by L. M. Carr
Dedication
Acknowledgments
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Epilogue
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright© 2017 by L.M. Carr. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.
Cover Design and Formatting by Cassy Roop of Pink Ink Designs
“…thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife…”
Exodus 20: 17
To Tyler, Stacy and Nick…although the road in your lives may have taken a detour, your journey continues.
Your strength and courage in the face of adversity has been incredible!
Always stay #tylerstrong.
With each book I write, I like acknowledge those who’ve helped in some way. It’s a small token of my gratitude.
To Ivette and Dennis, thank you for your medical expertise.
To Karrie P., Mary T., Danielle B. and Elaine D., thank you for beta reading the story. I’m so lucky to have you all!
To the readers who send me messages and stay connected, to the bloggers who share my work, to my fellow authors who offer writing suggestions, thank you! Your words of encouragement mean so much!
To Cassy, Jessica and Juliana, thank you for your creativity and graphic design talent.
To L Woods PR, thank you for getting this book in readers’ hands.
To my #roadtrip girls, Kerry and Helene, thank you for being Adam’s Girlfriends. Va Pwe!
Most of all, thank you to my husband and kids for once again supporting me. You people are my world!
“DO YOU REALLY have to go already?” I lower my voice to a seductive whisper, casting a longing gaze up at my husband as my fingers circle the light sprinkling of dark brown and white hair on his chest. With a roguish smile on his handsome face, he sighs then sets his iPhone down on the bedside table and stares pensively down at me.
“Yeah, Tyler qualified for a race so we’re heading back down. We don’t want to drive through the night. I’ve got my guys covering everything until I get back in a couple of days. This race is big deal for me and Tyler.”
I refrain from rolling my eyes at the mention of his best friend’s name.
“Are you sure I can’t convince you to stay home this weekend?” I straddle his hips and crawl down the length of his hard body, peeking up through my long lashes when my lips reach their destination. My tongue slides back and forth against the tip of his erection. Opening my mouth, I welcome the feel of him as he hardens and releases a deep groan.
“As much as I would love for you to continue, I really do need to jump in the shower and get the bikes loaded up.” He shifts his body and pulls out of my mouth, leaving my lips in the shape of an O and a dumbfounded look on my face. “Be ready for that raincheck when I get back.”
I blink rapidly to ward off the tears that threaten to fall while I suppress the sting of rejection once again.
“Besides,” he says, sensing my sullen state, “Ty will be here soon.”
I mentally curse Tyler Strong’s name as I watch my husband stand and reach for his phone then stride across our bedroom into the bathroom. His tight bare ass is the last thing I see before he closes the door.
I hate Tyler Strong.
I hate that he’s one of my husband’s closest friends. I hate that he lives in an apartment above his motorcycle shop on the other side of town. I hate that he asks my husband to go there all the time to help him fix bikes. I hate that he manipulates my husband to go to these races all the time. I hate that he’s an up and coming drag racer whom my husband sponsors financially. I hate that he prefers to sit in his truck and wait for my husband rather than come inside our home and be cordial. I hate the way he looks at me whenever I watch the race from the stands. I hate the way he stares at me with such contempt when I meet my husband at the trailer. I hate that I have to practically shoo away all his “Bike Bitches” who surround and hang around the race team. I hate that he’s a man-whore who screws every female who looks his way. And I hate that my husband feels the need to share the details of Tyler’s sexcapades with me.
I hate Tyler Strong.
I close the lid on the cooler, walk to the living room window and pull the curtain back slightly, looking out after hearing the obnoxious roar of the diesel truck as it pulls in. I huff, pinch my lips together and shake my head when I see him step out wearing a plain black T-shirt. He pulls off his ball cap and looks around quickly before grabbing the shirt and yanking it over his head. I swallow hard as my eyes scan the length of him from his short hair to his boots and immediately I hate myself for it. There’s no denying the fact that Tyler Strong has a gorgeous face and an incredible body to match. His chest is hard, his abs taut. Within seconds, he slips on a black T-shirt with the team’s logo and covers his nakedness. Bending down, his dark jeans hug his ass as he opens a side compartment and pulls out a spray bottle and a rag. The ball cap is returned to his head backwards as he runs the white cloth in circles over the large black and orange decal that boasts their team’s name. He continues the tedious task as he walks around to the other side. He focuses on the constant circling motion, never once looking up. Stretching to reach the hood, his arms extend to their full length and I can’t help but notice how muscular they are. How strong they are.
“What are you doing?”
I startle and let the curtain go when my husband breezes into the room.
“Nothing,” I stutter before asking the question I already know the answer to. “Why doesn’t Tyler ever come in?”
“Who the hell knows? Why do you care?”
“I don’t! I think it’s rude. He’s rude!”
I ignore the niggling feeling in my stomach I get whenever I think about my husband’s best friend and release a quiet, annoyed sigh.
