Shattered Dreams (Dreams Series Book 1)

by Hicks, Braxton

  I stifled a giggle; sharing his feelings with a horse was so not Trey!

  “Who am I fuckin' kiddin’?” he asked the horse. “She won’t let me touch her anymore. You know why? I’m fucked up, that’s why! I smother her, I fucking smother her. I can’t help it Derringer - maybe I fucking love her after all. You know what that’s like, buddy? I guess not, seeing that you’re a gelding.”

  Trey started chuckling to himself. “You know what Derringer? I’d been better off to have been gelded, too. Then I wouldn’t be fucking missing her so much like I do and wanting her every minute and thinking about her every second.” His voice trailed off. “I guess I just love her, you know man? Not like Tess. It’s totally different with Tylar. You get it don’t you? Yeah, I know you do. I can tell you like Tylar on your back more than you ever liked Tess. It’s the same way with me buddy. I don’t want her riding anyone else, and apparently I can’t be with anyone else since I’ve been with her. It's fucked up, man. It's totally fucked up."

  I paused by the door. The conversation from man to horse had stopped. Trey must've passed out. I opened the door and quietly went into the stable. I walked down to Derringer’s stall. Trey was passed out in the straw, his legs outstretched; an almost empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s tipped over in his right hand.

  I hurried over to him. I talked to Derringer, patting his hindquarters to move him over towards the other side of the stall. I bent down and looked at my beautiful, passed-out Trey. This was a different Trey; a vulnerable one, not the one I knew. I brushed his hair back from his face, calling his name.

  “Trey, it’s me! You need to get up and get out of Derringer’s stall. Can you hear me?” I reached over and shook his broad shoulders with my hand, becoming increasingly alarmed; his head bobbed a couple of times. Finally, I shouted, “Trey!”

  His head jerked up; sapphire eyes blinking, he squinted at me. “Tylar?”

  “Yeah, it’s me, and I’m here to help you up, okay? You need to get up and out of Derringer’s stall.”

  A slow drunken grin crossed his face, his dimple showing. “You…you’re gonna help me up?” he asked, still grinning.

  “I will but I need you to help me because I can’t lift you.”

  “You won’t have to, baby,” he said. “Because I’m perfectly able to get my drunken ass up and outta here.”

  He pulled his leg back and leaned forward to lift himself up. I had him by the shoulder, gripping him as best I could. He lunged forward, and practically fell directly underneath Derringer. He was now in a worse position than before. I had to get someone down here to help me get him up and out of harm’s way.

  “Trey,” I said, loudly, “you need to get out from under Derringer, damn it!” He started to move, scooting back toward the side of the stall.

  “I’m going to call Mark to come down to help me get you up, okay? I’ll use the phone right over there on the wall. Do not move please.”

  In an instant he'd whipped his arm around, grabbing my booted ankle. “No,” he snapped. “I don’t need that son-of-a-bitch to help me up, do you understand?”

  He was furious. He reached up, grabbing the side of the stall and hoisted himself up, holding on to my leg with his other hand to steady himself. He stood in front of me, staring with an intensity that I'd never seen before. He flung the Jack Daniel’s bottle into the aisle where it hit a post and shattered. He staggered past me and out of the stall. I hurried behind him, latching the gate on Derringer’s stall. Now it was my turn to be pissed. I followed him down the aisle and into the tack room. “What do you think you were doing out there?” I demanded.

  He raked both of his hands through his unruly hair and went to the small refrigerator in the tack room. He retrieved a bottle of water, twisted the top off and took a long drink. He poured some of the water into his hands, cupping it and then splashing it onto his face. He was trying to clear his head, I could tell. Trey didn't like being vulnerable, and the fact that I'd witnessed it would never sit well with him. He shook the droplets of water out of his hair and turned to me, giving me a look that made me feel like my heart was being ripped out.

  “What the fuck do you care what I'm doing in my barn with my fucking horse!” he yelled. “I don’t have to explain anything to you, Tylar. Sorry if I disturbed your rest. Apologize to Mark for me when you get back to your bed.”

  Oh. Hell. No.

