NEXT TO ME (A Love Happens Novel Book 1)

by Watters, Jodi

  Mulling over her parting words on the drive back to La Jolla, Sam wondered if he had it in him. If he could forgive Ali for the lies she had told and the secrets she had kept, and accept the less than honest circumstances that led to their meeting. If he could build a life with her that was rooted, and currently bogged down in, the gray. The answers eluded him.

  Halfway home, he was anticipating the hot burn of smooth, twenty-year-old Scottish whiskey when the loud beat of Five Finger Death Punch filled the silent car. Sam cursed under his breath, now hating the sound of that damn ringtone. It was Grady’s weekend to receive the auto-dialed calls to Scorpio’s central station, relaying intrusion information when one of their security systems was breached. Sam wasn’t surprised by his call, the guys knew standard protocol was to alert either him or Ash each time a circuit was interrupted, unintentionally or not.

  “Hey, are you with Ali? Tell her to turn the alarm off. She’s not picking up my call.”

  Sam hesitated. “Her alarm’s been activated?”

  “Yeah. The siren was turned off forty-two seconds after it sounded, but the silent alert on the panic button is still active. Has been for over seven minutes. You’re there, right? Tell her to stop molesting you for a second and go turn it off. How the hell did you two manage trigger it, anyway? Wait,” he said, his drawl deepening, “don’t tell me, man. It’ll only make me jealous.”

  The hair on the back of Sam’s neck stood up. This wasn’t a false alarm. “Call it in, Grady. Tell them we have a possible domestic disturbance. And a home invasion.”

  “What? You’re not there?” Confusion and concern laced his voice.

  “No, but I’m on my way.” Disconnecting the call, he quickly tapped Ali’s number but got the same thing Grady had. Nothing. Only her generic, computer generated voice mail message answered, no matter how many times he dialed it.

  Long minutes later, he pulled into the quiet, ocean front community on two wheels, knowing something bad was about to go down. Ali was meticulous when it came to that damn alarm. No matter how distracted she was, how rushed to get him upstairs and into bed, she had never forgotten to set the alarm. Ali didn’t so much as walk to her mailbox without setting it, so the fact that it was pinging through to the Scorpio hotline, alerting them of a perimeter breach on their system and made all the more significant by the silent, duress beacon, could only mean one thing. Bad news. Leaning over, he reached into the small glove box and grabbed the loaded 9mm he kept stashed there—legally, thanks to a conceal carry permit—just as his car came to a stop at the end of her driveway, blocking the white Mercedes now backed up close to the garage door. Every light in her house was on, the two story cottage lit up like a Christmas tree, and Sam’s adrenaline surged. Ali did not leave her alarm ringing and she did not leave her lights on.

  She also did not leave her front door unlocked, but when Sam silently turned the knob, pushing the heavy door open slowly and entering the house undetected, he was grateful. Breaking the fucking thing down would have cost him precious seconds.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Ali tried not to show her fear. Like a starving coyote looking for his next meal, Danny would attack at the first sign of it, knowing he had the upper hand. As it was, he was in full control of the situation anyway, but her mama had always taught her to fight fire with fire and after years of letting Danny control her life, now was finally the time. Hitching up her chin, she stared him down, as if his presence in her home was a mere nuisance. His cold eyes narrowed on her, the left one bloodshot and bruised a plummy shade of blue, blackening already as it slowly swelled shut. Imagining she’d been the one to give him that mother of all shiners, Ali smiled broadly. Goosebumps bloomed on her arms when he simply smiled back, as if he could read her mind. Barely moving a muscle, she darted a quick look at the oversized clock hanging on the wall above the fireplace mantle and then back to Danny, who sat stiffly on her sofa, a slowly dwindling fifth of vodka in one hand and a baggie filled with melting ice cubes in the other. She guessed the Grey Goose was doing a far better job at numbing the pain than the ice, but it had yet to dull his senses.

