Finding Love (Behind Blue Lines Book 3)

by Christine Zolendz

  "I'm going to go." My voice was strained.

  He stepped forward and plucked my phone out of my hands. “Why? Are you meeting up with someone?”

  His tone was clipped as he looked down at the screen. Heat spiraled down my spine, and every nerve ending in my body reared up and lit on fire. I yanked my phone back, almost blind with rage.

  His eyes shot up to mine. His expression felt so judgmental, I wanted to slap him in his stupid face.

  “Who is it tonight?” he seethed.

  “Excuse me?” I said, standing straighter, leveling a nasty glare at him.

  “It’s a different guy every night. Who is it tonight? The mailman? The old man who lives on the corner? Max? Ryan?” He strode closer, looming tall over me. “Who is it? And why? Why, because of Craig? Because of your child? How does fucking different men every night make any of it better?”

  I stepped back, reigning myself in. My face tingled with electricity, and rage surged through every inch of my body, but it felt good. I wanted him to fight me. I wanted him to care. My heart hammered faster.

  “You cannot let one asshole be your guide for an entire gender. You can’t. You can’t judge every man based on one’s assholeness.”

  “Who said it was only one?”

  “It was one. One big fucking dick. Should I judge you on what my wife did?”

  “I’m nothing like your wife!” I snapped, irritated that he would ever think I—

  “Right, yeah, I know.” He looked mortified and ashamed. He opened his mouth and closed it, then opened it again. “Maybe…maybe you’re messing with different guys every night to try and figure out how to get happy. Maybe that’s your heroin.”

  “I haven’t. I stopped.”

  His eyes bore into mine. “The night before last?”

  “Dean and Liv came over. But you…you can’t do this to me, Dylan.”

  His nose flared as he listened, his chest rising and falling faster.

  "You can't come at me with your perfect words and encouragement and make me think someone like you could be interested in someone like me. You can't continuously make me want things you're not able to give. Giving me hope is like slowly poisoning me."

  “I swear to God, I'm not trying to hurt you. I'm not," he breathed.

  "But you are. Let's be honest here. We're both in messed up places in our lives. But there's something here between us, and if we keep spending time together like this, it's going to get very complicated."

  He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the cabinets with a thud.

  “Let’s just...uh—” I cleared my throat and swallowed the lump of regret that was quickly forming there. “Let’s keep thinking about Sheri, okay? Fight for your wife, and keep your family together.”

  His eyes opened slowly, regarding me gravely. “You know, I always had this romanticized notion about fighting for someone you love. Being that guy at the end of the movie holding up the boom box.” He chuckled dryly. “But the reality is just an empty, aching heart, with all its hope ripped right out of it. And I can't help thinking how could it be called love if you have to fight with that person regularly to make them stay with you.”

  Our eyes fixed on one another's. His words pressed against my chest, making it hard to breathe, but I couldn’t look away. Neither could he. It's as though, at that moment, we both knew the same pain, the same hurt, and the only way to get rid of it was through the person standing in front of us.

  My throat turned dry, and I rubbed at my neck to ease the sensation. I kept staring at him and finally offered a slight shake of my head. Tears threatened to fall, but I pursed my lips and held them in tight.

  Then, slowly, deliberately, his body shifted closer, and the distance between us lessened. Everything in me screamed to run; yet, I stood still, waiting. All at once, the air between us changed; it felt charged somehow, electrified.

  “Callie, being around you, I realized love shouldn’t feel like war.”

  Silence chased after his words. I couldn’t think of anything to say. I couldn’t think of anything but the lazy way he was closing the space between us, or maybe it was me moving toward him, I wasn’t sure. The only thing I was positive of was how close our bodies had become, and then the bolt of lightning when his hand reached out and gently touched down against the expanse of my neck. His fingers stroked along my flesh, and I gasped in response. My raspy breaths unveiled my desire.

  The room felt darker. Hotter. My fingertips tingled, and I grabbed him by the wrist, digging my nails into the cuff of his sleeve. I wasn't sure whether it was to hurt him or if I was clawing at the ledge I so desperately wanted to dive off.

