Back To The Start Box Set: Five Full-Length Novels

by Aly Martinez

  “No way. You can’t pause Jeopardy! You walk out of the room, you forfeit those questions to me. So now I’m up twelve to nine.”

  “I only got up because you asked for another glass of wine!”

  “Well it’s not my fault that you lack the ability to say no to a sexy woman.” She bats her eyelashes at me.

  “Oh, well in that case…” I turn the glass, pouring two drops onto the wood floor.

  “Don’t you dare, Brett Sharp! You know that’s my last glass of wine.” She jumps up from the couch, trying to snatch it from me.

  “What’s the score, Sarah?”

  “Twelve to nine.”

  “Wrong answer.” I pour out two more drops.

  “Brett! Stop being an ass. I’m serious. Don’t pour out my wine!” She stands up on the chair next to me, trying to jump high enough to reach it. She is by no means short, but I’ve got her by at least six inches.

  “What’s the score?”

  “You know what, just forget it. You can pour out the wine.” She walks back to the couch, sitting down and propping her feet up on the ottoman.

  Shit. This means trouble.

  Sarah never gives up this easily. Last week, we had almost the exact same fight over a “friendly” game of Uno. It ended with my balls being so blue that they were registering on the purple side of the color spectrum. She pretended to give up, walking away just like she did tonight. However, last week, when I got close enough to her, she dropped to her knees, giving me the most amazing blowjob ever to be performed. She kept me on edge for over an hour, working me with her mouth as only Sarah could. When I finally couldn’t take it anymore, desperate with the need to come, she kissed the tip and whispered to my throbbing cock, “Sorry, but I definitely said Uno first.” Then she walked out of the room.

  Trying to shake off the horrible memory, I say, “I’m not letting you near my dick this time.”

  “Okay.” She continues to stare at the TV screen.

  “I’m serious.”

  “Oh, I have no doubt that you are, Brett,” she says with an evil smile on her face as she reaches down, pulling her shirt over her head.

  “Shit,” I say as I watch her lick her fingers and circle her nipples.

  “It’s really a shame you won’t be letting me anywhere near that big dick of yours tonight. You looked insanely hot when you came home all sweaty from the gym tonight. It took everything I had to actually cook dinner and not touch myself, knowing you were naked in my shower.” She continues to stroke her breasts while one hand drifts down her stomach, stopping at the waistband of her shorts.

  “Jesus.” I reach down and start rubbing my growing erection as she continues to torture me.

  “If I’m being honest, I’ve been waiting all night to show you a few new toys I bought online. They arrived today, and while it isn’t nearly as big as you are, I’m sure it will help dull the ache on a night like this.” She finishes on a groan as her hand finally makes its way into her shorts.

  In times like these, you have to let go of your pride. Alone and proud, or balls-deep and coming. So I relent to her sexual terrorism.

  “Twelve to nine, and I’ll buy you a new bottle of wine tomorrow.” I move over to her and crush my mouth to hers, shoving my hand down her pants to join her moving fingers.

  “Oh thank God. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep that up. I loved watching you get hard through your pants like that. I almost got off on that alone.”

  “You are going to kill me one of these days with all of your crazy games.”

  “I hope not. I’d miss you.”

  “Right, because then who would you play Jeopardy with?” I ask, causing her to laugh before she pulls her shorts off and climbs into my lap.

  “I love you,” she says, sinking down onto my waiting erection. “And thank you for the big bottle of wine.”

  “Who said anything about it being a big bottle?” I run my hands over her ass, trying to push her down a little faster, but she freezes at my words with only the tip nestled inside. “Okay, okay. Fine. A big bottle. I’ll buy you a whole damn vineyard if you stop teasing and fuck me right now.”

  “Now that I can do.” She slams herself down, causing us both to shout out a curse.

  That was Sarah, and I loved the entire quirky package. She was everything I wanted and needed in my life. She kept me in line when it was time to study for exams. Including her personal version of oral exams, one lick for every question I answered correctly. Unfortunately for my grades, her licks were entirely too effective and we never made it past question three. She also helped me fill out my application for the academy by straddling my lap naked while feeding me leftover lo mein. She was more than my everything—Sarah was my forever.

