by K. C. Sivils
"Oh, no, you don't," Amy snapped. "Boucher is off-limits. And before you start up, that's off-limits to both of us. He is a player, big time, and I, for one, have enough trouble trying to have a normal relationship. I seem to keep picking abusers and losers."
“I can handle myself,” Blondie protested, frowning at her roommate.
“Not in a healthy relationship, not yet,” Amy barked.
“Who says?”
“Heat says. My shrink says,” Amy fired back in her best mother knows best tone of voice. “Which reminds me, we need to schedule you an appointment with the shrink.”
“No shrinks,” Blondie whined.
Without looking at Blondie as she flipped through the contacts on her phone, Amy replied sternly, “Yes. Heat’s paying. It’s part of our job benefits package. You have to go.”
“Why?”
Amy hit dial and held the phone out in front of her mouth and glared at Blondie. "Because we're victims of something horrible. Something so awful that neither of us can understand what the other went through. I want my life back, Blondie. I don't want to be a victim. I want to have the life I dreamed of back in Louisiana. I want to be a wife and have a family. I want to be happy."
“Good for you, Amy,” Blondie sneered. “Doesn’t explain why I need to see your shrink.”
“Simple, I don’t know how to take my life back so I can be that woman. Neither do you.”
“Hello,” a voice said. “Please press two for Spanish. Please listen carefully as our menu has changed…”
---
Sharon Smith was worried and pleased at the same time. She'd raised her children to be strong, independent individuals. For Anna to call her out of the blue, crying no less, and asking Sharon to come and help her was worrisome. Anna had not explained the situation other than she'd bought a ticket for her mom, and it arrived via email on Sharon's phone. Would she please come to Houston?
It also pleased Sharon her baby girl had turned to her mother for help. The fact Anna was in Houston and not at their home told Sharon the grandkids were fine. Nick was the source of her daughter’s crisis.
Bill had been curt when she'd called him to let him know she was flying to Houston to be with Anna. He had a few nasty things to say about his daughter's husband and pointed out the only logical solution was to shoot the deadbeat. Sharon knew to keep quiet on the subject, or Bill was liable to leave work and catch a plane to Houston himself.
It wasn't that Sharon wasn't in complete agreement with her husband. It was the fact Anna couldn't stand up to her dad when he was like that. That, in turn, led to Anna just doing what she wanted and begging for forgiveness later. Now wasn't the time for creating more conflict for Anna.
As Anna was so fond of saying, Nick was the father of her children, and Sharon understood how her daughter felt. Bill had his faults, and they often drove Sharon nuts, but he was her husband and had been a good provider for the family, something women seemed to no longer value in husbands these days.
She might be old-fashioned in some ways, but when this was over, Sharon intended to break one of her rules. Nick had to go, and that meant a divorce. Bill and Sharon took their wedding vows seriously, especially the until death do us part portion of the vow. Bill worried about how Nick's lifestyle impacted his daughter, but he was more concerned about it affected his grandchildren. The fact he couldn't do anything about the situation frustrated him to no end.
The very same thing frustrated Sharon as well. Anna was wealthy and independent. She could pay for what she thought she needed or to eliminate any inconvenience in her life. As proud of Anna as Sharon was, her daughter's success in the entertainment industry worried Sharon. It was a world where too much money and too many sycophants telling you what you wanted to hear made it easy to lose your way.
Once the crisis had been dealt with, it would be time for a mother-daughter discussion. The price of said discussion might be the ending of their relationship, but Sharon wouldn't be able to live with herself if she didn't speak her mind and make Anna come to her senses.
Nick Devereaux was no good, and he had to go.
Her ears began to pop as the plane began its approach. Sharon closed her eyes and held on to the armrests, listening to the flight attendants go through the cabin, reminding the passengers to restore their seats to the upright position and make sure everything was secured. Over the roar of the jet engines, Sharon reminded herself she was there to support Anna. For her strong-willed, independent Anna to reach out meant her baby girl was vulnerable.
