by RJ Heaton
Table of Contents
One
Two
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
What Brings Tomorrow
Book Two
RJ Heaton
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, duplicated, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
© Text Copyright
ISBN- 978-1539869467
Cover Artist: R.L Weeks
Edited by Rebecca Weeks
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious and are products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual events, or locales or persons, living or dead are entirely coincidental.
Follow RJ Heaton on Facebook or Twitter @RJ_Heaton
www.rjheaton.com
For Shawna
We never know how we will face our adversities.
But you have strength and a powerful force driving you forward.
You will have many tomorrows.
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One
My fingers fumble as I look through my wallet, trying to figure out which card I should use. The hotel clerk taps her nails obnoxiously on the counter, only ramping my nerves further. I'm not exactly sure why my presence has annoyed her. Really, what is more important to her at this hour of the night ... or morning? It's not like people are swarming to get a hotel room ten minutes till four AM.
I pull out a silver Visa card and stare at it knowing that the card is an account that both my husband Sean and I are attached to. He owes me! I shakily extend the card out to the clerk, when it flings out of my fingers and lands on the floor … two feet away from me. Could my night get any worse?
I glare down the card like it’s the Devil and then look up at the hotel clerk. Her blatant roll of the eyes tells me she has absolutely no interest in helping me pick it up. I lean over as far as I feel safe teetering in my wheelchair, but the card is just out of my reach. I slump my shoulders and let out a heavy sigh. I lift my head up and edge myself forward until I am basically sitting just on the frame. I put my left leg on the ground and go to place my right leg next to its counterpart—it doesn’t budge. Not one single muscle twitch indicating that it will lift from the foot rest happens. It is failing me just like it did when I woke up from my coma. This is not happening! I try again with no prevail.
Out of breath, I look up at the young girl feeling extremely agitated. “Are you not going to help me?” I snap.
I hear the tsk under her breath before she finally and very reluctantly, leaves her perch and comes around the counter. She bends down with exaggerated motions and snatches the card off the floor. An audible, “hmph” leaves her throat, and it’s me left rolling my eyes. I make a note to send an email to the hotel explaining my … oh so welcoming reception.
After the ordeal of checking in with Miss Snotty-Britches, I find my room. It’s nothing special. It has the normal amenities; a bed, TV, a small eat-in table, bathroom and night table—it’s fine. I don’t need much. All I care about is falling into that bed, or I should say, getting up into it. And there lies the trouble. Getting into bed should be a normal everyday simple process. I’m not sure why my leg refused to work downstairs. It must be the fact that I am beyond exhausted. That’s it … exhaustion. I laugh, trying to convince myself that I am not relapsing. That is not an option. My leg and arm will be back to normal after I rest—as normal as they will ever be now.
I roll as close to the nightstand as I can and place the only current possessions I have on the nightstand; my dress and purse. I look at my current attire shaking my head. Why did he think he needed to get me out of my dress? My legs are chilled from being exposed to the cool air. Boxers aren’t exactly the warmest clothing to be wandering around in the wee hours of the morning. Well, first things first. I struggle with the wheelchair, my right arm weak and not fully participating, and wheel myself into the bathroom. It’s a struggle to get transferred to the toilet. I’m grateful for the metal handrail. It gives me the leverage I need. Once I’m through with my business, I glare down at the evil, silver metal wheelchair with a blue leather covered seat. I have no energy left, but I know that sleeping on the toilet tonight is not debatable. I have to summon my strength and get to the queen-sized mattress just beyond the wall.
It takes everything I have. My arms and legs are weak and shaking uncontrollably, and my lungs burn with each deep inhale as I pant searching for my next breath. I wheel myself to the counter by sheer stubbornness, to wash my hands. I have to extend my weak arms to reach the sink. Another note to self, everyone needs to spend a day in a wheelchair, so maybe better accommodations will be made for the less unfortunate.
My eyes capture the image reflecting in the mirror. My amber hair lightly highlighted with caramel tones is a total disaster. My curls have taken a life of their own. I try to push it down, but what’s the point? I’m going to lie down and just make it worse. I leave it be. I wheel past the door like a zombie and see the do not disturb sign hanging from the knob. I roll to the door, open it, slide the sign to the outside knob and close the door making sure to flip the deadbolt over to lock. I don’t want to be disturbed for a very long time.
After I finally get in bed, my lungs push out a long hard huff. My body and mind both blur from physical and emotional exhaustion. I’m sure my sister Heather is overly anxious to hear all about my evening with Ethan. Her imagination probably has me wrapped up in sheets and who knows what else. It’s not like me to go home with random men.
Visions of Ethan standing on the sidewalk, pleading with me to stay, weigh heavy on my heart. What did he expect? Me to stay the night with his—what is she to him anyway, his ex-girlfriend or his current girlfriend? All I know right now is that I feel another loss. Add that to Nicole’s bedpost. We’re not counting bed companions on this bedpost … nope. This list is for all the losses adding up at—a rapid rate. The hollow hole in my chest is growing larger. My shoulders slump and my head rolls forward. Too much weight of the world is being carried on them. I can’t hold it any longer.
