Shattered Dreams (Vegas Dreams Book 2)

by Cheryl Bradshaw

  “It’s a bit late to scold me now,” I said. “If I said I’d learned my lesson, it still wouldn’t change what I did. I wasn’t thinking, Rae. I’m sorry.”

  The irked looked on her face didn’t change.

  Apology received but not accepted.

  Rae rubbed her temples, something she did when she was two seconds away from a massive explosion like the one she was about to have now. I suspected some small percentage of her anger was directed at me, but the lion’s share belonged to Damon.

  “I told you not to let him inside the house,” she said. “You agreed. You promised me you wouldn’t.”

  “I don’t know what you want me to say. I screwed up. Can’t take it back now.”

  “No, Sasha. I screwed up. I should have never left you there in the first place. I’m not angry with you. I’m angry with myself.”

  It wasn’t her fault and it wasn’t mine.

  It was his.

  “I’m alive, and I’m fine,” I said. “That’s what matters. I’m glad you filed the papers. It was worth it.”

  “I’m just glad we got to you when we did,” Kenna said. “And glad Callie never leaves home without her mace keychain. She freaking pepper-sprayed his ass.”

  “You know what this means,” Rae added.

  “Yeah,” Kenna said. “We’ll never be able to make fun of her for carrying around that ridiculous pint-sized container of pepper spray again.”

  “She did say it would come in handy one day,” I joked. “And secretly, I know she’s been dying to try it out ever since she bought it.”

  The tone in the room softened, but Rae managed to increase the tension with a request for the truth. “How long has Damon been hitting you?”

  “It’s not what you think,” I answered.

  “It isn’t? Have you looked in the mirror?”

  I hadn’t. And I wasn’t about to either. “I’m around you guys all the time. When have either of you ever seen me look like this before?”

  “So this time he took it out on your face,” Rae said. “It doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened before.”

  I was going through with the divorce. It didn’t make sense to deny my past anymore. “There have been other times. Not many. A handful. He never touched the girls, just me. If he’d ever laid a hand on them, he wouldn’t be alive. Honestly, he was gone so much, there was little opportunity for him to get angry. Guess I just rationalized what he did and dealt with it.”

  “Even one time is one too many,” Rae said. “I can’t help but feel like I should have known.”

  “I hid it from you, all of you. I’m not proud of it. Most of the time it was about control and domination. His favorite thing to do was pin me down and hold me while he launched into a verbal assault. He left a few bruises from time to time, crushed a rib once. Nothing major.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” Kenna asked. “Why didn’t you let us help you?”

  “She knew what we’d do when we found out,” Rae answered. “And even though he never deserved her, and part of her probably hated him, she wasn’t ready to leave.”

  A woman entered the room, clipboard in hand. “Ladies. I’m Doctor Stephens. How are we all doing today?” Her eyes rested on my face. “Ohh ... okay. Not so good then?”

  I filled her in on the finer details. She remained diplomatic, even though her eyes widened enough to part the Red Sea. When I finished, she mentioned running tests to rule out internal injuries and then said she’d check on me again in an hour. Before she reached the door, she paused, mentioned her concern for my safety. Rae put her at ease, saying it had all been taken care of, although I hadn’t the slightest idea what she meant.

  The last thing I remembered was being blinded by residual pepper spray and then loaded into Kenna’s car. As for Damon, I had no idea where he ended up. I didn’t care either. They could have stabbed him, shot him, or drove him off a cliff for all I cared. As long as he never came near me or my girls again ... my girls!

  “Corinne and Lisa, where are they?!” I asked.

  “They’re fine and they’re safe,” Rae said. “Callie picked them up from school.”

  “They can’t come here. I don’t want them to see me like this.”

  “They won’t. You don’t have to worry about—”

  “The house!” A wave of panic ripped through me. “She can’t take them there either. The blood and the glass and the—”

  Rae grabbed my hand. “You have nothing to worry about. They’re spending the night at Callie’s. Kenna will stop by your house, grab their clothes, and whatever else they need. The three of us will make sure everything gets cleaned up. They’ll never know anything happened. All you need to do is rest and focus on getting better.”