As much as it hurt that Anna was in pain, it felt good to be needed as a mother again.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It was evident to Katie something had upset Becca. Her best friend hadn't said a word during lunch and done nothing more than sit and pick at her food. Becca loved to gossip with the other girls in their group and, on occasion, would flirt with any cute boys who ventured by. But not today. The first bell rang, declaring the lunch period over. Katie followed Becca to the line where the late eaters were bussing their trays before hurrying to class.
“What’s wrong?”
“Who said anything was wrong?”
Katie made a face, indicating she wasn’t in the mood to play twenty questions with her friend.
“Okay, so I’ve been bummed out today.”
“I don’t know why,” Katie observed. “Jesse moved and sat next to you today in English class. Normally, something like that would have you walking on clouds.”
Becca frowned, nodding in agreement. “I should have at least passed him a note.”
“Yeah, you should have at least passed Jesse a note,” Katie sarcastically agreed, growing impatient with her friend. “Are you going to tell me what’s got you so upset you’ve forgotten how to flirt with a cute boy you’re crushing on?”
"Fine, you want to know what's got me on edge, I'll tell you," Becca snapped, turning into the girl's restroom. Katie followed, pushing the door shut behind her while Becca made sure nobody else was in the bathroom.
Satisfied the two were alone, Becca launched into a tirade. "It's like this, your parents were fighting last night. It was so bad your dad slept in the guest room. Normally, like, it would be none of my business, you know? But I'd gone downstairs to get a glass of milk because I couldn't sleep, and that's when I heard your parents fighting."
"That's all?" Katie asked, somewhat incredulous. "They argue like that about once every two months, and when Dad doesn't get his way, he sleeps in the guest room. Then he comes to his senses and apologizes to Mom the next morning, and things are fine."
"It's not fine, Katie," Becca replied tearfully. "They were fighting about my stupid father. He's screwed up again, and now mom has had to go and fix things. So why do you think Adam and I are spending the week with y’all?’
“Why would my parents fight about your dad? It’s kind of not their business.”
"It is when your dad thinks it could endanger you and Billy, he said so. He thinks it could endanger Adam and me too. What's more, he's tired of my dad causing problems. He wants Paula to tell mom to dump my dad and get a divorce!"
“Whoa, that’s kind of out there,” Katie exclaimed. “Dad shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Well, he did,” Becca whimpered. “Katie, I hate to say it, but your dad’s right! My dad is a bum. He cheats on mom, and to make it even worse, he’s been gambling away mom’s money!”
Katie considered how to take some of the sting out of the situation for her friend. "You don't believe those tabloids and those stupid gossip sites, do you?"
“Why not? I’ve heard mom crying when those rumors start. What’s more, dad won’t work. Even when he gets a casting call, he won’t go and audition anymore. It makes mom furious.”
The ear-piercing sound of the tardy bell ringing made both girls cringe.
“We’re late,” Becca sighed, wiping her eyes.
“No,” Katie said firmly, hugging her friend close. “We’re going to the
nurse to get tardy passes.”
A befuddled Becca tilted her head in confusion. “How?”
“We’re old enough,” Katie replied, opening the door.
“Old enough…oh, I get it,” Becca answered, picking up on Katie’s drift. “Gross.”
“Beat’s being tardy.”
Walking down the silent, empty hallway, Katie suddenly blurted out a question. “How do you know your dad’s been gambling?”
A sad expression appeared on Becca's face. "I spy on him. I've heard him placing bets, and I figured out his password to the family computer. Dad uses the same password for everything, so I was able to log into all of mom and dad's bank accounts. It's pretty obvious once you see the records of all their financial transactions."
“That bad?”
“That bad. Dad spends it faster than mom can earn it.”
---
His wife had begged him to let it go, to forgive and try to forget. She'd argued if he didn't, it would turn him into a bitter man. She was right to have warned him, but despite his best efforts to forgive, he just couldn't forget.
