Broken Dreams (Fatal Series Book 3)

by Callie Anderson

  By Friday afternoon my mother and I have agreed that Lindsey is the best fit for the studio. She has dance experience and picked up the routines quickly. When she handed me back the job application, my stomach dropped as I glanced at the date.

  May 5th.

  I have ten days to reply to HR.

  “Is everything okay?” she asks as I stare down at the date.

  “Oh.” I snap my head up and smile. “Yes, it’s perfect.”

  “Thanks again for this opportunity, Leslie. I won’t let you down.” She throws her duffle bag over her shoulder.

  I smile and nod, unable to say a word. I needed to make a decision and I needed to do it quickly.

  When I arrive home later that night, I decide there is no more hiding and making excuses. I’ll tell Ethan about the job offer and the baby. I huff one last time, finding the courage before I pull out my cell phone from my back pocket and shoot him a text message.

  Me: Hey, I was wondering if we can get a drink later? I want to talk to you about something.

  My decision will be based on Ethan. If he wants me to stay, I will, and together we will raise this child. If he doesn’t want this baby, then I will go back to Chicago where I have a great job with great benefits, and I will raise this child on my own.

  My phone chirps twenty minutes later.

  Ethan: I'll be at the pub later, come by.

  I sigh. I wanted to chat somewhere more private, and definitely not a place where Erica was watching us. But being that Ethan hadn’t been himself lately, I didn’t want to push my luck.

  Me: Sure. Be there around 7.

  By six thirty I'm dressed and walking out the door. As I slide inside my car I keep reassuring myself that maybe, just maybe, the news of a baby will pull Ethan out of his funk. Before turning the car on I close my eyes and silently pray this conversation goes well.

  The Pub is filled on a Friday night. The scent of fried food wafts through the air, and for the first time, the smell of anything fried bothers me. Holding my breath, I scan the crowd. It takes me a few seconds to spot Ethan, but he is sitting at the bar with his back facing the front door. To my luck, Erica is nowhere in sight. Inhaling (and quickly regretting it), I force my feet to move forward.

  “Hey,” I say, pulling the barstool back. Ethan cocks his head to the side and nods at me. There's no hello, how are you, I miss you, you look nice. Instead, I ignore the feeling in my gut and sit next to him. My gaze lands on the half-empty bottle in front of him. By the looks of it he's been at the bar way longer than I expected him to be. Nervously, I crack my knuckles. Maybe this isn’t the best place or time to tell him.

  Ethan raises a glass at me, silently, and I know he’s asking if I want a drink. “Bourbon is a little strong for me,” I answer.

  “Chavez.” Ethan waves over the bartender. “Get her whatever she wants,” Ethan slurs.

  Chavez stares at me politely. “I'll have a club soda with a lime please.” I glance back at Ethan. His lids are lazy and I can tell he has surpassed his limit. “How long have you been here?” I try to sound optimistic but I know my voice is failing me.

  “A few minutes or so,” Ethan answers, but we both know he is lying through his teeth.

  I wait until Chavez sets my drink in front of me and walks away. Leaning into Ethan, I whisper, “Maybe we can talk somewhere else. Get some fresh air?”

  Ethan glances over at me, a devilish grin growing on his face, and for a split second I see Jerry in his eyes. Ignoring my request completely, he holds the glass to his lips and drinks the entire shot. He wipes the back of his mouth with his hand and shifts on his seat to look directly at me. “You said you want to talk, what's up?”

  “Doesn’t seem like the right time.” I shrug, not wanting to say anything that will piss him off even more. I’ve never seen him in this state before. Talking about having a child and me leaving can set off a chain of events we will both regret.

  “Les.” He leans forward, and I can smell the liquor permeating from his pores. “You wanted to talk, let's talk. What's going on?” His voice is gentle.