  “And you?” I turned to Rae. “Are you leaving?”

  She looked at me like it was the funniest thing I’d said in years. “Ohh ... no. You think I’d leave you alone again? No way. Not a chance.”

  I woke a few hours later in a drug-induced haze. The snippet of my mind still functioning alerted me to a casually dressed man in my room. He stood a few feet away, backside facing me, glancing out the window. At first I assumed he was another doctor, maybe off duty, or a specialist or something, but then I realized he couldn’t be. He didn’t give off a doctor vibe.

  “Excuse me,” I said. “I think you have the wrong room.”

  He turned, beamed a thousand-pound smile in my direction. Said nothing. He just stared. It made me uncomfortable, especially since he looked like he belonged on the silver screen, and I probably looked like I’d been dragged behind a tractor.

  Whatever happened to Rae saying she wouldn’t leave me alone?

  “Look,” I said. “I don’t know who you are, but you have no right being in my room.”

  I surveyed my bed, looking for a clicker I could push to get some kind of outside assistance. I found nothing, probably because I still couldn’t see straight.

  “Sasha Chase?”

  He knew me. But unless amnesia had set in, I didn’t know him. He removed the ball cap on his head, ran a hand through his hair. His thick, red hair. And then it clicked.

  “You,” I said.

  “Me?”

  He pointed to himself.

  “You’re my ... Gideon. No. Not my ... What I mean to say is, you’re my lawyer.”

  Please tell me I did not just say that to this buff, hazel-eyed, “not what I expected in a million years” lawyer.

  “I am both of those actually.”

  Now he was just trying to embarrass me.

  “But you ... you’re ... it’s just you don’t look like a—”

  “Lawyer?” He laughed. “What do lawyers look like? Are we all supposed to look the same?”

  Damon came to mind.

  Assholes?

  “Lawyers wear suits.”

  My face was hot and sweaty. I wasn’t sure if it was due to the injuries I’d sustained, the drugs I was on, or the sheer stupidity of the gems that kept pouring out of my mouth like verbal garbage. In either case, he didn’t seem to mind.

  “I wear a suit when I need to, and when I don’t need to, I don’t. Satisfied?”

  Satisfied? As in fully satisfied? Nope. Not for a really, really long time.

  I mustered a mostly coherent, “Why are you here?”

  “I’m Gideon O’Shea.”

  “I know. Rae told me your name.”

  “As to why I’m here. I wanted to let you know in person that your husband ...” He cleared his throat. “Your soon-to-be ex-husband was arrested earlier today for assault with a deadly weapon. He’s also being charged with attempted murder.”

  He apparently thought this statement would produce a certain kind of reaction from me. It didn’t. “He’ll get out just as fast as he went in.”

  “Don’t be so sure.”

  But I was sure. Damon was a weasel, but a weasel with sharks for friends.

  “A crime is a crime, and this isn’t something he can walk a
way from.”

  “He knows people. Everyone, really.” I choked back the tears. I’d put myself through enough for one day. I’d never considered myself the emotional type. I wasn’t going to lose it. Not here. Not like this. Not in front of a man I’d only known for five minutes.

  Gideon remained aloof, collected. “Damon doesn’t know me. Very shortly, he will. The charges will stick, the divorce papers will be signed, and he will be prosecuted. When I’m finished, you won’t have to worry about seeing his face around you or your daughters again.”

  “If anyone can find a way to get off, it’s Damon.”

  Literally and figuratively.

  Gideon shrugged. “It won’t matter.”

  “You don’t know him.”

  “I don’t need to. I know his type.”

  “Mr. O’Shea—”

  “Gideon.”

