Broken Dreams (Fatal Series Book 3)

by Callie Anderson

  “We’re not having sex!” I take a dress and hold it up to my body. Stephanie scrunches her nose before shaking her head. “We're only having dinner, and I want to look nice. Is it so bad that I want to get out of this house and out of the crappy clothes that I packed and look decent for one night?”

  “Oh, honey, of course not. If that’s the story you want to stick to, then sure,” Stephanie says in her sweet innocent voice with a devilish grin on her face. “Just make sure everything has been shaved and waxed off because you know sometimes dinner with old friends leads to breakfast with old friends.”

  “Crap!” I grunt and toss the dress at her, but she’s right. Who am I kidding? It has been months since I’ve had sex. And if last night is any indication, when I’m around Ethan there is no denying him. “I'm gonna take another shower, I'll be ten minutes,” I say as I tug the towel off behind the door.

  Stephanie’s laughter bellows from my room.

  By eight o'clock that night, I have on the shortest black dress Stephanie owns. My dark hair is blown out, and Stephanie has spent a good twenty minutes focusing on my eye shadow alone. I don't even recognize myself in the mirror when she’s done. My clammy hands tug on the hem of my dress, bringing it down an extra centimeter.

  “Stop doing that!” Stephanie yells at me before swatting my hand away.

  “Maybe I should go with the other one. It was a little longer.” I can’t hide the anxiety in my voice.

  “You are wearing this one. It makes your legs look like they’re a mile long. Plus, it's not that short. Just don't bend over so you don't have any Britney Spears incidents.”

  “I can't believe you convinced me to do this.”

  “I didn't do any convincing.” Stephanie shakes her head before pointing to my crotch. “That is all your Regina.” Her word for vagina. I crumble up a T-shirt on my bed and toss it at her. “All right, I better get going before Ethan arrives.” She walks around my bed and kisses me on the cheek before eyeing the dress one last time. “That poor boy doesn't know what's coming for him.” She winks, and wraps her hands about the handle of the suitcase.

  “Thanks for everything, Stephanie.”

  “Not a problem, babe. Oh, and you can keep the dress. I don't want it back after he's had his stuff all over it.” She makes an awkward motion with her hand and I can't help but laugh.

  The second Stephanie is out of the house, panic sets in. I'm actually doing this. I'm putting fear aside and I'm going out with Ethan. “Fuck,” I curse out a sigh. I pace around the living room until his car approaches, then take a few calming breaths and walk over to the door.

  As I pull it ajar, he is stepping out of his car and heading toward my house. Ethan stops dead in his tracks, his gaze landing directly on my legs.

  “Thank you, Stephanie,” I whisper and a grin grows on my face. This is the perfect dress after all. His eyes tell me everything I need to know. Closing the door behind me, I walk toward him. The strappy sandals click against the cemented sidewalk as I sashay his way.

  “You're trying to kill me, aren't you?” he says as I approach. I bite my lip to hide my smile and place a soft kiss on his cheek. His hands rest on my hips and I feel my core ache with need. Stephanie was absolutely right. I’m only thinking with Regina now.

  I take a step back and try to sound modest. “You like?” I pout and lean into him. His cologne is intoxicating but I refuse to let it weaken me. “It’s not too much for dinner, is it?” I run my hand across his chest before making my way to the passenger side door, but before I reach the car, Ethan is right next to me, his hand lacing around the handle. He opens the door for me, and we exchange a quick glance. There’s a hidden communication between us. We both know what we're doing. We both know that this night consists of us rehashing all the pent up desire between us.

  “You look gorgeous,” he says as I climb into the car.

  “You don’t look so bad yourself,” I say before he shuts me in. I take the opportunity to gawk over him as he walks around the car. His dark blue jeans hug his hips, giving me a perfect view of his sculpted ass. The red button-down shirt hugs his chest and arms, and my mind wanders to what it must feel like to lick his taut chest. And then there is his perfect face. Ethan was always handsome. His face is perfection with a strong jawline, high cheekbones and piercing green eyes. But tonight the icing on the cake is his hair. It’s the longest it has ever been. Ruffled and carefree.

