Summer Dreams

by Cheryl Bradshaw

  “I haven’t. After Madeline died, I threw myself back into work. I haven’t had much of a life. Eat, work, sleep. That about covers it.”

  “Mine hasn’t been too exciting either.”

  “For the first few months, I didn’t want to think about it. I couldn’t. Every time it entered my mind, I pushed the quiet out with sound, like music or television. Anything to get my mind off of it.”

  “Are you doing any better now?”

  He nodded. “I knew I needed to deal with what I was feeling, so I started seeing a therapist. He helped me come to terms with what happened. I still miss Madeline every day. I suppose I always will. She was such a sweet girl. I close my eyes and I can still see her face smiling up at me. I worry that one day my memories will fade, and I won’t remember with such clarity like I do now.”

  “She’ll always be with you—in your heart and in your mind—because you’ll always keep her there.”

  He took my hands in his and looked me in the eye. “You know something? You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. Before we started dating, I wasn’t even interested in a relationship, but the first time I saw you, there was something about you, something different, something I’ve never noticed in any other woman before. I don’t know if you felt it too, but even if you didn’t, I wanted you to know.”

  He was leading up to something, and I had a good idea of what was about to come next. “I felt something when I met you too.”

  “Kenna, I’ve missed you. I’ve really missed you.”

  I bit my lip, tried to avoid the pang of emotion I was feeling. It didn’t work. My eyes felt wet, blurry with tears. “I missed you too.”

  “What we started was amazing and good. It felt right. We felt right. I was hoping we could start over again. What do you say?”

  I didn’t know if I was capable of giving him what he wanted to give to me. “I like you, Sean, but I still don’t know what that means.”

  He leaned in, kissed my forehead, my nose, then my lips. “You don’t need to answer me right now. Just think about it.”

  Over the next several months we were inseparable, seeing each other almost every day. With each passing moment, I learned to love again, learned to appreciate my life again. I wasn’t the same girl I was before we met, but I was a new version, a 2.0 version of my previous self.

  One day I was arranging pots of flowers in the back yard of my new house, the one I now shared with Sean. When the topic of moving in together had come up a couple of months before, I decided my house, the one I’d shared with Robert, would always be filled with memories of our time together, memories I’d cherish for the rest of my life, but also memories that wouldn’t allow me to move on. And it was time. No matter where I ended up, Robert would always be part of me, but Sean had become part of me too.

  Although different in many ways, Sean and Robert were equally as caring and considerate, and I’d come to realize I didn’t have to give up my love for Robert in order to love Sean. It was possible to have feelings for both men, each in their own way.

  The sliding glass door opened, and Sean stepped onto the back patio. “How’s it going out here?”

  “Great. I’m almost done.”

  “We’d better get out of here soon if we’re going to make it to the movie on time.” He held out a hand. I took it, and he pulled me to a standing position.

  I threw my arms around his neck. “You know, the first time I saw this house, part of me thought one day there was a good chance I’d live here.”

  He leaned down, wiped my bangs out of my eyes. “Maybe a part of me bought it hoping you would. I love you Kenna.

  I pulled him close, and we kissed. “And I love you.”

  THE END

  ENJOY THE VEGAS DREAMS SERIES?

  You might enjoy Cheryl’s USA Today bestselling romantic suspense novel Eye for Revenge. A sneak peek of chapter one is below:

  EYE FOR REVENGE

  Evie Richelle soared down the cracked sidewalk, legs spread, rubber tires spinning. Summer was here at last, fanning a soft, warm breeze through the air that slapped her uncombed, blond locks against her face like willows in the wind. Her new Roadmaster Aerobee Renegade bike was everything she’d asked for in a bike, only it wasn’t new. It was something her Grandma Ruby called “vintage.” Eleven-year-old Evie didn’t know what the word “vintage” meant, and she didn’t care either. As far as she was concerned, it was cool. And cool suited her just fine.

