Copyright © 2016 by Suzanne Halliday
SANCTUARY A Family Justice Novel
ISBN: 978-0-9961894-6-0
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by an means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.
This book is meant for mature readers who are 18+.
It contains explicit language, and graphic sexual content.
Edited by www.editing4indies.com
Book Cover Design by www.ashleybaumann.com
Formatting by Champagne Formats
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Ninteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Other Books
Acknowledgments
About the Author
To my wonderful readers
#NoCliffhangers
#HappilyEverAfterGuaranteed
Yes. I really do call it Romantica ~ so there!
Sorry, not sorry for the NSFW language
Seriously, I love you guys
The world breaks everyone, and afterward,
some are strong at the broken places.
Ernest Hemingway
“HEY, MOVE IT. That’s my seat.”
Balancing a plate piled with food, some silverware, and a plastic tumbler filled with ice, she fumbled her way to the sofa and managed to lower the armful of stuff onto the coffee table seconds before it all went south in a heap.
“Clumsy to the last,” she murmured with a smirk as she got dinner set up, eyeing the humdrum meal with a total lack of enthusiasm.
“Out of the way, big guy,” she grunted on her way down, grabbing the remote control as she angled her butt to land in her favorite spot on the sofa. George scooted out of her way at the last possible second. Good thing ‘cause she’d come to love the rescue dog despite some initial ambivalence. Sitting on him wouldn’t have turned out well—for either of them.
Patting the overgrown pup on the head, she scratched him between the ears and offered up a half-quirk grin. “Just you ‘n’ me again tonight.” George didn’t care and licked the side of her face with his tongue. She smiled.
“Okay then.” Pointing the remote control at the TV, she turned on the system and waited for it to fire up. “I’m thinking, um … hmm. Reba, maybe. Or… Friends? Whaddayathink, boy? Which will it be tonight? Family life country style or coffee in New York City?”
Ripping the cap off a water bottle, she poured it into the cup of ice and sat forward. Eating at the coffee table in front of the TV was getting to be a habit. Not to mention, a shitty one.
Eyeing the nook where her grandmother’s old-fashioned dining table sat, she pushed aside the memories of a recent meal invading her thoughts. Nope. Not going there, she mentally swore. This was her life. Daydreaming about what was essentially a long-term hookup didn’t get her anywhere, so why think about it?
Well, you foolish twit, maybe if you didn’t let him spread you out on your Nanny’s vintage linen tablecloth when he made you the main course, these thoughts wouldn’t be so vexing.
With a hearty thump, George laid one of his big paws on her leg. Could he sense her unease? Probably. After all, it was rolling off her pretty thick these days.
“Humph. Reba, it is,” she muttered into the empty room.
With Barbra Jean and Brock bringing the laughs while Reba tried not to blow a fuse, she picked at her dinner plate and sorted through a stack of mail she’d been avoiding.
Idly separating the junk into a pile for the recycling bin, she stopped a time or two to quickly thumb through some ads, tearing out a couple of random coupons and noting what was on sale and where. Exciting stuff, huh?
Muting the TV during a commercial, she was tearing open a bill when her phone rang. Ugh. She hated talking on the phone. Hated the phone as a concept—and for good reason. There was a time when hearing the phone ring sent her scrambling for the bathroom before her stomach exploded.
Her mother’s cell came up on the screen, and she knew there was no way to avoid answering. Not a lot of people understood her phone aversion, but her mom sure did. If she was calling, and not from the house phone, then something must be up.
“Hi, Mom. Everything okay?”
“Heather, darling. We’re all fine, honey. Sorry to call without warning but something wonderful happened and I wanted you to know right away.”
Moms. They always seemed to have a knack for cutting through the noise. Throwing the word wonderful into the mix stalled the anxiety that always bloomed because she feared every phone call was potentially a crisis waiting to happen.
“Travis and Missy are moving back to New York. Isn’t that wonderful? Missy got the position at Deven Glen. She’s so excited, and Travis couldn’t be prouder. Your dad is already planning a fishing trip up to the lake for all of the kids.”
Wow. Five sentences and so much information. Her brother and his wife and family were moving home? Missy must have hit the jackpot for them to leave sunny Florida. And the kids? Her two nephews, Joey and Dave. No wonder her dad was in planning mode. He adored his two grandsons and since they’d be the only grandkids he’d ever have …
Furiously squashing the thought, she muttered some empty, well-practiced phrases into the phone and made an effort to share in her mother’s happiness.
