of banging, the lights came on, and Dad stood in front of me in his bathrobe, rubbing his eyes and yawning in my face. In a burst of words, I told them what happened. Daddy forced me to let him take Kieran upstairs, even though I’d rather have died than let him out of my sight. When Dad returned, we sat in the kitchen deciding what to do next. Mom dropped her hand on my shoulder in comfort while Dad sat across from me in the same bathrobe he’d had since I got it for him in fifth grade. They took turns making suggestions--private security, a safe-house until the divorce became final, a trip abroad. In my family, decisions like this were made as a group rather than as an individual. Besides, I’d come running to them, drawn them into the center of the drama. It seemed only fair to let them have their say.

“Obviously,” Dad said, “if you won’t go out of town, you’re going to stay here. We have a security system. Tomorrow, I’ll ask Fred to keep an eye out.” Fred Martin, our neighbor, had been feeble for as long as I could remember, but the man could shoot the wings off a fly at eighty paces. Dad considered Mom through his most apologetic eyes. “Honey, we need to cancel our trip to see Mary.”

“No. Don’t cancel. You guys should go. Take Kieran with you.” Tears streaked down my cheeks. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I need to know he’s safe so I can think straight without worrying about him.”

“Of course, we’ll take him. Don’t you worry about Kieran. I’ll protect him just the same as I will you.” He pulled me into the best fatherly hug ever. When a sob jerked through my body, he squeezed me tighter. “But, honey, I think we should all go.”

More than anything, I wanted to hop on the plane and fly to Aunt Mary’s cottage in England and maybe never return, but hiding from Sean would only intensify his efforts. If he didn’t find me, it would be like I won. And if there were Olympic Games for poor sports, Sean would gold medal in every event. No. I couldn’t leave.

Staying and fighting made sense to me, even if it did not to my parents or Simon. This cat and mouse game had gone on long enough. “I’ll be okay, Daddy. I just want Kieran out of here…you know, in case.” He released me.

“Then I’ll stay with you. I can’t leave my girl out here on her own.”

There were days these people had me rethinking my renewed no drinking stance. Today was not one of those days. “No, Daddy. I would rather you help mom with Kieran.” He opened his mouth. “Please, Dad.”

While Mom called the police and told them about my house and my phone, I called the club to see if Joey had seen Sean. I wanted some assurance that my husband hadn’t yet booked a flight to kill me. Joey, the man who’d given me the little green book to use as leverage, told me Sean occupied his usual corner table at the bar. I breathed a sigh of relief for my short-term safety as I checked the peephole in the window. I couldn’t take the chance that Sean would take our lives from a Springer episode to
Law & Order
.

After Luke Mabry, town sheriff, went over to investigate at my house, he came to Mom’s to share what he had, and mostly what he hadn’t, found.

Mom offered him a “nice hot cup of coffee.” In our house, she didn’t use her PhD to shrink us or analyze our problems. She offered us internationally flavored coffee. From her spot by the coffee maker, she gave him his choice of the dilemma-solving flavors for the night--hazelnut or a light butterscotch caramel. Luke, manly man, sheriff in his brown uniform and shiny gold badge, chose a cup of hazelnut cream. then went on for a good five minutes about the delicious “aroma.”

By the time he finished, I’d practically tapped a hole through the table with my fingers. I’d lost the last of my patience after his third “Mmm. This is good!”

“Luke, I’m sure the coffee is delicious, but maybe we can focus on
my problem
for a minute before you start buying stock in the company?”

He pushed his mug away. “Sorry, Dani. There were no broken windows, no forced entry, nothing to indicate anyone’s been in your house but you.”

“But you saw the picture, right?” Oh, Lord. He had to believe me.

He nodded as he handed his cup to my mother for yet another refill. “And we know what is going on with you and your husband. Don’t worry. No one is going to get you in this town.” He chuckled. “Well, except maybe Joss.”

I pantomimed a laugh. “Funny.”

He handed me my phone. “If I were you, I’d get the number changed. He won’t be able to call you then.”

I nodded, biting my tongue. “Good idea. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that.”

He either missed the sarcasm or ignored it. Instead, he accepted his mug and took another big drink.

Mom grabbed me by the shoulders to steer me out into the living room away from where Luke and my father sat discussing the personal security measures I should take. After a few moments of cursing my bad luck, my personal security measures arrived.

Simon gathered me into his arms. “I told you I should have spent the night.”

His hair hung in damp ringlets from a shower. I stood there inhaling his fresh clean scent as he held me.

He rested his cheek on top of my head. “Dani. Dani. Dani.”

Minutes after Luke left, my parents climbed the stairs to their bedroom. Simon and I sat on the couch in the family room, the TV tuned to some too-cute-to-be-real nineteen-nineties sitcom. In moments like these, I wished Simon had wanted me enough the first time to keep me. “What’s that face about?” He tipped my chin up and gazed into my eyes.

“What face?”

“This frown.” He reached out and ran his finger over my lips.

I focused on the TV, trying to will any forlorn or wistful looks from my face. “It’s been a rough night.”

“I’m here now.” He brought my hand to his lips. “Let me protect you.”