  He reminds me of my old Ethan.

  My heart pinches with pain, and I ignore the ache of my ankle. Tonight I am pushing all doubt aside.

  “You ready?” he asks and turns on the car.

  The engine purrs and my body vibrates. I glance over at him and there is no denying that dinner with friends will become breakfast with friends. “Oh, yeah,” I say and cock an eyebrow at him.

  Ethan drives us into town, his hand laced with mine as the stereo plays in the back. I’m glad for the lack of conversation since the only thing on my mind is his body on top of mine. Ethan pulls his car into an empty driveway near the studio. There are a few apartment buildings over the storefronts and I glance over at Ethan. “This is your office, no?” He nods. "Why are we here? Did you forget something?"

  “I decided to cook you dinner." He shifts his car into park and smiles over at me.

  "Bu . . . I got dressed up to go to your house?" I can’t mask the disappointment in my voice.

  Ethan shifts in his seat to face me. "No, you got dressed up so I can stare at your legs.” He leans over and kisses my lips, then pulls away. "If you want, we can go somewhere to eat, anywhere you want, but I doubt anyone would give us any privacy,” he whispers, and I can feel his breath on my skin.

  My body temperature rises and I shiver. Our lips are only a few inches from each other. "Cook me dinner." I bite my lower lip as I imagine what dessert will be.

  Ethan ushers me out of his car and I follow behind. He leads me up a flight of stairs and down a long hallway. "This is Charlie's apartment." He points to a door. "And this one is mine." He slides the key into the door across from his brothers.

  "Charlie has his own place?" I ask and cock my head to the side.

  "Yeah.” Ethan glances back at me. “He has his own room in my house, but sometimes when he has his episodes he needs a place of his own."

  The pinching in my heart is a reminder of how Ethan had always taken care of his brother. Even when we were kids, Charlie was always one of us. No one ever picked on Charlie because Ethan wouldn’t accept it. "He knows you’re coming over tonight, so he's in there. He won’t bother us."

  "Your brother is never a bother, you know that."

  Ethan grins and nods before opening the door. "This is it."

  I take a step forward and gasp when the light turns on. The interior of his apartment is nothing like the exterior. Where the building outside looks outdated with red brick and a green awning, the inside is sleek and modern. I’m greeted with dark-stained wood floors, cream-colored walls and dark brown furniture. There is a large leather sectional seated right in front of an entertainment system with a wet bar a few feet away. It’s a bachelor pad, sleek yet tasteful.

  I turn back around to look at Ethan. “This place is beautiful.” I run my hands along the leather sectional. “A place like this doesn’t belong in our town. It’s too modern and sleek. I bet half of the things in here are custom made.”

  “I'm glad you like.” He closes the door behind him. Immediately, I feel the walls closing in. My heart accelerates in my chest. We are alone, completely alone.

  Just us.

  I’m nervous and excited.

  “Would you like a tour?” He extends a hand for me. I know from the grin on his face he can feel that I’m anxious.

  “Sure.” I smile and brush my hair behind my ears before placing my hand in his.

  “There's no need to be nervous, Freckles. It’s only dinner.” Ethan winks and I shake my head before I slap him in the arm.

  “You're such an a
ss.” I laugh, but am thankful that he’s broken the awkward tension between us.

  “Living room, dining room, kitchen, self-explanatory,” he says as he brings me closer to him. “This one is the bathroom.” He opens the door to a half-bath between the dining room and the kitchen before heading down a hallway with three doors. “This is Charlie's room.” He points to the door. “He doesn't like anybody in there, so I won't show you inside.” I nod, understanding Charlie's issues with his own personal space.

  “This is my office.” He opens the door. There are television monitors mounted on the wall. Four to be exact. As I step closer, I realize they are security cameras. “That's how I knew you were at the pub. Charlie's job is to watch the cameras."