“We’ll miss you on Christmas,” her mom was saying. “Are you sure you can’t get away? You know Daddy doesn’t like that you’ll be all alone during the holidays. I mean-” She paused. “Heather, honey, you will be alone, right?”
; Of course, she’d be alone. Being alone was what she did best. Hell. If being alone were a sport, she’d be a freakin’ superstar.
“Mom, jeez. You always say that like you imagine I’m hiding something from you guys. Yes. I’ll be by myself. Well, not entirely. George is here. And after all this time maybe you’ll stop wasting energy on something you know damn well is never going to happen.”
Did that sound harsh? She didn’t want to be a bitch to her mom but honestly. Enough.
She heard the sigh and knew what caused it but didn’t give in to the pull. She was a licensed therapist, for heaven’s sake, and she would never say this professionally, but some things are best kept locked away. Not everything needs to be endlessly picked apart and analyzed. Sometimes, things just … are. And with that gloomy thought, she’d come to the end of her willingness to engage with her mother on the phone.
“Mom, I think George needs to go out, so I’m gonna run. I’ll text Travis. Big hugs for Dad, okay?”
“Love you, honey.”
“Love you too, Mom. Bye.”
Feeling like shit, she flopped on her side and shoved a sofa pillow beneath her head. George immediately climbed into the space behind her legs and curled up. It was comforting to feel the warmth of his soft fur nestled against her. The dog. Man’s best friend. She got it.
In the dense silence, she lay there willing the torrent of dark thoughts that wouldn’t stay put in the shadows to back the hell off. It was damn hard on one hand to love her brother and his growing family as she did and then on the other, battle a team of inner demons that reacted to all reminders of what she’d never have. A man to love and protect her as Travis did Missy. Or kids to chase after while you dreamed about their future.
Those things were not a part of her. Not anymore.
George got up, turned in a complete circle, and then flopped down again. A spray of dust motes danced in the air, visible in the rays of sunlight streaming through the window.
Heather wondered if the tiny speckles were unique like snowflakes. Different but alike. A little like how she felt. Detached, but engaged and in the loop. She was deeply involved in her career, was active in the community, and even managed to maintain a couple of professional friendships. As a social worker and therapist, she knew everyone needed those things. But that didn’t stop the relentless belief that she was outside all of it.
Different.
Damaged.
She wondered if a time would ever come when she’d find some sort of sanctuary from the past. Somewhere she’d feel safe. With someone she could shelter with. Wishful thinking on her part.
The shimmering motes danced through the rays of the sun, drawing her gaze across the room to the dining set she was working overtime to avoid.
Muttering, “Shoot,” she really didn’t want to go there but couldn’t help it. George’s head lifted sensing her agitation.
Without lifting from her pillow, she reached behind and scratched the dog’s head. “It’s okay, boy. I was just thinking about Brody.”
At the mention of the man’s name, George sat up, plunked a big heavy paw on her hip, and made a quiet, “Woof.”
Eep. Of course. George and Brody were BFFs.
Ripping the pillow from beneath her head, Heather sat up and tossed it away. “I’m an idiot.”
The dog sat there, tongue hanging out, and gave her a soulful doggie expression that summed up how she was feeling.
She’d let Brody Jensen get under her skin, and that wasn’t a good thing. Not for her. Not for him.
What they had was … hmph. What they had was a connection, not a relationship. A relationship implied feelings and communication when what they did was quite a bit more basic and primitive than that.
They had sex. Lots of it. When he was around, that is, and when he wasn’t, she, well … she did her thing and shut down any and all thoughts about him that went beyond ‘insert penis here.’
George licked the side of her face. Damn dog. She hadn’t wanted a dog and still couldn’t fully figure out just how it was she ended up with one. One day, she’d been living her quiet, solitary life, and the next, Brody was stocking her pantry with puppy treats and play toys. That was six months ago. Right about the time the school term ended and he’d pulled his annual disappearing act.
She slept with him on a regular basis from January through June without knowing anything about what he did when he left. Heather didn’t encourage connection. The sex, high voltage and uh, complex as it was … well, that was enough. It had to be. Because it was all she could allow.
The dog jumped down off the sofa and squirmed through the space between Heather’s legs and the coffee table. As he lumbered by, his tail swished, scattering the mail stack everywhere.
“Aw, come on,” she muttered under her breath. Bending, she scooped up what fell reaching under the sofa for the edge of an envelope. “Least you could do,” she quipped to the dog’s retreating back, “is learn to pick up after yourself.”
Dropping the stack back on the coffee table, the top envelope caught her eye. Pfft. Another holiday card. Damn.