“If something happens to you, Simon…”

He kissed the rest of my sentence into oblivion. “It won’t.”

“You don’t know what he’s capable of.” And I couldn’t bring myself to share the gory details.

“I was sheriff here once, you know.”

“Okay, but you’re not now.”

“I still have the gun.”

“Really? Where is it?” Because I hadn’t seen it in ages.

“In my car. Don’t worry. If I need it, I have it on speed dial.”

“I don’t think this is a time for your humor, funny man.” I scooted away, fluffing a pillow for behind my head. Simon watched me, an amused smile playing with his lips as I worked to get comfortable, flopping like a fish from side to side until finally I found a semi-comfortable position.

“Do you remember the fifth grade?”

He wanted to take a jaunt down our middle school memory lane? The inner workings of his mind amazed me. I smiled in spite of myself. “Most of it.” I remembered Simon in fifth grade--adorable even then. He’d always had a sweet face. His playful nature was a bonus.

“Did you know you’re the first girl I ever kissed?”

“Oh, whatever.” I tossed my pillow at him. “You were always holding hands with Leslie Anderson. I know you guys were making out whenever Sister Irene wasn’t watching. And you’re changing the subject right now because you know I’m right.”

“No way. You were the first.” He tilted his head. “You know, people go their whole lives thinking they’ll never feel the magic of that first kiss ever again. They search for that little tingle of thrill. They always wonder why it can’t ever be so perfect again. Most of them don’t ever feel it after that first one, but”--I raised my legs to let him move closer--“I feel it every time I kiss you.”

My heart thrashed around in my chest as though it were trying to escape. “Are you saying I kiss like a fifth grader?” My voice rasped as I tried to make light of his revelation.

He chuckled softly. “We need to work on our communication.” He pulled my hand until I sat up, then kissed the tip of my nose. “I’m saying how much I like kissing you.”

“Well, in that case…” I leaned into him at the same moment he moved forward. We ended up bumping heads. “I think we may have been better at it in the fifth grade.” I rubbed the spot between my eyes for a second before we tried again.

He pulled me close, my ear resting against his heart. “I don’t know. I think we’re pretty good at it now.”

“I think you’re too good to be true, Simon Hunter.”

My parents left two days later, taking Kieran on an adventure to “where dragons lived,” and my boy couldn’t have smiled wider. I hadn’t been out of the house at all since I arrived, and spending so much alone time with Simon, who always seemed to be touching me in one way or another, wore on my resolve to hang on to the innocence of our relationship. The simple fact remained…. I couldn’t sleep with him until he had all the facts.

“Hey.” He couldn’t have been more tempting if he wrapped himself in chocolate. My heart thumped harder as I stepped behind him, inhaling the scent of his cologne. With a tingle shooting from my chest down each leg, long ignored areas of my body vibrated to life.

“Hey.” With a final quick sniff, I levered away from him. I went in search of the coffeemaker.

“Kelly can’t afford her apartment anymore, and she’s moving in with Gatlin today. I thought maybe you’d like to go along to help?”

Visions of the dream I’d had the night before danced through my head, and I curled my fingers into my palm to keep from grabbing him. While moving furniture didn’t constitute my idea of a party, I would be with Simon. “Sure.”

He leaned in for a kiss that had me rethinking my whole position on temptation and good behavior. I couldn’t take another minute of staring without jumping on him. His smoldering gaze said he’d been equally affected.

“You ready?” His voice had climbed an octave higher than normal. I smiled and he led me out to his car, which presented a whole other problem. Not only were we more confined with no room to flee and no distractions, but his car smelled like him and the scent intoxicated me more than any alcohol that ever passed my lips. During the five minute ride, his thumb rubbed small circles on the back of my hand as he drove.

By the time he parked behind her building, I panted as though I’d run a marathon. A sheen of sweat glistened on his upper lip and, for one second, I smiled, secure in the knowledge our suffering equaled out.

With a lusty gaze up and down my body, he took my hand again. I willed my jelly legs to reform as solids before I climbed out of the car. Hand-in-hand, we walked through the garden courtyard into Kelly’s home sweet home. The front of the building looked like every other apartment building in town--blooming flower beds, a brick front, ornate moldings, and a door stolen from some far off fairytale castle.

Her apartment, however, demonstrated exactly how much color could be stuffed into a single room. The couch, a bright shade of turquoise blended nicely with throw pillows in the same sunny shade as the walls. The dinette set, sitting off on a neon orange rug, had been stained a blond color, and the chairs held cushions that matched the couch precisely. Bright orange lamps cast a triangular glow on the hardwood floor, and the sofa shared space with banana colored chairs that winged each end. The focal point of the room--a movie screen sized TV--hung over an ornate fireplace in a muted, but still quite bright turquoise.

“Wow.”

Kelly strolled up. “My mom liked things very bright.”

I didn’t comment on her use of the past tense. As far as I knew her mother had gone away, not died.

Gatlin handed her a cold beer and a warm slice of pizza. I declined the food, but chugged Keaton’s bottle of water as he stared at his now empty hand. “Gatlin has been working in my closet. I thought we could use my car and Simon’s to transport my clothes while the boys move the furniture.”