  “Oh,” is the only word I can form.

  He's not like his father.

  He's not like his father.

  Aside from the TV’s on the wall, there's a bookcase, and a large desk in the center. I walk over to the bookcase to examine his collection. It’s not like Ethan to read memoirs or autobiographies. A small item catches my eye, and I stop dead in my tracks as every emotion washes over me.

  Happiness.

  Anger.

  Disbelief.

  My eyes are glued to the Swarovski crystal ballerina.

  It is my ballerina.

  My father gave it to me for my eighth birthday. The small trinket fit in the palm of my hand. She’s all crystal in arabesque position, standing on her toes with her leg extended back. It is also the first item Ethan picked up from my dresser the very first night he crawled into my room.

  “When did you get this?” I can't turn around and face him. Too much has happened between us, and I don't know if I can hold back my tears.

  “After you left, I went into your room one last time.” His voice is as pained as mine. “I wanted a part of you to keep with me always.”

  He went back for this. After I moved to LA. I replace it reverently on his shelf, my vision blurred with unshed tears. I wish he knew he didn't need a crystal ballerina to keep a part of me. I would always belong to him. When God created souls, he created mine just for Ethan. He was my soul mate.

  “Would you like a glass of wine?” he asks as I slide my fingers under my eyes and flick away the tears.

  “Desperately.” I laugh, and find the courage to cast him a glance.

  He extends his hand and we lace our fingers together. Ethan pulls me closer to him and wraps his arms around my shoulders, kissing the top of my head. I let him lead me back into the kitchen and sit on the bar stool that is tucked underneath the island. He pulls out two glasses and a bottle of wine.

  “Your house is gorgeous,” I finally say after I have a grasp on my emotions.

  “You missed the best part.” The grin on his face is devilish. “You didn't get to see my bedroom.”

  I wait until he's poured me a glass before I say, “I'm pretty sure many girls have seen that bedroom. I doubt it's anything spectacular.”

  “Low blow, Les,” he says with a deep chuckle.

  And just like that we're back to normal.

  Ethan opens the oven, and I get a glimpse of the roast. “It smells delicious,” I say. “Do you need any help?”

  “No, I'm okay. You still eat meat, right?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Well, you’ve lived in California for so long. People out there are usually vegetarians or vegans or whatever.”

  I shake my head at his ridiculous statement. “I'm a carnivore. I spent six months in Brazil eating picanha every day.”

  “Brazil?” Ethan shuts the cabinet and looks back at me.

  We know so much about each other's lives, and yet times like this it’s as if we’re complete strangers. I know the look on his face when he's happy. I know how he looks when he's mad. I know that his eyebrows crinkle together when he's deep in thought. But there are eight years from our lives where he knows nothing about me or I about him. “I studied for a semester in Brazil. "

  “I guess college did you well. You always wanted to see the world.” Ethan turns toward the refrigerator and pulls out a few items. I take his compliment as a dig.

  We wanted to travel.

  We made plans to see the world.

  “It's like the second we forget what happened between us and can move forward, something from the past fucks it up,” I blurt out before taking a big sip of wine. “I wanted to travel with you. But I went to Brazil to forget you.”

  Ethan sighs and takes my hand. The kitchen island is between us but it feels more like a mountain. His eyes are soft as he runs his tongue along his lower lip. “I didn't mean to upset you.”

  I wait a few seconds, my eyes locked on his. There is so much I want to say. So much I want to know. And then a thought pops in my head. “Stephanie said I should ask you what happened after I left, aside from you taking over your dad's business.”

  “Do you really want to know?” His eyes grow hesitant and I can feel the floor about to be pulled out from under me. Whatever he is about to say, I know it will hurt, but I need to know.

  “Yes.”

  Ethan lifts the bottle of wine and refills our glasses. He takes a long gulp before he pinches the bridge of his nose. When he looks up at me, I swallow back the fear. “I went after you,” he admits, and my chest tightens.

  I shake my head, not understanding him. “You . . . What? When?”