  I stare deep into his green eyes. I want to see if my Ethan is still in there, or if the monster who has taken over his soul for the past few weeks is the one present. Gnawing on my lower lip, I contemplate whether I should say anything. Deciding on the lesser of two evils, I slowly say, “My company is merging with another company. When I decided to stay here I took a leave of absence for six months, but because the companies are now merging, I have to make a decision to either resign or go back to work.” I pause and wait for a reaction. Ethan doesn’t speak but his stare is locked on mine.

  “A part of me wants to stay here. I want to see where things with you are going, but I want to make sure you're on the same page.”

  Ever so slowly, he nods as though he is registering what I’m saying. Each second drags on. He opens his mouth to speak but closes it quickly. I wait on bated breath for an answer. For a simple, yes, of course, stay, but instead, he digs into his pocket and pulls out his cell phone.

  Ignoring me completely, he slides his finger across the screen and brings it to his ear. “Hello?” he says, and I'm shocked that his words are clear and no longer slurred with the liquor that courses through his body. “Yeah, give me a second. I can't really hear you.” Ethan holds up a finger at me before walking away.

  I feel stunned, as if I've been punched in the gut. I asked him here to talk, asked him to give me a reason to stay, and instead he completely dismissed me. Annoyed, I turn back toward the bar and wrap my hand around the cold glass, taking a huge gulp of my drink. I hate this no alcohol thing.

  Every fiber in my body is telling me this isn’t a good idea. I’m debating leaving when I feel a light tap on my shoulder. Startled, I jump up and turn to face the person whose subtle touch scared me. Michael is staring directly at me with a kind smile on his face.

  Remembering the last time I saw him, my eyebrows furrow and I pull away. “What do you want?”

  He doesn't say anything, just slips onto Ethan’s empty stool. “I wanted to apologize,” he says running his hands over his fine black hair. “The last time you were here, I said some things to you and that was wrong and childish of me.” I watch him carefully, my eyes studying the features on his face. The way his eyes are open wide and rounded I can see a bit of sincerity behind it.

  Not wanting to argue with anyone tonight, I sigh and take another sip of my drink. “It's okay, Michael.” I shake my head. “It's in the past now.”

  “Good.” A wide grin grows across his face. “So, how does it feel to be back?”

  “It's different, I guess. A lot has happened in the few months that I've been here.”

  “Yeah, I guess nobody saw Jerry finally kicking it. I could've sworn that man would outlast us all.”

  “I can't say I'm not happy he's gone.” I shrug and Michael chuckles.

  “Fuck, yeah! And I know Ethan is over the moon his pops is finally dead. Now he can finally let go of the big ball and chain.”

  “I don't think he's taking it too well,” I admit. I don't know why I say this to Michael. He's probably the last person I should be talking to about Ethan, but not being able to understand what he is going through is making me crazy.

  Michael must see the hesitation in my eyes; he gently places a hand on my shoulders. “Ethan is a strong man. The strongest person I know. He'll get through this—”

  Ethan's fist collides with his face. I stand from my seat and open my mouth to scream, but it all happens so fast. Ethan is standing beside me, waiting for Michael’s retaliating rage when I get stuck in the crossfire and my pelvis crashes into the corner of a wooden table. I wince with pain.

  The baby?

  Oh, God . . . Please, not the baby.

  I force myself to ignore the thought and look back at the two men. Ethan’s eyebrow is split, but Michael has blood spurting out of his mouth. Ethan’s closed fist meets with his cheekbone, and Michael’s head pops back. His
defeated body is on the dirty pub floor and Ethan’s on top of him.

  “Stop!” I manage to scream.

  One. Two. Three punches. “You fucking piece of shit!” Ethan shouts.

  “Ethan!” I shout, but there is no use.

  “I told you to stay away from her!” I am paralyzed, my eyes glued to a monster beating on a poor, helpless man. The scene is all too familiar. Bile rises in my stomach, and I cover my mouth, refusing to let it out.

  My vision blurs, and my eyes play tricks on me. First, I see Jerry, then I blink and I see Ethan again. This can’t be real. Ethan is not his father, I remind myself.