  He did not just say that to me. I glared at him. He stood there looking at me all cocky, his hands on his slender hips, his five o’clock shadow looking gorgeous, with his now unruly hair. He knew he’d insulted me.

  In that instant, all I wanted to do was to wipe that smug look off of his face. Before I had time to think, I raised my hand back and slapped him hard across his cheek with enough force that his head turned with the contact of my hand. I was surprised at my own strength. What was more surprising, though, was that it didn’t faze Trey one bit. He smirked and went right on giving me that same look. In that moment, I felt like a cheap whore. I felt like my mother’s daughter. No one had ever made me feel that way. No one ever could have except for Trey, and he knew that.

  I raised my hand back again, with all my strength, bringing it back around to slap his cheek, harder this time. Trey didn’t take his eyes off of mine as he caught my wrist in a vice-like grip, inches from his cheek, and held it.

  “Let me go, you drunken bastard!” I screamed, struggling to free my wrist from his strong grip.

  “Bitch!” he spat, still not releasing me.

  I continued to struggle against him but he was stronger. He yanked my wrist forward, so I was pressed up against him, taking my arm and wrapping it around his neck. His put his other arm on my hip, pressing me against him. His mouth found mine, devouring me with his ardent kiss, his tongue plunging into mine with a vengeance. He had bent my head so far back, I thought I'd snap. I finally pulled my arms back from around his neck and fisted his chest, trying to push him away from me. His kisses turned softer, gentler. He released his firm hold on me, burying his face into my hair, nuzzling my neck, murmuring softly into my ear.

  “I want you so bad, baby. I’ve missed you so much.”

  I didn’t want to give in. It would serve no purpose. Yet, my body ached for his fulfillment, for our perfect fit and exquisite rhythm. I wanted him to find the sweet spot that we’d discovered together, and to make the magic thing happen that always did when he found it. I returned his kisses passionately. I hated myself in that moment. I wanted him, right or wrong, one last time. I wanted him to fill me again. I needed him inside of me.

  He pulled me out into the stable area, grabbing a horse blanket from the rail, throwing it down over the pile of clean straw. In seconds, he was pulling me to him, raising my tee shirt up over my head and tossing it aside, His hands were all over my breasts, massaging them and kissing me passionately. He dropped to his knees, pulling my shorts and panties down to my ankles. I stepped out of them, now dressed only in my boots. He put one of my arms on his shoulder so that I could keep my balance while he removed my boots, tossing them behind him.

  Now, fully naked, I stood before him, I started to relax back into the makeshift straw bed, but his strong arm kept me upright. In moments his mouth was on me, every part of me. My body betrayed me with him, just like it always did with him. I had no desire to fight the feelings his touch evoked within me, I wanted the release that I knew he could give me. The sweet release I needed.

  “Tell me, baby. Tell me what you want,” he coaxed.

  “I want you, Trey.”

  He laid me gently onto the makeshift bed of straw, kissing my face and neck while he knelt in front of me and lowered the zipper on his jeans, pulling himself free.

  He positioned himself above me, grabbing both of my legs and placing them on his shoulders. He hadn’t taken a stitch of his clothing off.

  “Wait,” I gasped, “a condom?”

  “Fuck that,” he rasped, guiding himself into me with one swift thrust.

 
; “No—stop,” I insisted, my hands were now pressed against his strong chest, pushing him back. He lowered his lips to my mouth, silencing any further protests. His tongue was ravaging my lips and mouth. I felt his passion and mine mingle in our kiss. He was pleasuring me roughly.

  I didn’t care if he was rough. I needed rough right now. I needed to feel every inch of him inside of me. My hands no longer pushed against his chest. They found their way to his ass, gripping each side as he continued to rock in and out of me. It felt so good, so full, and so right. This was my Trey; I loved him no matter what.

  I felt the heat at my core, spreading slowly throughout my body, building to a crescendo of peak pleasure with my love. His thrusting increased steadily. I felt tears spring to my eyes at the pure pleasure. This was a first for me, the emotional part of it. I felt that Trey was right there with me, kissing me and holding me. He usually talked to me during this part but perhaps the intensity of this coupling was as new to him as it was to me.

