Sanctuary (Family Justice Book 3) (7 page)

Hauling ass off the sofa, he headed for the bathroom and a hot shower. Picking out a tie would be overkill, but he could clean up and ditch the slob clothes.

“Ahhh,” she screamed as a box fell from the closet shelf and smacked the side of her head. Tears welled in her eyes, equal parts boo-hoo ‘cause she got hurt and frustration.

Maybe cleaning out her wardrobe wasn’t such a bright idea.

Dropping onto her bed, Heather sank to the mattress and rubbed her fingers back and forth beneath her nose. Squeezing her eyes shut, she willed the tears away, drawing her lower lip between her teeth.

Ugh. New Year’s Eve.
Her least favorite of nights. Too many unhappy memories. None worth getting riled up over, but riled up she was or she wouldn’t be battling tears.

It wasn’t even time for lunch, yet she’d already cleaned her bathroom … corners and all … and done three loads of laundry.

“This is what you’d call a manic state fueled by anger and fear.”

Who was she talking to? Why George, of course. He didn’t seem to mind, having to listen to her random thoughts. Mostly, like now, he curled up nearby and silently watched. And he’d been even more watchful since the night she came home wrapped in Brody’s scent.

Gah.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Heather flopped backward onto the bed. She hated this feeling. Really hated it. The only way to describe it was feeling like plastic wrap stretched far too tight.

Rolling to her side, she pulled up her knees and tucked both hands beneath her cheek. George’s big, brown doggie eyes seemed to soften. Getting up, he padded to the side of the bed and obediently sat, but she knew what he wanted.

With a sigh, she let one hand fall to the mattress where she patted a couple of times and murmured, “Okay, boy. Come on up.” He was up on the bed and curled into her before she had time to move.

It took less than ten seconds to admit that lying down was a bad idea. As soon as she relaxed, her mind flooded with thoughts. That was why she kept busy. No time for inconvenient memories. Or fantasies.

Too late. No amount of frantic busywork stopped the avalanche of confusion and concern that slammed into her.

Brody.

She hadn’t handled the other day very well because he’d taken her by surprise. Maybe that explained her current turmoil. Nice thought but she was an adult so some lame ‘Oh my god’ excuse wasn’t going to cut it.

Something was changing in their relationship but since it wasn’t her initiating those changes, she was in a free-falling panic. She didn’t want this. Never wanted to think about what they were doing and engage her emotions. Wasn’t that why they’d been operating as two grown-ups who had sex? Period. No emotional entanglement required. No hurt feelings or wondering what the other person was thinking. Straightforward, naked, balls-to-the-wall screwing with no strings attached. Heather didn’t have anything else to bring to the table, and she thought they were on the same page where that was concerned.

They fucked. Did she consciously know that labeling what they did in crude terms was a coping mechanism? Of course, she did. But that damn Christmas card started a chain reaction that led to her coming completely undone in his bed. She’d been shocked by her response. Hell, the whole encounter shocked her. There was some talking. Not a lot, but enough. And cuddling. There was definitely some cuddling and a bunch of limbo kisses … after and before … and more silent sensory communication than she was comfortable with.

After the first time when she’d ridden him like a pro on the giddy-up circuit, they’d ended up showering together because he just wouldn’t leave her alone in the bathroom. It wasn’t the first time they’d gotten frisky under a showerhead, but holy god, what they ended up doing was something for the record books.

Heather didn’t realize that besides being generally hot as shit, Brody was also a goddamn machine with the strength of an Olympic hero. Awareness of him buried inside her while she clung to his torso with her ankles crossed behind his back turned her unusually desperate. Unable to get enough despite being challenged by the intensity of his pounding, she undulated on each plunge, crying out when the angle of penetration sent her flying.

Mid-flight, he’d grunted, “Come for me, sweet lady,” and boy, oh boy, that was exactly what she did. The shower sex, the screaming orgasm … nothing new in that. What was different was climaxing on command … and the words he used.

He carried her from the shower once she finally came back to her senses and positioned them into a purposeful snuggle in the middle of the big bed. Something about the way his solid chest pressed against her back and the feel of his sturdy legs entwined with hers sent shards of crumbling brick from the wall she kept around her heart tumbling into the emptiness of her soul.

She’d been terrified by the reaction. Despite a marriage on her ledger, she could state with complete honesty that being held so lovingly in the aftermath of an intense coupling was a first. And something she was unprepared to deal with.

Buuuut … she stayed. For a long time.
Why was that?
he wondered. Why didn’t she run, right then and there? Did she need to stick not just her hand but also her whole damn body into the fire to see, what? If it would hurt? Damage her even more? Kill her completely?

Rubbing a hand on George’s fur, she tried to shake off her messy feelings. Honestly … she didn’t have the luxury of dwelling on this stuff. What was done was done. Giving in to Brody during a moment of weakness was a one-off. That’s all it was. On that one point, there was no choice. No wiggle room.

Brody Jensen was a seat filler. Or a bed warmer, considering the role he played in her life. And nothing more. She wouldn’t allow it to be any more. Couldn’t.

Jason Allen saw to that.

When it came to ex-husbands, hers was the poster boy of villains. A superstar to all men who treated their women like shit—doing the unthinkable time and again as if it was a right.

What Jason did to her
… Heather shuddered.

“Maybe this was inevitable,” she murmured sadly into the dog’s fur. “Fuck New Year’s Eve.” The rough sigh she pushed out was big enough to fill her apartment.

Shifting, she huddling closer to George’s solid warmth, cringing when foolishly allowing her ex into her thoughts brought it all crashing back.

