Pretty Broken Dreams: A Pretty Broken Standalone Novel

by Jeana E. Mann

  “Sounds complicated.”

  “Sometimes I wish they’d do us all a favor and get a divorce. They’re always mad at each other. Whenever we’re together, it’s just one argument after another.” Their remembered shouts and insults echo through my head. “My children will never have to live like that.”

  “You want kids? A family?” Cam stops cooking and turns to face me. A shadow passes over his face.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Don’t you?” I pause to tuck one foot beneath me and lean forward in the chair.

  His blue eyes search my face. A furrow deepens between his thick, dark brows. “I’ll never have kids.”

  “You should never say never,” I reply lightly. Although having a family isn’t a priority, I can’t imagine a future without children in it. I want to have roots, a home to call my own.

  “No.” He places the spatula by the sink and braces both arms on the counter. “Not with my history.” His voice is jagged with emotion.

  The angst in his words stirs new feelings inside me. I cover his hand with mine. “Cam, look at me.” The blue of his eyes is turbulent, churning like a stormy ocean. “You’re not your father. You’re a good person. Don’t let his mistakes determine the course of your life.”

  He turns his hand over to thread his fingers through mine. “You don’t know the kind of darkness I have inside me. Sometimes I get so angry I want to punch something or someone. And I’m always afraid I’ll snap.”

  I cup his cheek with my free hand. He’s vulnerable, raw, and I know how hard it is for him to share these thoughts. “Have you ever hit someone?”

  “Jimmy Cates in the third grade. He called me ‘the brown boy’. I knocked him down on the playground.” Cam shakes his head. One corner of his mouth curls down. “I still feel bad about it.”

  “Is that all you’ve got? I’d hardly call that a history of violence,” I tease. “And it sounds like he deserved it.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” The tension in his shoulders eases.

  “Your fear of losing control is the thing that will save you. You can choose to be a better man. I think you’re doing a great job.”

  “Well, thanks.” He rolls his lips together, his gaze dropping to my mouth. “Could you live without kids?”

  “I don’t know.” I won’t lie to him, no matter how much the truth hurts. “I don’t want to rule them out. Not yet, anyway. I suppose if I meet the right guy, I might change my mind.” Children and marriage seem a long way off. I only turned nineteen a few weeks ago. For now, college and fun seem more important.

  I lean forward to steal a kiss. The taste of honey lingers on his tongue. A rumble vibrates his chest. When we pull apart, he smiles. “You have the best kisses, Vanessa Seaforth.”

  “Yours don’t suck either.” I beam at him, unable to curb the bubble of happiness inside me. Resuming my place on the barstool, I watch him move about the kitchen, mesmerized by his confidence. He’s completely at home, more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him. As far as I’m concerned, this moment can last forever.

  Cam spoons eggs onto the plate in front of me then takes a seat at the bar to my left. He swivels on the barstool and places a hand on my bare knee. A shiver courses up my leg. One touch undoes my resolve to keep things casual. “Stay with me. Until you leave.”

  “Are you sure?” Butterflies tumble in my stomach.

  He leans forward to tug me onto his lap. The tip of his nose nuzzles along my ear. “Absolutely.”

  Chapter 25

  Cam - Twelve Years Ago

  THE INVITATION FALLS from my lips before my brain has a chance to stop it. Stay with me. Seriously? I’ve never had a girl spend the night, let alone a few days. Once implanted, however, the idea appeals more than I care to admit. I liked waking up with her in my arms. For her, I’m willing to rethink my phobia of commitment.

  She studies my face, eyes narrowed. Maybe she thinks I’ve lost my mind, too. “I couldn’t. I’m sure you have…obligations. I wouldn’t want to interfere.” It’s her polite way of inferring that I have other women. Thankfully, I’ve taken the next month off from the escort business to tend to my project. After being with her, I have no desire to see anyone else—professionally or personally.

  “I’m completely free until after the New Year.” The weight of her on my lap stirs my cock to life again. He’s greedy for more of her sweetness, and so am I. She swivels to straddle my hips. Lord have mercy, she’s bare beneath the cotton T-shirt I gave her to wear. I slide my hands beneath the material and cup her breasts. They’re heavy, the nipples tight. I brush a thumb over the protruding peaks and capture her moan with my mouth.

