She’d been terrified by the reaction. Despite a marriage on her ledger, she could state with complete honesty that being held so lovingly in the aftermath of an intense coupling was a first. And something she was unprepared to deal with.
Buuuut … she stayed. For a long time. Why was that? he wondered. Why didn’t she run, right then and there? Did she need to stick not just her hand but also her whole damn body into the fire to see, what? If it would hurt? Damage her even more? Kill her completely?
Rubbing a hand on George’s fur, she tried to shake off her messy feelings. Honestly … she didn’t have the luxury of dwelling on this stuff. What was done was done. Giving in to Brody during a moment of weakness was a one-off. That’s all it was. On that one point, there was no choice. No wiggle room.
Brody Jensen was a seat filler. Or a bed warmer, considering the role he played in her life. And nothing more. She wouldn’t allow it to be any more. Couldn’t.
Jason Allen saw to that.
When it came to ex-husbands, hers was the poster boy of villains. A superstar to all men who treated their women like shit—doing the unthinkable time and again as if it was a right.
What Jason did to her … Heather shuddered.
“Maybe this was inevitable,” she murmured sadly into the dog’s fur. “Fuck New Year’s Eve.” The rough sigh she pushed out was big enough to fill her apartment.
Shifting, she huddling closer to George’s solid warmth, cringing when foolishly allowing her ex into her thoughts brought it all crashing back.
She’d been like every other teenager fresh from high school. Freed from the guiding influence of family and friends, Heather threw herself into the university experience. Chasing a double major in psychology and social work, she’d kept up her end by maintaining a comfortable average and earning the praise of her instructors. Everyone said, she’d been a fabulous student.
And then there was the social part of college life. She’d been a card-carrying member of the Coulda Shoulda Sorority— Kegger-in-the-Woods Chapter. Though not wild, she excelled at being a Drinks Master and quickly learned to create cocktails with only one purpose. Kicking ass.
Along the way, she flitted in and out of the dating scene until Jason Allen came into the picture. Everyone said he was a bona fide catch. Rich parents, no school loans to pay off, and reasonable good looks—he was also low-hanging fruit when it came to expectations and a moral code.
Initially a flirtation, things quickly escalated to the next level. College was an excess of so many things. The drinking, partying, and general craziness was no exception. In her case, she spent too much time going along with things she shouldn’t have. And that included sleeping with Jason.
At first, everything was good. It was a college romance. No harm, no foul. But after a while, Heather started noticing little things. Subtleties in his behavior that should have set off alarms. That part she still beat herself up over.
Anyway … they made it through. After a memorable cap and gown ceremony, she was set to start grad school in the fall, and he was headed to the family business. But first, there was a graduation trip to look forward to. The grand tour, it was called … all the usual tourist traps on a six-week jam-packed adventure through Europe. Jason ended up complaining and bitching the entire time. His whining exhausted her. Poor spoiled brat was quick with a rude comment for everything. The water wasn’t hot enough. His pillow was flat. Nobody knew how to brew a proper American cup of coffee. Ugh. The trip became a nightmare. Worn down by Jason’s selfish demands, she’d ended up counting the days till it was over.
When the fall term rolled around, she bounced for grad school while he got settled in one of Daddy’s businesses. They were still a couple, but things were rocky. At Thanksgiving break, he begged her to fly in and spend the holiday with his family … a decision that triggered a chain reaction of events that changed the course of her life.
She still remembered how it began with crystal clarity. Everything was great until the tail end of a stuffy, formal sit-down dinner. As the assembled group rose to leave the dining room, Heather’s sense of balance took an unexpected vacation. Slithering to the floor, her forehead banged the edge of the table as she went down.
Everything went blurry after that. Heather had a vague recollection of Jason standing around doing nothing. And another semi-recollection of Mrs. Allen freaking out. The part she did remember was the paramedics lifting her onto a gurney and then loading her into the back of an ambulance with hideous flashing lights. Heather shifted uncomfortably and hugged George tighter. To this day, she hated flashing lights. They gave her an immediate panic attack.
