by Sun Chara
“I’ve spoken to Troy about his mother,” he said, smothering the fantasy with the issue at hand. A deep sigh hurled from his mouth. “It’s important for Troy to believe he’s loved by both parents.”
“How’d he take it?”
“Time will tell.” He had his son back. And, wounds could heal … he should know … and he’d ensure no emotional scars remained on Troy’s life.
“Why’d she fight you so hard then?”
“Financial gain was her aim. She pressured me for every penny she could get to keep the case out of court.”
“She sold her child?” Stella blurted, her eyes widening in disbelief.
“And I bought?” Stan leaped from the chair, pacing the floor like a caged lion. “I suppose that’s what it amounts to.” He halted by her chair.
“Kinda like blackmail?”
Stan grunted. “Subtle, very subtle.” He placed his hands on her shoulders, the contact electrifying, making her jump and him go into overdrive. “In addition to cashing out, she wanted a percentage of my domestic and global investments.”
“Highway robbery.”
He chuckled, albeit a dry sound, at her outrageous exclamation. “I offered her double the dough to keep her hands off my business.”
“She accepted.”
Stan nodded, holding her gaze, his thumb stroking the sensitive area along her neck. “She has what she wants and I have what I want … well, almost.” Her warmth, her feminine scent drifted to him, intoxicating, fueling his blood.
“You paid her and arranged for the job,” Stella said, and it was more a recap of what he’d already said.
Stan winked, as if he’d been in control of the situation from the get-go. “I wanted her far away from Troy until he’s old enough to decide whether he wants to see her or not.”
“What’d the lawyers think about this arrangement.”
“The financial agreement was drawn up privately between myself and Troy’s mother. I gave her a post-dated check for half the money. When the custody papers are finalized, I’ll pay her the rest.”
His modus operandi was familiar. He’d done the same with her. Paid her to marry him … and she’d accepted by cutting a high-end deal in her favor. Guilt gnawed at her insides. Was she any different? What did that make her? A mercenary gold-digger or a naïve fool? Especially since she had no intention of kee—
“As for the job,” he shrugged, “she’ll have to hold that on her own.”
A telling silence pulsed between them.
“I’m glad you got what you wanted,” Stella whispered.
“Just about.”
Her head shot up. He wanted to get rid of her too. Desolation filled her. He wanted his freedom. Just him and his son like before. Breath jammed in her throat. Wasn’t that what they’d agreed upon? What she wanted too? Her mind and her heart sparred, but her senses were attuned to his heat, the salt tang of his skin, his potent masculinity.
For a split second she closed her eyes, tilting back on the chair until it bumped the dresser, then she righted it. She lifted her lashes and clashed with his smoldering gaze. Her stomach flipped. Her pulse leaped.
“Stella, I-I,” Stan said, his husky whisper an erotic caress upon her skin. He bunched her hair in his hands, cupping her face and lowered his head.
If he kissed her now, she’d be lost. She couldn’t take that chance.
“Thi-is is as good a time as any to tell you.”
He stopped a feather breadth from her lips. “Tell me what?”
Chapter 13
“I’m leaving.”
“You’re what?”
“I-I have to go.” She turned away not wanting him to see tears brimming . “Please don’t make it any harder than it already is.”
“Case closed, you bolt.” His lips twisted in a hard line. “Very well, go.”
She blanched, his words like ice picks skewering her heart. He hadn’t even tried to stop her. “I-I’d like to see Troy and explain.”
“He loves you,” he bit out, his eyes rivaling the Arctic tundra. “You’ll break his heart.”
“I’ve got to leave.” Her lips trembled and a tear slid down her cheek. “Please, Stan, listen to me.” Stella wiped the dampness off her face with the back of her hand. “I-I don’t want to hurt him.” Another tear fell and she swatted that too. “I-I love him—”
“Love?” He guffawed. “You’re no better than the other one.”
