Shattered Dreams (Vegas Dreams Book 2)

by Cheryl Bradshaw

  “Ready for what?”

  “You can’t step into your future until you step out of your past.”

  “How do I ... I mean, I don’t even know how.”

  “For starters, stop suppressing everything. Let it out. Have a good cry. Have ten good cries if that’s what it takes. Hit something. Anything. Hard.” She pushed her face in front of mine, tapped a finger on her chin. “Hit me if it will make you feel better. Come on. Do it!”

  I leaned back. “You’ve gone mad.”

  “You’ve got to get the rage out. The real Sasha’s in there somewhere. I need you to resurrect her and remember how good it feels to be yourself again, the person you want to be, not the girl he turned you into.”

  She was right, but then, she always was right.

  Rae pointed at the papers I’d just filled out.

  “What?” I asked.

  “The paperwork. I’m going to take it with me.”

  “Why?”

  “Damon always seems to find a reason to weasel his way inside this house when he brings the kids home, so let’s not take a chance that he’ll find them. I’ll keep them safe. He doesn’t need to know what’s happening until it’s already happened.”

  I complied with her request, handed her the papers. It seemed logical, although I’m sure I could have thought of plenty of places to stash the documents where he’d never look. My underwear drawer came to mind. Even when we were married, he never looked in there. But then, why would he when his head was stuck inside every other drawer in town?

  “Is there something I should know about?” I asked. “I feel like the three of you are keeping something from me.”

  She grinned, waited for me to realize what she’d been trying to tell me all along.

  “Right,” I said. “Trust you.”

  She patted me on the leg, stood. “Everything is going to be all right, Sasha. You’ll see.”

  I kissed my daughters goodbye and dropped them off at school a little after eight the next day. Then it was time for my morning ritual. I drove to the coffee shop, ordered a non-fat vanilla latte, and arrived back home at five to nine. A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door.

  Rae.

  “What are you doing here so early?” I asked.

  “Visiting you. I was on my way to the office and thought I’d drop by, see how you’re doing.”

  She stepped inside but remained at the entryway. She wouldn’t be staying long.

  “I’m guessing you’re here for a reason?”

  She placed a hand on my shoulder. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “What isn’t?”

  “I wanted to give you a heads up.”

  “About?”

  “Damon.”

  “Why?”

  “There’s a chance he might make an appearance today.”

  “Wait—here?”

  She nodded.

  “Rae, what’s going on?”

  “He’s being served.”

  “What?! When?”

  She glanced at her phone. “Umm ... right about now.”

  “How could he be? Rae! What did you do?”

  “I passed your divorce documents off to Gideon O’Shea last night.”

  “Who’s Gideon O’Shea?”

  “Your new lawyer.”

  “An Irish lawyer?”

  She bobbed her shoulders up and down. “Think so. Your hot Irish lawyer. I hear he’s single too.”

  “A ginger is working my case?” I asked.

  “May I remind you that you’re a ginger too?”

  Two gingers working together. In a weird way, I felt like my Wonder Twin powers had just activated.

  Rae picked a business card out of her wallet, handed it to me. “I’ve scheduled an appointment for you today at one o’clock at his office. Okay?”

  “Why have I never heard of this person?” I asked. “Damon introduced me to almost every lawyer in town during our marriage. I don’t recall ever meeting anyone named Gideon.”

  Rae shrugged.

  “He mostly deals with the big boys—the rich and sometimes famous.”

  So did Damon. Or he claimed to, at least.

  “Mostly?”

  “He agreed to represent you. Why does it matter?”

  “Yeah, but what I don’t understand is why he agreed to take my case. I’m nobody.”

  She wrapped her arms around me. I winced. I’d never excelled at female bonding. I loved my friends, but a simple high-five would have been just fine.

  “You’re somebody to me, and to Kenna, and Callie, and your kids, and your family. I’m proud of you, Sasha. This is a big step, and you’re finally taking it.”