  His other hand reached up, and when those fingers ran over the opposite side of my throat, my knees buckled. I closed my eyes and savored the heat of him on me. I heard him curse once, and then his face was buried in my neck, his hot breath sending a wave of goosebumps puckering out all over my skin.

  “Dylan,” I whispered.

  “I know.” His voice trembled.

  Then soft lips pressed against the skin right below my jaw, and I held my breath, waiting, wanting. I felt frantic, like falling off the edge of the world...this, whatever this was, this wasn’t just simple lust. That was what terrified me the most. This was something much, much more. It was beyond ruthless and carnal; it was gut-wrenchingly real.

  He pushed himself away, both of us separating in breathy swears. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, eyes glossy. “I…oh God, it’s just that when I’m with you, Callie, it’s laughable that I ever thought what I had with Sheri was real.” He covered his forehead with his hands, pressing his palms hard. "You're the piece of my puzzle that's been missing. And I don't know how I'm going to do this without you. I don't think I'm going to want to do any of it if you're not here."

  I backed away until I hit the wall. “I really, really should go now.”

  “I know you should, and I know you will. Just know in my heart, I don’t want you to,” he whispered.

  I nodded quickly and felt my way along the wall to the door. “I don’t want to go either, but I am. I’m going.” I whirled around and rushed for the front door and slammed it closed behind me.

  There was no way I would stay. I never wanted to go inside his house again, it would be risking too much. It wasn’t even Sheri I was thinking about; it was me. Falling for Dylan would be a form of suicide for me. He would take and take, and I would give him and those children everything, wouldn’t I? It would be total self-destruction. How would I stay a sane person if I had to constantly hide my feelings from his wife? How would I be able to deal with seeing them a happy family while being some side-piece he threw his dick at a few times a week, with a bit of sweet words?

  It would be a reckless disregard for my own well-being, and I wouldn’t be a part of it. I did deserve more.

  I deserved to find someone just for me. And if I didn’t, so be it, I was already used to being alone.

  I was done with Dylan Sanborn.

  It wasn’t until three o’clock in the morning that I snapped out of my stupor.

  When I heard the screams and glass breaking, all I could do was grab for my gun.

  Chapter 20

  Dylan

  I couldn’t sleep.

  I laid awake, staring up at the ceiling as the moonlight filtered in through the bedroom window. It was open, just an inch, and a crisp cold wind blew at the curtains, making them sway in a pale ghost-like dance against the wall.

  I tried to keep her out of my head, but thoughts of Callie just kept pushing in. I made a fool of myself in front of her time and time again. I looked weak and pathetic, like a man who would give up on a marriage so easily when my wife needed me the most. I was relieved Callie left. I wouldn't be quick to forgive myself for a moment of weakness, no matter how innocent and natural it was to fall for her. When Sheri was better, we would have to decide what was best for our family. In my heart, I felt it would be best to end the marriage, but not before
I could speak with her about her feelings. If she wanted to work through things, I would put everything into making our relationship work; as my wife, she deserved that much. I would have to sacrifice my feelings for Callie. That was it. It wouldn’t be easy, but it would be right.

  I still couldn’t sleep. I wonder what’s happening on Facebook? Maybe I’ll just scroll through the newsfeed and get my mind off things. As I reached for the phone, I heard a low creaking sound somewhere in the house. I lifted my head off the pillow and listened.

  Maybe it was the wind outside? I could be hearing something in the back yard because of the open window.

  A soft thud, and then a louder one, like something dropped onto a carpet. Was Addison walking around in the living room? Was she looking for a toy or a snack? What if she opened the front door? I bolted up, holding my breath, trying to listen for noise above the sounds of my own frantic heart.

  I scrambled out of the bed sheets. What if Addison wanted to go across the street to see Callie? What if she got hit by a car? I don’t think I locked the deadbolt on the door; that would be the only thing that stopped her from getting it open.

  I rushed to the door and froze instantly.

