Her face turns soft and she looks at me the way she has too many times in my life, like I’m a lost puppy, wandering around the big, bad world in search of someone to feed me and rub my ears. She’s not entirely wrong and I hate myself for it. Today it feels even worse. “He doesn’t have to hate you. You can set it straight easily enough—enough to at least live in the same metroplex and not have to go through this every time your paths cross.”
I shake my head. “Been there, done that. Should I remind you that CPS has shown up on my doorstep two days in a row and I just spent hours in the slammer for the possession of drugs that aren’t mine? I don’t give two shits about Trig Barrett right now. I have way too many other things to worry about. I’ll say it one more time. I do not want him anywhere near me.”
Exhausted, wired, and jittery, I need to get away from everyone so I move past her.
“Where are you going?” she calls after me.
I don’t look back and keep moving toward the back of my house to the hall that leads to the master bedroom, a place I’ve rarely been since Robert died. I usually get what I need and get out. But right now, I can’t even go upstairs to check on my son—I feel filthy.
“Ellie, come back and talk to me,” she yells.
I don’t answer. I slam and lock the door to the bedroom I shared with my dead husband and go straight to his dresser. I haven’t gone through his clothes, his stuff, gotten rid of his car—nothing. I don’t know why, other than the sheer fact it disgusts me and I can’t bring myself to touch anything of his. After he died, I found out he had been cheating on me for at least a year, even before Griffin was born.
Not that our marriage was one made of bliss and white doves and sugary lattes. It wasn’t. But on top of everything else he did, I hated myself even more for trusting him. For being stupid enough to stick around in the sham that my life had become.
I yank out one drawer after another, littering them like a crime scene over the white, plush carpet. As repulsive as it is, I need it gone, all of it—his T-shirts, underwear, gym clothes, watches, cufflinks. His things feel dirtier than the jail cell I just sat in while the only thing I had to do was contemplate.
Jen bangs on the door. “What are you doing in there?”
I ignore her and kick everything into a pile before heading to his closet. My arms complain as I heft as many suits as they’ll take, throwing them on top of the pile.
“Open the door. I swear, Ellie. I’ll find a way to get in.”
I go back for more. Shoes, ties, sport coats, even his damn robe.
Who did he think he was? Obviously, Hugh Hefner. No self-respecting man lounges around in some ridiculous smoking jacket like he did.
“Open the damn door.” She’s not screaming, but I know she would be if it weren’t for Griffin.
I look at the mountain I’ve created in what was a perfectly glamorous and romantic master suite. If it wouldn’t burn the house down and possibly ignite the neighbors’ as well, I’d set fire to it. All of Robert’s shit deserves to scorch into a pile of flames, leaving nothing but a dusty shadow of ashes.
I don’t find it a bit ironic I’ve wished the same for him in the scorching pits of hell.
The knob to the door starts to rattle and I turn for the bathroom, going straight for his vanity. I send his shit flying across the floor. Bottles breaking and tubes go flying—proof I was married to a high-maintenance man.
To say I’m done is an understatement. Stripping my clothes off, the need to finally wash Robert and everything he is from my life for good, is overwhelming. I flip on the water, not giving a shit about Jen, and the second my panties hit the marble, I step under the spray before the water warms.
My body thirsts to be cleansed.
Letting it pour over me, I also let it drown out the world.
Robert, his parents, CPS, the studio, being a single mom, and … Trig.
On top of everything else, I can’t handle being close to him knowing he hates me. I can’t control much right now, but that is one problem I can.
I lean into the corner and slide down to my ass, wrapping my arms around my knees. Breathing through the water, letting it wash the filth from me—from my past and from today.
“Ellie?”
I lift my head and find my sister standing there, wide-eyed, her gaze dancing between me and my attempt to divest my life of everything Robert. I hope she can’t see my tears through the water. I’m tired of crying, of not being in control.
“Tell me what happened,” Jen demands.
I push my wet hair out of my face and shake my head. “I was arrested for the possession of illegal substances that weren’t mine.” I look up at my sister. “I can’t lose Griffin, Jen. I can’t. He’s all I have.”
She shakes her head before moving to the linen closet and grabbing a towel. Tossing it on the tile outside the shower, she puts her hands on her hips. “Get up. Wash your hair and shave your legs. It’ll make you feel better. I’ll start bagging up…” she hesitates, about to utter Robert’s name aloud before rethinking it, “all this stuff. Then we’ll come up with a plan.”
She doesn’t wait to see if I follow her bossy orders and turns to leave. Pulling the double doors shut to the bathroom, she leaves me to drown in my own misery.
Whatever the plan might be, it better not include Trig Barrett. I need all the help I can get … but not from him.
I might be desperate but I’m not stupid.
* * *
I shouldn’t be surprised that by the time I get out of the shower, there are eight of the biggest trash bags I’ve ever seen stacked on the bed. I know I took my time but Jen is efficient at everything she does. She made quick work of the mess and at least now I won’t have to look at his clothes anymore.
When I turn the corner to the great room and kitchen, I find Jen and her fiancé. He’s sitting on a barstool at my island with an arm around her waist where she’s standing between his legs. There’s a slew of takeout containers on the counter and the house smells of barbecue.
