COLOR OF FORGIVENESS
Madeleine Beckett
COLOR OF FORGIVENESS
Published by Madeleine Beckett at Smashwords
Copyright 2013 Madeleine Beckett
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever including Internet usage, without written permission of the author.
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The author published an earlier serialized version of this story online with different characters as Color of Loneliness under the pseudonym Exquisite Edward.
To my hubs and dear son who endured my crazed rants, my hysterical tears and my occasional running through the house like a fool in my Tweety & Sylvester PJ’s when my brain actually worked and I got hit with the occasional idea.
I can’t give enough thanks to my beautiful team of girls that helped me with this venture: Viola, Pam, Jana, Naomi, Dawn, and Liz. And a special shout out to Betty’s beautiful eyes.
CONTENTS
Previously…
CHAPTER 1
BLACK, HEARTACHE
CHAPTER 2
AUBURN, DISTANCE
CHAPTER 3
PEACH, PETITION
CHAPTER 4
WHITE, CLEANSING
CHAPTER 5
PEARL, BEGINNINGS
CHAPTER 6
AMBER, ENDEAVOR
CHAPTER 7
NAVY, PERPLEXITY
CHAPTER 8
TANGERINE, UNEXPECTED
CHAPTER 9
BRONZE, ACCEPTANCE
CHAPTER 10
SLATE, CONSEQUENCES
CHAPTER 11
RED, LOVE
CHAPTER 12
DESERT, ISOLATION
CHAPTER 13
UMBER, FOREBODING
CHAPTER 14
AZURE, CLARITY
CHAPTER 15
CERULEAN, CONTENTMENT
CHAPTER 16
DAFFODIL, ANTICIPATION
CHAPTER 17
GOLD, SERENITY
Previously…
Myra stares at her for a moment. She coughs and clears her throat again, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “And you are?”
“Oh, sorry I’m being so rude. I just woke up,” the supermodel says, laughing softly. “I’m Sabrina. His wife.”
Myra gasps as her heart thunders in her ears. Her eyes widen as her gaze drops to a massive cluster of platinum and diamonds glistening ominously at her from the woman’s left ring finger. Sabrina’s finger. Sabrina. His wife.
Myra’s stomach rolls; she feels faint. She can’t breathe. “Wife?” she says with a heavy breath, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Technically ex-wife, but we're working on that,” Sabrina says with a small smile as she stares down at the ring on her finger.
Myra gulps for air as she swallows down the urge to be sick. She has to get out of here. She has to get away. Her eyes stay fixated on that ring as she stumbles backwards down the stairs. She turns and runs towards her car. When she hears the door close behind her, she startles as tears begin to burn hot in her eyes.
Her hands shake as she grasps the steering wheel. How could he not tell her he was married? How could he have an ex-wife – soon-to-be-wife again – and do all those things he did last night? How could he make her feel the way he did? Make love to her. Make her care for him. What kind of a man would do all of those things knowing he had her waiting on him at home?
She bends forward, grasping her stomach as she blows out heavy breaths. The more she thinks about it, the clearer things become. This has to be the big secret he’s been hiding from her. He ran out on her yesterday morning because he had his beautiful wife waiting for him at home. He used her for his pleasure and then ran. He’s a cheating lowlife just like Trent. She feels so stupid for telling him what happened with Trent. He probably laughed to himself over that since he had plans to do the exact same thing.
Her face drops into her hands as she sobs. But she sits up and quickly wipes her eyes on her sleeve because she knows she can’t stay here in front of his house crying over him when his wife probably just slipped into bed and curled up next to him – he does like to cuddle. That thought brings on another round of sobs.
Sniffling, she looks back at the house. Every instinct tells her to run. Running she can do well. She just needs to leave this stupid town and that broken down house. She has nothing tying her here. Maybe she could go back to Philly. That way she could be near Susie again. Staring at Dylan’s house, she starts the engine.
But another, smaller part of her tells her not to run. It tells her to stand up for herself and confront him like she should have with Trent. Confront Dylan and tell him that he can’t treat her like that.
She picks up the hem of her sweatshirt and scrubs it roughly across her eyes. Slouching in her seat, she chews her thumbnail as she stares at the front door, still trying to decide what to do.
If she confronts him and he did get back with his ex, he’ll just deny that anything happened between them anyway, making her look foolish. And it will break her heart even more.
She feels so weak. She doesn’t have the strength to face him. What good will it do anyway?
Quickly wiping her eyes again, her hand reaches for the gearshift, her foot lightly touching the brake pedal. She puts the car in drive, her decision made.
Run.
CHAPTER 1
BLACK, HEARTACHE
Dylan stirs in his sleep vaguely aware of a soft voice murmuring in his ear. A hand gently runs through his hair; he groans and stretches and tries to lean closer into the soft caresses. The corners of his mouth quirk upwards slightly as he visualizes the sexy, brown-haired beauty he feels touching him.
