“What do you mean?”
“You told your mom that you were working out, and she said you were focused on the task at hand.”
My nervous hand reached for my hair as I tried to calm my breathing. My heart pumped the adrenaline and lust through my blood. “I dance ballet. It’s my life.” Ethan’s eyebrows furrowed and I realized I needed to explain. “My mother was a performer. She worked at the Lincoln Center in New York City in her early twenties. She met my father when he was in the city on a business trip. After a year of dating, my father asked my mother to marry him, and soon after that my mother found out she was expecting. A child meant she couldn’t perform for a year or two, so she quit before they let her go. After I was born, she devoted her life to making me the best dancer. She opened her own studio and I dance there six days a week.”
“Wow.” Ethan stretched his hands overhead. “Do you even like it?”
“Yes,” I defended my passion, but his question puzzled me. No one ever asked if I liked it. It was simply what I did. “I was made to be great.” I walked over to the dresser and took the photograph of my mother and me at my first competition. “See?” I said and handed him the photo. “At the age of four I was a better dancer than most of the teenagers.”
“That’s your mom?” He asked admiring the picture.
“Yes, I look more like my dad. He has the darker hair and what not.”
He chuckled. “Okay, Freckles.” I squinted at him. “What? You do have freckles.” His fingertip ran down my nose. “They’re really cute.”
My heart did a somersault in my chest. Turning toward my pillows, I began to strip my bed so Ethan couldn’t see the warmth that ran across my face. “Are you staying or do you need to go home?” I asked, afraid to look over at him.
“I’m staying.” His voice ran through my body like an electric current.
Unable to speak, I turned my light off and tossed his pillow on the ground. I slid under the covers and I watched as Ethan make a bed on the rug next to me.
“Goodnight, Freckles.”
“Goodnight, Ethan.”
I lay there for a few minutes, unable to speak. Unable to move. All I could hear was the rhythmic sound of our breathing.
“Leslie?” Ethan said after a few minutes had passed.
“Yeah?”
“Will you dance for me?”
“Maybe one day,” I whispered and closed my eyes. One day I would do anything he asked.
4
PRESENT
The sound of a door slamming wakes me from my deep slumber. My mouth is parched and my head is pounding. I’m still drunk, or severely hungover. Heels click against the wood floors, and my hands brush the sleep off my face, gathering my thoughts.
Where am I?
My vision is blurry and I realize I slept with my contacts in again. Fuck.
“Passed out hugging a bottle, Leslie? How ladylike of you.” My mother’s voice shoots through my ears and I wince. I’m in my childhood bedroom. The previous forty-eight hours flood through my mind, and I gasp, sitting up on the bed. With both hands, I try to hold my pounding head.
“How’s Dad?”
My mother looks at me in a disapproving manner. Her hands cross at her chest and she purses her lips at me. “I called you,” she says. “I called you seventeen times. I haven’t seen you in almost eight years. Do you know how that feels? You left me, Leslie, after everything I did for you. You up and left me, and when I called you, you didn’t answer.”
“It took you eight years to call, Mom,” I say with a hoarse voice and my eyes closed. “And I didn’t leave you. I disappointed you by breaking my ankle and tossing all your hard work down the drain.”
“That’s beside the point. I called and you didn’t answer. Not only is your father in the hospital but I was worried sick something happened to you, too.” Her eyes cut through me.
“Is Dad okay?”
“They took him to surgery this morning. I took a cab here to get you.” She flicks the light in my bedroom on. “Go shower; you reek. We need to get back to the hospital right away.”
I groan from the bright florescent light as I stand and make my way out of my bedroom.
My mother is a creature of habit. Once she finds something that is up to her standards, she never looks for an alternative. The shower curtain is the same one she purchased ten years prior from Bed, Bath and Beyond. Her Chanel No 5 religiously sits in the same spot on her side of the vanity, and she’s used the same shampoo for as long as I can remember. I’m nothing like my mother. I change the curtains in my bathroom every season. During the holidays it looks as if Santa lives in my bathroom. I use different shampoos all the time, and I most definitely don’t wear fancy perfume.