  “I guess I should start from the beginning.” He sighs as if he is finding the courage himself. “It was three months after you left, the week before Thanksgiving. Jerry had been moved to his permanent residence, and the psychiatrists had my mother on every type of medication. But she was calm, and I was looking for an institution to put Charlie in.” I see his Adams apple bob as he swallows.

  “My mother was in no shape to take care of him. With Jerry completely disabled, the SSI from the state combined with the rent from the stores was enough to pay the bills. There was no need for me to be here anymore, so I packed a bag and went after you.”

  I close my eyes, remembering how sad I was my entire first semester. How every night I went to bed crying because I missed him.

  “We hadn’t spoken since you were about to board the plane. I figured you didn’t want to see me, so I took my chances and decided to surprise you.”

  I lower my chin, my mind replaying that dreadful conversation we had.

  “I didn’t know exactly where you were and you had changed your number. Your parents were no help so I had no choice but to go in blind. I walked the campus for two days looking for you. Did you know there's more than one campus at UCLA? I found you on the third day. It was a hot Thursday. You were in the courtyard sitting on a blanket.”

  I shake my head and the tears are warm on my cheeks. But I don’t stop him.

  “You were reading some textbook. As I walked toward you, your friends joined you.”

  Shocked, I look up at him. The brain is a powerful muscle because within seconds I can remember that day. They weren’t my friends but my lab partners.

  “You were laughing. You were happy.” Ethan’s voice grows hoarse and I know it’s killing him to go on. “From afar, I watched you join in their conversations as if you didn't have a care in the world.” He inhales deeply and sighs. “And then I realized I had nothing to offer you. I didn't have a job. I didn't have a place to stay. I didn't have anything. You were at a school you didn't want to be at because of me.”

  “That’s not true,” I whisper but I’m not sure he hears me.

  “I needed to make something of myself first before I could find you again.”

  “You came after me,” I state in a shaky voice.

  “Twice,” he admits, and I snap my head up at him. The pain in his face is prominent and I know mine matches his. “Three years later I came back. I didn't have your phone number. Your father again shut the door in my face, and your mother wouldn’t even look at me when I approached her in the supermarket. It was my luck that you rented an apartment under your nam
e.”

  I stand and my legs are unsteady.

  “I had made a name for myself. I had taken over my father's business, made it legitimate and became the man I wanted to be. So when I was ready, I came after you.”

  I shake my head again, hoping he stops.

  “I drove non-stop for ten hours and arrived early on a Sunday morning. I pulled in to your apartment complex just as you and some guy were walking out of your apartment. You were wearing your pajamas and you stopped at your door. Then you threw your arms around his neck and he kissed you good-bye.”

  My hands grip the edge of the granite countertop as I steady my body.

  “You were happy. You were in love. And I knew I was too late.”

  “Harry,” I say in a painful whisper. I take a few minutes to absorb everything Ethan said, then stand tall. “His name was Harry,” I manage. “It took three years before I could find someone who made me happy. The sad part is, I needed to stay busy and Harry needed someone to fix him. I liked him, but I loved fixing him more. I kept telling myself one day I would make him better than you. One day I would forget you ever existed.” My voice breaks with each sentence. Ethan walks around the island and I hold my hand up to keep the distance between us. “I wish you would've walked over to me in the courtyard that day,” I cry.

  “Me, too.” He nods. “But I don't think it would've done us any good. We had some growing up to do, me especially.” “Three years,” I mutter. “It took you three years to come back. You could’ve called.”

  “I'm sorry.”

  I close my eyes, remembering everything that happened between us. “I went to Brazil to forget you. I met my best friend, Emilia. I was with Harry; she was with Weston. They were in a band. They moved to London to become famous. She and I drifted apart. Soon after that I moved to Chicago. For eight years all I’ve tried to do is forget the pain you caused. I tried to forget that god awful day I begged you to come with me to LA and you flat out said no and broke my heart. And it all could’ve all been fixed if you had only walked up to me in the courtyard.”