A deep, throaty hum resonates in his chest when warm fingers gently tuck his hair behind his ear, tickling it.
“Baby?”
His eyes snap open.
“Baby, I’m so sorry to wake you, but there’s some woman named Myra at the door. She said she won’t go away until she sees you.”
With his eyebrows scrunched tightly together, he stares up in astonishment at Sabrina. What the fuck is she doing here? He thought those were Myra’s hands touching him. His mind scrambles for a few seconds, desperately trying to figure out what the hell is happening. Almost immediately, the events of yesterday slam into him. With a quick shove, he pushes Sabrina away from him, almost knocking her to the floor, and jumps off the bed.
“What the fuck?” he croaks, his voice still thick with sleep. “What’s she doing here?”
“I don’t know.”
He barely registers Sabrina’s sarcastic drawl as he charges for the bedroom door and barrels down the hallway. Still half asleep, he stumbles and hits his shoulder against the wall causing a string of mumbled curses to fly from his lips. By the time he gets to the front door, the gravity of the situation starts to dawn on him. Myra is here. Myra met Sabrina. Shit is about to hit the fan.
With his heart pounding and panic spreading from his scalp to his toes, he flings open the door.
“What’s going on?” he shouts hoarsely. Then his dark brows furrow as he inventories Myra’s swelled, bloodshot eyes, her bright red nose and splotchy cheeks. Her face crumples and his heart immediately twists painfully in his chest.
He swallows hard. “It’s not what yo
u think…”
Her crumpled expression disappears, replaced with narrowed eyes and thin lips. “It’s not? Is that or is that not your ex-wife?”
His eyes widen. How much did Sabrina tell her? He blows out a heavy breath, pissed at himself that he didn’t take a second to ask Sabrina exactly what she said to Myra before he charged out here.
“Well, yeah, but…”
“And you didn’t think it was important to tell me that fact?”
“Well, you have an ex too so—”
“Ex-boyfriend, not ex-husband… there’s a big difference.”
“Not really. The only difference is a piece of damn paper.”
Myra gives him an ominous glare. Quite frankly, it frightens him a little. “Sorry,” he adds quickly.
“Did you leave my house yesterday because of her?”
“Yeah, but—”
“You make me sick, Dylan.”
“Listen, please let me explain…”
“Dylan? Is everything okay?” Sabrina asks in an innocent voice as she sidles up next to him and slips her hand possessively around his bicep.
Dylan wrenches his arm away from her and practically snarls when he begins speaking. “Sabrina, get the…” his voice trails off when his eyes focus in on Sabrina’s lack of clothing. His mouth drops open. “What the fuck are you wearing? Where are your goddamn clothes?” he yells, not able to believe what his goddamn eyes are seeing right now. How did he miss Sabrina’s bare legs and tits hanging out? It was because he was in such a damn hurry to get out here to Myra. Then he glances down at himself and gulps. He’s wearing what he slept in… a pair of black boxers, and nothing else.
Sabrina merely smiles at him coyly and shrugs her shoulders.
There’s a motherfucking shit storm brewing on his front porch, and he’s got no damn clue how to outrun it. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, his throat dry as fuck as he begins to realize what this must look like to Myra.
He levels an angry glare at Sabrina. “Get back in the house and get your fucking clothes on.” He takes in a deep breath and turns his attention back to Myra. “I need to talk to Myra… in private.”
Sabrina makes an annoyed huffing sound before she turns around and walks back into the house. Dylan steps out onto the porch and closes the door behind him.
A gust of frigid air hits his bare skin, but he ignores it. Instinctively, he reaches a hand out towards Myra just wanting to touch her, ground himself to her in some way. But his heart drops into his stomach when she blanches and takes a small step back. Slowly, he drops his hand to his side and clenches it into a fist. He has to say something. He has to do something to try to fix this fucked-up mess. But all he can seem to do is grind his teeth together. How can he even begin to explain this shit to Myra?
“You better start telling me what’s going on…” Myra says before her voice falters. “I… I can’t… how could you do this to me?” she asks, her voice breaking on the last word, before she quickly wipes her eyes with her coat sleeve.
He wants to touch her so fucking badly that he can hardly stand it; the urge almost overwhelms him. Taking a small step towards her, he forces himself to keep his hands at his sides and drags in a ragged breath, causing his lungs to burn from the frosty air. “I have so many things I need to explain…” he says, staring off in the distance behind her as he tries to come up with what to say next. He doesn’t even know where the hell to start.
Turning, he looks at the door behind him, his gaze darting to the windows to see if he can see Sabrina. Even though he doesn’t catch sight of her, he knows she’s right there lurking close, hanging onto every damn word they’re saying. Another gust of wind hits his practically naked body causing a shiver to run through him. A rash of goose bumps breaks out on his skin.
