Broken Halo: The Montgomery Series, Book 2

by Asher, Brynne

  “Dammit, Ellie. Answer your phone. I have information on your in-laws and I need to talk to you about it. If you’ve hired another firm already, you can turn around and fire them. Call me back.”

  I press the button on my steering wheel to disconnect the call and press go on a number I’ve never called before.

  His voice clips through my car after the second ring. “Pettit.”

  “This is Trig Barrett. You’re renting office space from Ellie?”

  I swear I hear him sit back and relax, his voice a mix of curiosity and amusement. “Trig Barrett. It’s been a while. Can’t say I missed you since you’re counsel to my soon-to-be wife. It means she’s staying out of trouble.”

  “Yeah, well, I can’t say the same for her sister.”

  “I know. Did Jen give you the information I sent you on her dead husband’s parents?”

  “Yes.” I pull through the gates to leave Ellie’s neighborhood since I just got done banging on her door for the second time in a matter of twenty-four hours. She’s either doing a bang-up job of ignoring me or she really is out looking for an attorney. “That’s why I need to talk to her. Jen mentioned you rented the upstairs of her new building? Is she there?”

  “How am I supposed to know if she’s here?” he asks and I swear I hear a smile in his voice. “It’s not like I’ve got a tracker on her or anything. I can barely keep up with my fiancée.”

  I don’t have time for this. “Look, she won’t answer my calls—”

  “Jen told me. Can’t say I blame her,” he interrupts.

  “Are you shitting me?” I bite and turn toward the interstate. Looking for Ellie Montgomery in the DFW metroplex isn’t going to be easy.

  I hear boots echo on wood floors. “I am absolutely not shitting you. She’s going to be my sister-in-law as soon as I can make it happen, and from what I’ve seen, she’s hell on wheels. I do not need Ellie or Jen pissed at me.”

  “Fuck me. I cannot believe we’re doing this. Look, Jen basically threatened to castrate me if I don’t fix Ellie’s shit and fast. Can you just check and see if she’s there?”

  “She’s here,” he says.

  I merge into traffic. “You’re sure?”

  “Man, I’m looking out the window and her car is parked right next to my truck.”

  “Don’t let her leave. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  He has the nerve to laugh. “I barely have control over one Montgomery on a good day. I won’t pretend to be able to make Ellie do anything she doesn’t want. I’d drive fast if I were you.”

  I disconnect the call and hit my gas, not wanting to admit how right he is. As I race toward the woman I’ve done everything in my power to put out of my head for a decade, unanswered questions nag at me like a virus.

  But first, priorities. Ellie and I need to discuss her in-laws—she’d better be ready to spill.

  8

  Does It Haunt You?

  Don’t nibble on that crow. Choke it down fast and furious. If you’re in the position to eat crow to begin with, you deserve it.

  Ellie

  “Until your court date, I want you to log all your activities—more specifically, where Griffin is, who he’s with, and what he’s doing. The more detailed, the better. It obviously won’t hold up as evidence in court, but depending on the judge, it shows good faith on your part. And I’m sure you’ll have people who can corroborate it.”

  I hold Griffin’s cup of Cheerios, which is nothing but pure baby entertainment, while I make notes on everything Scott Lehman is telling me to do. There’s more cereal on the floor than in my son’s tummy at this point, and the rest of them are mushy and sticking to my T-shirt.

  I don’t know any attorneys, and quite frankly, my google search first thing this morning about did my already-overwhelmed head in. When my parents found out about my arrest—through Twitter, no less—they told me to call Lehmans right after they lectured me on everything under the sun. I ignored them, but I did call Scott. His firm represented Jen a few months ago and took over completely after the lead attorney for Montgomery Industries was killed. Trig worked for them then.

  Luckily, the last name I was born with carries enough clout in this town that I was barely put on hold for thirty seconds before the founding partner himself took my call. I explained that I had Griffin with me and he agreed to meet me at my place of business—the construction zone from hell.