His words nearly crushed her. She swallowed the groan ready to erupt from her mouth and gripped the edge of the chair so hard her fingers hurt. A shaky breath, and she had her emotions under control, but her pulse pounded so fast she was sure she’d have a hole in her chest. “There’s a way we can work this out.”
“Apparently you’ve already done that.” He grabbed a sweatshirt from the closet, pulled it over his head and yanked the door open. A pause in stride as if he wanted to say something more, then, without a backward glance, slammed it shut behind him.
The walls seemed to close around Stella. Blood pounded in her temples. She flung off her nightie, slipped into her jogging suit and sneakers and rushed downstairs. She grabbed a jacket from the foyer and fled to the sanctuary of the forest. The moonlit night was both a balm and a catalyst to her spirit. She had to leave. She collapsed against the trunk of a cedar, the bark rough beneath her palms. Her feelings for her husband were so overpowering, she’d go under if she didn’t give herself some breathing space; to collect her thoughts, gain a new perspective on her life, her career, her future. Could it ever be with him, or would she travel the journey alone?
***
That night, Stella spent a lonely vigil on the library sofa. At dawn, she dragged her eyelids open and trudged up the stairs. She loathed to go into the bedroom but she squared her shoulders and hugging the bedclothes to her bosom, pushed the door open.
The bed was rumpled but Stan was nowhere about. Stella sighed with relief, tossed the blankets in the closet and made a beeline for the bathroom. In twenty minutes, she’d showered, changed and packed her bags.
After a hasty breakfast, she hugged Minni good-bye, bundled Troy in warm clothes and walked with him to the truck. Fred followed with their luggage and Minni kept pace beside him, clucking to Stella about her return.
“I don’t know.” Stella glimpsed concern in her eyes and avoided her gaze.
Troy skipped ahead and climbed onto the back seat of the Hummer. Stella curved her lips in a wistful smile, glad that to the boy this seemed like an adventure.
“Make it soon, Mrs.” Minni glanced away, dabbing the corner of her eye with her apron.
Fred stashed the suitcases in the trunk and Joe slid onto the driver’s seat, nodding in grim agreement.
Stella couldn’t speak and forced a smile to her lips. Adjusting the strap of her shoulder bag, she glanced back at the lodge that had been her home for such a short but turbulent time. She swallowed her disappointment. He hadn’t even come out to say good-bye. Blinking mistiness from her eyes, she took Fred’s hand and he helped her climb onto the passenger seat.
***
Stan stood at the upstairs bedroom window and watched them drive off. His world was crashing around him and he didn’t know if he could put it together. So much for being in control. Anger and disgust charged through him, but it was directed more at himself than at Stella. Had he made a wrong choice? Overplayed his hand with the woman? What other recourse had there been for him? He’d had no contingency plan. No plan B. No back up. His son’s life had been at stake. He had to play his card. Had to play hard and win first time out. Even if it cost him all his net worth … even if it cost him—
He smashed the windowsill with his fist and a growl ripped from him. Agony jabbed, and he tightened his abs. Had he won custody of his son, only to lose the woman he loved?
A guffaw stripped his throat raw.
There he’d admitted it, and it left a gouge in his gut.
An expletive tore from his mouth. Somehow she’
d gotten under his skin…well, he’d just have to get her out. One woman had made a fool out of him in his twenties; he wasn’t about to have a repeat in his forties. Could Stella also be holding out for more cash? One way to be sure. He’d wait it out.
***
Stella enrolled Troy at the school near her studio at English Bay. Due to the long drive between the lodge and the city, he spent the week with her and the weekend with his father. They hoped their separation appeared necessary, rather than intentional … at least for the time being.
Although Troy spoke on the telephone with his father daily, Stan and Stella did not.
Weeks flew by.
Stella settled into her regular routine. Up at the crack of dawn for her daily run, Troy scampered beside her along the beach walk to the sound of seagulls. After a rushed breakfast, she’d get him off to school and work in the studio. She lacked the spark she had before but refused to dwell on the cause—one tall, blond and sexy husband.
Too troublesome.