Sighing at the differences between my mother and me, I undress and climb into the shower. The warm water slides down my body and washes away the grime and exhaustion from the previous day’s travel and hospital visit. Not to mention it helps with the headache that was beginning to form due to lack of food and the consumption of alcohol.
Once I’m finished, dressed and proper, I walk down the stairs. My mother has also showered, and she holds a warm cup of coffee.
“I made a pot,” she offers.
“Thank you,” I answer.
When I pass her, I stop and look over my shoulder. “Merry Christmas, Mom.”
“You too, Leslie. Go and get your coffee. We need to get back immediately.”
The sun is still hidden beyond the horizon. As we’re pulling out of the driveway, I hold my breath and focus my gaze anywhere but on Ethan’s home. My mother notices my hesitation and clears her throat. She doesn’t say anything until we’re on the freeway.
“Have you spoken to him?” She doesn’t move an inch.
“No,” I reply.
“Since?”
Inhaling slowly, I try to steady my crazed heart rate. “Since I left for Los Angeles.”
“Really?” Her voice increases an octave and I glance over at her.
“Yes, really.” I let a few seconds pass before I ask, “Why?”
“Oh, it’s nothing.” She shakes her head. “He disappeared after you left. I figured he went after you. That’s all.”
He’s gone. A wave of relief washes over me, I want to ask her where he went and where he is now, but I stop myself. The chance of seeing him again has vanished. The sobering realization brings sadness to my heart and a cold shiver up my body. He’s moved on with his life, and what we once shared disappeared right along with him. The secrets we held, the love we shared, have all dissipated.
I moved on, damn it. The best I could at least. I forced myself to forget about him the second I got to Los Angeles. I enrolled in every class available to me and dove head first into a major that seemed as if it would make me forget the life I once lived and the future I was supposed to have. I did a semester abroad in Brazil where I met my best friend, Emilia. I fell in “love” with a boy named Harry who, for a short time, made me forget Ethan. He was as damaged as I was and I clung to him. I tried to fix him and failed miserably. He overdosed on drugs, and I blamed myself for his shortcomings. Now I realize I loved Harry but I was never in love with him. He was my Band-Aid. Focusing on him kept me from facing my issues.
My mother’s words were an affirmation that, once again, I had lost someone I loved more than anything. I had lost my very first friend. He was gone, and the chances of seeing him again were slim. The secrets we shared and swore to never tell a soul would stay hidden, never to be spoken again. I had let Ethan go, but I wasn’t ready for him to let me go.
It was selfish to assume he wouldn’t.
5
PAST
The school year was about to start, and Ethan informed me that we were in the same grade. The fact that I remained cool when he informed me of this glorious news had me skipping around my room the second he left. He told me that due to his brother’s disability, he felt more comfortable being placed in the same grade as Charlie. He sa
id that’s what his mother made him tell anyone that asked. The truth was he had gotten in a few fights in and out of school that made him miss too many days. Therefore, the school board had no other option then to keep him back a year. When he noticed that I winced about him fighting he said it was his way of watching out for his younger brother. No one messed with Charlie because they knew Ethan was a loose cannon.
It was the first time in forever that I had a friend to go to school with and a boy that spends night after night in my room. Instead of being dropped off at school, I begged my mother to let me ride the bus. I might have also notified her that our new neighbors had a son who was also in my class and we could ride the bus together. My mother was hesitant. The bus stop was a few blocks away, and she didn’t want me to walk out of fear I might fall and hurt myself. Ballerinas needed to be perfect. But my father heard my pleading and assured her I would be fine. He said having friends my own age was important and he offered to talk to our neighbors about a drop off and pick up bus schedule. Though unconvinced, my mother allowed it. And I, a ten year old, love-struck pre-teen, was thrilled.