After whacking her head, she was in no way prepared for the emergency room doctor to drop the mother of all bombshells. She was pregnant. Almost four months. And that was when all holy hell broke loose.
Far from the protection of her family, she’d been hustled, bamboozled, and threatened by the Allens from the start. All they talked about was Jason, Jason, Jason. His career. His future. They’d kept insisting that by doing the right thing, her future would be set. It felt like a nonstop ride on the what-the-fuck express to hell. They were relentless. Manipulative. Demanding.
And Jason? He was drunk most of the time. Oh yeah, and after she was released from the hospital? On the drive home, he’d pulled into a random parking lot, unzipped his pants, and whipped it out for her to take care of.
No. For real. That shit happened. Even all these years later, Heather still recoiled at the memory.
She’d passed out and whacked her head … spent the night in the hospital. He’d gotten her pregnant. Fun times. His reaction? Suck my dick.
They were married twenty-four hours later in a judge’s chambers after Jason’s dad pulled every string he could. Her parents weren’t even there. As newlyweds, they spent their wedding night in Jason’s childhood bedroom in his parents’ opulent home. Her bridegroom was so fucked up that he passed out on the floor while she huddled in the bed and cried.
She left for school the following morning. The weeks between Thanksgiving and the semester break were a nightmare. Sick as a dog, she experienced morning sickness that lasted all day. Only it wasn’t technically pregnancy-related. Anxiety and fear—a sense of impending doom on top of her coursework—created a toxic emotional sludge that overtook her like quicksand.
Her new in-laws, always so damn preoccupied with their standing in the community and what other people thought, were throwing a holiday party that would double as a wedding celebration. Heather’s mom and dad were flying in and Travis even promised he’d try to make it.
With her newlywed husband completely ignoring his pregnant wife, she was miserable, sick, and very, very alone. The bastard hadn’t even bothered to pick her up at the airport, sending a cab instead.
Stepping from the cab, she got as far as the door before the shit hit the fan at full force with stunning speed. When she’d left at Thanksgiving, unless you knew she was pregnant, there was no evidence that there was a bun in her oven. But at five months, her belly was definitely popping and no one could mistake she was knocked up.
Feeling like shit twenty-four seven, she looked how she felt. Her parents having arrived just hours before were appalled at her appearance. The Allens were more concerned with Jason’s disappearing act than how she was doing. Their total focus was centered on him, just not his inexcusable behavior.
Her reluctant husband didn’t make an appearance until everyone was gathered around the dinner table. He wasn’t drunk, but she knew damn well he was under the influence of something. Barely acknowledging her, he’d also ignored her parents. Through the entire holiday meal, he’d sniveled incessantly about wanting a new car for Christmas. A red convertible with zero safety features and absolutely nowhere to put a car seat. In short, he wasn’t interested in a family car.
When dinner was over and she stood, her father held her chair and helped her up. That was when Jason finally remembered she was there. Struggling from her sea
t, he gaped at her with clear disapproval. When she’d smoothed a hand over her growing belly, he’d reacted with shock. Spittle flying from his slack-jawed mouth, the man she was married to thundered, “You’re fat,” at the top of his lungs.
Fat.
Her dad gasped.
Mom whimpered.
Jason fumed and his parents tut-tutted.
And her? What did it matter? She was … fat. It didn’t get any better after that.
By Christmas morning, no one was talking. Her folks even circled the wagons to keep the interfering in-laws at arm’s length. It wasn’t necessary to manage her husband. He’d taken off shortly after declaring her an oversized beast. The whole thing was awful.
The Allen’s big celebration was set for December thirtieth. Two hundred guests and an event planner … fun times. It was pretentious, ostentatious, and cold-blooded. Heather remembered hating her dress … it made her look like a plus-sized pilgrim. The food upset her stomach and the band played music too old for her tastes.
And her husband? After posing for a load of pictures that were so fake and phony they needed a green screen and special effects, he quietly vanished. Again.