  Two adult-sized shadowy figures shifted slowly through the living room. My vision tunneled, pinpointing on pale, wispy strands of blonde hair and hot sparks of adrenaline zapped up my arms.

  Storming down the hallway half-crazed, half-murderous, I flicked the light switch on as I reached the end. Two pairs of desperate eyes bounced back at me—and I’m not making up the bouncing part—their dilated pupils fucking bounced. They jittered and pulsed like cartoon characters in a sci-fi movie.

  There in the middle of our living room was my wife, who was supposed to be in rehab getting better; instead, she was spinning in circles, with the cord of the television wrapped around her legs. Next to her stood a man who looked familiar, yet I couldn’t place his face. My tool bag for work sat at his feet. Both of them scratched incessantly at the bloody cuts and scrapes covering their arms.

  “I came for some of my things,” Sheri said, eyebrows shifting up and down her face. She spun the other way and yanked on the cord of the television until the entire flat screen crashed to the floor.

  “You’re supposed to be getting clean,” I said, stunned.

  “Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. You need to give me money, too.”

  My focus darted to the man. His chest was heaving, and his fists were clenched tight.

  "This is him? This him? I don’t like his face, Sheri,” he said in a rush.

  They’re either high as anything or looking to get something from me to get high as anything. What did those pamphlets say? Are they tweaking? And what the fuck did that mean? Did they take heroin? Meth? Crack? I raked my hands through my hair, wanting to scream. They were too jumpy to be on heroin. That crap usually made her sit still and nod out. She wouldn’t be able to lift her eyelids.

  Right now, she was gesturing her hands in the same repeated pattern, scratching at her skin. The guy postured ten feet away from me, demonstrating some crazy-eyed, menacing expression. He looked like a punk, and the idiot was half my size, but I didn’t think he noticed how much bigger I was than him.

  “What did you take?” I asked Sheri, crossing my arms in front of my chest. The guy stared me down, mumbling words under his breath I couldn’t comprehend. When he bent down and started rummaging through my work bag, I couldn't help laughing. Was he trying to steal my tools? What was he going to do? Suddenly fix cars in exchange for drugs?

  “Whatever I could get for a blowjob.”

  Ice hardened in my veins. Sheri said it so calmly, I knew, I knew deep in my heart that’s exactly what she did to barter for her high. Without a doubt. My body surged with some unnamed thing, flooding with an eye-opening substance giving me the sensation I was floating somewhere far above the chaos.

  I zoned in on her expression, trying to get a handle on what she was thinking or feeling, but she continued to scratch at her skin and take apart pieces of the broken television.

  “What did you do?” I asked. I needed her to be perfectly clear. I needed her to tell me what she did. What she did to us.

  She shrugged her shoulders. “If you gave me more money, I wouldn’t have to fuck anyone for drugs.”

  I stared at her in silence. "You slept with other men? For drugs?"

  For a split second, I wanted to run to her, comfort her, save her somehow. Instead, the word ‘prostitute’ seemed to hang in the air between us, nailing my feet to the floor.

  Her scratching stopped, and she pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lighting one. “If you gave me enough money, I wouldn’t have to.”

  “How much do you have?” the guy asked.

  He stood closer to me than before, picking at a crusty scab on his cheek. Fresh blood oozed out of it, and still, he scraped and clawed, reddening his fingertips and mixing with the dirt caked under his nails.

  “I don’t have anything for you,” I snapped.

  “Give me your wedding ring,” Sheri croaked.

  She stepped forward, still fumbling with the wires. As she moved in, her little thug of a friend pulled out my big ratchet from the bag of my tools.

  Was he kidding me right now?

  “Daddy?”

  No. No, no, no, no. Addison, my sweet little girl, I don’t want you to see your mother like this.

  My gaze floated to her. I wanted to tell her it would be okay. I wanted to make her feel safe; instead, I watched as her eyes widened at something behind me and her shrieks of terror screeched out as the ratchet came up over my head.

  Sheri's voice gurgled up in a series of bubbling rasps and giggles. Without thinking, I moved toward the giddy sound and an explosion of white-hot pain slammed into my shoulder, just missing my head.