  Tough and yellow, the bike had a brawny bee painted on the side. But the bee wasn’t what Evie loved most. It was the way the wide handlebars curved down at the ends. When her fingers wound around the stiff, rubber grips, she no longer felt like she was on an ordinary bike—she felt like she was on a motorcycle.

  A few minutes earlier when she whizzed by the house next door, Ronnie, the boy who lived there, shook his head and said, “You’re a girl. Why are you riding a boy’s bike?”

  Evie snickered and replied, “No duh. Why do you play with Barbie’s?”

  Ronnie’s eyes widened. “Do not!”

  “Do too!”

  And he did. She’d seen him one day through her bedroom window. She was one-hundred-percent sure it was him too because he had the most oval-shaped head of any boy she’d ever seen. It made him look like an extraterrestrial. So much so, sometimes she imagined what he’d look like if he pulled his head off his body, revealing what he really looked like underneath.

  Green.

  Rubbery.

  Alien.

  Ronnie threw a stick, narrowly missing Evie’s head. She thought about turning around, waving her middle finger in his direction, something she’d seen her grandmother do once when they were in the car together on the freeway, but she didn’t. He’d just tell his mother, his mother would tell her grandmother, and her bike would be taken away.

  No crybaby was worth that.

  Besides, she had places to go.

  She stuck her tongue out and cranked her foot down on the pedal before Ronnie reached for a handful of gravel. Ronnie hurled the small rocks into the air, aiming for her head, but his pitch was weak. Nothing hit her. Not a single one.

  Crisis averted, Evie reached the park and rolled to a stop. She hopped off the bike, leaning it against a sawed-off trunk of a tree. She was debating whether or not it would be safe to leave it there when she heard a sound—a voice—someone screaming. She climbed the grassy hillside to investigate. In the sand in front of the swings, she saw a girl who looked to be about her same age. The girl was on her knees. She was crying. But not just crying. Out and out bawling. Two boys hovered over the girl—one of them taunting, laughing—the other awkward and still. The boys looked older by maybe a year or two. Given she could only see the backs of the boys’ heads, it was too hard to tell their ages for sure.

  She needed to get closer, check things out.

  “What’s the matter, little girl?” one of the boys teased. “Did someone take your swing away?”

  “My name’s not ‘little girl.’ It’s Quinn, and you pushed me!”

  “It’s our turn on the swings,” the same boy said. “Besides, what are you going do about it?”

  Apparently nothing.

  Evie waited, giving Quinn a full minute to buck up and defend herself. But the girl remained where she was, staring at the ground, still crying.

  “Hey!” Evie yelled. “Maybe she’s not gonna do something about it, but I will.”

  The boy responsible for the taunting roared with laughter until he turned around, saw Evie standing in front of them, one of her fists raised in front of his face.

  The other boy said, “Evie? What are you doing here?”

  Evie ignored him, looked at Quinn, noticed a tear in the knee of her thick, light blue stockings, sand scattered throughout her long, dark pigtails. Evie looked up at the boy who addressed her. “Roman Tanner, say you’re sorry!”

  “He’s not gonna do that,” the other boy said. “We told little girl here to get off the sw
ing and she didn’t. Too bad if she got scraped up when I booted her. She should have done what I asked the first time.”

  Roman stood still, his eyes never leaving Evie as he said, “Dylan, maybe we should—”

  “You kiddin’ me?” Dylan said. “No way. Don’t let a girl tell you what to do.”

  Evie drilled her fist straight forward. It connected with Dylan’s nose. Blood splashed out.

  Quinn gasped. Roman froze. Evie produced a smug smile.

  “Did ... you ... see ... what ... she ... did ... to ... me?!” Dylan cried.

  Evie turned her attention to Roman. “Say ... you’re ... sorry. Do it!”

  Roman raised his hands in front of him. “All right, all right. I’m sorry!”

  “Not to me, you idiot,” Evie said. “To her.”

  Roman pressed his eyes together until they were tiny slits. “Sorry. Okay?”

  “Like you mean it,” Evie scolded.