“There’s my slumlord.” Eli smirks at me before putting his lips to Jen’s neck. She practically melts in his arms and I have to look away. I’m happy for her—for them—I really am, but that doesn’t mean I’m not human and that part of me boils with envy. For the past four months, the two of them have been a slap in the face, reminding me I never had what they have with the man I chose to marry. I might’ve pretended in the beginning, but it was never there. Not the happy, not the lust, and definitely not the love.
Happiness and lust will die off. I get that. If there’s no love to get you through all the other shit life throws at you, you’ll be screwed quicker than a low-dollar hooker.
I thought I had it once—what they have—but I was wrong.
“You hungry? Eli brought dinner. You should eat.” Jen pushes away from her husband-to-be and walks to the cabinet to grab plates. “Can I get you a glass of wine? A beer?”
“Water.”
Eli pops the top of his beer and turns to me as he dips a fry in ketchup. “I’ve been digging around.”
My eyes jump to him as Jen hands me a glass. I tuck my wet hair behind my ear. “What did you find? It has to be Robert’s parents who sent CPS back here today and someone put the drugs in my drawer. There’s no other way. They aren’t mine.”
He throws the fry into his mouth before going on. “I just got the names of the cops who were here today. I’ll run backgrounds on them tonight. But the CPS chick has a clean track record—at least at work. No complaints, no drama, no marks in her employment file.”
I exhale, not knowing what to do with that information and definitely don’t want to know how he learned all this in the matter of twenty-four hours.
He shrugs. “That doesn’t mean she’s not hardcore. She’s known for being tough as nails—especially on single moms. I found court documents where a couple judges had to warn her to back down since the goal is to keep families together, not break them up.”
All of a sudden, I’m not hungry. “Great. I guess I wouldn’t expect anything different right now.”
Jen puts her drink down and looks at me. “You’ve done nothing wrong and we’ll prove it. I called Trig while you were in the shower—”
I bite her head off when I interrupt. “I said no.”
She pins me with her eyes before turning to the food to load up a plate as she ignores my wishes and my fears. “Anyway, I spoke to your attorney while you were in the shower. He found out your court date, and after learning what he could since you didn’t give him any details, he doesn’t think you’ll have a problem getting all of this dismissed. Just because it was in this house doesn’t mean it’s yours. Up until four months ago, you shared this space with someone else and it easily could have been his. Also, you don’t have any priors when it comes to drugs, thank God.” She plops a spoonful of beans on my plate with grilled veggies and macaroni and cheese. When she hands it to me, she raises a brow. “At least no drug use on record.”
I ignore that comment. Marijuana is now legal in a handful of states and it’s not like I was an addict. So I smoked some pot while I was at Juilliard. It wasn’t the worst thing going on there, that’s for sure.
I take the plate, sit at the bar, but don’t look at my food. “I don’t know how you manage to get through a day, let alone run a multimillion-dollar corporation when you don’t actually listen. I’m hiring a new attorney and that will happen tomorrow.”
She and Eli exchange a secret look that has nothing to do with their newfound lust for each other.
Well, screw them. I’ve spent years being told what to do and how to act. No more.
Eli digs into his brisket he just smothered with sauce. “I also looked into your in-laws.”
This does get my attention. “And?”
He chews, swallows, and takes a swig of his beer before he answers. “She’s a piece of work. He’s no better.”
I pick up my fork and push the veggies around my plate. “I hope you didn’t spend any money to get that information. I could’ve told you that.”
“I’m still digging. But I will say, they’ve been making a lot of phone calls to the Dallas area lately. More than normal—even more than they did right after their son died.”
He doesn’t miss a beat or show any remorse that he pulled the trigger. It was Robert or Jen and me. I’m more grateful for my brother-in-law-to-be than he’ll ever know.
I set down my fork and turn to him. “Who are they calling?”
“I should have more information tomorrow. I was working your case while another one blew up today. I’m still trying to hire some bodies to help me with the workload. I’ll let you know when I find out.”
“Thank you. And send me a bill.”
He shakes his head as he forks more food into his mouth. “Don’t worry about it.”
I drop my fork. I wouldn’t be able to eat if I tried. “I’ll take it off your rent.”
I hear a clink on my granite and look up to find Jen setting her glass down on the island, smiling.
I roll my eyes and push away from the bar. “I’m going to go check on Griffin.”
“Do you want us to stay with you tonight so you’re not by yourself?”
I pause and turn back before shaking my head. “I’ll be fine. Go home. Just keep your phone close for when my next calamity strikes.”
“Promise me you’ll eat,” Jen insists. “I’ll box all this up and leave it here for you.”
Knowing I can’t stomach anything right now, I give her a small nod. “Thanks, I’ll try.”
I walk up the stairs toward my son and the daybed I’ve made my own for the past few months.
I really need to move.
6
He’ll Get Glad in the Same Pants He Got Mad In
It takes a strong person to control their anger. If you can’t, be prepared to look like the fool you are.