  "Just give me the fucking ring, Dylan!" Her voice was raw.

  “Mommy! Mommy!” Addison screamed.

  I watched in horror as her little arms rose up toward her mother, her fingers clawing at nothing but air. The cries from her small body were so intense, her limbs shook with the effort. Then the sick fuck with the ratchet set his drugged out eyes on my daughter and smiled.

  My shoulder was nothing but fire, and the flames of pain licked down my arm and across my chest. I bit through it and rushed at Addison, covering her body.

  Steel collided into my rib cage, and I spun into the pain, slamming my body into his arm. A sickening crack sounded between us, and the ratchet thudded with one hard clank to the carpet, one end smeared with blood.

  My daughter dropped to the floor, screaming for her mother.

  “Addison!” my voice grounded out. I took a step toward her, and the room spun violently around me. He couldn’t have hit me that hard. It didn't matter. I just needed to get to Addi. I needed her out of here away from them. I needed her locked in a room. Did she know how to call 911?

  Of course she didn't. That’s why she went across the street and got Callie that night.

  Sheri was yelling at the douchebag to get up. She called him G, just a stupid letter. She probably didn't know his name. She moved quickly, scrambling and crawling across the rug, reaching for the bloody tool.

  G rolled around next to it, groaning in pain. The stark white of his bone jutting through the blood drenched rip in his skin. I laughed at him, but all that came out was a choked gurgle and the thick, rusty tang of blood.

  “Mommy! Mommy!” Addison screamed, over and over.

  She cried with her whole body—eyes full of horror—blanched knuckles into tiny fists at her side. Her voice tore through my ears like a shard of glass, turning into static, pure white noise, shrill and deafening until all I heard was my heart beating high in my throat.

  Sheri yanked the asshole up by his good arm, her eyes still fixed on mine. She doesn't hear Addison screaming, does she?

  "Just give me whatever you have on you. Money. Rings. Give it to me!" Spit flew out of her mouth as she made her demands, lunging forward, flailing he
r fists against my chest.

  Addison watched it all. Her pale, frightened face watched it all.

  I grabbed onto Sheri, stopping her punching, pulling her into my chest. “Stop,” I growled as she struggled against me. Her fists were full of blood now, and I couldn’t tell where she’d gotten hurt. “Addison is right there. She’s watching you.”

  "I don't care! Give me my money!"

  Her hands were pinned between us. I tried to hold onto her, wanted to get her to stop, but she leaned into my shoulder and bit down into my skin. My mind roared out in searing pain, but I clamped my teeth shut. I didn’t want Addison to know. I didn’t want her to see what her mother was doing to me. Instantly, I shoved away from her, and there was a sharp stinging warmth along my arm. I frantically searched Sheri's face to see if a chunk of my shoulder was dangling from her lips, but there was nothing there but a sinister smile.

  “I can’t fucking believe you,” I seethed.

  “Just give me the money!”

  "I thought this whole time you were sick, but you know…you know exactly what you're doing and who you're hurting." I stepped in front of my daughter, blocking her from the train wreck in front of me. I had to protect Addison. I couldn't let her see any more of this horror. "You know damn well what you're destroying."

  Sheri didn't respond; she just eyed my hands, finding my ring finger empty. She blinked up at me and laughed. "They're probably not even your kids."

  The last piece of my heart detached completely, and in the space it was supposed to beat, there was just some dark, empty hole Sheri made just for me. It had died a slow, drawn out death for four long years as she stripped every last ounce of hope it held until nothing remained inside me.

  My wife, the woman I loved so long ago, was gone. Vanished without a trace, swept away in a thick haze of drugs and lies. Sheri was already dead to me; she was a junkie, a whore, and a liar. She was that way for so long, wasn’t she? That’s what she chose. I couldn't force her to get clean or love her children or me. I would never be able to forget the things she said and the things she did. I wasn't sure I had the capacity for forgiveness for someone who could hurt their child without a single ounce of remorse, or any knowledge that what she did and said was wrong.