  Scott hasn’t complained once about the jackhammering, saws, and other noises that Griffin is now impersonating as he makes a mess while sitting on my lap. Scott shouldn’t complain, not after he told me his hourly fee. For that, he should also clean up the Cheerios on my floor and smile while doing so.

  Whatever. I’ll pay anything to get CPS and my in-laws off my back.

  Quinn, who started today, knocks on my door before sticking her head in. “Um, excuse me but you have a visitor, Ellie, and he insisted I interrupt.”

  I hand Griffin his sippy cup while trying to keep him from grabbing everything off my desk. “Who is it?”

  She looks back over her shoulder and whispers, “What’s your name?”

  I hear him over the construction and poor Quinn has to move away when he pushes past her and through my door. “Easton Barrett.”

  My face falls. “What are you doing here?”

  He ignores me and instead addresses my new attorney. “Hey, Scott. Thanks for coming by, but you won’t be needed.”

  Scott looks to me. “I thought you said Trig had his hands full and was in over his head at MI?”

  I clamp my mouth shut and Trig frowns at me. “You told him I was in over my head?”

  Well. Now I’m thankful for the mess Griffin made because I turn my attention to my son and brush the dried cereal off both of us before picking wet Cheerios out of my hair.

  “Ellie?”

  I look up at Trig and glare. Standing there in his designer suit and custom-cut dress shirt, he towers over us and fills my small office with a force that, if I give it any headspace, could definitely overwhelm and crush me at the same time.

  “What?” I tip my head defiantly and lift a shoulder. “When you were banging down my door in the middle of the night, you sure seemed out of sorts. I thought it was only safe to assume your new position is challenging to the point of frustration. It’s okay, though. We can’t all be a badass at everything now, can we?”

  His icy blue eyes become slits and I’m surprised they don’t strike me down where I sit here in my folding chair since I don’t have real office furniture yet. “Yes. Lord knows, it’s been a busy few months.”

  Scott stands and collects his papers before turning to Trig and offers him a hand. He must not have believed my story about Trig’s struggles with his new position because he has no problem leaving me with the man I have no desire to ever see again. “I have no doubt you’re settling in nicely at MI.” Looking back to me one last time, Scott says, “I have no problem taking your money, Ellie, but Easton is more than capable of handling this. Jen called me first thing this morning and said I might hear from you. She really wants to keep your case in-house.”

  I gasp, pissed and betrayed by my own sister. “She did?”

  Scott gives me a small smile. “Good luck, though you won’t need any, I’m sure. You’re in good hands.”

  With that, he’s gone and poor Quinn is standing in the doorway to my office with a frown on her face that could threaten her with early-onset wrinkles. “I’m so sorry, Ellie. I can tell you’re unhappy. I shouldn’t have let him interrupt.”

  Trig helps himself to my desk and tosses his briefcase down with a thump and starts to dig through it, producing stacks of folders and papers thick enough they could contain the phone numbers and addresses for all of North Texas. I have to look around him to see Quinn. “Don’t worry. I plan on having him draw up a restraining order against himself. From now on, feel free to call the police when you see him.”

  A horrific expression bleeds through her young f
ace and I jerk when Trig slams his folders on my desk across from me right before shrugging off his suit jacket and draping it over the back of his chair.

  Griffin, the little copycat, slams his sippy cup and erupts into a fit of giggles.

  Damn, Trig.

  “Do you want me to take him?” Quinn offers holding out her hands for Griffin. “We can play with his blocks so you two won’t be interrupted.”

  I’m not willing to give up my shield, even though he is my son and just a baby. “No.”

  But at the same moment, Trig growls, “Yes.”

  I narrow my eyes. “You don’t get a say.”

  But Griffin has other plans and practically jumps out of my arms toward my new, young assistant.

  Quinn smiles at him and heads for the door. “We’ll just be right out here. I won’t take my eyes off him.”