After school, Troy bounded into the studio, grabbed a snack from the fridge and plopped in the chair by the desk. While she taught a class, he did his homework and answered the telephone until it was time for his own group lesson.
On a rare day when Stella had some free time, they bicycled around Stanley Park or rode the Sky Train. The child bloomed while she wilted as weeks rolled into months without a word from her husband.
When she waved Troy off for his weekend visit, she stood on the doorstep and watched the limo turn the corner, already missing him. To get through the two days, she worked longer hours, prepping for her next tournament, and once the last karateka left, stifling silence echoed the emptiness of her life.
To fill the void, she took in a movie or a meal with a girlfriend, or hopped on a bus to the Granville Island Market. Most often though, she walked along Robson Street—a cultural delight—sipping a bottle of water and on occasion indulged in a cup of coffee, the cool evening breeze helping to clear her mind.
On Sunday evening, Joe drove Troy back to the studio and always put a pie or cake in her hands from Minni. On this particular occasion, Troy leaped from the limo, his eyes bright with excitement.
“Guess what?”
Wind had ruffled his mop of dark hair and instead of wearing his jacket, he’d tied it around his waist. She bit her tongue on a reprimand and draped her arm around his shoulders, touching her lips to the top of his head.
“Dad’s giving me a birthday party next weekend.” He slugged his fist in the air, and skipped ahead of her into the living room. “Yes!”
“Cool, that.” She felt like she’d been blindsided with a front kick to the stomach, her heart throbbing.
What would happen when she and Stan divorced? Would he take Troy away from her? Would she ever be able to see him? The divorce would devastate her. Not seeing Troy would destroy her.
She closed the door and leaned her head on the jamb, breathing deeply.
“Would you teach my friends some Karate moves?” he called out.
“You trying to drum up more business?” Stella teased, straightening up.
Troy giggled and grabbed the remote control. “When I did my Kata, they looked at me kinda funny, until I explained I was practicing a fighting technique against an imaginary foe.”
“You can invite them to the dojo anytime.” Stella chuckled. “Now how about some popcorn, while we watch The Challengers?”
“Yeah!” Troy plopped down on the sofa, aimed the remote at the television screen and pressed the on button.
***
Next morning, Stella sat at her desk, picked up a marker and drew a red x over the date on the calendar. In three more weeks it would be one year since she landed on the ogre’s doorstep floundering in the fishing net. A wistful smile tugged at her lips, but didn’t make it to a full-fledged curve.
She rolled the pen between her thumb and forefinger. Living in limbo was not the answer. The time had come for a face-off with Stan to determine the course of their broken marriage.
The sudden ringing of the telephone shattered her contemplative mood. She picked up the receiver and froze.
Breathe.
She clutched the handle tighter, her heart tripping, her hands clammy, but thawed enough to say, “Troy’s at the library with friends.”
A long silence, then… “Have him call me when he gets home,” Stan commanded, his voice crackling through the line.
Home.
He called her place home. Did that mean something, or was it a slip of the tongue? In the next second, she got her answer.
With a curt good-bye, he hung up.
The dial tone echoed in her ear. She slammed the receiver down, tremors shaking her body, and for a long moment, she didn’t move. Hurt turned to anger and pushing herself off the chair, she stomped onto the training floor, releasing her frustration on the heavy bag. Exhausted, she turned to leave and glimpsed her ashen face in the mirrored wall. She collapsed on the mat and buried her head in her hands. Up until then, she’d subconsciously been waiting for Stan to call, to say something, anything that would bridge the chasm between them.
Stella twisted her wedding band around her finger; for the umpteenth time she was tempted to tear it off her finger and hurl it against the wall. Still she couldn’t do it. Her hand fluttered to her mouth, the cold metal of the ring a caress upon her lips. At the crossroads of indecision, despair swamped her and she gave free rein to the tears welling inside her.
She flicked wisps of hair off her forehead with the back of her hand and wiped her cheeks with her sleeve. She braced one hand against the mirrored wall and pushed herself up. Trudging off the training floor, she sank in the chair in the front office, propped her elbows on the desk, chin in her hands and thought of him up on his mountain retreat.