I reach over and grab my purse. I dig out my phone, not wanting to look at it. A wide smile creeps over my face—pleasantly relieved. My phone is dead, and I have no charger. I’m alone … exactly where I need to be right now.
I close my eyes embracing the still, quiet room. The image of Ethan standing on the sidewalk burns my memories every time I close my eyes. I try to force myself to think about other things—a job, my future. It’s no use. It’s that sexy, young, enigmatic Ethan that my mind is thinking about when I finally fall asleep.
Two
Thud
Thud
Thud
The low, dull thudding stirs me awake. I’m able to pull my heavy lids open to microscopic slits, stinging my eyes with light. It takes me a minute to get
my bearings as I look around the semi-familiar room. I vaguely remember coming to the room, but the memories start becoming clearer as I shake the groggy sleep into submission.
The noise begins its repetitive annoyance, “What the …” No one knows that I am here, and I remember clearly putting the DO NOT DISTURB sign out. I find the digital clock, 11:18. The fact that it is almost noon doesn’t even faze me.
“HOLD ON!” I yell, hoping the persistent banging will cease. My arm and leg still aren’t cooperating this morning. One step forward, two back, I sigh dejectedly. I, with great strain, get into my chair. A quick glance at my apparel—my heart starts burning—thinking about Ethan. I lift his shirt up to my nose and inhale deeply. My senses take in his scent before moving over to the door.
Slowly, I open the door just a crack. “Sean?” He looks disheveled and something else—angry … edgy? “What the … why are … how did you find me?” I’m finally able to spit out a coherent sentence.
Sean pushes past me, looks around the room briefly and then turns so we are directly facing each other. His stance and resolved look in his eyes tell me he doesn’t plan on leaving anytime soon. I let the door fall back closed and stare him down. I came here to get away. He’s the main reason I needed time away, and now he’s here invading my serene space.
“Nicole …” he pauses, searching over my face. “I have a tracker on my credit cards. The card company alerted me that one of them was used at this hotel.” He states so plainly, like him coming here is no big deal. I’m internally kicking myself. I should have never used that card.
“All kinds of thoughts went through my head. I figured you were here with that kid. I couldn’t stand thinking about him shacked up in a hotel room with my wife, touching you.”
“… Excuse me?” I half whisper half shout? I can’t believe the set of balls on this guy. He cheats on me with a much younger girl and then tops it off by moving her into my home with him all while I’m in a freaking coma in a hospital bed.
“That kid. He’s more of a man than you’ll ever be!”
“Nik, please,” the undercurrent of ‘yeah right’ laces his tone. He steps closer and leans right in front of my face. I would roll back, but I am not standing down to this man—not anymore. I have done that my entire marriage. Twenty years I have let him push me around—no more.
“This isn’t you baby. You never talk to me like this.” He gently places his hands on both sides of my cheeks—for a moment I close my eyes. I remember this touch and how good it used to make me feel. Before I can protest, his lips are on mine. At first, my lips respond. This is so familiar and warm, but something is off. I stop my movements and open my eyes. This man I have been married to for so long is now a stranger. We’re broken and there is no amount of his kisses that will mend us back together.
His face is filled with elation as he pulls back. He is so arrogant that I don’t think he even realized that I wasn’t kissing him back. “Baby, we can work this out. I need you home. We need to be a family again.”
My chest aches. He has no clue how close he came to shattering me into a million pieces. I have wanted nothing more than to be at home with my husband and my kids. I miss being a mom. Not that I’m not still a mom, but physically being there when Mathew and Lexie get home from their days, cooking for them, cleaning for them, running Mathew to practice. I miss them so much. My green eyes search the man I thought I knew. Do I miss that life so much that I could move back home and live with a cheater? Emotions rage war in my head. I could just give in—be back where I long to be—settle.
My eyes fill with tears. “Sean you need to leave.”
“Oh Nik, you don’t want me to leave. Just look at you. You’re falling apart. Baby, you’re crying. You need me here. This is tearing you apart baby.” He wipes a tear from my cheek. “I need you, and … crap Nikki …” he stammers. “I never gave you the credit you needed or deserved. I don’t know what I was thinking. Sarah can’t cook like you, or clean like you. Hell, I think the only thing she can do is paint her toenails and peruse on Facebook all day.” He shakes his head annoyed. “The house is a disaster. I need you home.”
… And there it is. He needs me around because his new and improved younger model is worthless. He doesn’t really want me. He needs me because he is incapable of making the house run without me. All I am to him is a damn cook, housemaid and errand girl. Our marriage is nothing but a joke. My head flops back and I laugh. The tears are now dried up. Carrie had it right that night. The last twenty years have been painstaking servitude.