  “Okay. But only if you’re sure.” Her eyelids lower, shielding her thoughts. “I don’t want to impose.”

  “I’m sure. It’ll be great. We can play tourists.” The smooth skin of her neck beckons my lips.

  Breakfast is forgotten. I take her on the floor, next to the bar then carry her to the bedroom for more. I’ve always had a high sex drive, but this is new for me. I can’t get enough of her.

  Afterward, we take a walk through my neighborhood. She knows more about the city than I do, proving a knowledgeable tour guide. The snow crunches beneath our boots. We hold hands and wander aimlessly. I give her the spare key to the apartment, so she can come and go as she pleases. An unfamiliar lightness buoys my soul.

  The next day, I head to the library for some research while she goes to visit her mother. The hours drag by, and I accomplish nothing but daydreaming about her sexy mouth. Eventually, I return to the apartment. She’s already there. The dining room table is set. Fresh flowers and candles grace the center of the table. Her face glows when she greets me, and it’s the best damn feeling in the world.

  “I made dinner,” she says breathlessly.

  The aroma from the kitchen is strange, but I’m not a picky eater. I’m more interested in the tight black dress she’s wearing. The V-neck and long sleeves highlight the silhouette of her bust and tiny waist. A string of the longest pearls I’ve ever seen hangs around her neck to below her waist. Like Vanessa, the outfit is classy but sexy.

  “Let’s go to the bedroom.” I walk her backward toward my bed. “Dinner can wait.”

  “Cam, no.” Her pleading reproach stops my wandering hands. “We can’t have sex all the time. We’ve got to eat.”

  I sigh, secretly amused by her stern tone. “Fine. Feed me. Then fuck me.”

  “You’re incorrigible,” she says, but I can tell by the light in her eyes that she’s all for it. The casserole she places on the table is black around the edges and a peculiar shade of green. She bites her lip, the furrow between her brows deepening. “I followed the recipe.”

  “What is it?” I ask delicately, not wanting to hurt her feelings.

  “Chicken tomato casserole. It’s got four different types of cheese. I went to the store and bought everything.” Her proud grin illuminates her delicate features. “I’ve never actually been to the grocery before, but I think I did pretty well.”

  “You did great.” I sweep an arm around her waist and pull her to me for a kiss.

  We settle into our chairs. She scoops a generous helping onto my plate and waits impatiently as I take a bite. A bitter aftertaste spreads over my tongue. I chew and force myself to swallow. This is probably her first attempt at real cooking, and I don’t want to dampen her enthusiasm.

  “How is it?” she asks.

  “Good.” I nod reassuringly and take a giant gulp of water to wash it down. “Is it supposed to be crunchy like that?”

  “I don’t know.” She places a generous spoonful in her mouth and promptly spits it into her napkin. “Oh, wow, it’s horrible.”

  “Didn’t you sample it while you were cooking?” It’s all I can do to hold back a laugh.

  “No. Was I supposed to?”

  “Well, generally speaking, yes.” I decide to take one for the team and brave another bite.

  She grabs my hand before I can get th
e fork to my mouth. “I wouldn’t feed that to my dog.” A smile twitches her lips. I smile back. A chuckle rumbles up my chest until I’m ready to burst. Her green eyes sparkle. We both erupt in laughter. “I can’t believe you were going to pretend you liked it.” She dabs at the tears in her eyes with the corner of her napkin.

  “You just seemed so excited. I didn’t want to ruin it for you.”

  “Do you want to order in?” Her gaze darkens, focusing on my mouth. The air thickens between us. “Later?”

  ***

  Never in my life have I been so happy. Every day with Vanessa is more perfect than the one before it. We don’t talk about the future or our relationship. She extends her stay, catching a plane back to San Francisco the day before her classes resume. When she’s gone, the apartment seems empty and sad.

  I drop all my clients. The thought of sex with other women is unbearable. The financial burden will be rough, but I’ll manage somehow. A few weeks into the New Year, I call Vanessa. “What are you doing this weekend?”