It was the images in his mind that were the worst. Horrifyingly vivid images that replayed themselves over and over in his nightmares. No amount of therapy or medication would make them go away. With no relief from the constant torment, and despite his wife’s best efforts, he’d become horribly bitter, filled with self-loathing and guilt for something that wasn’t his fault. No matter what anyone told him, his parents, the therapist, his wife, he knew he should have been there to protect his baby girl.
He’d known they were going to a senior party, but he’d gone out with his buddies instead, taking in the latest action movie instead of getting wasted at the party.
In his mind, because he’d shirked his responsibility as an older brother to have fun with his buddies, what happened to his daughter was his fault. Hate from lack of forgiveness for the perpetrators and himself, combined with his sense of overwhelming guilt, had been like acid to his soul. The gall had eaten away, increasing his bitterness with each passing year.
His wife had left him, unable to live with the changes in his personality any longer. When she left, she took the boys with her. He felt no resentment of any kind towards his wife, her departure was a relief. No longer did he have to try to hide his bitterness and anger. Much to his wife’s surprise, the divorce was amicable. He even encouraged her to date, to find another husband who could give her what he could not, asking only that she not move and take his sons to another city.
Free of the tether of marriage, he nurtured his anger, letting his bitterness and guilt consume the remains of his soul. A successful businessman, he sold his company, giving his ex-wife half the proceeds. With plenty of cash on hand, his thoughts were consumed with the prospect of revenge.
---
Amy hung up the phone as Blondie strolled through the office door with several files underneath her arm.
“You find everything?”
“Yep, I’m starting to get the hang of finding things, though I do think the county could do a better job at helping people find things when they’re misfiled.”
Amy chuckled at her friend’s frustration. When looking for court records and property filings had been her job, Amy had come close to quitting the job Heat and his deceased partner Wolf had given her on more than one occasion.
Taking the files from the younger woman, Amy set them on the corner of her desk and neatly arranged them so she could organize them with the necessary paperwork and reports, exactly in the manner Heat would want them. Blondie disappeared into the kitchen area, quickly returning with a diet Coke and taking a seat on the plush, leather couch in the reception area.
“I don’t like that woman,” Blondie informed Amy.
“Mrs. Devereaux?”
"Yeah, her. We should throw that number out," Blondie advised. "I mean, Heat threw it out. Who are we to fish it out of the garbage can and hold on to it in case Heat wants it?"
Amy watched the younger woman, taking note of the dark expression on Blondie's face. "Because Heat is a softie, and you know it, Blondie. Most people would have left us turning tricks and never given either of us a second thought. Then it would have just been a matter of time till we turned up dead in a ditch somewhere. Either by the hand of our owners or one of the men they rented us out to, dead is dead."
Her younger friend, still fragile and fearful for her days as a victim of human trafficking, teared up. "If you ask me, that's all the reason we need to toss that number, you know? Heat saved us. He got you on your feet and, well, hopefully, I'll be okay too. Don't you see, Amy? Heat protects us, so we should protect Heat from that awful Devereaux woman.”
“We don’t know she’s a horrible person.”
"She's a movie star. They're not nice people. Once they get to Hollywood and start rolling in money, they forget what it's like to be a normal person. They start spouting off their opinions like they actually know what they're talking about. Who cares?"
“Heat cares,” Amy said firmly. “Look, I don’t like her either. It’s obvious from Heat’s reaction and from what little we got out of Elijah, but that woman broke Heat’s heart, plain and simple, back before she was all that. But you don’t know Heat like I do. He’s a softie. No matter how much Anna Devereaux hurt him, it will eat at him if he doesn’t help her.”
Amy's strong statement earned her a scowl from Blondie. "Fine. Keep the number in your desk. But don't you dare volunteer that number to Heat. Only give it to Heat if he asks."
"Fair enough," Amy answered after a few seconds thought. "And if he does decide to take Devereaux's case, the two of us will see to it she doesn't hurt him a second time."
