Finding Tomorrow, A sexy, angsty, suspense filled, all-the-feels protector romance and HEA.: A Trading Yesterday Novel

by Kahlen Aymes

  FINDING TOMORROW

  © 2019 KAHLEN AYMES

  First Edition

  Version: 2019.4.7

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author or publisher. Scanning, uploading to, downloading from, and/or distribution of this book via the Internet/email or via any other means without permission of the author/publisher are prohibited, illegal, and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Piracy is not a victimless crime.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is purely coincidental. For permissions and bulk ordering information, contact the publisher or the author directly.

  Cover photos: iStock-692813214, AdobeStock_80009862 and AdobeStock_810022330

  Published by Kahlen Aymes Books, Inc.

  ISBN: 978-0-9996713-0-6 (eBook)

  ISBN: 978-0-9996713-1-3 (Paperback)

  This book is lovingly dedicated to my readers.

  Thank you for your patience as I finished this book.

  I hope I’ve done you all proud.

  SuperDuper THANK YOU to…

  The many members of my

  #OfficialStreetTeam, #KahlensAngels, #TheSupergirls and #TheBabes!

  You women are THE BEST! You’re all DAMSELS in my eyes! xo

  I love you,

  Always.

  Special Thanks to…

  Justine Tevis and Donna Cooksley Sanderson for your editing prowess, and Rachel Mizer (Shoutlines Design) for her amazing covers! Thank you to Tammie Lee for your stellar skills managing the street team groups!

  MUAH! You are all AWESOMESAUCE! MUAH!

  I COULDN’T LAST A DAY WITHOUT…

  the badass bloggers, amazing readers, many author friends, and unsung superheros of the romance publishing world! The many of you who post, pimp, share, and basically just talk about my books until you’re blue in the face…

  I’m humbled by the support you show.

  I TRULY COULDN’T DO THIS WITHOUT YOU.

  Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

  xoxoxo

  Every review means the the galaxy to me and beyond.

  Love and Peace ~ xoxoxo

  ~Kahlen

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  MISSY

  My heart was pounding so hard; I felt it would claw its way out of my body.

  I frantically shoved as many clothes as I could into one suitcase. We had to travel light, but more importantly, it was imperative that Derrick not be able to detect anything missing. If he did… I sighed and shook my head. I couldn’t let myself think like that. I had to focus. We had to get away. I might not survive another failed attempt.

  I’d dumped the drawers from the dresser onto the bed, so I was able to pick items I felt I’d need the most, and as quickly as possible; underwear, bras, socks, a couple of pair of jeans, and t-shirts. I pushed everything in on top of my son’s things.

  I listened intently for any sound that would indicate that my husband was home, but my breathing was ragged, and my heartbeat was pounding a deluge of blood through my ears, making it difficult to hear. My brain was racing, and I was filled with sheer terror; would I be able to get out without injury to myself, or my young son, who was sleeping in his room down the hall?

  The house was idyllic; no one could guess the misery that went on behind these walls. We appeared like the ideal upper-middle-class American family. Materially, we wanted for nothing. Outwardly, appearances were deceiving; a hardworking provider, a loving wife, with a well-behaved child just starting a private school. It was a beautifully constructed illusion; carefully built to hide the real truth. In reality, I lived in fear for my life, and for that of my child, every single day. I breathed a sigh of relief each time my husband walked out of the door and I heard his huge dually truck pull away. I hated that stupid thing. Somehow, it was an iconic symbol of my husband; dark, brooding, battering, rumbling… as if it’s size and obnoxiousness were somehow a symbol of him.

  The curtain of my loose blonde hair fell over my face as I continued my hasty packing. I shoved it behind one ear, and then quickly reached for more things, barely even registering what they were.

  Derrick would be furious with the mess I’d created, and I inwardly cringed. He seemed to be in a constant rage, so I hoped I’d have time to pick it up and get everything else back in place before he arrived home. I had to keep up the illusion for one more night. I had to survive just one more night.

  I couldn’t seem to do anything to please him; not since the beginning of our marriage. Researching his behavior, I discovered he was a textbook sociopath, and, I’d considered, maybe even a psychopath. His personality deviated right after the honeymoon; like flipping a light switch.

  I remembered in horror how dramatically everything changed. Derrick became demanding, mean, and controlling with no sense of remorse or responsibility for his actions. Afterward, he’d apologize, but twist everything around to make it all my fault.

  He would beat me for no reason, then tell me it was because I didn’t buy the right kind of jelly, because I got out of bed to close a window and disturbed him, or if he didn’t like the dinner I’d made. Anything at all could become a trigger, and it was terrifying. My self-esteem was in the toilet, and as time passed, I realized that was the plan. Beating me down emotionally, as well as physically, became his tools of intimidation and control.