“Uh-oh,” she murmured aloud. “Killjoy alert.”
It wasn’t that she disliked the holidays. Not at all. She rather enjoyed the pleasure others got from the season. But the closer it got to the big day, the more adrift she felt. The screaming reminder of her solitary life, one that came around annually and kicked her in the butt, was not helpful.
Eyeing the envelope with a foreboding that pierced her brain, she quickly noted the return address. Arizona. Who the hell did she know in Arizona?
Tearing the gold trimmed envelope to shreds in her haste to get at the card, she instantly loved the charming drawing of a Southwestern adobe glowing with luminaries and red flowers. A cactus, instead of an evergreen, was decorated with lights under a moonlit sky.
Carefully opening the card like it was something of rare value, she wasn’t prepared when a bomb detonated inside her. Her breath lodged painfully in lungs that lost the ability to function, and she caught the slight tremble in her fingers as her world slipped slightly on its axis.
Seconds ticked by until minutes passed. At some point, she remembered how to breathe. Fingers gone numb began to tingle when sensation returned.
Brody.
Oh, my god. Brody.
Brody Jensen sent her a Christmas card.
From Arizona.
Heather’s eyes swung to the dining table again, remembering in vivid detail the last time she’d seen the inscrutable loner. That time, he’d laid her out like a gourmet, five-course meal and feasted on her body until there’d been nothing left. Of her. She’d been shaken by the experience, and though she was loathed to admit it, nothing was the same since.
Brody Jensen was in Arizona. And he’d sent her a card. Through the mail.
What the hell was she supposed to make of it?
JESUS CHRIST, WHEN did he become such a huge pussy?
Slamming the refrigerator door shut with more force than reasonably necessary, Brody vigorously shook the bottle of Naked Juice that would have to suffice for dinner and plodded into the living room.
Stepping over the pile of bags he hadn’t bothered to unpack, he kicked away a pair of boots and scowled. A pussy AND cowboy boots? What the hell?
Dropping like a stone onto an old sofa that’d seen better days, he just sat there and stared straight ahead. As usual, his inner silence was met by an equally loud exterior silence that pretty much summed up the state of his life.
He was … alone.
Guzzling half the bottle of juice in one draw, he let out a hefty, “Ahhhh,” and set the crappy excuse for a meal aside. Though he’d made some decisions recently about the direction of his life—good decisions—he was at loose ends. And going from the bustling Justice compound to this empty solitude wasn’t helping. He fucking missed people. Being part of a group. Having a family, although he still mostly winced at the notion.
Slumping back, he propped
bare feet on the coffee table and put one hand behind his head. Until he caught himself doing it and stopped, he’d gone full Al Bundy and slid his other hand into the waistband of his pants.
“Holy god.” He chuckled. “Get off my damn lawn,” he barked at no one.
This was the exact reason why he’d grabbed his balls and stopped fucking around about the future. The last two years he’d been well on his way to grumpy old man territory, devoting way too much internal dialogue on shit he couldn’t change and shouldn’t be dwelling on.
Telling the Justice Brothers about his kid and being given a seat at the Family Justice table—well, that shit was bigger than huge. Those two things were everything. Now, all he had to do was figure out how to reconcile this other part of his life with the one in Arizona.
And that was why he was a pussy. There wasn’t a goddamn thing here to reconcile. Not really. Being a part-time instructor let him steer well clear of department squabbles and college politics, so where that was concerned, he wouldn’t sign his contract for the next winter term and that would be it. When Memorial Day rolled around, he’d be a free agent.
He squirmed at the phrase. Yeah, maybe he had it easy where the job thing was concerned, but the truth was he was by no means a free agent. To pretend otherwise was plain stupid.
Hey, his conscience tittered. Remember that Christmas card you just had to mail before flying home? Well, asshole, free agents don’t make special trips to the card store and don’t do shit like that. What the hell were you thinking?
Brody snorted. Shit, that was easy. He was thinking about Heather. Imagining what it would be like to spend Christmas with her because even if they did nothing but fuck, he wouldn’t be alone. And neither would she.
A slight movement caught his eye and he turned his head to investigate. It was snowing. Swirls of white drifted in front of the window of his second-floor apartment.
Looks like we’ll be having a white Christmas, after all.
Floundering around in the moments that followed, he thought about this being his last winter holiday and how different life was going to look a year from now. When he’d be living in the Arizona desert and devoting all his energies to things other than teaching English to a bunch of snotty, uninformed teenagers.
Sanctuary (Family Justice Book 3) Page 1