  I hadn’t taken the step though. She’d taken the step for me. I let it slide.

  “How do you know him, the lawyer?” I asked.

  “Gideon?”

  First-name basis. She didn’t just know him, she knew him knew him.

  “He’s a friend of Richard’s.”

  Richard was Rae’s well-to-do boyfriend. Very wealthy. Very famous. Made sense.

  “How much is this Gideon person gonna cost me? If he’s used to working with clients with deep pockets, I assume he doesn’t come cheap. How am I going to afford to pay?”

  She swished a hand through the air.

  “Don’t worry about it. Right now I want you to focus on taking care of you and your girls like we talked about. Are you ready?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Is your alarm system on?”

  I nodded.

  “Good.”

  “You said this wasn’t a big deal, and now you’re asking if my house is protected.”

  “Damon’s a wild card, capable of just about anything.”

  “I can handle him,” I said.

  “If he comes here, and if he’s angry, call me immediately. And promise me you won’t let him inside this house.”

  “Why would I—”

  “Promise me, Sasha.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I promise.”

  It was early afternoon when Damon squealed up the driveway in a flashy, brighter-than-the-sun-at-midday, orange-ish yellow Porsche. So predictable. I peeked through the wood slats of my living room window, watching him slam the corner of his black suit jacket in the car door. The suit ripped and defiantly remained stuck. Damon sent two verbal expletives skyward and wrestled the jacket off, allowing it to puddle on the ground like a disheveled, unwanted newspaper. I heard my name shouted before he reached the front door, followed by, “We need to talk. Now!”

  His childish “I’ll get my way or else” behavior summed up our entire relationship. I stood by the door, still, not making a sound, silently chastising myself for failing to take out a restraining order when I had the chance.

  He breathed through the slit in the doorjamb like he knew I was there. “Don’t test me, Sasha. I know you’re in there. Now open up.”

  “What do you want, Damon?”

  “You know what I want.”

  “I’d like you to leave.”

  “I don’t give two shits about what you want. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I’ll ... I’ll call the police.”

  He laughed, the same sadistic laugh he always had whenever he taunted me. “Do it.”

  I contemplated his words, second-guessing what would happen if I followed through with my threat. They’d show up, remove him, warn him, or whatever it was they did in an ex-versus-ex scuffle. And then, thirty minutes and a-hell-of-a-lot-madder later, Damon would just return again, except our kids would be home then, making the situation a lot worse. I did what I had to do, the only thing I could think to do—I sucked it up and played nice.

  “What are you waiting for?” he seethed. “Make the call. Ask for Officer Morrell or Officer Hardy. Do me a favor and tell them I’ll be a few minutes late to basketball practice.”

  Name dropping, his attempt to incite fear, intimidate me, make me feel like everyone was on his side. I stood, frozen, like I
always did in his presence. Mrs. Damon “Doormat” Chase. Six months apart hadn’t changed much of anything.

  Banging started. Persistent, rhythmic banging. If his goal was to wear me down, as much as I hated to admit it, he was making slow but steady progress.

  Just when I thought the pounding would never stop, it did, and I heard something else: the sound of something sliding down the other side of the door.

  “Why are you doing this to me, Sasha? To us? To our children? Our family? Why?”

  No way. Was he ... crying? He was crying, sniffling like a neglected child. He’d never cried before. Not in front of me anyway. I hardly knew what to think, let alone what to do about it.

  “Please, Sasha,” he begged. “Let me talk to you. Just once. And then I’ll leave. I’ll leave you alone forever if that’s what you really want.”

  “I don’t think talking is such a good idea right now. You have to cool down first.”

  “I’m fine. I swear. Fifteen minutes is all I ask. You can give me that at least. Can’t you?”

  “Damon. I ... don’t ... love ... you anymore.”

  So much for playing nice. I thought about adding “you ignorant bastard” as the finishing touch, but decided against it. He’d calmed down. I didn’t want to stir him up again.