  “I appreciate you taking my case. I don’t know what Rae has told you, but you should know, Damon will never stop until he gets his way. He doesn’t want me. Not really. He just wants to know he can have me. By have, I mean own, like a car parked in a garage alongside twenty others he owns too. For him, it’s about possession, and that’s why he’ll never let me go.”

  He walked to my side and hovered over me, his hand sliding over mine, thumb caressing the inside of my palm. It was a simple gesture, and though we were strangers, it soothed me. But that wasn’t all. I felt something, an instant connection perhaps. After a single, brief conversation with the guy, I didn’t see how it was possible. I blamed the drugs.

  Gideon leaned in, and said, “It’s time Damon learns what it feels like to lose everything.”

  They were the sexiest eleven words anyone had ever spoken to me.

  I just wished I believed him.

  A few months and more than a dozen therapy sessions later, the divorce I swore I’d never get was about to be granted. All that remained were a few signatures. Thanks to the life-size photos of my bruised and battered body we planned to enter as evidence and agreeing to give my sworn testimony, Damon would be on trial for second-degree attempted murder, soon to be sentenced to what I hoped would become a long stint in the Nevada State Prison.

  To add even more icing on the cake, Damon was disbarred, but not before reaching out to his peers in desperation. Imagine his surprise when he was betrayed. All the high-end contacts he’d spent years finessing, slipping inside his sleazy back pocket, developed sudden cases of amnesia. They didn’t know him. They never had.

  My life was different now. The house I once shared with Damon was on the market, pending a sale at the end of the month. I hoped the buyers, a couple of perky, naďve newlyweds, would find happiness in their new abode—the same place where I’d endured so much pain.

  Thanks to Rae’s position as a real estate broker, I had a new house and a new job. I was halfway through real estate school, and for the first time in years, I felt like myself again. I had a new life, new memories, and a new attitude. Well, I was working on the new attitude, at least.

  I sat inside my car in the parking lot of Gideon O’Shea’s law office, pondering why pulling the door handle and stepping outside seemed like such an impossible thing to do. I had jitters like a freshman schoolgirl at her first high school dance. Ever since my unforgettably hideous first impression at the hospital, we’d spoken several times by phone, discussing the details of my divorce and the upcoming court case. We hadn’t seen each other in person again. Until today.

  During our conversations, Gideon had always been pleasant, polite, and to the point, the consummate gentleman. It should have made me feel great. It didn’t. I was terrified. For all the confidence I’d gained, I’d also gained something else: man-phobia, the feeling that no man could ever be trusted again.

  A knuckle tapped on the outside of my car window. I glanced over, struggling to draw breath. It was Gideon. In the flesh. And there I sat, car turned off, seatbelt unfastened, slouched in my seat like a nervous stalker.

  “You look great,” he said when I lowered the window.

  Of course I did. I’d spent two hours prepping to make sure of it. After flinging every article of clothing I owned from its hanger, I’d finally decided to yank a few tags off my newly purchased real estate clothes. In a black pencil skirt and a semi-sheer silk tank top—and about ten pounds lighter than I was the last time he saw me—I was going to make damn sure there was a second chance to make a good first impression.

  He stuck his head through the window, folding his arms over the ledge. His face was so close to mine, I could feel the softness of his breath on my cheek. “Were you going to get out?”

  Of course I was going to get out. Eventually.

  “I just got here.” I said.

  “Really? Because I watched you pull up about ten minutes ago.”

  I didn’t believe him.

  “From where?”

  “My office window.”

  If I’d had something to crawl under in that moment, I would have.

  “I was ... I needed to make a call.”

  Staring at the myriad of office windows in front of me, I had no idea which one was his. I prayed it wasn’t close enough for him to realize I was lying.

  “Why are you out here anyway?” I asked.

  “I left something in my car when I got to work this morning.”

  I glanced at his hands. They were empty.

  He seemed to notice what I noticed. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his cell phone, and, for added effect, jiggled it in front of me.

  Humiliation complete, I focused on the matter at hand. “Well, should we go inside?”

  He opened the front door, and I got out.