  “Sorry!”

  “Good. Now get out of here. Both of you.”

  The boys turned and went, Dylan shooting Evie a look like she may have gotten her way this time, but it was far from over. Evie didn’t care. Grandma Ruby always told her bullies were usually the biggest wimps of them all, and looking at the tear trailing down Dylan’s cheek now, she believed her.

  Evie held out a hand, Quinn took it and stood up.

  “Wow,” Quinn said. “They’re really scared of you.”

  “Not me, my Grandma Ruby. She’s friends with Roman’s grandma. He knows what would happen if I told her what he did. I wouldn’t though. I’m no squealer. And I’ve learned how to take care of myself. You should too.”

  Quinn shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  Evie knew Quinn wasn’t the type of girl to defend herself though. One look at Quinn’s blue dress and matching hair bows, and she knew everything she needed to know. She was soft, easy, the perfect kind of girl to tease. And she was thin, a lightweight. Evie imagined if she jabbed her with a pinkie finger she’d tip right over again.

  “Why haven’t I seen you before?” Evie asked.

  “We just moved here a couple weeks ago.”

  “Who’s we?”

  “My mom, dad, and my ... umm ... sister.”

  “Younger or older?” Evie asked.

  “What?”

  “Your sister.”

  “Younger.” Quinn rolled her eyes. “She’s a pain. Follows me around everywhere.”

  Evie smiled. Maybe Quinn wasn’t so sweet after all. “I’m Evie.”

  “Quinn.”

  “What grade are you going into this year?”

  “Fifth.”

  “Me too. Who’s your teacher?”

  “Landers.”

  “Hey, mine too.” Quinn may have dressed a little too girly for Evie’s tastes, but Evie admired the chain she wore around her neck. It was silver with two hearts interlocked around each other. “Cool necklace, by the way.”

  Quinn reached a hand behind her, unclasped the necklace, held it out to Evie. “It’s yours.”

  “Oh, hey. You don’t have to give it to me just because I like it.”

  Quinn dropped the necklace into Evie’s hands. “It’s okay. I want you to have it. Friends?”

  Evie nodded. “Have you met anyone else since you moved here?”

  “No, why?”

  “I was wondering if you wanna hang out with me this year at school.”

  Quinn shrugged. “Sure.”

  “Good.”

  In the distance, Evie heard someone calling Quinn’s name.

  “That’s my mom,” Quinn said. “I have to go. See you around ‘kay? Hopefully we’ll be together next time those boys come around again.”

  Evie swished a hand through the air. “Aww, don’t worry about them. When you’re with me, I won’t ever let anything bad happen to you.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Fifteen Years Later

  Quinn Montgomery woke to the kind of blank darkness that left her feeling like she’d been tangled inside a web, suffocating for a good part of her adult life. Only she wasn’t awake. Not really. If someone had asked her to explain where she was or how she got there, she couldn’t say. At the moment she was swimming inside a dream, but none of her dreams had ever been this hollow before.

  Sounds bounced in and out of her consciousness—echoing, swirling like they were being broadcasted inside her mind through an elongated tunnel. The sounds wove together, forming words she actually understood for the first time since her mind occupied this peculiar space. “Quinn, I need you to listen to me, to hear my voice. Wake up. Open your eyes.”

  The words were crisp and decisive, laced with blind faith. The voice was familiar, one she recognized. Her father.

  Where was he?

  Better yet—where was she?

  A damp mist warmed her face. Someone’s breath on her cheek. Possibly her father’s.

  “Come on, honey,” he prompted. “Please. Open your eyes. Come back to us.”

  How could she?

  She didn’t have the slightest idea how.

  In a futile attempt to disengage from the endless sea of black, she endeavored to push her eyelids open. They wouldn’t budge. They were stuck to her lashes, matted as if fused together, the weight of them pressing down into her sockets.