  When he wanted to have a child, I’d foolishly hoped a baby would change him; soften him somehow, make him more loving. After all, I was giving him what he wanted, but a happily ever after wasn’t in the cards. My changing figure and fatigue only set him off. I’d almost lost the baby twice, and now, I was in a constant state of terror, worrying he’d turn his anger on our four-year-old son, Dylan. There wasn’t a day I didn’t try to refocus Derrick’s anger on me rather than my little boy. Most of the time it worked, but not always. The times when Derrick wanted to take Dylan out alone made me insane with worry. I wasn’t much interference, but at least if I was around, I managed to redirect Derrick’s anger to me. Well, most of the time.

  Dylan was expected to have all his toys in an exact place when he was done playing with them, his clothes had to be perfectly pressed and clean, his hair was to be combed a certain way, and he wasn’t to cry, fuss, or speak in a disrespectful way. Ever. He wasn’t allowed to run about the house or have an
y friends over. He wasn’t permitted to be a child who was my greatest sadness.

  My heart broke just thinking about it. I’d learned to live with the swollen lips and hiding my bruises with long sleeves, slacks, and sunglasses, but in the last couple of years, Dylan was becoming a target. I couldn’t stand when Derrick turned his fury on our son. It was the last straw, and no matter what he did to me, or what we had to sacrifice or go without, I had to protect my little boy.

  I sucked in a ragged breath, noting how much my hands were shaking, as I clumsily flipped the lid to shut the case and fumbled trying to zip it closed. My fingers slipped off of the zipper halfway through, and I had to try again, telling myself I had to hold it together or we’d be found out.

  I pulled the suitcase off of the bed and lugged it out of the house to my car, careful to stop and look up and down the street for any sign of vehicles or people. It was dark and cold. I started to shiver because I hadn’t taken the time to put on shoes or a coat. I had limited time, and I couldn’t take the risk; I had to get out and in, tidy up and leave everything seemingly untouched and unmoved; nothing to tip him off. Every second counted.

  I planned to leave in the morning right after Derrick went to work. He had a business trip to Toronto, and I hoped it would be enough time to make it to my mom’s house in Tallahassee. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do after that, because I knew it was the first place Derrick would look. I decided to call Dylan in sick to pre-school, in the hope of getting a few hours head start, but whether I let the school know or not, they administrator would notify Derrick that Dylan wasn’t there.

  Oh, God. How was I ever going to get through this?

  I left the bag by the trunk, opened the car door and quickly pushed the trunk release. Rushing around, I struggled to lift the large case inside. It was overly burdensome because I’d loaded some of Dylan’s toys and some of his framed baby pictures in the bottom of it. I couldn’t bear to leave without them, but it was a risk that Derrick might notice they were missing.

  I slammed the trunk closed and, trembling, made my way back into the house and into the bedroom to begin quickly picking up the clothes strewn about the room. I carefully placed them all back in their respective drawers, careful to fold everything just so, but it was difficult to do in a rush. Adrenaline was pouring into my veins, but it only made things worse. I was freaking out; scared to death. The shaking of my hands wouldn’t stop. He would notice even the smallest thing awry, and I’d pay a painful price. I tried to calm myself; quell the tremors and heavy breathing as I went about the task. It felt like each minute was only a second as they sped past, yet at the same time, everything moved in slow motion as terror seeped through me. I couldn’t move fast enough.

  I had to clean myself up and get control of my emotions before he got home, or he’d know something was up.

  Later, I’d have to lay beneath him as he took me against my will; I’d have to pretend I was enjoying it, and, if I didn’t want him to turn violent, I had to convince him that he was the best lover to ever touch a woman. It made me sick. It was no better than prostituting myself, but what else could I do? I wouldn’t be able to get away if I was injured, but I vowed this would be the last time he’d ever touch me.

  For months, I’d been closeting away a dollar here or there, but it wasn’t easy because I was required to account for every dime. Control was like bars around every aspect of my life. He had our mail delivered to a post office box and only he had the key. He monitored every letter and every bill we received. I wasn’t allowed to have contact with my mother or have any friends; he analyzed every call on our phone bill; every call, coming in or out-going was scrutinized. He said he owned me, and that’s how he treated me; like property. I was expected to follow his rules and obey his every whim. I was used to paying a high price, but not just for mistakes I made but for imagined ones as well. He beat me without needing a reason. He had a hair-trigger temper.

  I closed my eyes as two tears slipped from beneath my lids. I’d been young and naïve; marrying Derrick only months after meeting him, despite my mother’s warnings. He had been ten years older, a successful businessman and, stupidly, I believed my life would be the fairytale he promised. Instead, it was a living hell.

  I carefully pushed the last mahogany drawer shut, now that they were securely ensconced back in their proper place in the dresser, with most of the contents correctly folded and positioned as Derrick expected. I wiped off the fingerprints from the surfaces and then laid out one of his favorite negligees on the bed; my costume for this last sacrifice for freedom.