  Then, I’m alone with Trig.

  A-fucking-gain.

  Not that I’ve been sleeping well at all lately, but I tossed and turned last night after I slammed my door on him. I couldn’t stop thinking about Faye and how angry he was that I had any type of friendship whatsoever with his mom.

  I might’ve gotten up this morning with no clue who my attorney would be, but I also dragged my ass out of bed after a shitty night’s sleep and promised myself that yesterday was my low. I’m done being fucked over by everyone. CPS, Robert’s parents, being arrested for drugs that aren’t mine, and most specifically, by the man sitting across from me. I’ve had it with my former lover.

  I need a new lease on life and I’m the only one who can make that happen. Just because he threw away everything a decade ago and wouldn’t let me explain when I begged him to just listen, doesn’t mean I have to put up with his shit now and I don’t plan to.

  I sit back in my chair and cross my arms. He might’ve surprised me yesterday, but today I’m awake, overly-caffeinated, and in a thoroughly bad mood. “Get out. I told you last night I don’t want anything to do with you and I meant it. I’ll call Scott and tell him he’s my number-one man again.”

  Trig says nothing. He doesn’t even open the paperwork he just tossed on my desk, making my messy office messier. He sits in his own folding chair and methodically unbuttons the cuffs to his dress shirt like he’s about to enter into a brawl to end all brawls. When I see his tanned, veined forearms, he loosens his tie and unbuttons the top of his shirt. And through it all, he never takes his eyes off me, regarding me like prey, deciding if he should grill or roast me for dinner.

  It makes me even angrier when he sits back in the cheap chair and tips his head but says nothing.

  I break the heavy silence. “No need to get comfortable, Trig. You might report to my sister but I’m the one with her ass on the line this time. Get the fuck out.”

  He doesn’t get the fuck out. “You called me.”

  I frown. “No, I didn’t. I specifically did not call you because I don’t want you here.”

  He studies me like I’m either a science experiment or a freak show. At this point, I’m betting on the latter. When his eyes narrow, he chooses his words and delivers them smoothly. “You called me right after I moved to California. It was November. The day before Thanksgiving.”

  My heart stops. Or races. Or whatever the fuck it does when you get a sucker punch to the gut.

  I say nothing because all words escape me.

  “Well?” he pushes.

  I do everything I can to remember how empowered I felt this morning when I decided no one but me could piece my soul back together again. I might have to bite the inside of my lip when I do it, but I come out the victor when I manage to even my voice. “Well what? You didn’t ask me a question and you’re telling me something we both know. I’d appreciate it if you’d clean your shit off my desk so I can call my sister and chew her ass out right before I call my real attorney. My court date is set and I need to be prepared.”

  “You called me over and over. You were fucking relentless.”

  Shit. I wasn’t relentless—I was desperate. “Get out.”

  “I deleted every single voicemail without listening to them.”

  Well then. I did not know that.

  I’d flown home for Thanksgiving after the three worst months of my life and couldn’t take it another day. Now I’m happy to know he didn’t hear my pleas for forgiveness and understanding—that I can see him and know he doesn’t understand my level of hopelessness that was pathetic. I cringe when I think back on it.

  I lick my lips and do everything I can to swallow over the lump in my throat. “Good to know.”

  He just won’t stop. “I got sick of your texts and blocked you.”

  “When one is the recipient of being blocked, they’re very much aware.” That’s when Jen snuck a bottle of tequila from our dad’s bar and confiscated my phone. We sat in my closet that night and I drank as much as I cried. I didn’t even get out of bed for Thanksgiving dinner.

  “Tell me what was on the voicemails.”

  We’re in this weird emotionless standoff. My mouth might as well be the desert and I’m not sure how much longer I can hold onto my resolve. “Ten years is a long time. I can’t remember. Get out of my office and off my property.”

  He doesn’t budge. “What did I miss?”