  Eight months, two days, and twelve hours after I first laid eyes on Sarah Erickson, I asked her to marry me. It wasn’t the over-the-top romantic display most women brag about, but it was us. I cooked her a disgusting dinner and made her a tragically ugly cake. I gave her a five-by-seven photo of Alex Trebek with this clue scrawled on the back:

  Approximately 2,063,000 men ask this question every year. Only about fifty-four percent never ask it again.

  It took her a few minutes to answer. I’m not sure she even truly understood what was happening. When I got down on one knee, holding out the tiniest diamond coal has ever produced, she squealed out in true Jeopardy form, “What is: Will you marry me!” Tears were streaming down her face.

  Laughing, I teased, “Yes. You don’t have to yell. Of course I’ll marry you.”

  This comment earned me a punch to the stomach, one that didn’t even register in the midst of my elation over the fact that this beautiful woman was going to be my wife. I never once let her forget that she’d actually proposed to me.

  Sarah and I lived a happy life. It wasn’t perfect. We fought like any young couple, but that gave us even more opportunities for make-up sex—a personal favorite of ours. I finished college and entered the police academy, eventually graduating at the top of my class. Sarah put hours of work into writing, yet she never finished a single book. She always said that she just had too many ideas.

  Sarah’s two best friends, Manda and Casey, were fixtures in our lives. Once we got married, we didn’t go to the clubs as often, but occasionally the girls would drag me out. One particular night, we ran into a fellow rookie detective, Caleb Jones. He took an immediate interest in “Regina.” He even laughed when I pulled him aside and informed him that her name was actually Manda.

  Those two did the on-again-off-again thing for years before Caleb told her he was done with the bullshit and wanted to get married. It was mainly Manda who was playing games, so she was a hard sell, but apparently Caleb can be very persuasive when he wants to be. It was Manda who got the last laugh, accepting his proposal but refusing to actually tie the knot.

  The four of us became extremely close. It was nice to have another couple to hang out with on the weekends. Sarah and Manda planned Friday evenings full of drunken board games. If Casey happened to be dating someone, they came too. Caleb and I later ended up being partnered together at work, and eventually, he became my best friend. Even when he and Manda were in an “off phase,” Caleb would still meet me at the hole-in-the-wall bar down the street to watch whatever sport was in season.

  April 18, 2009, was the day the world came crashing down on our picture perfect little group. The four of us decided to go out for dinner at our favorite pizza joint. Westies has the most delicious deep-dish Chicago pizza you have ever tasted, and the cheap beer didn’t hurt either. We went there almost weekly for years, but I’ve never been back since that night. Caleb and I got called away on a case, and Sarah and Manda decided to stay and finish dinner.

  “Got to go, babe,” I said to Sarah while nodding to Caleb across the table. “Seems they found Mrs. Reynolds alive and well, shacked up with her pool boy.”

  “Oh my God, Brett. Isn’t she like seventy-five years old?” Manda asked in disgus
t from across the table.

  “Seventy-eight, actually. But we need to go close this one out. It shouldn’t take long. We just need to see her wrinkly face and take a statement that she was never really missing. Seven million pages of paperwork all because Granny got horny.”

  The girls let out loud “ewws” in unison while Caleb and I stood to leave.

  “I’ll meet you back at the house, sweetheart.” I leaned forward, kissing Sarah’s forehead while tucking a stray blond hair behind her ear.

  “Okay. Y’all be careful. Love you, babe.”

  “I love you too.”

  We both kissed the girls one last time, clueless to the fact that, in less than two hours, one of them would be dead and the other would be lost forever.

  * * *

  WE WERE talking to Mrs. Reynolds when our pagers started going off. I excused myself to the other room while Caleb continued to take her statement. The words scrolling across the screen marked the end of what I knew to be my life and would haunt my dreams for years to come.