  Today there was no ball cap, no distressed jeans. He wore a fitted suit and a perfect pair of dimples, a feature I’d missed before.

  “I’m on the top floor,” he said. “Stairs or elevator?”

  We stepped into the elevator. Alone. The door closed, and the rapid fire began.

  “How have you been doing?” he asked.

  “Fine.”

  “I heard you moved into a new place.”

  “A couple weeks ago, yes.”

  “And you’re preparing to take your real estate exam?”

  I nodded.

  Some conversationalist I was turning out to be.

  The elevator stopped on level four, two floors shy of our final destination. Four women and one man entered, pushing the two of us to the rear. As I slid back and over, I could have sworn a hand brushed across my ass, but Gideon was the only one next to me, and his disposition remained stolid, unchanged. He hadn’t even looked at me.

  I managed a sideways glance without moving my head, but not at his face, at his finger. No wedding ring. Why was I even looking? Why did I care? He was my lawyer. He was also a man, something I didn’t need in my life right now.

  When the doors opened on the top level, Gideon stretched out his arm, indicating the way to his office. Once inside, he closed the door. He tapped two fingers on my shoulder, almost catapulting me into the air.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Yes, why?”

  “You jumped when the door closed, and again just now when I touched you.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “You did.” He reopened the door. “I thought you’d prefer some privacy while we go over everything one last time, but we can leave it open if that makes you more comfortable.”

  I walked to the door, closed it again, and tried not to focus on the confused glances coming our way, courtesy of his nosey staff. “Like I said, I’m fine.”

  I lowered myself into a chair. He sat across from me at his desk, opened a white folder, and slid the paperwork in my direction. He removed a pen from a drawer and handed it to me, his thumb brushing over the tops of my fingers in the process. Our eyes met, engaging one another for a few seconds. His mouth opened slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. He flashed the same go-to expression I’d seen before, a pr
esumptuous smile that said: You’ll never know what I’m really thinking.

  Man-phobia or not, I wanted to know.

  I signed where indicated and handed the stack of papers back to him.

  I was done. Free. At long last.

  “Do you have any questions before you go?” he asked. “Is there anything you’d like to discuss?”

  I shook my head. “I’m good. I’m ready to put it all behind me.”

  He shook my hand, cracked a small smile. “I’m glad I could help you through this.” The line sounded scripted and rehearsed, like something he felt obligated to say to all of his clients at the end. He seemed to sense my assumption, adding, “You deserve to be happy, Sasha. One day you’ll find it. I know you will.”

  Not knowing how to respond to his earnest comment, I mumbled a terse “thank you,” followed by, “I doubted you at first, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.”

  “It doesn’t matter now. You weren’t feeling well. I understand.”

  “Still, I should have had more faith in you. So far you’ve done everything you said you would, and a lot sooner than I imagined. It means everything to me to be free of him. You made that happen, and I’ll always be grateful.”

  Someone rapped on his office door. It opened. A female’s head craned around the corner. “Meeting in five, Gideon” She noticed me in the room, and her face paled. “Oops, sorry. I didn’t know you were with someone. My bad.”

  “I better get going,” I said.

  “I’ll get a copy of the documents to you. If you need anything else, please call me. Otherwise, I’ll brief you again before trial begins.”

  I stared at our hands, still pressed together in what was becoming an eternal handshake. He seemed to have no interest in letting me go.

  I pulled back, and he released me. “So that’s it? We’re done?”

  “We are—until trial begins.”

  Done.

  I was so close.

  It still didn’t seem real.

  I passed my real estate exam three weeks later, on the first try, thanks to Rae, real estate drill sergeant to the stars. In an hour, she was throwing me a celebratory party at a house that was to become my first listing. Following the tour, we were to hit up Vegas’s newest hot spot, a nightclub called Rapture. I’d purchased a special outfit for the occasion, a backless, navy cocktail dress and sparkly, five-inch heels, designed to take all five foot four inches of me to a whole new level.