Looking back down at Myra’s angry expression and tear-filled eyes, panic starts to settle in because he can’t talk to Myra right now with Sabrina listening and with him standing in only his boxers freezing his fucking ass off.
“Well?” she says.
“I, uh… look, this isn’t the time or the place to talk about this especially with her here,” he says, motioning his head towards the door behind him.
Myra completely ignores him. “Did you sleep with her?” she demands, her eyes holding a fire in them.
“What? Fuck no. I swear on my damn life nothing happened. We’re divorced for fuck’s sake.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“Well, it does to me. I can’t believe you think I’d do that shit especially after, you know…” Quickly glancing behind him, he drops his voice to a whisper, “… us.”
“She’s wearing your shirt, Dylan. You’re in your boxers. What am I supposed to think? I’m not stupid.”
“She was supposed to sleep on the couch last night in her damn clothes,” he says the words extra loud for Sabrina’s benefit, “and leave this morning. I don’t know how she ended up in my shirt.”
Myra purses her lips and tilts an eyebrow, giving him a look that says she doesn’t believe a word coming out of his mouth.
“It’s the truth,” he mumbles. “Nothing happened.”
“If nothing happened, then what were you doing with her yesterday? Why didn’t you call or text me back? Do you know how worried I was?”
Swallowing hard, he drops his gaze to the porch, feeling like a complete shit. “It’s just that… well, something happened and we had to, uh, there was something we had to take care of and–”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Look, let me take care of things here and get her gone and then I’ll come over and we can talk, all right? I’ll explain everything. I promise.”
“No,” Myra says, shaking her head defiantly. “I need some answers, right now.”
“Well, you’re not gonna get your answers right now. Like I fucking said this is neither the time nor the place,” he says. He drops his voice again. “She’s listening,” he whispers, motioning his head towards the house and raising his eyebrows for extra affect.
“I don’t care if she’s listening,” Myra shouts.
“Well, I do,” he shouts back.
They stare each other down for a long moment neither one of them giving an inch. Finally, Myra’s gaze drops to the porch and her shoulders slump. She continues to stare at the porch for a moment before turning and walking towards her car without saying a word.
Dylan moves to the edge of the steps and has to stop himself from running after her. For a brief moment, he considers just telling Sabrina to get the hell out and dragging Myra into the house so he can set things straight with her right this minute. But something holds him back. He opens and closes his mouth several times, wanting to say something to her – anything – to try to smooth this situation over until he can talk to her again, but he doesn’t know what the hell to say. Finally, he just yells out, “I’ll come over soon, okay?” Frowning, he watches as she doesn’t turn around or acknowledge him. She simply slips into her car and drives away. His eyes stay on her car until it disappears out of sight.
“Goddamn it,” he mumbles, smacking his open palm hard against the railing on the porch. He wishes like hell he had his boots on so he could kick the motherfucking shit out of something right now.
Angrily, he opens the door and steps back into the house. Yanking a shirt and a pair of jeans off of the floor in the living room, he quickly gets dressed. When he steps into the kitchen, he finds Sabrina sitting at the table drinking a cup of coffee.
“What the hell were you doing wearing only my shirt?” he shouts.
Sabrina rolls her eyes. “God, Dylan, settle down. You’re so dense sometimes. Look at these skinny jeans I’m wearing,” she says, motioning her hand to her legs. “Do you think these are comfortable? I was miserable last night so I just picked one of your shirts up off of the floor to sleep in, like you obviously did just now. You’ve probably got ten of them lying around that nasty living room of yours.”
&n
bsp; “You should’ve gotten dressed before you answered the door.”
“Are you kidding me? I was half asleep.”
Pissed off, Dylan slumps into a chair across from her. He scrubs a hand roughly through his hair and takes in a deep breath. “What did she say… when she showed up?”
Sabrina stares at him thoughtfully for a moment and ignores his question. “So, you and her, huh…?”
“I’m not gonna talk about this shit with you.”
She continues staring at him for a moment longer before finally sighing and looking down at her cup. “She doesn’t seem like your type. I’m not going to lie to you it really hurts, a lot. It’s just always been us, you know?” She looks up at him, her eyes shiny. “Just you and me… I’m having a really hard time thinking of you with someone else.”
“We went round and round about this yesterday…”
“I know. It’s just that yesterday, she didn’t have a face.”
“Look, I know this is damn hard, but let’s try to move past it. Believe me; I didn’t have any fucking idea she was going to show up here today. Now what happened?”
Sabrina sighs heavily. “Well, the first time she showed up, she—”
“What the fuck do you mean by ‘the first time’? She came to the door more than once?”
“Yes. If you’d shut up, I’ll explain.”
Dylan clenches his fists under the table and somehow manages to keep his mouth shut. But it’s really fucking difficult for him. “Well?”
“The first time, she said she needed to talk to you and I told her that you were asleep. I said I didn’t want to wake you up because you didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“Why the hell did you tell her that?” he growls.
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