“Fine.” She shoved her chair back with such force it tumbled to the floor. “He can stay there.”
Shadows had crept into the room, and she flicked on the light switch. After she righted the chair, she marched into the kitchen, grabbed a pot and turned on the faucet full force. Troy would be home soon and he’d be hungry.
She shut the water off, slammed the pot on the stove, water splashing over the side and turned on the heat. A dash of salt dissolved in the water, and she reached up in the cupboard for a package of spaghetti and a can of tomato sauce. She pulled out strands of pasta and snapped them in half, all the while thinking of doing the self-same thing to—well, she wouldn’t think of him. She tossed them in the boiling water, opened the can and dumped the contents in a smaller pan. A sprinkle of pungent oregano and basil followed, and she set the pan on the other heated element.
“Too bad, Mr. Arrogant Ogre.” Stella plunged the wooden spoon in the sauce with a passion. “I make a mean spaghetti and you won’t get a single bite.” She stirred all the harder and a few droplets splashed out, sizzling on the stove.
The side door banged open and closed. “Who you talking to, Mom?” Troy skipped over to the table and reached for a piece of garlic bread, yet to be toasted.
“No one. And that bread isn’t ready, yet.” She slapped at his hand, missing.
“It’s yummy, anyway.” He grinned, munching on the piece he’d snatched.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full. Now go wash up.” She managed a smile but inside she was dying. “And call your father.”
***
The day of Troy’s birthday dawned bright and clear. It was September, the trees aflame with color, and a bonus in that rain had held off. Stella was jogging back to her studio when she stopped a moment to allow the beauty of the morning to seep into her soul. Surf crashed upon the shore, and a hazy veil hovered across the sky, muting the snow-capped mountains in the distance. It was on days like this that the sheer beauty of God’s creation made her feel truly alive. She was a part of it and she was so very glad. She glanced up at a lingering star before sunlight chased it away. The last vestiges of night were fast disappearing and she breathed deeply, letting
cool, morning air fill her lungs.
Stella picked up her pace, rounded her street corner, slowed to a trot, then a walk and stumbled to a stop. The side door of her studio was ajar.
Sure she’d locked it before she left, she frowned, alert. No one had a key except Troy and he’d left the previous afternoon for the lodge. It was six forty-five a.m. and Joe wasn’t picking her up until ten-thirty.
Stella nudged the door open and with the stealth of a cougar, she slipped inside. The hallway was in shadow. A few more paces took her to her bedroom, and she peered inside; it was empty. Had she been so preoccupied about seeing Stan again, she’d forgotten to lock the door and merely pulled it shut? Could it have opened in the morning breeze?
The sound of footsteps echoed from the training floor.
Her heart battered her chest, and she swiped her damp palms on her thighs. In less than a split second, Stella spun around and with a silent tread, walked in that direction. Glimpsing a pair of black boots beneath the khaki colored drapes separating the gym from the office, she stopped. Hair on the back of her neck rose, and she sucked in a breath. Slowly, she let air ease between her clamped teeth and prepped for a possible attack.
“Who are you?” she called, a rush of adrenaline fueling her. “What’re you doing in my studio?”
The intruder halted, mere inches from her on the other side of the curtain.
Chapter 14
A quiver shot through Stella, and she held her breath, gauging his next move.
The interloper closed a fist over a section of thick material, ready to shove it aside, but a sudden crash had him pull back. A cacophony of sound followed, mingling with his indecipherable words.
The thug was destroying her studio.
Stella focused on his boots, swung her leg beneath the folds, and with one sweep of her heel knocked him off his feet. Caught by surprise, he tumbled down, his breath heaving, his words muffled.
A split second before she burst through to confront him, he leaped up and lunged for the opening. A tense filled moment hurled past, the curtains the only barrier between them. Stella raised her right leg, pivoted and landed a sidekick to his chest. He fell backward and dragged the drapes, rods and all, down with him, his groan muted by the crash.