  Single car accident on I290 near Damen Ave. One fatality and one seriously injured. Silver Honda, 2 women mid 20’s. Det’s Jones and Sharp required on scene immediately.

  “Caleb!” I cry, bolting toward the car as the words one fatality flash behind my eyelids with each blink.

  I jump into the car, dialing Sarah’s number, hoping for a miracle. I am desperate to hear her sleepy voice pick up the phone while she lies tucked safely in our bed. Her voicemail picks up and my heart drops to my stomach.

  “Oh shit! This is not happening,” I whisper to myself. Taking a deep breath and scrubbing my hands across my face, I try to pull myself together enough to drive.

  My head starts to swirl with scenarios that would leave them both completely unharmed. Maybe they just got carried away talking and are still hanging at Westies. Maybe they went to see a movie after dinner. There’s a bar just two doors down from the restaurant—maybe they went there. I pick up my phone to call her one more time, praying that this time she will answer. In my gut, I know it’s just wishful thinking. One fatality and one injury. I start the car, barely slowing down as Caleb jumps inside.

  “It’s not them, Brett.”

  “Did Manda answer her phone?”

  “No, but I just know it. It’s not them.”

  “It’s them. I can feel it,” I say, staring straight ahead and weaving through oncoming traffic.

  “Shut the fuck up. It’s not them, God damn it!”

  “Silver Honda, two women in their mid-twenties, on the exact route they would take home?” I say with an eerie calm to my voice.

  “It’s not fucking them!” Caleb screams at the top of his lungs while punching the dashboard. He then grabs his phone, frantically trying to call every patrol cop he has on speed dial. But no one answers his calls.

  We drive the rest of the way in silence. One fatality and one injury. A few miles out from the accident, I stop hoping that it isn’t them in that car. Instead, I do the most horribly selfish thing I will ever do in this lifetime. One fatality and one injury. Looking over at Caleb sitting with his head in his hands, I don’t feel one bit of guilt as I start praying that it’s Manda who is dead.

  When Caleb and I arrive at the scene, there are ambulances everywhere. I can see Sarah’s car folded in half around a tree. It takes everything I have not to throw up at the very sight. I’m not sure how either one of them could have survived a wreck this severe.

  My car barely slows before Caleb is out running toward the mangled heap of metal. I’m not but five steps behind him. Off in the wood line, I can see the sheet covering what I know to be a body.

  “Oh God, please. Please don’t let that be her,” I chant to myself as I make my way to the wood line.

  As I squeeze between police cars and ambulances, I’m suddenly shoved from the side and fall into an open ambulance. Dave Young, a street cop I knew from the academy and the only man on the force bigger than I am, shoves me the rest of the way into the empty ambulance. He quickly shuts the door and yells for the driver to go.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” I say, lunging towards the back of the ambulance, ready to claw my way out if I have to. I look out the window just in time to see Caleb drop to his knees on the side of the road before I feel the ambulance start to speed away.

  “You don’t need to be there for that, Brett,” Dave says as the familiar siren screams into my ears.

  “Where’s Sarah?”

  “She’s probably at the hospital by now. Left a few minutes before you got there. She had a heartbeat and was breathing, but they couldn’t get her to wake up. They worked on her for a while. She’s got some pretty deep cuts on her arms and legs. She was thrown from the car. She’s banged up, but I heard from Dan that she started mumbling something just before they loaded her up. That’s a good sign, Brett.”

  “Holy fuck.” The relief I feel at his words leaves me lightheaded. I lean back trying to catch my swirling head and steady my racing pulse. As the adrenalin leaves my body, my hands and legs begin to shake and tears pool in my eyes.

  “All right, man. Get it together. We’re only a few minutes from your woman, and now would be a shitty time to show her what a pussy you really are,” he tries to joke.

  I let out a relieved laugh, forgetting all about the heartbreak that is taking place just a few miles behind us.

  Chapter Five

  Brett

  WHEN THE ambulance pulls into the emergency entrance to the hospital, I jump out and run, Dave hot on my heels.