“Have you ever heard the saying, you’ve made your bed now you have to …”
“… Nicole!” He snaps, causing me to wince, hearing the harsh tone of his voice. I have never admitted it to myself before, but when he is like this—it scares me. “You’re my wife and you have to obey me.”
“I have to obey you? Are you serious right now?” I can’t believe he has the audacity to say that. Sean leans over my chair. His face is no longer soft or caring. He is enraged with a burning ferocity.
“Yes. Don’t forget that you are my wife. You’re mine. You took the vows … to cherish—OBEY!” His voice gets louder or maybe it’s because his lips are only inches from my face. Internally, I am screaming. I don’t know what this man is capable of doing. I thought I knew him, but I had never thought he would cheat on me while I was in a hospital bed either. Now, he is in my hotel room threatening me and demanding me to obey him. I’m defenseless. My arm and leg have chosen to pick this particular time to regress and stop working. I can barely wheel this chair around with only one fully functioning arm. How in the heck can I get away from him?
I need to play this cool, but my temper is growing. I want to lash out for all the terrible things he has done to me. “Sean, you broke those vows the second you decided to cheat on me.” It dawns on me. “Wait, was Sarah the only one? Or has this been going on for a while?” Sean’s face stays impassive, but he does a slight shrug of his shoulder like; ‘hmph so what if it has?’ He clearly has no respect for me at all. Why would he even come here?
“Get the hell out of my room, now! There is no chance of me ever going back to a greasy slime ball like you. You made your choice. We are done.”
“Ha, like anyone would ever want you like this; a crippled, used up, floppy old woman. You’ll be back. You have nowhere else to go.” Spit flies from his foul mouth as he barrages me with the most awful derogatory names he can muster … right where it stings the most. He has hit every point that has had my self-esteem crawling on the floor. I fight back the tears. He can’t know that he is getting to me.
He stands up straight and grins evilly at me. “I’m closing out this account, so I would suggest you find another way to pay for your hotel room.” A deep throaty laugh escapes his mouth. “You’ll have to crawl your way back home.” And then he turns and leaves. I let out the breath I hadn’t known I was holding. Frantic and afraid he will come back I make sure the deadbolt is clicked into place.
I can see the light poking through the slit of the gray curtains, but I am not ready for the new day to start. I stare at the light seeing dust floating in the rays. My heart is hammering against my chest and each beat reverberates in my ears. How did I not see this side of him before? I have more problems than I was aware of. I wheel over to the bed and with extreme difficulty, get myself back into it. Did that really just happen?
Three
What on earth makes a couple stay together for so long … when so many things are so clearly wrong?
I laugh to myself, he’s the one who walked out on me and it’s me that’s in a hotel room—alone wallowing in misery.
First Sean, and then just when I let my guard down a young, attractive—Ethan, slips under my toes and causes a tidal wave to knock me down. “Simone …” Her name slithers like tar over my tongue. I’m not exactly sure what their relationship entails, but … it was time for me to hightail it straight out of there. I stare unblinking up at the cei
ling in my lonely room. He was fun, though, I think to myself, and a smile curves up my pouty lips. Heck, I needed the self-esteem boost after everything Sean put me through. Ethan, my little eye candy.
A deep ache returns as my mind spins itself back into a murky corner. How can my physical therapy continue without drama? I shake my head against the pillow, matting the back of my hair more than it already is. I should ask my doctor if there is somewhere else I can do it, or … I don’t know. I’m so confused right now. I’m old enough to let bygones be bygones, and face the fact that I’ll be running into Ethan at regular intervals. It will be hard to avoid him, but Nikki Cooper can pull her shoulders back and do this. I need to. My sister can’t be my babysitter forever and going back to Sean to live in our home is absolutely out of the question. Besides, there are other nuances too like; a job, a place to live. I need to be focusing on those things. Maybe now is the perfect time to embrace the accident and the way it has changed my life. Maybe, I can turn it around and make it into something positive.
Hiding out in a hotel room for the rest of my life—no matter how good that sounds right now—is unrealistic. I know that at some point I need to crawl out of my cave. I let out a deep breath feeling exasperated. My eyes scan the room littered with takeout Styrofoam containers. My mother would be livid. It’s an absolute disaster. I have done literally nothing but sit in this room watching TV and eating—sad. I have no clean clothes. My cell phone has been dead for the last couple of days because my phone charger is sitting on the side table—at my sister Heather’s house. Technology has made things too easy on us. We’ve become lazy. I only have three phone numbers actively stored in my brain’s memory bank; Heather’s, my best friend Carrie’s and Sean’s. The latter number doesn’t deserve a slot, but I have a feeling it will somehow keep a reserved space. I can imagine the other two, on my short list, are frantic with my abrupt disappearance. I would call them for clean clothes, but I’m afraid. I’m afraid of the woman I have become. I am pathetic. I need to stop feeling sorry for myself and do something about my deranged emotional state.