  Seconds pass as Ethan continues taking his wrath out on Michael before he is finally pulled away. Chavez is on the floor holding Michael up. His face is bloody and almost unrecognizable. My hands rush to my mouth to cover a scream that wants to pour from my lungs.

  I'm too scared to look at Ethan but I force myself to anyway. “Get off of me!” he demands of the two men holding him.

  In that moment I look at him with every ounce of disgust I have. This isn’t the man I love. This isn’t the man I want to be the father of my baby.

  “What the hell is your fucking problem?” I manage to ask as tears swell in my eyes. “Michael is your friend. Your fucking employee! You just beat him to a pulp for no reason!”

  The restaurant is silent as every pair of eyes scrutinizes us.

  “No reason?” Ethan steps closer, his mouth mere inches from mine. “I fucking told him not to go anywhere near you, and I walk back in the fucking bar and he has his fucking hands on you!” He growls.

  I refuse to let him intimidate me. “He was apologizing.” I shake my head, not believing the man before me. The devil is embedded in his soul. “You are no different from your father.” The words slip out of my mouth.

  Ethan's eyes narrow on mine, and for the first time in my life I'm afraid of him. “This is who I am, Leslie. This is who I've always been.” He throws his hands in the air. “I am the devil’s spawn. That shouldn't surprise you. “

  “I can't believe I ever thought about staying in this fucking town.”

  “Nobody's asking you to stay.” He reaches toward the bar and takes a swig of the bottle.

  I hold my head up high and grab my purse. Ignoring the cramping in my abdomen and everyone’s eyes on me, I force a smile to my face. “You know what you are, Ethan?” I ask but I don't wait for him to respond. “You're not your father. You’re a fucking coward. Instead of facing your issues head-on, you're fucking hiding behind the bottle.”

  I don't wait for him to answer. I simply walk to the door and never look back.

  Once I’m a mile away from the bar, I pull my car to the side of the road. Shifting into park, I rest my head against the steering wheel and cry. I’m angry and hurt, but most of all I’m disappointed. The cramping in my abdomen hasn’t passed, and I feel a warm wetness between my legs. Placing my hands inside my pants, I feel the wetness and pull out my fingers. My other hand flicks the car light on and I gasp at the crimson blood that’s stained my fingers. Unable to breathe, I wipe my fingers on a napkin and let out a screech from the depths of my soul.

  My body trembles, and tears pour down my cheeks and drip down to my chest. I sit there for a few minutes before I reach inside my purse and pull out the business card Mrs. Carey gave me to call her in an emergency.

  “Dr. Carey speaking.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Carey, it’s Leslie,” I whimper.

  “Yes, Leslie, is everything okay?”

  “I . . . I was pushed into a table and I hit my abdomen.” My voice cracks and I force myself to continue. “I’m bleeding now. I think I’m losing the baby.”

  “Oh, sweetie . . . It could be the egg implanting. Spotting is normal.”

  I sniffle back and wipe my nose. “I don’t know,” I say, feeling like the world is being ripped out from under me.

  “Monitor it,” she says and I nod. “Come to my office first thing tomorrow morning and I’ll check you out. But don’t worry, spotting is normal.”

  “Thank you,” I say and hang up the phone. My heart is beating at a rapid speed and never in my life have I been so scared. Covering my mouth, I cry out in pain as I beg God to not take my baby.

  26

  PRESENT

  At some point through the crying and the pain I make it home. I don’t say anything as I walk up the stairs and head straight toward the shower. The warm water trickles down my body as my hands curl around my stomach. The spotting is still there but it is less than before. I find myself checking every few minutes. My breath is caught in my chest as I wait for more blood.

  When I’m done in the shower I slip on my pajamas and crawl into bed. Images of Ethan beating Michael haunt me as I toss and turn between checking my pad periodically. Never have I seen Ethan like that, so violent, so angry. Even when he spoke to Erica that day, his voice was laced with anger. It’s as if Jerry has taken over his spirit. That thought alone causes me to shiver. I turn over on the bed and look out my bedroom window. My eyes are glued to the latch that is now locked so no one can get in.