  A mixture of odors, pungent and sharp, penetrated her nostrils. She breathed, sucking in a lungful of sterile air. The smell was like a cloth had been doused in blood and vinegar and then slathered all over the room, if in fact, she was in a room. She imagined she was underwater, holding her breath until she ran out of air. Anything to stop the foul stench from climbing inside her again. For a moment it worked. The fetid odor was replaced by another sensation—pressure, someone clutching her hand, squeezing so hard she was sure one of her knuckles cracked.

  “Quinn, can you hear me?”

  This time the voice was a woman’s. Her mother.

  “We’re right here,” her mother continued. “Both of us. Right here with you, honey.”

  Her mother’s voice was frail and thin. Scared.

  Fingers caressed Quinn’s hair, combing through a mass of long, coffee-colored curls.

  She heard her father say, “She’s not responding. Why don’t you give it a try?”

  Who was he talking to?

  Her mother?

  Someone else?

  Give what a try?

  “I ... I don’t know,” came the response.

  It wasn’t her mother. Her father was talking to someone else. Talking to him. Marcus. Her husband.

  “I wouldn’t know what to say,” Marcus said.

  He never did. Admitting to it was the most forthright thing he’d done all year.

  “I don’t think it matters what you say,” her father replied. “Quinn needs to know you’re here, that you support her.”

  She wanted to laugh out loud. Support. She doubted Marcus understood the true meaning of the word.

  “Talk to her like you would if she was awake,” her father added. “That’s all you need to do.”

  Yeah, Marcus. Go on. Talk to me. Let’s hear it.

  “If she was awake, she wouldn’t talk to me,” Marcus said. “Not after ...”

  Her father’s confident words continued, his voice becoming increasingly distant the more he talked.

  Where was he going?

  Was he leaving?

  “You’re her husband,” her father said. “Right now she needs you.”

  Except she didn’t need him. Not anymore.

  Thick, calloused digits wound around her bony arm. Internally she cringed. She knew those particular fingers all too well. She didn’t like Marcus touching her, whispering in her ear, pretending to care with his fake, detached sentiments. She didn’t believe him, didn’t believe a word he said—until four simple words jolted her mind, making recent events clear again: “I’m sorry about Evie.”

  Evie.

  That’s why all of this was happening, why she was here, wh
erever here was.

  She remembered now. Everything. All of it.

  Evie was dead.

  Quinn supposed a part of herself had been in shock when she received the bad news about Evie’s death over the phone the night before. She’d fled the house after an inflamed argument with Marcus—the same tired, monotonous quarrel they engaged in almost daily for the last several months.

  Quinn wanted to go back to work again.

  Marcus didn’t approve.

  He never approved.

  Her desire to get out of the house and do something with her life baffled him. In his mind, she didn’t need to work. He made more than enough money to provide for the two of them. He preferred her tucked away, stashed on a shelf in a box where he could keep an eye on her.

  The sudden, unexpected news of Evie’s death had created a shift in Quinn’s thinking the day before, and she realized something—she couldn’t take one more second of Marcus’s bickering. One more second of living a life she’d wanted to run away from for years. Her mind made up, she’d sprinted from the house to her car and reversed, peeling out of the driveway. She hadn’t bothered looking into her rear-view mirror as she sped off. She knew what she’d see. Marcus chasing after her. After all, she’d broken one of his rules, one on a long list of stringent house rules—never leave home before an argument was resolved.

  Screw you.

  They were the last words to cross Quinn’s mind as she tore up the hill, her tires spitting fragments of freshly laid asphalt back onto the revitalized street. Her eyes flooded with tears. She couldn’t wipe them all away before another gush sprang forward, taking their place. Thinking back now, it must have been the incessant eye wiping that impaired her vision, causing her car to veer off the road, careening into an old, knotty tree.

  Now she rested on a hospital bed, her body bruised, heart broken.

  Desperate pleas emitted from her mother’s mouth, but they were overshadowed by something else—a sound—long and steady. A beeping that refused to end.

  An unidentified male voice barked commands. “Everyone clear the room. Now!”