  “Not much. Studying. Why?” Her voice is soft, inviting. “You miss me, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” I’ve never put myself out there before, but it comes naturally with her. “Come see me.”

  Her laughter rings across the continent, but it’s not a no. “Are you crazy?”

  “Maybe.” I draw in a deep breath before plunging in headlong to uncharted territory. “If you can’t come here, I’ll come out there.”

  Silence stretches for an eternity before she answers. “Okay.”

  We spend every weekend together. And when we can’t, we Skype or Facetime. Kate continues to call and text, but I ignore her. Eventually, she’ll find another boy-toy to occupy her. My project falls to the side. All I can think about is Vanessa and the next time we’ll be together. I’m not sure how or when it happened, but for the first time in my life, I’m in love.

  Chapter 26

  Vanessa - Twelve Years Ago

  SPRING BREAK FINALLY arrives. Cam and I decide to spend it in New York. The city is beautiful this time of year. We take long walks through the park during the day and make love all night long.

  “Have you ever thought about transferring to New York?” he asks as I turn out the lights and climb into bed. “There are good business programs here.”

  “Have you ever thought about transferring to Stanford?” I throw back at him, certain he’s joking.

  “Yes.” His serious tone yanks my gaze to his face. “I’m not sure I can swing the tuition, though.”

  “You’d do that?”

  “To be with you? Yes.” There is no hesitation in his answer. My heart skips a beat. “You’re all I think about.”

  The sincerity in his eyes melts my misgivings. “This is crazy.”

  “I know.” He takes my hand in his, lifts it to his lips, and presses a kiss on my knuckles. “The distance is killing me. I want to be with you.”

  “Me too.” The words come out in a choked whisper. I’m desperate for him in a way I’ve never known. I smooth my palms over the warm flesh of his back, drawing him closer. My body molds to his like it was made for him. We fit together perfectly, my curves to his hardness. “I was accepted into Columbia. I can look into a transfer.”

  The frantic beating of my heart threatens to crack my ribs. He slides on top of me, nudging my thighs open with his knees. Our fingers intertwine. He draws my hands up beside my head and gazes into my eyes. The pure depth of feeling there erases all my misgivings. Common sense flees, and I’m left with nothing but desire for this beautiful man.

  “I’m so in love with you.” His confession splits me in two. I lift my hips, taking him deeper. “I want you, Vanessa. All of you.” He rests his weight on an elbow, freeing a hand to caress the lines of my face. “The thought of being without you scares the hell out of me. I know I’m not worthy of you, but I’ll do anything to make you happy.”

  Tears blur my sight. I swallow down the lump in my throat. “I want you, too.”

  I’m drowning in the pools of his blue eyes, falling without hope of recovery, lost forever. I don’t care about tomorrow or my education or what my parents will think. I only want to be with him.

  ***

  In the morning, we make love again before Cam showers. I remain in bed and bask in the post-coital afterglow. The muscles of my thighs ache from wrapping so tightly around his waist; my lips are tender and swollen from a thousand passionate kisses. I couldn’t be happier.

  Ten minutes later, Cam walks out of the bathroom. A snowy-white towel hangs low on his hips. Drops of water glisten on his black hair. He shrugs on a pale blue dress shirt then bends to kiss my forehead.

  “Stay here. Sleep in. I’m going to run some errands.” His eyes are dark and serious. “There are a few things I need to take care of today. When I get back, we’ll talk about how we want to handle things.”

  “Sounds good.” I burrow deeper into the covers but not before stealing another kiss. “Or you could come back to bed and worry about real life later.”

  His laughter vibrates through my body, all the way into my toes. “Mmmm…that does sound tempting, but no.” He pulls away, shaking his head. “We’ve got plenty of time for that.”

  After the door closes behind him, sleep pulls me under once more. I have strange dreams about running through mist, the roar of the ocean in the background. When I awaken two hours later, I’m groggy and disoriented. It takes a few seconds for me to remember that I’m in Cam’s apartment, and he wants me. Just thinking the words causes my pulse to accelerate.