The two young women stared at each other for a moment. “We owe it to Heat,” Blondie pointed out.
“He’s been alone for too long,” Amy said in agreement.
“He’ll be stubborn about it.”
“Of course, he will.”
“Then how do we handle this, Amy?”
“When it comes up, and it will, we argue the opposite of what Heat says he wants, whatever that is, and then Heat will likely to do the right thing.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Oh, my baby girl!”
Anna cringed at the sheer volume of her mother’s voice. Looking up from her phone, Amy forced a smile on her face and stood up from the bench in the baggage claim area where she’d waited for over two hours for her mother’s flight.
Her mother reached out, hurrying towards Anna, a look of motherly concern etched on her face. Two inches shorter than her daughter, Sharon Smith's heart plummeted at the sight of her oldest daughter. Anna still possessed the beautiful, lean figure of a ballerina. Her long, dark tresses framed her beautiful face with its brown eyes, perfect nose and cheekbones, and a pair of kissable lips. What was lacking was the glow of Anna's sweet, upbeat personality, the personality that had landed her one role after another without having to shame herself.
Pride went out the window in the blink of an eye as Anna fell into her mother's arms. "Oh, momma, I just don't know what to do anymore."
Sharon squeezed her daughter tight, glaring at the gawking onlookers, one of whom had pulled out her smartphone to start filming.
Her inner mother bear made an appearance, causing Sharon to release her hold on Anna. Three quick steps and a quick downward swing of her right arm, and the phone went flying.
“Don’t you dare,” Sharon snarled at the shocked woman. “I wonder how you would like it if someone filmed you when you were upset and posted it on social media.”
The loud blaring sound announcing the arrival of luggage on the carousel gave the embarrassed onlookers an excuse to scurry away, leaving Sharon to stare down the stunned woman.
“Mom, please,” Anna pleaded. “There’s your suitcase. I’ll get it so we can go.”
Not wishing to attract unwanted attention from mother bear Sharon, the other passengers parted, creating an open path to the carousel
for Anna. Having retrieved her mother's suitcase, Anna extended the handle and pulled the bag along on its wheels towards the exit. With each step she took, Anna could feel the weight of the stares on her back.
---
The sound of Boucher yelling at the television woke Heat up from his nap. No doubt his friend was watching a replay of some game, protesting a blown call just as quickly as he would cheer for a great play. It bothered Boucher not at all that he already knew the game's outcome or had even watched the replay before. His friend loved to talk, even if there was nobody present to listen, and maintaining a running commentary during a sports event was one of his favorite things to run his mouth about.
Heat decided against trying to go back to sleep. Between the racket Boucher was making and Heat's recurring nightmare of being left at the alter by Anna made the idea of sleep unlikely. It had been years since Anna had made an appearance in his dreams. But when she did, it was never the sweet, pleasant Anna who showed up. It was the Anna he didn't understand, the one who, without so much as a single word, had left him to go to Hollywood. The fact her departure had been the night of their engagement party and not the actual day of the wedding didn't matter.
In Heat's dreams, he always watched Anna coming down the aisle, escorted by her father, looking radiantly beautiful in her white wedding dress. Her father would deposit Anna next to Heat and take his seat next to Anna's mother. Heat always felt himself beaming with pride, his love spilling over and lighting up the area before the altar.
And then it would happen.
Invariably, Anna would throw her wedding bouquet at Heat, stick her tongue out, hoist the hem of her dress up above her knees, turn around and sprint out of the church. It was the same every single time. Like the nightmare, Heat’s emotional state was the same every time when he woke up. He was hurt, confused, and often angry.
Despite his best efforts, Heat had never been able to talk to Anna, to learn why she had skipped town without talking to him. Her parents had cut him off, refusing to answer his calls. Anna's siblings were no better. It was from her maid of honor, who was furious with Anna, who had finally told him Anna's family was embarrassed and didn't know how to react. The result being they didn't want to talk to Heat. It would just embarrass them more.