She found him hours later in the pool house, pants down around his ankles, fucking some society twat who squealed like a pornstar, crying “Oooh, Daddy! Your cock is soooo big.”
Jason was mind-numbingly disgusting in his reaction. Being caught triggered a hurtful outburst. Declaring her unsexy, ugly, and unfuckable, he ranted and raved about how she was ruining his life. How she’d deliberately trapped him by getting knocked up. How he hadn’t wanted to marry her. This was the true Jason. Someone she’d seen glimpses of during their time together. Selfish. Delusional. Cruel. Entitled.
Dazed and in shock, she’d made it through the rest of the evening although everything took place in her own private corner of hell. Her parents knew something was up, but she’d been too rattled to seek them out.
And then, the night of a thousand agonies played out and her life would never be the same. He’d thrown an angry hissy fit when she put on a big sleep shirt instead of some sexy lingerie. She’d thought him an asshole. But he was only getting started.
Completely out of his mind, he’d ranted on and on and on until something inside him snapped. That was the way she remembered it. A snap. Next thing she knew, he’d torn the nightwear to shreds. Once he got a good look at her naked, pregnant body, he went apeshit.
“How do you expect me to fuck such a disgusting pig?” Words that would stay with her forever.
Shattered, she’d tried to put some distance between them, but he wasn’t having it. Screaming that she wasn’t allowed to ignore him, he’d jumped her, pushed her down onto the bed, and without missing a beat, viciously raped her. The moment he’d finished, she retreated to a corner, an empty shell. The reality of the situation nearly consumed her soul.
Not satisfied, he dragged her from the corner and hit her for the first time, whomp, smacking her so hard she thought her cheek must have shattered. She remembered him screaming a litany of vile words as spittle flew, “Ugly cunt. Your body disgusts me. Fucking you is like fucking a pig.” He’d kept it up. Nonstop.
A night of terror followed which led to Jason smacking her into unconsciousness. When she came to, he was throwing her around like a ragdoll in between sexual assaults. How he got her out of the house without anyone knowing was a question that would never be answered. Dragging her by the hair, she bounced down the stairs like a rubber ball and was a bruised and bloodied mess when he’d dropped her at the curb of the local community hospital and drove away. The next night, right before the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Eve, she’d miscarried.
Her parents were beside themselves and even threatened her in-laws with every imaginable ‘fuck you’ they could think of. Jason’s parents begged her not to press charges, convinced their precious son would never overcome domestic abuse on his record. They used their influence to put out the fairy tale that she’d fallen down the stairs. The police were never called. It was a holy mess.
Broken, she returned to grad school, her body bruised and empty. How she managed during those sad days, she’d never know. Despite being a cash-strapped, struggling grad student with a pending divorce, she still managed to finish her Master’s. Not long after, she’d taken a job in the social services department of a university hospital, when Jason reappeared with new and better ways to torture Heather for having fucked up his life. Stalking and threats were his specialty. She’d gone through the legal system high and low to stop him. Restraining orders. Private numbers. Security systems. Nothing ever worked for very long.
Being a drunk, abusive motherfucker wasn’t enough for him. He’d hacked her computer. Intercepted her mail. Emptied her retirement account. Photographed her. Even sent dead flowers to her workplace. Ripped up her flower beds. Every time the phone rang, her stomach would roil and she’d run to the bathroom. It went on like that for over a year until finally, she ran. Believing it would be easier to get lost in the busy streets of a big city, she went off the radar, hiding out in NYC working as a medical receptionist, a job that didn’t require professional credentials. By then, she was fully manic—morning, noon, and night—courtesy of what she’d realize much, much later was the start of the fear-driven PTSD that plagued her still.
For a couple of months, her anonymity seemed secure, and then he’d found her again. Because she was in a new city under an assumed name, her previous restraining orders were void. He’d jumped her one night after she got off the subway. Beat the snot out of her screaming she ruined his life and had to pay.