  I heard him moan as he continued his exquisite thrusting. I could tell he was ready. He should pull out now I thought to myself. We were not protected. In the next moment, I knew I didn’t want him to stop. I'd gone beyond reasonable thinking as my release was ready to explode. I grasped his firm ass, still inside his jeans, pulling him closer to me as if I wanted to devour him there as well. We both climaxed at the same time, crying out so strongly I was sure we woke the horses. I felt Trey stiffen as he came, followed by the rhythmic pumping as he emptied himself inside of me. I was right there with him, pulling every last drop from him.

  “That’s it Tylar, take it all,” he said, thrusting the last of his climax into me. When he’d finished, he pulled out of me and rolled onto his back, finally catching his breath. I was doing the same. Our breathing steadied; Trey didn’t move to pull me close or kiss me, which is what he usually did after we'd made love. I was covered with sweat and straw, but fulfilled in every way.

  “What a fuck,” Trey mumbled, tucking his glistening member back inside his jeans and zipping up his fly. He lay back, raking a hand through his damp hair and promptly passed out in the straw.

  My heart tore into a million pieces. I stood up in the straw and searched for my clothes. My vision blurred with flowing tears. I found my panties and shorts in one heap, my tee shirt a few feet away. I hurriedly dressed and ran from the stables. I stumbled back up the short path to my cottage. Slamming the cottage door, I let loose with sobs. His words came back to haunt me.

  What a fuck?

  That was the same thing Daniel had said to my mom on prom night. My mom, the whore, deserved to be talked to that way. I'd done nothing to deserve that.

  When I'd heard him talking to Derringer in the stables, I felt my heart would burst with happiness. It was spoiled by Trey’s behavior after that; his anger with Mark; his disrespect towards me. There was nothing healthy about the situation that occurred tonight in the stable.

  As my tears subsided, I knew that I needed to avoid Trey. I didn’t understand his behavior, and I'd never let it happen again. How pathetic I was to think that we were making sweet love? To Trey it was simply a great fuck.

  Chapter 30

  Two weeks had passed since that unfortunate encounter with Trey and I was successful in avoiding him. He'd left to go back to Atlanta two days later and Mark and I tirelessly practiced for the dressage competition scheduled for the following weekend. Everything had gone exceptionally well with the competition. Derringer and I took second place, capturing a $30,000 purse. I felt like I was earning my pay with Sinclair Stables and that was important to me.

  I'd received a letter from the law offices of Pierce, Harmon, Richardson & Sinclair the second week after Trey departed. There was a cover letter signed by Trey, with a copy attached of a letter that had been sent to Trey by Andrew Sneed of the law firm of Findley, Morris & Sneed, L.L.P. in Louisville. Mr. Sneed wanted to avoid a protracted civil case and was making an offer of a settlement to avoid a civil suit for $10,000. Trey’s cover letter requested that I call his office to discuss the matter.

  I called Trey’s office and the switchboard put me through.

  “Mr. Sinclair’s office, Tonya speaking,” his assistant said.

  “Yes Tonya, this is Tylar Preston. I received a letter from Mr. Sinclair requesting that I call his office to discuss a settlement offer received from the firm of Findley, Morris & Sneed?”

  “One moment please, Ms. Preston, let me see if Mr. Sinclair is available.”

  A few moments later Trey came on the line, his smooth and silky voice still had the power to give me goose bumps.

  “Tylar, how are you?”

  “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “I understand that you’ve received the copy of the letter from Mr. Sneed relative to the firm’s liability on the matter of the theft of your trust?”

  “Yes,” I replied. “I’m confused though, why are they offering a settlement before you filed the civil charges?”

  “It’s an attempt to avoid litigation. They want to present the position that we have a flimsy case based on their L.L.P. status, so they are making a token offer to avoid having to go to court and sort it all out.”

  “Okay, I get it. Well, I’m fine with it.”

  “Are you sure? It's just a token of the trust’s value.”

  “I know, but when it comes to paying the attorney fees and all of that…”

  “We can request compensation for attorney fees as part of the settlement.”

  “I just really don’t want to mess with it all, okay?”

