by Jodi Vaughn
“Maybe we should cool it. She may be on to us.”
Hurt and panic and all-encompassing despair raced through my veins.
And then came the anger. As swift as a summer storm, the rage came upon me and swallowed me whole.
I looked up at him and held out the phone. “I’m crazy? Then why the fuck did Nikki send you this.”
He blinked, went pale, and swallowed several times. I could tell he was racing to come up with an answer, something to satisfy me. At the same time, he knew he was in deep shit.
“It’s not what you think. We’re just friends.”
“You’re a fucking liar. Nikki is my best friend,” I screamed at him and stormed out of the room toward my bedroom.
“It’s not what you think,” he said again, low and slow.
I stepped into the bedroom and rounded on him. “I don’t believe anything you’re saying. I walked in today and saw you and Nikki fucking in our bed.” I pointed to the messed-up sheets. The assholes didn’t even have the decency to change the fucking sheets.
“And now I find a text on your phone from her. “
His mouth dropped open, and his face went pale.
“Get your shit and get the fuck out of my house.” The words came out bitter and slow, and I tasted every hateful syllable.
“Rachel, please…”
I swiped at the tears on my cheeks and looked at him. “Why? Why would you throw your family away like this?”
His eyes widened with fear. “Rachel, don’t do anything rash.”
His words struck my heart like a blade. He didn’t deny it. He wasn’t refuting anything. He wasn’t even apologizing.
I shoved him in the chest, needing him out of my sight and out of my house before I did something bad.
I’d never hurt anyone in my life. Never been a violent person. But, so help me God, I wanted to hurt him. I wanted him to feel the pain of his heart being torn from his chest. I wanted him to feel what I was feeling.
“You threw away your family for a piece of ass. You chose her over your family.” I nodded and looked him straight in the eye. “Well, congratulations. You are free of me.” I ran into the walk-in closet and locked the door.
“Rachel, what do you mean? What did you mean by that?” He pounded on the closet door, but I’d locked it from the inside. It was a safety lock that we’d had installed in case of a break-in. Kind of like a panic room. Perfect for what I was feeling: panic and fear.
I sank to the hardwood floor of the closet that looked like a small boutique and tugged the robe off the back of the door. I bundled it up and shoved my face into it and screamed as loudly as I could. The soft fleece muffled my anguished cries.
“Please, Rachel, what did you mean by that?” Miles’ tone was panicked. I’d never heard him like that. He was always in control, always the strong one, always my anchor in the storm.
But no more. He was a liar. Which meant our marriage had been a lie.
More frightening than all of that…everything I had ever believed was a lie.
Chapter 8
I stayed curled up in a fetal position in my closet for what seemed like an eternity. The bow was crumpled and itchy, and I wanted it off, but I didn’t have the energy to get up off the floor. Finally, I heard the garage door shut.
Miles had left.
I stood up and clawed at the ridiculous bow until it came off and slung on my soft, chenille robe. I bolted out of the closet, my heart pounding in my chest. I ran to the dining room. I pressed my face to the window just in time to see his taillights as he turned onto the main road headed out of the subdivision.
He didn’t turn left. I let out a long sigh. That’s where Nikki lived. I frowned. Why didn’t he turn left? He was already fucking her, so why didn’t he just go to her? Probably because Nikki’s husband, Brad would wonder what Miles was doing at his house at such a late hour.
Did Nikki’s husband suspect that anything was going on?
I couldn’t worry about anyone else right now. I had my own nervous breakdown to attend to.
I curled my arms over my head and shook my head in denial. My hands trembled against my scalp, and my heart threatened to jump out of my chest.
I was utterly alone.
I ran to the girls’ rooms, needing to see something that reminded me of my children. I flipped on the switch in Arianna’s room first.
She was fourteen, the oldest, and getting more independent by the day. I’d had her room redone almost a year ago in soft pink walls with zebra-print bedding. The twin bed had different shades of silver throw pillows with sparkles. Her desk sat in the corner, littered with framed photos of Arianna and her friends. She used to have pictures of us from our family vacations, but last year she’d replaced them with photos of her friends.
I sank onto the bed and grabbed her pink pillow. I held it to my nose and inhaled. The sweet scent of strawberry shampoo washed over me as I soaked her pillowcase with my tears. I squeezed my eyes shut so tightly they hurt. And, for the first time in a long time, I prayed for God to help me.
The pain of Miles’ betrayal was unbearable. How could I have been so stupid to trust my husband and my best friend? How had I not seen what was going on? How would I survive?
I threw the pillow back onto the bed and hurried out of Arianna’s room and into Gabby’s room. I switched on the light. Immediately, I was wrapped in a loving and soft glow from the sconces on either side of her castle bed.
Gabby, at ten, was my youngest, and she loved her castle bed. I’d had it built years ago and had offered to have her bedroom redecorated last year, but Gabby had said no. She’d said she wanted to stay in her castle bed forever. She said it made her dream of dragons and wizards and let her be a princess who saved the kingdom.
My Gabby. My independent dreamer. My strong child.