It was the second week of school, and Ethan and I were inseparable. He quickly memorized my schedule and walked me to almost every class. At lunchtime we sat together, talking about everything and anything while eating. I was mesmerized by his charm. The way he smiled, and the way his eyes lit up when he was talking about something he was passionate about. He made friends with everyone so easily. Most of the girls I knew from dance, the ones who never cared to be my friend, quickly decided I was worth something now that Ethan was my friend. I couldn’t fault them. He was gorgeous and his personality shone. So, for the first time in my life, I was somewhat popular—thanks to Ethan.
One afternoon after we got off the bus, Ethan decided he wanted to race home. Running wasn’t my forte. I could hold a plank for five minutes but I couldn’t jog five steps to save my life.
“Hey, wait up!” I shouted to Ethan who was a few feet ahead. My tennis shoes pushed on the cement as I chased behind him.
“Come on, slow poke.” Ethan ran backwards with ease. His mother trailed behind us with Charlie as we walked home from the bus stop.
Ethan ran up the pathway that led into his father’s garage. Joyce, Ethan’s mother, didn’t protest so I followed behind him, my book bag slamming on my lower back with each step I took. My heart felt as if it would explode from the strain of running, and the bright sun made it nearly impossible to see in the garage. “Eth—”
“Shh.” I heard his voice. “Come here.”
I noticed him squatting behind his father’s Harley. “What are you doing?” I whispered and crouched down beside him.
“Nothing, but we can’t leave now. My father just walked in.” He shifted and I noticed his father among a sea of men. Six in total if you counted his father. Unable to swallow over my fear, I clenched my arm around Ethan. There was something terrifying about his father’s demeanor. His shoulders were broad, and his face permanently held a scowl. But my fear wasn’t due to his looks. No, it was because I knew the kind of man he truly was. He was an abuser.
“Where’s my money, Joey?” Jerry, Ethan’s father asked. His voice caused goosebumps to rise all over my body.
“I’ll get it to you, Jaws,” Joey responded in a low shaky voice.
The hair on the back of my neck rose with fear. What kind of man was given the nickname Jaws?
“You’ll get it? When? And where? Do you have a hundred grand laying around?” Jerry took a step closer to Joey, his finger pointed in his face. “You’re a fucking liar. Maybe I should pay that little wife of yours a visit. I’d say her pussy’s worth a couple of bucks.” I cringed the at the harsh words and instantly felt embarrassed.
Joey took a step forward. What Jerry said clearly struck a nerve. Two of the men reached out and grabbed Joey’s arms. “I’ll get it to you, I swear. Just stay away from my family.”
“Getting it to me is not the same as having it.” Jerry said through gritted teeth.
My eyes had adjusted to the dim garage, and I could finally make out the features on his face. He looked a lot like Ethan. The same dark hair and defined jaw, but he was missing the warmth Ethan portrayed.
“And you don’t tell me what to do,” Jerry stated. The garage was so quiet, the first blow to Joey’s face echoed in the silent space. My eyes closed shut of their own accord and I swear I heard the crushing of Joey’s bones. I pried my eyes open, trying desperately to find a way out of there with no luck. Jerry continued to release his rage on Joey. His fists pounded into his face as blood splattered to the ground. My eyes refused to believe what I was seeing.
Joey’s bloody face wasn’t enough for Jerry. He moved to his tool box and pulled out a crowbar. “I’ve given you six months to pay me back. You know what happens when you don’t pay your bookie? You rot in the fucking desert!” he bellowed and swung the crowbar at Joey’s leg.
Anger ricocheted from Jerry's voice, and I gasped when Joey screamed out in pain. Ethan gripped my body and covered my mouth. “Shh,” he whispered in my ear, and my body began to shake. What kind of monster was his father?
One of Jerry’s goons shoved a dirty rag in Joey’s mouth as Jerry continued his assault. Blood dripped down Joey’s face and his legs were badly broken, but Jerry didn’t let up until Joey’s head hung low and he didn’t move.
“Get rid of him.” His voice was authoritative even when he was out of breath.
My body was frozen in place and a chill ran up my spine. Get rid of him? As in kill him?
“Okay, Boss,” the man holding Joey’s limp body responded.