A passerby intervened and called the cops. He’d been arrested, arraigned, charged with assault, and bailed out by his parents in record time. Nothing new there. And then the real crazy got unleashed. Fueled by twin demons—rage and substance abuse—he went on an ever-deepening downward spiral. He’d cause a scene, get dragged off by the cops, spend a night in jail, get out, and start all over again. Heather slowly crumbled into a hundred disjointed pieces. Her life a living hell, she contemplated endless desperate escape scenarios.
That was four years ago. Just when the end of her rope neared, the universe terminated her nightmare. Jason Allen’s life came to an end on a rain-slicked back road when his car slammed into an embankment doing eighty-four miles an hour. His blood alcohol level was off the scale. It would come out later that in addition to the child he’d taken from her, he was the baby-daddy to a boy living in Mexico. The mother was some waitress he banged on a weeklong drug binge south-of-the-border.
The truly disgusting part of the story was that it wasn’t until after his son was born that his parents finally cut him off. Not after he’d beaten the snot out of his wife and effectively killed their unborn baby. Nope. That wasn’t what did it. An illegitimate kid from another country—well, apparently, that was the line in the sand.
The bitterness she felt didn’t do much to help her self-confidence.
But, finally freed from the terror, she moved closer to her family and took the job she still held as staff counselor at a community college just outside the D.C. beltway in suburban Maryland. Before she’d bought furniture, though, Heather threw herself into locating a therapy group for PTSD sufferers. Knowing she wouldn’t make it without some strong support, she put on her big girl panties and found the courage to share.
And who else was a member of that PTSD support group? Brody Jensen.
Thinking about Jason and then having Brody pop into her thoughts wasn’t working for her.
“Move it, ya big lug,” she grunted as she pushed George away. “I see a herd of dust bunnies trying to hide under the bookcase.”
Shutting off the memories, she grabbed a duster and got back to business.
AFTER COMPLETELY UNDERESTIMATING how hard it might be to pin down takeout food on New Year’s Eve, Brody carefully stowed the meal he’d pieced together into the backseat of his car.
Waiting till late afternoon to even
start getting things together, he’d hit up a grocery store and settled for the last few bottles of some off-brand bubbly figuring something was better than nothing. Same for the crappy leftovers in the floral aisle. Getting flowers was a complete brain fart idea, but once it hit, he was on a one-man mission to find a halfway decent arrangement.
Without a chance in fucking hell of fancy restaurant takeout, all seemed lost until he remembered how much Heather loved Thai food from a little restaurant in old town. Judging by the number of cars in the lot and by how long he waited for his order, he wasn’t the only last-minute customer.
“Right,” he muttered gruffly. “Flowers, dinner, champagne.” Slamming the car door, he sank into the driver’s seat and started the engine to get some heat cranking. Damn, he really hated this weather. What he wouldn’t give for a nice, long ride on one of the ATVs into the desert with the Arizona sun beating down on him. Oh, well. Next year.
Going over the half-assed checklist in his head took no time at all. Planning an actual dinner date wasn’t something he ever remembered doing, so really … he was clueless. It was a special night, though, so he better show up with more than some shit champagne.
Heading out, he made for the other side of town and hoped some kind of inspiration hit him along the way. He laughed when he spied a party shop, also with a jammed parking lot, and decided to take his chances. Half an hour later, he was tossing a bag of hats, noisemakers, and ribbon confetti into the car. The grin was extra. He couldn’t help it. What he was doing was completely out of character and you know what? It felt damn good.
Out of character. Out of character. The random thought kept running around in his head as he drove. Meghan would analyze the mother fuck out his quandary. She was good that way. Though it put his entire relationship with Alex in jeopardy, he was grateful for the woman’s friendship. Besides, Ol’ Papa Bear had nothing to worry about where his sexy fiancée was concerned, which made watching him lose his shit every five minutes over the bombshell redhead amusing as hell.
Sanctuary (Family Justice Book 3) Page 5