  “If that’s what you want,” he replied.

  “It’s what I want. You can take your portion of the attorney fees out of it and send me a check for the balance.”

  “I wasn’t planning on taking any attorney fees.”

  “I don’t want to take advantage of you.” I heard silence on the other end. He didn’t know how to respond.

  “Is there something upsetting you, Tylar?”

  Oh hell no, Trey - nothing at all.

  “Hey, I also wanted to congratulate you on placing second in the competition last weekend. Good job. I was sorry that I couldn’t make it to the arena. You brought a nice purse in for Sinclair Stables. You know that 10% of that will be coming to you.”

  “I hadn’t really thought about it, but thank you.”

  “Well then, okay. I'll send the communiqué to Mr. Sneed. We’ll forward your check to you as soon as we receive it.”

  The next few weeks, Mark and I prepared exhaustively for the next competition. The rest of the crew had already returned to school, so new fall semester interns were populating the estates. Dressage competition was in full swing in the U.S.; the next competition was September 22 and 23. It was the Fall Horse Trials at Malvern Park near Leesburg, Virginia. It was a two-day event that included dressage, show jumping, and cross country jumping events.

  Mark had entered Derringer and me in a musical freestyle event. It was set to a shortened version of Lady Gaga’s “Born This Way.” Mark eliminated the introduction portion of the song as the freestyle was going to be done with the lyrics left in, timing at just a little over three minutes in length. Mark was also entering two horses from Sinclair Stables into a Quadrille event, combining the talent with two horses from a neighboring stable. A fellow trainer Mark had worked with previously had suggested they combine resources. It was a fairly hefty purse, even when split in half.

  I purchased a new riding outfit before the competition at Malvern. The tack shop was close to Denise’s salon, so I told Mark I wanted to run over there and see if she could fit me in for a trim and some fresh highlights. He told me to call him when I was ready. I spotted Denise as soon as I walked in the shop. She was cashing a customer out at the counter. Her eyes lit up upon seeing me.

  “Hey sweetie, how are you?”

  “I’m fine, Neecie, how about you?”

  “No complaints here. Is this a social visit or business?"

  “Both if y
ou can fit me in?”

  “No problem, darlin'.” Denise did my hair herself, her hands moving expertly as she spoke. “So, how are things going between you and Trey?”

  “They’re not,” I replied. “He's barely around and when he is, we do our best to avoid each other.”

  “That’s a shame,” Denise, said, shaking her head.

  “Maybe it’s serious between Trey and Charlotte,” I said, wondering if Denise knew anything. I'd provided a nice segue for her.

  “Please,” she hooted. “I already told you that's not happening. He’s not seeing anyone that I know of or else Ray would probably be aware of it.”

  We changed the subject to more pleasant topics. I phoned Mark when Denise said I had about ten minutes more under the dryer. She finished up with me, twirling the chair around so that I could take a look at the finished product. I paid the cashier on my way out, sending a generous tip to Denise. Mark stood waiting for me when I got outside, leaning up against his bright red truck. He saw me and let out a long wolf whistle, grinning like a kid.

  “Stop,” I said, laughing.

  “You’re gonna look great in the navy dressage coat with your new hair color.”

  “Except that I'll have my hair back in that awful hairnet under my derby hat, remember?”

  “I know, but I really think going with the blue on your jacket will lend itself well to the music we selected. Maybe we should think about dying Derringer’s tail?”

  I looked at him quickly but saw that he was still grinning.

  “Speaking of which,” I said, “I'd like to braid Derringer’s mane for this competition. Is that okay with you?”

  “Just as long as you leave his forelock unbraided, I don’t want anyone mistaking him for a mare.”

  Back at the cottage, a note had been left on my door that I had a letter at the office. I went up and got it, seeing immediately it was from Trey's office in Atlanta. I tore open the envelope. There was a check in the amount of $10,000 made payable to me. Trey had attached a note on his personal stationary that read, “From the Desk of Trey M. Sinclair, Esq.” I wondered what the middle initial ‘M’ stood for? I'd never asked Trey about his middle name. His note was brief, and to the point: