Shattered Dreams (Dreams Series Book 1)

by Hicks, Braxton

  Tylar,

  Hope all is well. Here's the check for releasing liability of the handling of your trust from the firm of Findley, Morris & Sneed. Accepting this does not waive your right to criminally prosecute your mother, should her whereabouts become known. I'll forward you the deed on your property in Radcliff once it has been executed by the Recorder’s office. You'll need to contact the auditor’s office in order to get the semi-annual tax billing sent to your current address. Also, I recommend you contact the utility companies in Radcliff and have them put the billing into your name. Please let me know if I can be of further assistance.

  Very truly yours,

  Trey M. Sinclair, Esq.

  Trey’s all-business tone was yet another slap in the face. If I thought that scene in the stable last month between us was humiliating, it was nothing compared to this. He was totally indifferent about his cruel behavior in the stable. His total lack of emotion diminished me to the core. What kind of a fantasy world had I created for myself those past few months? It was nothing that a future could ever be built upon.

  I spent the next week and a half at the arena from sunrise to sundown working with Derringer. Mark was concerned at my obsessive practicing but it felt therapeutic to me; it made the days go faster, it wore me out so that I could sleep without dreams.

  ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

  Malvern Park was a five-hour drive from Bristol. I was riding up with Mark; his dually was pulling the horse trailer with Derringer. Ray and Charlie were driving some of the other horses up. We would be staying at a hotel near the park.

  We made fairly good time, arriving in Malvern a little after noon. Mark dropped me at the hotel while he took Derringer on to the stables to get registered and settled in. He said he’d meet me later for some dinner.

  Once in my room, I unpacked my clothing and hung up my riding outfit. The early morning and long drive exhausted me and I promptly fell asleep across the king-sized bed. I didn't wake up until Mark phoned my room at dinner time. After we ate, we took a ride over to the park. I visited with Derringer while Mark discussed tomorrow’s schedule.

  The following morning, just after five a.m., I got dressed and applied some make-up. I brushed my hair back into a tight bun. I covered it from the top of my crown to the base of my hairline in back with a hairnet that was close to the color of my hair. That would secure it and still allow for my derby to fit comfortably on my head.

  My dress boots were shined to perfection and my riding outfit was stunning. My navy blue derby actually looked a little saucy perched on my head. White gloves in hand, I was ready. I headed down to meet Mark for breakfast. He was already in the hotel restaurant, waving to me as I approached the entrance. He stood up as I arrived and grasped my hand.

  “Tylar, you look fantastic!”

  I knew what he was doing; he wanted to assure me all was fine so that I could concentrate on the competition. Nerves played a very big part in the results of these competitions.

  Mark signaled for the waitress and then turned to me. “Don’t worry. You're prepared. Derringer is prepared. Do you know what your greatest strength is as you enter the arena today?”

  He had me there.

  “Your biggest strength is that your horse loves you. You have a bond that, in all of my years in this business, I’ve not seen until now. Use that bond, Tylar, trust it. You'll be fine.”

  We arrived at the park early. I went to Derringer immediately to brush and tack him up. I braided his mane while Mark checked on the horses scheduled for the Quadrille. I took advantage of this opportunity to have a one-on-one talk with Derringer as I braided. I told him how much I loved him. I told him that no matter what, we just needed to go out into that arena and give it our best. I finished the last braid, tying the plait into a button with yarn. He looked magnificent.

  When it was time, Mark and I led Derringer to the arena, awaiting our cue.

  “Everything will be fine," Mark assured me.

  I nodded and managed a meek smile.

  It seemed like no time had passed at all and we were being announced.

  “Introducing five-year-old Derringer, owned by Trey Sinclair of Sinclair Stables, Bristol, Virginia; trained by Mark Montgomery; ridden by Tylar Preston.”

  The opening chords of Lady Gaga’s “Born this Way” came across the speakers. It was as if Derringer just took over. We were out in the arena; Derringer commenced his prancing as Lady Gaga continued. From the halt and salute at the beginning to the halt and salute at the end, the execution was perfect. Derringer’s impulsion, his stride in the collected canter, his leg yield in trot were perfectly choreographed to the sound of the song. His circle right was flawless. The collected gaits down the center line couldn't have been any better. Derringer had impressed everyone.

  Mark stood waiting at the arena gate, grinning from ear to ear. He pulled me down off of Derringer, twirling me around and around before he set me down. We waited for the judges to post our scores.

  After untacking Derringer and giving him water and a treat, I retired to my hotel room to rest. A few hours later, the hotel telephone awoke me abruptly from my nap. It was Mark.

  “Are you ready for this, Tylar? You took first in this morning’s competition.”

  “No!” I exclaimed, totally in shock.

  “Oh yes you did,” he confirmed, “You'll get your trophy at closing ceremonies tomorrow. You did an excellent job.”