  “Yes you do; you love me. You always have and you always will. You just wish you didn’t because you’re hurting right now. I understand what you’re going through. Truly, I do.”

  He understood what I was going through? The only thing he understood was his brainless lapse in judgment had led me to discover his secret life, which in turn led to him getting caught.

  “I’m not trying to hurt you,” I lied. “I’m really not. It’s just, I can’t go back to the life we lived before. You weren’t here for me. We weren’t a family. When I think about it now ... the memories, the life we shared, it doesn’t even seem real.”

  “I know. It’s my fault. I take responsibility for it all. I’m sorry.”

  He was sorry?

  I should have felt relieved, empowered. I didn’t. I felt pain, resentment. I resented him for all the times he should have said sorry and hadn’t. I resented him for making me feel like a fool. To me, he was nothing more than a thief, except what he took from me was far more precious than a simple possession. He’d stolen years—years I wanted back, even though I knew I could never have them.

  “Sasha, you still there? Say something. Please.”

  I didn’t want to feel sorry for him. He didn’t deserve my pity. He didn’t deserve me. But I couldn’t shut down what I saw in my mind—Damon pouting outside my door, weak and helpless. Broken. Finally. And I had to admit, it felt good. For the first time in years he’d chosen me over someone else.

  “Sasha?”

  “Yeah, I’m still here.”

  But why? Why am I still here?

  The only explanation that made any logical sense was that I needed closure. I’d never had it. Maybe this was it. Stray dog or not, I’d resolved to move on months ago. It was what I wanted—to be free of him and the catatonic power he had over me.

  “If you knew how much I’d been trying to change,” he said, “for you and the kids, then you’d understand why I got so angry before. I don’t want a divorce. And deep down, I don’t think you do either.”

  He was wrong.

  I wanted it with every cell I had inside me.

  I’d never go back to him.

  Maybe this simple truth was what he really didn’t understand. I’d never given him an explanation, not a proper one anyway. I’d been too caught up in finally catching him in his lies. Now was my chance, the one time he may have been humble enough to take it. Maybe if I did, he’d accept it and we could both move on.

  “Fifteen minutes,” I whispered.

  “You’re ... letting me in? Really?”

  “Fifteen minutes, and then you leave.”

  I unbolted the lock, allowing Damon to enter. So why didn’t he? Why wasn’t he coming in? I cracked the door. One inch, then two. Three. I peeked out, my jaw dropping when I met his gaze. I wanted to scream, cry out, but my lungs collapsed like a deflated balloon.

  There were no tears.

  No dried bits of saline on his face.

  Nothing except a single, solitary look: RAGE.

  I’d been a fool. A damned fool. And he knew it.

  His hand surged forward, striking me across the face. It was like the slap heard ’round the world, only it didn’t stop there. As I struggled to draw breath, to massage the slow burn heating the side of my face, he came at me, pinning my body against the wall, his hand tight like a chain around my neck. He compressed his fingers and squeezed, tossing me with a gust of momentum to the floor.

  Must. Get. Up.

  I came to my knees, tried to stand, but couldn’t. He gripped a fistful of my hair, yanked it back. I screamed.

  He was in my ear, growling at me like I was a bug he could crush because it pleased him. “You stupid bitch! Did you really think I would ever shed tears for you? Did you? You’re nothing! Nothing but a pathetic excuse of a woman. Do you want to know why I screwed around on you? Why I cheated? Because I could. Because they satisfied me in ways you never have.”

  In the past, I’d endured his rants, his tirades. But this ... this was something else entirely.

  “Damon, please.”

  “Damon, please,” he mocked. “Shut your mouth! I talk. You listen. There will be no divorce. Understand? I allowed you this ... this ... separation. Time to come to your senses, to accept our relationship for what it really is. But you still don’t get it. It’s not up to you. It wasn’t ever up to you. What I do and whom I do it with is my business. Your only job is to sit here and wait for me to come home when I feel like it.”