  Checking one last time to see if there is any more bleeding, I force my eyes shut and will sleep to come. The tightness I feel around my abdomen wakes me from my sleep. I wince in bed and my eyes snap open as I realize what’s happening.

  “Ow!” I say and curl up in a ball. Tears fill my eyes as the cool wetness from my pajama bottoms rests on my leg. Petrified, I shove the covers off and turn on the light.

  Blood.

  Bright crimson blood pools between my legs. My hands cover my mouth as a scream threatens to crawl up my throat.

  This isn’t spotting.

  This is more than a regular period.

  Warm tears drip down my cheeks. My heart shatters into a million pieces as it all settles in. I’m losing the baby.

  My feet drag across the carpeted floor, and I force myself to swallow back the boulder that is lodged in my throat. There is nothing a blood test can tell me that I don’t already know. Once again, I sit on the exam room chair and extend my forearm.

  “I’m so sorry this is happening to you.” Mrs. Carey holds my hand and a new wave of tears wash over me. “We will know more once we get your results.” She nods, and gives me the same reassuring grin that Stephanie has.

  “I won’t need my results,” I say and bite back a sob. “The amount of blood that came out makes it impossible to be okay.”

  Mrs. Carey hands me a tissue and places her hand on my shoulder. “We don’t know for certain.”

  Once she is finished withdrawing another vial, I hold the cotton ball as she opens the Band-Aid.

  “Will I need a D&C?” I ask but I don’t look up at her, I can’t. The second my eyes meets hers I will lose it all. I will break down and I don’t want to do that until I’m home.

  “No.” she says and as she sticks the Band-Aid on. “A D&C is usually performed on miscarriages after ten weeks.”

  I nod as my vision blurs. “Do you think this happened because I was shoved into a table?”

  Mrs. Carey takes both of my hands in hers and crouches down until we are face to face.

  “Unfortunately, we will never be able to tell if the blunt force impact caused the miscarriage.” Her voice is kind, sympathetic, and somewhat comforting all in one. “Sometimes it’s your body telling you this wasn’t the perfect egg.”

  My lips quiver as I try my hardest not to cry uncontrollably. “Your pregnancy is, was, still very early on, and most of the time your uterus rejects the egg implantation.”

  I nod and suck in a breath as a sob escapes me. “Okay,” I say only slightly above a whisper. My body is trembling.

  Mrs. Carey hugs me. “There is nothing you could have done to change this outcome.” Her hands rub up my back.

  “I didn’t know how much I could love it already,” I cry.

  “I know, sweetie.” She brushes my hair back and I sob.

  Minutes pass before my crying h
as subsided. Wiping the tears away, I clear my throat. “So, what now?” I say as I take in big gulps of air to fill my lungs.

  “The bleeding will be heavier than a normal period,” she says, and I hold my breath. “Your body will push it all out on its own. You’ll have a bit more cramping than usual, but don’t be alarmed. If you have a fever, begin to vomit or develop the chills, call me immediately.”

  I nod, unable to say anything else. I stand from the chair and throw my purse over my shoulder. Mrs. Carey places her hand on the upper part of my back and follows me out of the office.

  By the time I reach my car, the decision has been made for me.

  When I get home, I’ll be emailing HR and telling them I’m returning.

  To my surprise, when I arrive home Stephanie’s car is in the driveway. I give myself another look in the mirror and decide keeping my sunglasses on is best to hide the puffiness. Inside, I find Stephanie sitting with my parents in the living room.

  “There she is,” my father says with a wide grin when I step inside.

  “I had an appointment this morning.” My voice is still hoarse.

  “Stephanie here was just telling your father that Bruce will be home next week,” My Mom says and adds more tea to Stephanie’s cup. “Would you like some tea?” My mother says, holding up the kettle in my direction.

  I shake my head and Stephanie stands. “Excuse me for just a quick second. I need to have a little chat with Leslie.”

  “Certainly,” my father agrees.

  “We’ll go outside.” I lead her to the deck.