  What did he miss? He only missed everything. We both did. “Nothing. Now, I swear on your mother’s grave—and I loved her like she was my own—if you don’t get the fuck out right now, I’ll call Eli and he’ll throw you out.”

  “Zero-three-zero-nine.”

  The blood drains from my head and I have to grip the edge of my desk to not sway. I don’t know why I thought I could hold it together around him. My lungs scream for air and I can’t speak.

  He raises his voice. “What did I miss?”

  That’s it. I can’t take it anymore.

  I break eye contact and scramble for my cell, but he’s faster. Grabbing my wrist, he’s up and around my desk quicker than I can beg for my next breath. My cell tumbles from my hand. The next thing I know, arms circle me.

  Arms I used to love.

  Arms that used to love me.

  Arms that held me on the worst day of my life.

  Arms I thought would be there to support me … forever.

  “Let me go!” I scream.

  He’s got a foot and at least a hundred pounds on me so it’s nothing for him to press his front to my back and have me completely overpowered. My wrists are easily fisted in one of his hands so he can push my hair away with the other and his lips come to my ear where he whispers, “March ninth.”

  “Stop it!” I scream, tears form and spill as I thrash, desperate to get away.

  The door to my office bursts open and Quinn is standing there with sheer panic on her face as she holds my son tight to her chest.

  Trig ignores her and keeps torturing me. “Does it haunt you? Because it haunts me every fucking day.”

  My tears come with such force, I barely notice Quinn turn and disappear with my child.

  His arms tighten around me and not in a good way. “Tell me what I missed all those years ago. What were you so desperate to tell me?”

  I shake my head as every muscle in my body fights for an escape but it’s my heart that needs it most.

  He lifts me off my feet and I lose all leverage. “I thought I was stupid for loving you. If I’d heard your voice during that time, it would’ve done me in.”

  “Let me go,” I beg through my tears.

  With his lips on my skin below my ear, he keeps torturing me. “I was young and stupid and the guilt was heavy—I couldn’t take it. Then you broke me at a time I didn’t think I could break anymore.”

  Sobs wrack my chest and I give up. When I fall limp in his arms, he supports my weight and lets my wrists go. He drags his nose up the side of my face and inhales. His next words come out gruff and laced in pain. “It was hell going through that alone, angel. Without you.”

  I allow my body to collapse in his arms and we go t
o the floor.

  The next thing I know I hear footsteps running into the room. “What the fuck is going on?”

  It’s Eli, but I can’t see him. The man who hates me has me cradled to his chest and I’m sobbing into his neck, a place I never thought I’d be again.

  His words rumble through his chest and I feel them everywhere. “Call Jen and have her come get the baby. I’m taking Ellie home.”

  9

  Rock Our World

  Babies. Nothin’ makes us feel deeper than our precious little ones.

  Ellie

  Nine years and ten months ago

  “You’re upset?”

  I stare at Trig’s back as he stares out the window onto the grove of live oaks that pepper the property I grew up on. Every beautiful muscle I’ve come to obsess over is taut and on display through his thin, dirty, white T-shirt.

  Of course, he’s upset. Why wouldn’t he be?

  I mean, sure, this isn’t ideal. Some things will change.

  Okay, fine. Everything will change.

  I grasp at my resolve to keep the desperation out of my voice. “Trig?”

  He exhales and pulls a hand through his overgrown hair and grips the back of his neck.

  “Please,” I beg, my heart thumping so hard I bring my hand up to my chest and will it to calm. “Say something.”

  He turns slowly and when he looks into my eyes, his are guarded and blank.

  My tears start to form and my voice trembles. “I’m not unhappy.”

  I know it’s a weird emotion. I’m not upset—there’s no way I could be—but I won’t allow myself to be happy. Not yet. Not until I know Trig is not unhappy, too.

  That same hand scrapes down his face before he nods once. “March ninth?”

  My tears spill and I nod. We’re in the middle of June—we have about eight months. “I’m almost positive. Every website says so when I put in the date of my last period.”