  He tightened his grip and continued.

  “I’ve put up with this little charade of yours for long enough. I’ll tell you what’s going to happen. I’m moving back into the house tonight, and tomorrow you’re going to resume your marital duties like this little hiccup we had never happened. And you will never, ever question me or humiliate me like this again.”

  He paused, waited for a response, waited for me to accept the one and only offer I was ever going to get from him. I didn’t care what he did. I’d rather be dead than live the life of a programmed robot. Hell in all its infinite, scorching-hot layers couldn’t even be this bad.

  “I can’t and I won’t.”

  I barely squeaked out the words, but he heard me.

  “What did you just say? Because it sounds to me like you still haven’t accepted what’s going on here.”

  I found my voice and didn’t just speak the words, I screamed them. “I haven’t accepted it, and I never will! You aren’t a husband, and you’re certainly not a father. I want you out of my life, out of the girls’ lives, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen.”

  He snorted a laugh. “All right. Fine. I see I’m still not making my point. Let’s try this another way.”

  I had a feeling I wasn’t prepared for what was about to come next. I thrashed my body around in a failed attempt to regain my freedom from his grasp, but I wasn’t strong enough to fight him. Using my hair as his personal whip, he thrust my head forward, my face colliding with the cold, hard surface of the tile floor in front of me. It stung a little at first, the pain feeling like a small scratch, nothing more. The next blow hit harder. Once more and then twice, and then again and again until I’d been flung around like a rag doll. A chunk of my hair ripped out, strands floating to the ground like billowy feathers. I wanted to be strong, to fight him off. I wanted to try. I had to.

  I reached back, clawing at the flesh on his arms with the edge of my nails. It did nothing but fuel his rage. My nose began to bleed. Or was it my head? Or both? My face was dripping, red spattering everywhere. It misted the air, then slid down my face, the tin-like taste of blood finding its way into my mouth.

  In the back of my mind I could hear Rae as if
she were right there in front of me. She prompted me, urged me on, saying, “Stand up! Defend yourself! Be the woman I know you can be!”

  He may have had the strength, and he may have had the desire, but I had the will. Ten long years of it. I drew my knee to my chest and kicked back with everything I had, my foot ramming its target. He released me, staggered back, cupping a hand around his groin. I hoped I’d broken it, impaired the damn thing forever.

  Damon nursed his prized possession, allowing me just enough time to arm myself with a glass vase, the closest potential weapon in sight. As my own pain heightened, surging through every orifice of my body, he came at me again. I clutched the vase, swung, and missed. He didn’t. The vase surged from my hand and whooshed through the air, shattering into tiny fragments when it crashed to the floor. Damon plowed into me, and I fell, a shard of glass stabbing my hand in the process, piercing my skin. I heard a click and turned my head just far enough to see the open blade from a pocketknife he held in his hand.

  “Damon ... no!” I screamed.

  The knife plunged into my side. Not far, two, three inches maybe. I felt the sharpness of its sharp edge slice through my skin, then it was yanked out and thrust into me again. On his third attempt, I used what little energy I had left to dodge the knife just enough for it to slice off the top layer of my skin.

  He’s trying to kill me.

  He’s going to kill me.

  My children will come home and find me here in a pool of blood.

  Dead.

  Outside I heard voices. Two, maybe three. Familiar. Tears stained my bruised, bloodied face as the realization hit me—I wasn’t alone. Not anymore.

  “Get off her, you son of a bitch!”

  Kenna’s face hovered over me, her hands gripping Damon’s arms, fighting to set me free. He reached for her, missing by no more than an inch or two. Kenna had five brothers. She didn’t slap, and she didn’t pull hair—she punched. And when her fist collided with Damon’s face, she made damn sure it counted.

  “Kenna, look out!”

  Callie’s voice rang out beside me.

  There was a sound, like aerosol maybe. Something being sprayed from a can.

  Through blurred eyes, I glanced up, and that was when I felt the stinging.