Alex bends down and picks up the cooler I’ve packed for their trip down south. “Is this all set?”
“Of course it is!” I smile as I walk over and smooth down the cotton of his T-shirt that matches Tyler’s.
“We’ll be back late Sunday night. I’ll try to call you once we get there, but you know I don’t have good reception down there.” He kisses my forehead softly as I wrap my arms around his waist.
“I don’t know why you race in the middle of Hicksville. Do they even have running water there? Don’t go falling in love with some toothless trailer park chick!” I tease, knowing that all the country’s best drag racers love the southern tracks and most of the women there could be in magazines.
“Funny.” He slaps my backside playfully. “You could always come with us and see for yourself.”
I scrunch my face in mock disgust, shaking my head adamantly while puckering my lips for a kiss.
“No thanks. You go be big boys and play with your toys. I’ll stay here and save lives one patient at a time.” He knows I won’t go anyway.
Alex steps out of my embrace and heads for the door.
“Hey! Give me a kiss! A good
one!”
My husband sighs quietly before lowering his lips to mine and kissing me. I sense a flicker of annoyance when he doesn’t slide his tongue in as he usually does. His agitation has become even more pronounced every time they leave for a race.
He doesn’t like to lose.
My hands snake around and squeeze his ass. To look at my husband, no one would ever guess he’s almost fifteen years older than me. He’s tall and handsome with a hint of grey peppered in his dark hair. Between his mesmerizing eyes, that boyish smile and his charm, all my friends at the hospital call him a “silver fox.”
“I love you,” I sigh.
“What’s not to love?” he quips.
With a final and very quick peck to my lips, Alex slips his Aviators over his eyes and slings his backpack over his shoulder. He walks quickly through the front door to where Tyler leans against the chrome bumper, waiting patiently.
“Have fun! Be safe!” I call out my usual mantra.
I find myself back at the window, peering out like a peeping Tom, watching my husband bump shoulders with his protégé as he raises his cell phone to answer a call. Tyler watches Alex talk animatedly to the person on the other end of the line as he climbs into the driver’s seat— always needing to exert control. Tyler moves slowly toward the passenger’s side, glancing up in my direction.
Our eyes meet.
His bluish- green to my brown. Keeping his eyes on me, he removes his cap, scratches the back of his head and places it back on, pulling the bill low over his eyes. I hate the quick shake of his head and the deep exhale I see. Who the hell does he think he is? He’s arrogant and rude. He opens the passenger door and clicks his seatbelt in place. As my husband maneuvers the truck and trailer onto the street, Tyler looks at me with a hard glare and shakes his head. Even from a distance it’s obvious he hates me. That’s perfectly fine with me because…
I hate Tyler Strong.
ROUNDING THE CORNER as I walk into the nurses’ lounge area, I hear the unmistakable cackle of my colleague Odessa, a beautiful Guyanese physician’s assistant who calls everyone by their last name and uses humor to hide the fact she simply has no filter. She’s one of those people whom you either love or hate. I happen to love her even though she has on more than one occasion told me I look like a Teletubbie in blue scrubs. She says I should wear darker colors to hide the junk in my trunk. I remind her that my husband adores the junk in my trunk.
“Parker, what are you doing here today? she asks with a deep raspy voice then continues, “I thought you had the weekend off.”
“I switched my weekends because Alex is racing. He won’t be back until Sunday night.”
She rolls her eyes, and her face grimaces with a hard scowl.
“When is he going to grow up? Flying down the road on two wheels at one hundred fifty miles an hour is dangerous. It’s not like he’s a young guy. He needs to act his age.”
I laugh. “First of all, one fifty is slow. He usually goes one sixty-five and secondly, he’s only forty-four. He’s not eighty!”
“Knowing him, he’ll want to race wheelchairs when he’s in a nursing home.”
I carefully pull my leftovers from the microwave and drop the scalding container on the countertop. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I don’t think he’ll ever grow up.” I feed myself a scoop of macaroni.
“How’s that friend of his? The young one. Tyson? He’s hot! If I weren’t married, I’d take a spin on his bike.”
My eyes slam shut from the combination of hot food burning my tongue and the thought of anyone having sex with Tyler. He’s a walking STD who screws any woman, anytime, anywhere.
“His name is Tyler and he’s disgusting.”
“That’s harsh! You really don’t like him, do you?”
“Would you like a person who is a bad influence on your husband? Would you like Greg to tell you how he had to disinfect the backseat of the truck because his buddy screwed some random chick? I don’t think so!”
“How’s your sex life?” She raises a suspicious brow. “Maybe he’s living vicariously through Tyson.”
“Ew, forget Tyler! You’re disgusting! My sex life…our sex life is just fine. I can’t help that I have endometriosis and sex freaking hurts. Believe me, I take care of him in other ways. Just sayin’,” I toss in her direction as I leave the room when my pager buzzes.
“I’m just saying you gotta keep your man happy or else he’ll stray.”