  I used both of my hands to push back my hair as I walked into the bathroom. I stood there staring at myself, scared to death of what was coming, and praying I’d get through the next twelve hours. I was overly thin, my cheekbones stuck out, as did the bones on my shoulders and collarbones. My skin was pale; I looked awful. I slowly pivoted to turn on the bath water, sprinkling some scented bath salts under the water as I contemplated what makeup I’d need to hide the dark circles under my eyes.

  During my bath, I relaxed and concentrated on making my breathing even. I made sure every inch of my skin was hair free the way he demanded. I smoothed on scented lotion, combed my hair until it shone and used my flat iron to curl the ends under ever so slightly. I put on a little concealer, blush, mascara, and lip-gloss before putting on the beautiful lavender and cream nightgown. It was sexy, without being slutty. The silk gown was long and smooth down my legs, and the bodice and hem were trimmed in Chantilly lace. The neckline was low cut leaving the top swells of my breasts and my shoulders bare, and the bodice was held up with the briefest of straps made from the lavender silk.

  I sat on the edge of the bed waiting after I lit three candles and flipped on the gas fireplace in the bedroom. My hands were trembling as I sat there with them in my lap, and I had a nervous stomachache that gnawed at my insides.

  The outside door opened, and I flinched when it was violently slammed shut.

  Oh, God. This wouldn’t be good. I searched my mind for what I could have done to piss him off, but it wouldn’t take long for him to tell me.

  “Melissa!” Derrick hollered angrily, the sound of his voice echoing through the house.

  My heart fell to the pit of my stomach as I scrambled off the side of the bed and rushed toward his voice. “I’m here, Derrick.”

  “Where did you go, today? The driver’s side door of the Lexus is unlocked, and the car is outside of the fucking garage! I told you to stay home!” he railed. He was a handsome man; tall, tan, and always professional and impeccably dressed. His blond hair was combed back and gelled.

  I rushed through the house and down the curved staircase to the foyer, almost stumbling in my haste. He was pulling off his tie and flinging his keys on the round marble table in the center of the entryway. His brow furrowed as he scowled at me. “Where the fuck did you go?” he demanded. His eyes took in my attire, his expression filled with disgust. “Answer me!”

  “We were…” my brain worked to come up with a plausible excuse. Panic overtook me, and my breath rushed out of my lungs. How could I have made such a stupid mistake? “um …out of milk. I needed it for lunch. I was making tomato soup for Dylan.” Over the years I had learned how to keep my voice calm and my movements measured. Derrick was like a caged animal that was agitated. As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I slowly walked up to him and put a calming hand on his forearm. “You know how you like him to have milk with every meal, and I needed it for the homemade soup, too.”

  His expression became darker as his eyes narrowed skeptically.

  “Are you hungry? I can make you something,” I moved my hand from his arm to rest more intimately on his chest. I offered a tumultuous smile. It felt as if any minute the earth would open up and swallow me whole and if it weren’t for my son, I would have wished it so.

  “No. I ate on the job site.”

  Derrick owned a big contraction company he’d inherited from his father,
and our over-sized house was a monstrous advertisement. I stood there waiting for whatever came next. “That’s fine.”

  He sneered at me making my already frantic heart begin to pound even harder. It was hard not to show fear, but I’d learned that like any predator, the man looming in front of me fed on fear. “I know it’s fine,” he spat. “I don’t answer to you.”

  “I understand.”

  Derrick’s eyes narrowed. “You’re up to something,” he accused harshly, grabbing my arm forcefully and turning me around in a one-eighty to start hauling me up the curved staircase. “What is it?”

  “Nuh—nothing,” I stammered as I stumbled up the stairs, catching myself with my free hand. My fingers dug into the plush sand colored carpet. “I just took a bath because I thought you might like—”

  “Goddamn it, Melissa,” he huffed. “How many times do I need to tell you, you don’t think. I do. You do what I tell you!” he shouted. “I tell you what I like!”

  “I’m sorry,” I murmured softly.

  “Shut up!” He backhanded me hard across my cheek causing my head to snap around as I stumbled backward through the hall landing at the doorway to our suite of rooms; falling in a heap on the floor. I backed up against the wall, looking up at him as he glared down at me. “Stop saying you’re sorry! Stop provoking me!” he yelled, livid; his breathing hard. “Don’t I give you everything you want? Look at this goddamn place!” He used his hand to usher around over the railing that was open to the foyer below.

  “Yes!” I said, bringing a hand up to my aching cheekbone. “You are a wonderful provider.”

  “Then why do you disobey me? Are you fucking stupid?” Derrick railed. “Is that it?”

  Pain shot through my upper arm where his fingers dug cruelly into my tender flesh. Tomorrow I would surely have a nasty bruise.

  “Derrick, please. I’ll do anything you want,” I tried to soothe him. “You know that.” I tried hard not to cry. Tears made him even angrier. “I didn’t think getting Dylan milk was disobeying you.”