  The sound of the doorbell cuts through my romantic musings. Thinking Cam must have his arms full or forgotten his key, I pad to the door wearing only his dress shirt. A petite brunette stands in the hallway. She blinks at me, brows furrowing, then glances at the apartment number over the door.

  “Who are you?” Her gaze runs over my bare legs, tousled hair, and kiss-swollen lips.

  “Vanessa. Who are you?” The animosity in her tone raises the hackles on my neck.

  “I’m Kate. I was looking for Cam. Is he here?” She tries to peer around me. “He’s been avoiding me.”

  “He’s out running errands. Can I leave a message for him?” I place an arm on the jamb, blocking her entrance, and muster a polite smile. Cam’s never mentioned anyone named Kate. She might be a crazy stalker or just a weirdo. The city is full of them.

  “No. I’ve left him several messages already. I was just wondering why he hasn’t called me back.” With a manicured hand, she smooths her hair. “I thought sleepovers were against his policy. Did you pay extra for that?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “He told me two-hour sessions, straight sex only, no sleepovers. Threesomes, toys, and role play cost extra. Isn’t that right?”

  A cold sliver of disbelief slices through my midsection. My brain struggles to process her words. Toys? Role play?

  The woman seems oblivious to my shock. She frowns and rummages through her Birkin bag. After an eternity, she extends a business card. “Here, give this to him. I had to change my number. Tell him I’m going to Vegas next week, and I’d love for him to come along.” She winks. I want to slap the smirk off her face. “Don’t wear him out. Save some for me, will you?”

  Her heels click on the tile floor as she heads toward the elevator. I stand in front of the open door, oblivious to everyone and everything but the pain in my chest. The world dims and spins. I cover my hand with my mouth and race to the bathroom in time to hurl in the toilet.

  The pieces fall into place: this beautiful apartment, his brilliance between the sheets, the case of condoms in the bathroom closet. How many women has he serviced? Is he still sleeping with them now? Thank goodness, we always used protection. I drop my head into shaking hands. Tears ooze from the corners of my eyes. It can’t be true.

  I race to his desk and rifle through the drawers. Pieces of paper flutter through the air; receipts, flight accommodations, hotel reservations. In the second drawer
, there’s a small black book. I flip through the pages. Names, dates, times, phone numbers, addresses—it’s a cornucopia of information. All the names belong to women of status, some of them I recognize as acquaintances of my mother. Beneath each name is a list of intimate details about each person—food allergies, hobbies, body type, sexual preferences.

  A dull ache spreads across my forehead. The magnitude of this discovery rocks my world. I don’t know who Cameron is. He’s certainly not the guy I thought he was. The idea of his hands on another woman blends jealousy with hurt. What kind of guy does something like this? I don’t want to know, but curiosity drives my fingers to the back of the book, to the letter S.

  And there I am. Vanessa Seaforth. Blonde. Big tits. Afraid of heights. Loves chocolate and animals. Doggy style, oral. Fire floods through my veins. Has he been playing me from the start? Am I just a meal ticket? I slam the book closed then hurl it across the room.

  He’s going to be back soon. I can’t face him. I don’t want to hear his excuses or explanations. Nothing he can say will change the truth. He’s a man-whore. And I’m an idiot.

  In less than an hour, I’m in a cab heading toward the airport. From the relative obscurity of the backseat, I release the wall around my emotions. Tears stream down my cheeks. The cab driver asks me if I’m alright and hands me a box of tissues.

  “No. I’m not,” I answer between sobs. My heart feels like it’s been ripped in two. I’ll never be alright again.

  Somehow, I make it to the correct terminal, but my flight doesn’t leave for another two hours. I spend the time sniffling and avoiding Cam’s calls. He leaves dozens of voice mails along with endless text messages. I delete them all then turn off my phone. It doesn’t matter what he says. Nothing excuses his behavior. His deceit has proven that he can’t be trusted. It’s a mistake I’ll never make again.

  I’m about to go buy a second box of tissues when a kind voice interrupts my nervous breakdown. A slender man peers down at me and offers a handkerchief. Through my tears, I recognize Giles Robilliard.