A tap on the door startled us all. It came from the door that connected the garage with Ethan’s home. Tears threatened to pour from my eyes. The guys rushed to cover Joey’s body and stood behind Jerry, who was wiping his bloody hands.
Joyce appeared in the open doorway, her gaze focused on the ground. “What?” Jerry barked.
“Have you seen Ethan and his little friend from next door?”
I began to tremble. What would he do if he found us?
Jerry lifted his arms. “They’re not here. Ethan knows not to come into my office.” He marched over to her and pressed his pointer finger to her forehead. There was still blood on it. “Why can’t you ever do one fucking thing right? All I ask for is food on the table, my boys taken care of, and my dick sucked. Get the fuck out of my face.”
The guys behind him chuckled.
“I’m . . . I’m sorry,” Joyce stuttered, turning away and closing the door behind her.
“What the fuck are you assholes laughing at? Get him out of here!”
To keep from passing out, I counted the seconds it took for them to leave. One hundred and sixty-seven to be exact.
When the garage door closed behind them, I gasped for air. Pulling away from Ethan, I ran out the back door with everything I had left in me. Why had he gone inside his dad’s garage? Why did I follow him? The second the warm air hit my skin, the contents of my stomach erupted onto the grass. Ethan was behind me but I refused to look at him. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and ran up the deck and inside my house. The air-conditioning tingled my skin as I pressed my body against the cool glass. My legs were shaking.
My mother appeared from the kitchen. Her mouth moved but I couldn’t make out what she was saying. My heart racing in my chest made it impossible to hear a sound “Leslie!” I blinked away tears. “My goodness, what’s the matter?”
My knees buckled and I dropped to the floor. My breathing was erratic and my mother rushed to my side. “Leslie, talk to me!” Darlene pleaded as she brushed my hair to the side. She took me into her arms and I sobbed.
“It’s okay, sweetie. It’s okay.” Her voice soothed me. When the sobbing stopped, she pulled me away from her chest. “Tell me what’s going on?”
I swallowed back the golf ball lodged in my throat. I should have told my mother everything, but I knew she would take Ethan away
from me. She would make me stop being his friend, and a world where Ethan wasn’t my friend was a world I didn’t want to live in.
“I . . . I . . .” I paused while I tried to come up with an excuse. “I got sick on the way home from school and I don’t think I’ll be able make it to dance tonight,” I finally said.
“It’s okay. You will be okay.” She gave me a reassuring smile. “Why don’t you take a nice warm shower and I’ll call you when dinner is ready.”
“I’m not really hungry.”
“Okay.” She brushed my hair with her fingers. “Take a shower and go lie down. I’ll leave your food in the fridge. If you get hungry, you can warm it up.”
In the shower, I let the warm water cascade down my body as the images of Jerry’s brutality flooded my mind. He was a cruel monster, and I couldn’t stop wondering what happened to Joey. Was he dead when they took him out of there? Did they kill him?
I pushed the visions out of my head and dressed before crawling into bed. I had been in my room for an hour, the comforter curled around me, unable to move from my spot. My only solace was the brilliant red and orange hues of the sunset I could see through my window. Though it was a warm afternoon, I felt an Artic chill through my bones.
Ethan tapped on my window, but I didn’t move to open it for him. I couldn’t move. Joey and his fate consumed my mind. Ethan waited a few seconds before he pushed the glass pane open and climbed inside.
“Hey,” he whispered. Tears filled my eyes and I lowered my chin. “Please, Freckles.” He rushed to my side and draped his arms over my shoulders. Pulling me into his chest, he whispered. “Please don’t cry.”
“I’m sorry,” I muttered as I let him hold me. “I didn’t know your father was such a cruel man.”
“I’m sorry,” Ethan apologized. “I should’ve never gone in there. I wanted to show you his Harley. I didn’t know he was home. He’s never there during the day.”
“Don’t apologize for him. We need to tell someone, Ethan.” I pushed away from his chest. My body craved his touch but anger began to fill me.
Broken Dreams (Fatal Series Book 3) Page 3