  Almost a half hour had passed since he’d darkened her doorstep for the second time that day. Twenty-three minutes and ten seconds to be exact—she knew because she was counting every tick—but she hadn’t opened the door and let him walk right in this time.

  Laws didn’t stop Danny. Neither did locks.

  Ali had spent the afternoon in a state of dazed panic, alternately dialing Sam’s cell and staring at her open dresser drawers, wondering how much she could pack into jumbo-sized, black trash bags. She only owned one small suitcase, hastily purchased at a truck stop along Interstate Eighty the night she had first fled from Danny. This time, she was only a car load of Hefty bags and a final destination away from running again. Here was the catch, though. She didn’t want to run. And there was nowhere she could really go, anyway, unless she left the country. Danny would always, eventually, find her. Standing on the plush ivory rug covering her bedroom’s scarred wood floor, hands on her hips and one bare foot stacked on the other, she’d collected her thoughts and tried to figure out her next step. Maybe she could go to Venice and buy a little farm outside of Tuscany. Plant some grapevines and try her hand at wine making, drinking all her profits away each night. Mama might even come along, if she promised her a patch of fertile land and a carton of hazelnut gelato every day. Or maybe she could live on a sparsely populated island in the Seychelles, spending her days birdwatching and getting drunk on rum made from pure sugarcane. The ocean was saltier there, she’d read somewhere, greener than the Pacific and as warm as bath water. Never needing to wear anything but a bikini and nail polish had its benefits. The fact that both of these destinations included the enticing possibility of never facing life sober again also made for a convincing argument. But, as she’d stood there contemplating her future while staring unseeingly out at the white sand and blue water beyond, Ali knew the Seychelles was out. She would never stand on another beach and stare at another ocean again, unless it was this beach. Sam’s beach. Or unless he was right there beside her, holding her hand in his. And considering the man wasn’t taking her phone calls, that option seemed pretty far fetched. And honestly, who was she kidding here? Ali didn’t want to be any place that Sam Gleeson wasn’t. Tuscany might as well be a pup tent in the middle of Siberia, for all the enthusiasm she had at the thought of going there. Living next to Sam, even if he never spoke to her again, was preferable to being anywhere else in the world. He could marry the reigning Miss America, have two point five kids and buy a wood paneled minivan and she probably wouldn’t leave. Of course, there would be some crying and a lot of drinking—and maybe a boiling bunny on his stove—but still. She couldn’t run from Danny because if she did, she would also be running from Sam.

  Which was why, when Danny showed up later that evening as promised, Ali stood her ground. This was her home and she was no longer his wife, and it was time he came to terms with it. Hoping he would do so while remaining outside her house though, was a pipe dream and once the doorbell had stopped ringing repeatedly, the banging and yelling had begun.

  “Open this door, Alexandra!” The booming sound of his pounding fist against the carved mahogany door echoed through the silent house. “You don’t want to make me angry.”

  Every light was on as she stood in the center of her living room, gripping her cell phone tightly, preparing for the showdown. She felt exposed, knowing anyone looking through the windows could clearly see her when she couldn’t see them, but Ali was counting on that working to her advantage. When dealing with Danny, darkness wasn’t her friend. The banging stopped suddenly and she tiptoed slowly to the front door, her bare feet silent on the hardwood. Peering through the peephole, she saw that he had vanished and she briefly closed her eyes, knowing his next move was critical to her plan. The glass on her back door rattled loudly a minute later and she jumped, the sound startling her even though she expected it. Her
intention was to have him break it, shattering glass everywhere and making it clear to the police that she hadn’t let him inside willingly, but Danny was never one to cooperate and instead, slammed his fist repeatedly against the splintered door frame. The already weakened wood casing gave way easily, popping the lock and activating the alarm in the process.

  The sound was deafening, briefly disorienting her.

  “Shut that bloody thing off!” Standing in front of her before she knew it, with his chest heaving and his pretty face contorted in anger, he yanked hard on her arm and she stumbled to keep her balance. “Now!”