I pop my head back into the room and stick my tongue out.
“Sounds like you’re speaking from personal experience.”
A plastic fork followed by an empty water bottle flies in my direction as I duck out of the way.
“Code Blue to ICU. Code Blue to ICU.”
One would think working the twelve-hour night shift at the hospital would be a quiet one, but no, it isn’t. We get all walks of life coming in at ungodly hours of the night. Druggies faking back aches for painkillers, mothers demanding to be seen by a doctor for their child who has been complaining for days of an ear ache, the old woman carrying an oxygen tank around who can’t breathe but refuses to give up cigarettes and the barely legal kids who are nearly comatose after drinking themselves into oblivion.
Occasionally we get a few more serious and critical cases. A car accident. Drunk drivers. Heart attacks. Child birth. Broken arms. Battered wife.
Being married to Alex, who runs a successful electrical company, allows me the freedom to work only part-time. Four twelve-hour shifts a month is just enough to keep me busy outside of our home and keeps my nursing skills up to par.
I sleep for most of the morning when I get home from work. After checking my phone countless times in hopes that Alex called, I send him a text and pull on my bathing suit and cover up. I swim a few laps in the pool then relax in the chaise lounge and call my mom.
“Karrie! Hi doll! Long time no talk.” She laughs, panting into the phone. It’s her usual joke since we talk every day, several times a day. I usually call to ask for the ingredients to one of her recipes.
“Hi Mom!” I reply. “Why are you out of breath?” As soon as the words escape, I cringe. “Oh God! Call me back, Ma.”
Her laughter fills my ears. “Stop that! I’m on the elliptical not having sex with your father.”
I chuckle quietly as I palm my forehead. With a quick shake of my head, I contemplate the idea that I may have been switched at birth.
“How was work last night?”
“Same as usual. Odessa’s back from her trip.”
“Oh nice! I’ll have to have her and Greg over for dinner soon. They’re such a nice couple.”
I nod and feel my chest tighten at her unspoken words.
“Do you and Alex want to come over for dinner? Dad is throwing on steaks and I wanted to show you some of the new designs that just came out. I want to play with the colors and schemes a bit more.”
I applaud my mother’s ability to say Alex’s name without contempt or derision. She’s never been his biggest fan. Even on my wedding day as she buttoned my beautiful gown, she told me I didn’t have to marry him if I wasn’t a hundred percent sure. She nodded to her sleek Audi and told me the keys were in the ignition. I assured her that I loved Alex and was happy to become his wife even though he was so many years older.
“Thanks for the offer, but I have to work tonight and Alex is racing this weekend. I can’t wait to see what you’ve come up with. Why don’t you email me what you’ve got?”
“No, that’s okay. You know how I feel about email.”
I roll my eyes at her conspiracy theories.
“I’ll put it on a flash drive.”
“Ma, I have like thirty,” I chuckle mockingly, “and Alex has some in his office.”
I hear the disappointment she fails to suppress while we chat about the few babies she’s recently delivered now that she’s semi-retired. The hope of delivering her own grandchild has yet to come to fruition.
She sighs quietly. “Alri
ght, sweetheart. Well, if you get lonely in that big house of yours, come on over. Just make sure you call or text first.”
I smile as warmth floods my heart. After thirty years of marriage, my parents are still as in love as the day they exchanged their vows. My grandmother didn’t need to offer an out to my mom; she had no doubt whatsoever that my mother and father belonged together.
“Love you.”
“Love you more.” My mom blows a kiss into the phone.
After lounging for several hours, soaking up the sun’s rays, I wander over to my vegetable garden, clip some basil and pluck tomatoes to use in my sauce later. Hot and sweaty, I head inside, pour a large glass of lemonade and peruse yesterday’s mail. Feeling bored, I text a few of my friends to say hello even though most of them are busy chasing after their children or bringing them to school. Sometimes I miss the single life.
I reach for my phone and swipe immediately when I see Alex’s name flash across the screen along with a picture of the two of us. My heart flutters with anticipation of hearing his voice.
I very much miss the man I fell in love with.
“Hey, you sexy beast! How’s my husband?” I grin and wait for his reply, calling me his little seductress. It was the nickname he’d given me shortly after we started dating because he claims I seduced him twice without realizing it. I did no such thing. How can you seduce someone who was rushed to the Emergency Department by an ambulance with a bad case of road rash and a badly bruised ego after being sideswiped by an old lady? I can’t remember who screamed more— Alex or the old woman. He bellowed that her license should be taken away and she retorted, saying he shouldn’t have been driving like a bat out of hell.
“Hello?” I sing-song playfully into the phone once again when I hear the muffled sounds of people’s raised voices. “Alex? Hello?” For nearly a minute I listen, trying to decipher the strained conversation until the line goes dead.
I tap his name and call back, but it rings incessantly until his voicemail picks up.
“Hey, babe. I think you pocket-dialed me. Call me back. Love you.”