  “Slow down, Sharp. You know they aren’t going to let you see her yet.”

  “I just need to know what’s going on,” I say just as I step up to the desk, pulling out my badge and flashing it to the nurse. “Sarah Sharp. She was brought in a few minutes ago after a car accident. Where is she?” I bark, more anxious than angry. I pinch the bridge of my nose impatiently as she starts typing on the computer.

  “Sir, she doesn’t have a room assigned yet. Give me a minute and I’ll ask the doctor where she is.”

  “Forget it,” I snap, motioning for her to buzz me through the doors into the emergency area.

  She pauses, seemingly unsure if she should let such an obviously unstable man into the back. She looks over my shoulder at Dave for some sort of answer. He reluctantly motions for her to let us in.

  Dave darts in front, stopping me by shoving his hand into my chest. “You have to calm down! I know you’re upset, but no one is going to tell you where she is when you’re acting like this. You’re scaring the nurses. Even if you do find her, do you think her seeing you this crazy is going to help her? Take a deep breath and chill the hell out!”

  He’s right. I know he is. But a few minutes ago, I thought my wife was dead. I just need to lay my eyes on her to truly convince myself that she’s okay. I take a deep breath and allow Dave to take the lead in asking doctors and nurses for Sarah’s whereabouts.

  Finally, a doctor informs us that she is awake and they are running a CT scan. He leads us into her room while we wait for her to return. In the corner, draped across a chair, is a plastic bag where they placed all her belongings. I reach inside and pull out her jewelry, trying to find something that will make me feel close to her right now. I just need something of hers to hold, something tangible to ground me. I decide on her wedding rings, but the first thing I pull out is a silly half of a heart that says, “Be Fri.” I know that Manda has the other half, and when joined together, they say, “Best Friends.” The girls wore these silly necklaces everywhere. While I would love to tell you they have had them since their middle school years, the truth is that they bought them last year while away on vacation together.

  “Oh God, Manda.” Suddenly, it hits me that she’s gone. I fall back into the chair, tears springing from my eyes. “This isn’t happening.”

  Dave leans against the doorjamb, allowing me just enough privacy without actually leaving me alone.

  “Where’s Caleb?” I man
age to choke out.

  “He’s with the body. They got here a few minutes ago.”

  “I need to find him.”

  “No, you don’t. You need to be here for Sarah when she gets back. There is nothing you can do for Jones right now.”

  Again, I know he is right, but that doesn’t stop the stabbing pain in my heart at the very thought of what Caleb is feeling right now. I sink deeper into my chair, trying to calm my nerves by reminding myself that Sarah is alive and well. I’m the lucky one in this situation. That’s a joke though. This hurts too damn bad to feel lucky about anything.

  An hour later, they wheel in a battered woman who barely resembles my wife. I jump out of the chair, and the moment our eyes lock Sarah bursts into tears. I rush over, needing to hold her (although, by the way she looks, it’s going to hurt like hell). As gently as I can, I lean over her bed, drawing her face into my neck.

  “What happened, Brett? No one will tell me anything. They just keep telling me I was in a wreck, but I don’t even remember being in a car. Everyone keeps staring at me, and I can’t help but feel like I’m missing something here.”

  “Shhhh, it’s okay, baby. I’ve got you now,” I whisper into her blood-streaked hair. I realize this is the only comfort she has before I have to tell her all about the accident.

  * * *

  “SARAH, CALM down.”

  “Who was driving the fucking car, Brett? I swear to God, if you don’t tell me, I’m going to get out of this bed and ask Caleb myself.”

  “You have to calm down or the doctors are going to kick me out.”

  “Who was driving the fucking car?” she screams with a guttural intensity that makes me know she will make good on her threat of asking Caleb. The last thing in the world she needs to do is talk to Manda’s grieving fiancé.

  “We don’t know, beautiful. Witnesses at the restaurant said you were driving, but the first on scene said it was a redhead behind the wheel. You were both thrown from the car. We honestly don’t know.” I try to explain as gently as I can.