Trig
It’s late and she won’t take my calls or return any of my texts. When I talked to Jen a little bit ago, she told me that the youngest Montgomery was planning on getting another attorney.
I told my boss that was no skin off my back.
I’m pretty sure Jen glared at me through the phone but since we weren’t on a video conference, there was no way to be sure.
However, when her tone turned to ice and she didn’t give me a chance to answer before she hung up on my ass, that’s when I was sure she was glaring at me. Maybe I’ll bring in a plastic Gatorade bottle to work tomorrow just to push Jen’s buttons for getting me involved—she’s practically a tree-hugger in designer shoes.
All of it pissed me off and I was more annoyed than my normal level of irritation.
I hit my weights.
I went for a run.
Then I showered and tried to focus on our latest merger. But instead of the legal documents on my screen, all I saw was Ellie twisting those damn shoe laces around her fingers, strangling them to an extent her knuckles turned white under her own affliction.
If she hadn’t just been arrested and had CPS at her house for the second day in a row, I’d think she was mad about me being anywhere near her. But after the last two days, who knows?
I don’t read anything but legal documents, and now, industry articles. Besides sports, I hate TV. And outside of work, I have no hobbies because I’ve never had time for them. Maybe Jen is right. I might need a dog.
With nothing else to do, I decided to torture myself and went to my mother’s house to do … something productive. I need to clean the whole thing out eventually and since the realtor is coming over next week with comps, there’s no better time. Even though I just buried her yesterday, I need to bite the bullet.
I flip on lights as I move through her kitchen that overlooks the garden and lake. Her house is situated on a huge lot, surrounded by trees. She wanted neighbors—she was dead set on that. She told me she wanted to walk the street, wave to the same people every day as they went to school and work, and spoil the little kids with cookies and gum.
She did it all.
And, dammit, the house still smells like a mix of her lavender lotion and the citrus cleaner she used to wipe down every surface in the place.
I keep flipping on lights as I move through the rooms and halls. The place is too big for four people, let alone one. I walk past her bedroom and keep moving—I need more time for that. The hospital bed I had brought in for her last month on this earth still sits there and taunts me with memories. She fought hard and never complained once. As the cancer started to set in and affect her daily walks and time with her friends, she kept on.
Hell, she never even grumbled about the life with my dad we couldn’t claw our way out of.
I open the farthest bedroom door in the large ranch that seems to go on forever. She used this room as storage—it might be easier to choke down going through shit she didn’t care about on a daily basis.
I go to the old desk that’s pushed up against the wall with boxes stacked on boxes. She was a hoarder. When I flip open the top one and look inside, it’s like Christmas, packed full of shit. I pull out a handful and start flipping through it.
My high school diploma. Articles about me when I started practicing in L.A. Hell, I had no idea she Googled this stuff, let alone printed it. She always asked me a million questions about my work when we talked, but that’s just what she did—asked questions, listened, and then pressed me with her wisdom whether I asked for it or not.
There’re a million newspaper clippings—she loved the paper and read it from cover to cover every day. Obituaries, recipes, gardening, how-tos.
When I flip to the next picture, I still.
A snippet from the social column. It’s of Ellie. The picture catches her at an event for the Dallas Children’s Home, walking two steps behind her husband who’s now rotting away. She looks nothing short of perfection in a dress that hugs her body and shows a lot of skin. Even in the black and white newspaper clipping, her hair
is perfect, her makeup is heavy, and her expression is nothing short of dignified. The now dead asshole ahead of her looks exactly that, like an arrogant ass, only alive.
At least the state of his character has improved now that he’s dead.
To anyone else, Ellie’s the picture of perfection—a young executive’s wife. To me, she looks fucking miserable.
Why was she collecting pictures of Ellie? I convinced my mother long ago it was over, as in, really fucking over.
I toss the papers back inside and exhale because I’m not sure I’m up for this yet. At the same time, dumping shit she obviously treasured seems wrong. It’s too soon. Moving to an old bookshelf, I pick up a small binder sitting on the top of a stack of old paperbacks—a small photo book.
What the hell?
As I flip through each page, my irritation boils into anger.
Pictures of my mom from the last year, and I know this to be a fact not only because I remember how the cancer ate away at her body, month by month, but because in every picture, she’s holding a baby.
Ellie’s baby.
My mom, Faye Barrett, with Griffin Ketteman. Pictures of her making him laugh, him asleep in her arms, her reading him a book.
I turn through a few more and there is the woman who haunts me in the worst ways a person can. Only now, she doesn’t look miserable, posing for a selfie with my sick mother.
Ellie is makeup-free, wearing a sweatshirt with her soft blond hair pulled into a mess on top of her head. She’s smiling and happy—with my mother.
My insides twist.
She looks like she used to. When I first laid eyes on her—she’d just turned seventeen and was riding bareback on her daddy’s land. Her blue eyes were as wild as her hair and she tried to goad me. I’ll never forget the moment…
“You wanna race, cowboy?”
I tip my hat back so I can see her in the sun. “To where?”
She bites her top lip. “Anywhere.”
Broken Halo: The Montgomery Series, Book 2 Page 6