She’d been like every other teenager fresh from high school. Freed from the guiding influence of family and friends, Heather threw herself into the university experience. Chasing a double major in psychology and social work, she’d kept up her end by maintaining a comfortable average and earning the praise of her instructors. Everyone said, she’d been a fabulous student.

And then there was the social part of college life. She’d been a card-carrying member of the Coulda Shoulda Sorority— Kegger-in-the-Woods Chapter. Though not wild, she excelled at being a Drinks Master and quickly learned to create cocktails with only one purpose. Kicking ass.

Along the way, she flitted in and out of the dating scene until Jason Allen came into the picture. Everyone said he was a bona fide catch. Rich parents, no school loans to pay off, and reasonable good looks—he was also low-hanging fruit when it came to expectations and a moral code.

Initially a flirtation, things quickly escalated to the next level. College was an excess of so many things. The drinking, partying, and general craziness was no exception. In her case, she spent too much time going along with things she shouldn’t have. And that included sleeping with Jason.

At first, everything was good. It was a college romance. No harm, no foul. But after a while, Heather started noticing little things. Subtleties in his behavior that should have set off alarms. That part she still beat herself up over.

Anyway … they made it through. After a memorable cap and gown ceremony, she was set to start grad school in the fall, and he was headed to the family business. But first, there was a graduation trip to look forward to. The grand tour, it was called … all the usual tourist traps on a six-week jam-packed adventure through Europe. Jason ended up complaining and bitching the entire time. His whining exhausted her. Poor spoiled brat was quick with a rude comment for everything. The water wasn’t hot enough. His pillow was flat. Nobody knew how to brew a proper American cup of coffee.
Ugh
. The trip became a nightmare. Worn down by Jason’s selfish demands, she’d ended up counting the days till it was over.

When the fall term rolled around, she bounced for grad school while he got settled in one of Daddy’s businesses. They were still a couple, but things were rocky. At Thanksgiving break, he begged her to fly in and spend the holiday with his family … a decision that triggered a chain reaction of events that changed the course of her life.

She still remembered how it began with crystal clarity. Everything was great until the tail end of a stuffy, formal sit-down dinner. As the assembled group rose to leave the dining room, Heather’s sense of balance took an unexpected vacation. Slithering to the floor, her forehead banged the edge of the table as she went down.

Everything went blurry after that. Heather had a vague recollection of Jason standing around doing nothing. And another semi-recollection of Mrs. Allen freaking out. The part she did remember was the paramedics lifting her onto a gurney and then loading her into the back of an ambulance with hideous flashing lights. Heather shifted uncomfortably and hugged George tighter. To this day, she hated flashing lights. They gave her an immediate panic attack.

After whacking her head, she was in no way prepared for the emergency room doctor to drop the mother of all bombshells. She was pregnant. Almost four months. And that was when all holy hell broke loose.

Far from the protection of her family, she’d been hustled, bamboozled, and threatened by the Allens from the start. All they talked about was
Jason, Jason, Jason
. His career. His future. They’d kept insisting that by doing the right thing, her future would be set. It felt like a nonstop ride on the what-the-fuck express to hell. They were relentless. Manipulative. Demanding.

And Jason? He was drunk most of the time. Oh yeah, and after she was released from the hospital? On the drive home, he’d pulled into a random parking lot, unzipped his pants, and whipped it out for her to take care of.

No. For real. That shit happened. Even all these years later, Heather still recoiled at the memory.

She’d passed out and whacked her head … spent the night in the hospital. He’d gotten her pregnant. Fun times. His reaction? Suck my dick.

They were married twenty-four hours later in a judge’s chambers after Jason’s dad pulled every string he could. Her parents weren’t even there. As newlyweds, they spent their wedding night in Jason’s childhood bedroom in his parents’ opulent home. Her bridegroom was so fucked up that he passed out on the floor while she huddled in the bed and cried.

She left for school the following morning. The weeks between Thanksgiving and the semester break were a nightmare. Sick as a dog, she experienced morning sickness that lasted all day. Only it wasn’t technically pregnancy-related. Anxiety and fear—a sense of impending doom on top of her coursework—created a toxic emotional sludge that overtook her like quicksand.

Her new in-laws, always so damn preoccupied with their standing in the community and what other people thought, were throwing a holiday party that would double as a wedding celebration. Heather’s mom and dad were flying in and Travis even promised he’d try to make it.

With her newlywed husband completely ignoring his pregnant wife, she was miserable, sick, and very, very alone. The bastard hadn’t even bothered to pick her up at the airport, sending a cab instead.

Stepping from the cab, she got as far as the door before the shit hit the fan at full force with stunning speed. When she’d left at Thanksgiving, unless you knew she was pregnant, there was no evidence that there was a bun in her oven. But at five months, her belly was definitely popping and no one could mistake she was knocked up.

Feeling like shit twenty-four seven, she looked how she felt. Her parents having arrived just hours before were appalled at her appearance. The Allens were more concerned with Jason’s disappearing act than how she was doing. Their total focus was centered on him, just not his inexcusable behavior.

Her reluctant husband didn’t make an appearance until everyone was gathered around the dinner table. He wasn’t drunk, but she knew damn well he was under the influence of something. Barely acknowledging her, he’d also ignored her parents. Through the entire holiday meal, he’d sniveled incessantly about wanting a new car for Christmas. A red convertible with zero safety features and absolutely nowhere to put a car seat. In short, he wasn’t interested in a family car.

When dinner was over and she stood, her father held her chair and helped her up. That was when Jason finally remembered she was there. Struggling from her seat, he gaped at her with clear disapproval. When she’d smoothed a hand over her growing belly, he’d reacted with shock. Spittle flying from his slack-jawed mouth, the man she was married to thundered, “You’re fat,” at the top of his lungs.