I stood in her room, staring at her castle and wishing it was real. If it were real, then I would run inside and hide from the pain that was wracking my body and tearing my heart in two.
But the castle wasn’t real, and I had no safe place to hide from my pain.
I was here.
Alone.
My stomach rumbled in the empty room, yet I had no appetite. My eyes were heavy, but I knew if I lay down, I wouldn’t be able to sleep.
I had all this anger inside, and I didn’t know what to do with it. I walked past the mirror on the wall and froze.
My pale face and red-rimmed eyes echoed my pain. Gone was the makeup that I’d had professionally applied. I’d managed to wash it all off with my barrage of tears.
I swallowed and realized that my neck didn’t hurt anymore. I carefully pulled my robe away and examined my throat.
The wound was healed. Not even a hint of a scar.
Nothing made sense anymore, and I didn’t have the energy to try and figure it out.
I was going to get through this. I had to. For my children.
I stripped off my robe and stood under the spray. I let the shower fill with steam as the hot water washed over me.
I couldn’t move, not even to pick up a washcloth. I was numb, drained of energy. My head felt the opposite, though. My brain raced with thoughts of the hows, whys, and what nows.
Home was the one thing that always felt secure.
It was my shelter against the world.
Home was where I felt safe.
Now, that feeling had been ripped from me, leaving an open wound. Painful, unexpected, shocking.
My kids. How was I going to support my girls? I’d met Miles in college, and we had quickly fallen in love. We married when we were broke and didn’t have a cent between us. He’d desperately wanted to go to med school, so I’d agreed to drop out of college to support that dream. We figured between me getting a job as a secretary, and the student loans, medical school was within our reach.
At the time, I didn’t mind the sacrifice. I figured every good wife wanted to support her husband as he fulfilled his dreams. Dropping out of college wasn’t
a big deal for me. I’d never really figured out what I was supposed to be or what I wanted to do. When I met Miles, we’d seemed to fit so well, that becoming a wife and mother became the important things I wanted in life.
Now, I was afraid. Afraid of how I would support myself and my kids.
Where Miles reached new heights in his medical career, I excelled at being a housewife and mother to my girls.
Stinging tears gathered behind my eyes and spilled down my cheeks. I hated crying. I couldn’t remember the last time I had.
Now, I couldn’t freaking stop.
I stayed in the shower until the water turned cold. I skipped grabbing a towel and stepped right into my plush, chenille robe instead. The material instantly soaked up the water and felt uncomfortably wet against my skin.
I didn’t glance at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I was too afraid that I would see a coward staring back at me. The stupid housewife who didn’t have the sense to know that her husband had been cheating on her.
Averting my gaze, I walked into the large master bedroom and laid on the hardwood floor. I stared up at the ceiling as the tears slid down my face and into my wet hair.
“God, please help me. Help me know what to do. I don’t know what to do,” I sobbed.
Anxiety and adrenaline rushed through my veins. I was tired, so very tired, yet I couldn’t close my eyes, and I couldn’t sit still.
I got to my feet and hurried to the bathroom.
Survival mode. I was in survival mode.
I went to my closet and shrugged out of my robe. I grabbed panties and a bra and didn’t really care that they didn’t match. I threw them on and then tugged on some yoga pants and a sweatshirt.
I always did my best thinking when I was cleaning.
I threw on my Ugg’s and went to the laundry room to gather up the cleaning supplies.
The maid had just been there two days ago, and my house really didn’t need another deep-cleaning. But it was the only thing I could think to do. It was the only thing I could control.
I started with the bathrooms, scrubbing the toilets until they shone. After that, I moved to the bedrooms, first the girls’ and then the guest room. I couldn’t clean the master yet. The memory of Miles and Nikki was still too fresh.
After the bedrooms, I moved on to the kitchen, cleaning out the refrigerator, polishing the cabinets, and then scrubbing the counters. When I was done, I went into the dining room to dust and polish the table before moving on to the two living areas we had in the house. I didn’t clean Miles’ office. I stopped at the door and tried to step inside, but I caught a hint of his cologne, and it stopped me short. Tears gathered in my eyes. I stepped back and slammed the door closed.
After cleaning all the rooms, I tackled the floors; sweeping and then mopping as I went.
As I worked, I focused my mind on the task at hand, on what was familiar, on my breathing, on things I could control. When images of my husband in bed with Nikki popped into my head, I sat back on my knees, squeezed my eyes shut, and replaced the vile pictures with a memory of my girls.
When I was done in the kitchen, I gathered up my supplies and went to my bedroom. As I cleaned, I cried the entire time. I dusted and rearranged furniture. I tore the sheets and comforter off the bed and threw them into the trash. I put new, clean sheets on the bed and ordered a new bedding set off my favorite website with express shipping. It would arrive in a couple of days.
Back in the kitchen, I reached for my phone on the counter and checked for messages.
None. No calls, either.
My gut churned, and I struggled to catch my breath. Miles and I had never had a fight we didn’t resolve right away.
But in my heart, I knew this wasn’t a regular fight.
This was life-changing.
What scared me most was that he was willing to let us go. Just like that. After fifteen years of building a life together and me supporting his medical practice, he was willing to let it all go, as if it meant nothing more than a disposable birthday card.
I was scared, frightened, and in pain; an agony like I had never experienced. I felt like I was going crazy. I looked down at my chest, expecting to see a crater-sized wound there, and my heart lying on the floor.
I didn’t see that. I rubbed my hand over my sternum and pulled up Miles’ number on my phone.
I dialed. I needed answers. I had to know.
Before he could pick up, I ended the call. I knew that if I were the first to call, then he would realize that he had control over me. My knees buckled, and I slid down the wall to the floor.
Half of me desperately wanted to see him, so much that my hands shook. The other half never wanted to see him again, hoping he would regret what he’d done to our family for the rest of his miserable life.
What scared me most: I didn’t know which side would win out.
Chapter 9
I managed to drag myself to the guest room in the early morning hours before dawn. I was cold from lying on the floor and sobbing uncontrollably, so I relented and crawled into the guest bed.
I should have fallen asleep the second my head hit the pillow. But my brain wouldn’t let me. I was too wired. Too jittery. I really thought I was losing my mind.
I pulled my phone out from under my pillow and checked the time.
I knew better than to stick my cell phone under my pillow. I’d seen the news reports of phones catching on fire or just blowing up. Considering everything that had happened, though, catching on fire was the least of my concerns.
I needed my phone close in case Miles called.
I squinted at the time on the phone. Six a.m.
It was Saturday, and the girls wouldn’t be home until Sunday. I was facing the weekend alone.
I scrolled through my contacts, an overwhelming desire to call someone to confide in flooding me.
My heart jumped in my throat when I came to Nikki’s number. My best friend. My best friend, who had stolen my husband.
I furiously scrolled until the screen showed no more names. I’d gone through my list of friends, the other soccer moms, the women I worked out with, went to church with, or shared wine nights with.
I couldn’t call any of them. If I did, it would be all over town what a cheater my husband was.
I also knew they’d likely encourage me to leave him or kick him out and take everything.
The thought of being without Miles clawed at my heart.
He’d already made up his mind. That became obvious when he made the choice to sleep with Nikki.
He didn’t want his family or his wife. He wanted something new and different.
I grabbed the pillow, held it against my mouth, and screamed.
Pain pulsed through my body.
What had I done for fate to punish me so much? I didn’t deserve to be cheated on. Did I?
The doorbell rang. I jumped out of bed and raced down the hallway, not bothering to grab my robe. I glanced out the dining room window but couldn’t see anyone.
It was still dark and too early for visitors.
My heart pounded in my chest as I fumbled with the locks. I flung the door open and froze.
The large man who’d kidnapped me filled the doorway.
I’d been drowning in thoughts of my husband’s infidelity, too upset to spare my kidnapper any consideration.
My fingers instantly went to my neck, and my eyes widened.
“How did you know where I live?” I croaked out the words, my throat scratchy from screaming.
“I’ve had your blood. As your Maker, I can find you anywhere.” His hard gaze didn’t leave my face, and I suddenly wondered if I could slam the door before he tried to get inside.
“What do you want from me?” I reached for the door to shut it, but he stuck his booted foot in the doorframe and glared.
“I’m responsible for you now. You don’t know how to live in your new world.”
No shit, Sherlock. I felt like my whole marriage was a lie.
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“While I appreciate your concern, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. You need to leave.” I left unsaid the and never come back part of the statement.
I saw movement behind him and glanced over his shoulder. My neighbor, Cal, was bundled up in his winter coat and rubber boots, making his way to the bottom of his driveway. He didn’t bother looking up as he bent to grab the newspaper before hurrying back into the warmth of his house.
“You don’t know the first thing about being a vampire.” The man curled his nose in disgust.
“And you know nothing about personal hygiene.” I poked my finger into his chest and stepped closer. Something inside me snapped, and anger bubbled up inside my chest. I was tired of not having any control over my life.
“You don’t belong here. If you don’t leave, I’ll call the cops.” I spat out the words. “And I will have you arrested.”
His lips twitched before sliding into a smile that revealed his sharp fangs. His eyes were no longer red but a deep shade of turquoise blue, with a look as hard as stone. He leaned in closer. He still stank, but it wasn’t his smell that I focused on, it was his teeth.
“Are you going to bite me?” I shocked myself by voicing the question.
“I already did.”
“So, what does that mean? You don’t double dip?”
His smile slid off his face and was replaced by a look of cold indifference.
I’d rather him hate me than treat me like I wasn’t there. It was a surprising reaction.
“I’m not like you, you know. You may be a…vampire, but I’m not.” I lifted my chin.
“You are delusional. The newly turned usually are. You’ll come around, you’ve no choice. You’ll accept your fate or die.”
“Die? If I really am a vampire, how can I die?” The thought of death evoked a different set of emotions, something I wasn’t ready to face.
“You’ll have to learn how to survive. Your new life requires a certain skill set, which, as your Maker, I have to explain.”
“I thought all you had to do was drink blood and…”—my gaze raked over his unkempt appearance—“not bathe.”