  Collecting herself, she walked calmly back to the keypad at the front door instead of the one closer and clearly in view at the gaping back door, hoping he wouldn’t notice. With her back to him, her body blocking her motions, she reached up with her right hand and slowly punched in the code that would silence the alarm, using her left hand to unlock the deadbolt on the front door at the same time. The incessant peeling of the siren stopped, but left her ears ringing as she quickly pushed the panic button, the flashing red light obvious to anyone looking. Praying someone in law enforcement was on the receiving end of the silent emergency signal—and could now enter easily through the front door and save her sorry ass—she squared her shoulders, turned toward Danny and barely suppressed a gasp. His face was a battered, bruised mess and his lower lip was split, tiny drops of blood pooling near the ugly gash.

  “I don’t see any suitcases.” He spread his arms out and looked around the large, open room. “I assume you’ll want me to buy you all new clothing then, right?”

  Grinning when she stayed silent, he strode casually toward the kitchen, grimacing slightly as he rifled through several cabinet drawers before finally finding what he sought and reaching into the freezer, filling the plastic bag with ice cubes. “No matter, dollface. You still have closets full of things at home.” Wincing as he placed the bag gingerly over his left eye, he surveyed her from head to toe, adding, “Although, it looks like you’ve put on a few pounds. Indulging in too much bread with dinner was always a problem for you. You know it makes me sad when you eat carbohydrates, Alexandra.”

  Chuckling at his own joke, he reached into his suit jacket and pulled out the bottle of booze, groaning a bit as he settled down onto her sofa. Whoever had taken those shots at his face must have gotten a lick or two at his ribs, as well. Good. She hoped every last one of them was cracked. And she had only gained six pounds, thank you very much, just enough that she no longer saw a gaunt and defeated woman staring back at her in the mirror. Carefully measuring her breath, she sat down in the chair next to the sofa, ignoring his gesture that she sit beside him. Tucking her hands into the front pockets of her baggy sweatshirt, her trembling fingers traced the phone hidden in one pocket and the small can of mace in the other. It seemed a paltry weapon compared to what else he might have tucked inside his suit jacket, but as long as he was within a few feet of her, it would do the job.

  And so began their silent stand off, the battle of wills lasting several minutes while they each waited for the other to say uncle.

  Ali carefully glanced at the clock. Thirty-one minutes, eighteen seconds.

  Her pocket vibrated again, the phone ringing silently several times before stopping, only to start again a few minutes later. She didn’t know who the persistent caller was and there was no way she could look with Danny’s watchful eyes glued to her. Surely the police would send a cruiser to check out the reason for the triggered alarm rather than just call her, right? What the hell had she paid so damn much money to Sam’s company for, if not to summon some assistance when the blasted thing went off? Unfortunately, there was no sound of a swat team on the roof or a police siren in the distance. And whoever was on the other end of the phone wasn’t going to help her anymore than the police had when she’d called them earlier in the day to report Danny’s unlawful visit. Informing the detective on duty that her ex-husband had just knowingly violated a restraining order was apparently the equivalent of telling him she’d just spotted Sasquatch. Until he saw it with his own eyes, or there was indisputable video evidence, along several credible witnesses to substantiate it, her complaint meant jack shit.

  “You’re testing my patience, Alexandra.” Danny’s weary voice finally broke the tension. “This is getting tiresome and I’m ready to go home.” Downing a good portion of the vodka, he rested his head back against the sofa and stared at her.

  She gave a small shrug of her shoulders, knowing his temper could flare at any moment, sending him into an uncontrollable rage. “Then go.”

  “Not without you.”

  She slowly shook her head, treading carefully, and while his hooded stare never wavered, there was no malice in his tone as she’d expected.

  “Things will be better this time. I’ll try harder, I promise,” he said, telling the same lie he always did. “All we need is to reconnect. Take a nice vacation. I can get away from the firm for a few weeks and we could tour Spain on motorbikes. Or ski the Swiss Alps.”

  It was pointless to remind him of the many times he’d said exactly that in the last six years. “Don’t do this, Danny. Don’t make this harder.”

  “I’ll start seeing a therapist. We can try marriage counseling. ” He smiled sadly and despite his cut lip and black eye, Ali caught a glimpse of the man she had so regretfully fallen in love with on the front steps of a Tribeca brownstone all those years ago.

  “We’re not married anymore.” A deep sorrow for what their marriage should have been, and for the man that Danny could have been, filled her heart. It was all such wasted time.

  “But I love you, Al. So much.”

  He was the only one who called her that. And only when he was sick with the flu, or on the rare occasion when he wanted sex, or when he was groveling because he’d roughed her up a little too much. And when he was drunk.

  “No, you don’t, Danny.” She held up her hand, speaking over his immediate denial. “You love yourself. Maybe you even love the person I saw you with in your office or the numerous other ones that I didn’t see. But you don’t love me.”

  He brushed the comment off with a flick of his wrist. “I was satisfying a curiosity.”

  “It looked like a lot more than that to me, but it doesn’t matter. What’s done is done.”

  “What is it you want from me, Alexandra?” He stood up abruptly, his docile demeanor evaporating as he paced the floor, his voice steadily rising. “I have given you everything you could ever want. A fancy house three times the size of this one. A new car every year. And jewelry that cost a damn fortune! It was because of me that you never wanted for anything. You were wearing thrift store clothes the night I met you and this is how you repay me? By running clear across the country and spreading your legs for the first dog that comes sniffing?”

  “I did want for something, Danny.” Her firm voice was steady, giving no hint of her nervousness. “And how I live my life now is none of your business.”

  He scoffed, looking at her with true surprise. “What? What did you want, Al? I bought you everything.”

  “You bought me things out of guilt!” Ali leaned forward but didn’t stand, knowing it gave him the impression of being in control. “Because a diamond necklace helped to hide the bruises on my neck when dinner wasn’t as good as you thought it should be. And when you came home from work with dozens of roses and season tickets to the opera because you were running late and didn’t call. Three days late, Danny! You disappeared with God only knows who, doing God only knows what, for three entire days. And you thought a few predictable gifts would make it all better?” She could see the vein in his temple start to throb, his face turning red with anger, but she couldn’t stop the flow of words. “News flash, Danny. I don’t like gaudy jewelry or obligatory roses. Or the fucking opera! And I don’t like you.”

  “Then what did you want?” he yelled, standing over her, sounding like a demented broken record.

  She had to crane he
r neck to maintain eye contact. “To be loved! To feel kindness and affection from you, along with all the other emotions a normal man feels for his wife! I didn’t sign up to be your decoy or your possession to display at work functions. Or your punching bag when you had a bad day. What I wanted was to be happy.”

  The truth in her simple words hung heavy in the air and he finally stepped back from her, his anger dissolving into defeat in a matter of seconds. Regaining his composure by straightening the sleeves on his jacket and taking a few sips from the nearly empty bottle, his rigid body relaxed when he sat back down.

  “Do you remember that week we spent in Nantucket? The summer after our second anniversary?” Looking pensive, his voice croaked with unshed tears. “We rented a boat and sailed over to Martha’s Vineyard.”

  Impossible, Ali thought. She had never seen Danny cry. Not even when his saint of a stepmother—who had raised him from a baby after his own mother had run off with his father’s best friend—had died unexpectedly.

  His mood swings, a result of the liquor, she guessed, were throwing her. “I remember.”

  She watched cautiously when he stared out the windows overlooking the ocean, seeing only their reflection in the glass as a small sob shook his shoulders. “We sat at a green painted picnic table eating baskets of fried clams and drinking Cabernet until one in the morning. They lit fireworks off the pier at dusk and kicked us out when they caught me carving our initials into the peeling paint with my lobster fork. You looked so beautiful. Your hair was red then, and the long strands would blow in your face and get stuck in your strawberry lip gloss. And you would laugh...” He smiled, his eyes watery when he looked back at her. “That was a happy time for us, wasn’t it? We were happy. Do you remember, Al?”