  “I don’t know about that,” I said. “I do know that Derringer played the major role.”

  “He's awesome,” Mark agreed. “Hey, I’m getting ready to come back to the hotel, want to get some dinner?”

  “I need to catch up on my rest. I’m just worn out from all of this. See you tomorrow?”

  “Sure thing. Have a good evening.”

  The following day, I felt well rested for the closing ceremonies, which started at 7 p.m. Mark’s quadrille event had come in second place, securing a total purse of $60,000, which would be a $30,000 net purse for Sinclair Stables.

  My first place standing in the musical freestyle captured a $75,000 purse. Not too shabby. Mark and I were seated and awaiting the beginning of the awards presentation. People continued to file into the grandstands, mostly owners who'd not been present during the various competitions, but had special interest in the awards ceremony. Mark was reading the final results from the latest printout.

  “I wonder if Trey's staying for the awards ceremony.”

  “What?”

  “He was here for the competition, didn’t you know?”

  “No,” I stated flatly. “I didn’t know.”

  “Yeah, he was up in the grandstands with some woman. He came down after they announced that you and Derringer had taken first place to congratulate you, but you were back at your room.”

  Just as I turned to say something else to Mark, I caught a glimpse of Trey, coming into the arena with Charlotte on his arm. They made their way over to our section, taking seats in the same row, just a few seats down. Trey caught my eye as they were being seated, smiled, and gave me a brief wave. I nodded and turned to Mark.

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” I stated plainly.

  “What?” He turned to face me in his seat and noticed Trey and Charlotte. He didn’t get what I was trying to convey. "There's Trey now."

  I gave him a sickly glare.

  “Can you make it through this presentation?” he asked.

  “I’ll give it my best,” I answered.

  The closing ceremonies started, with each event being detailed as to the participants and placement after completed. Finally, they got to the dressage category of freestyle musical. The top five scorers were announced starting from fifth place. My stomach roiled.

  My event was finally up. The master of ceremonies announced Derringer, owner Trey Sinclair, trainer Mark Montgomery, and talent Tylar Preston. We all proceeded up to the podium to accept the trophy along with the envelope that had a check for our take from this competition
. Somehow, it ended up that I was standing next to Trey as the presenter shook each of our hands, presenting the trophy and envelope to Trey while yesterday’s competition with Derringer and my performance was being shown on the backdrop screen complete with Lady Gaga’s music in the background. As we turned to leave, my stomach gave a final lurch. I threw up all over Trey’s shiny black shoes.

  Chapter 31

  In the weeks following the Malvern competition, Mark and I continued to work on another musical freestyle routine.

  I hadn’t seen Trey since my vomiting faux pas during the awards ceremony. He'd called me the next day to see how I was feeling. I'd apologized to him repeatedly over the phone. He insisted it was no big deal, saying that he hadn’t liked those shoes anyway. His parents had returned to the manor that same weekend. I wondered how long it would be before Trey went back to Atlanta and stayed. His responsibilities were finished for now.

  The fall weather was a blessing in southern Virginia. The nights were cool and I took advantage of it. I had removed the window air conditioner from my bedroom and had taken to sleeping with the window open, enjoying the night breezes and fresh air. I was normally in bed by 9 p.m., drained of all energy.

  I was determined to stay up later tonight. The season premiere of “Revenge” was on and I was hooked. I made some microwave popcorn and poured a tall glass of iced tea for myself. I relaxed back on the sofa and lasted about fifteen minutes before I dozed off. The show was long over by the time I woke up. I turned the television off, switched off the lights, and went to bed. The stars were out tonight; I liked being able to see them from my bedroom window. A cool breeze blew through the curtains, parting them so that I could see the beautiful night sky. I was back to sleep within minutes.

  I was dreaming. I felt his hands on me…His fingers were caressing my inner thigh, parting my legs. It must be Trey. He had come to me in my dreams, finally. His touch seemed foreign to me now. That was no surprise, it had been awhile. Maybe Charlotte had ruined his magnificent touch. We would get it back; we would once again work our magic with each other’s bodies.

  His hand was pulling my silk panties down to my ankles, then removing them and tossing them aside. His lips were on my sex, tongue darting in and out of the folds, fingers roughly pushing inside. Had he forgotten how to find my sweet spot? His hands were roughly exploring every part of me down there. He thrust another finger inside of me, the fingernail scratching my soft flesh. I moaned from the pain, he mistook it for pleasure and continued the rough in and out motions with his fingers.

  This is eerily familiar.

  Then I heard his voice. It was no longer smooth and silky.

  “You like that don’t you, bitch? Moan for me again. Tell me how much you like it, Sissy.”

  I realized this wasn't a dream. This was the reality of the moment. I fought to open my eyes, yet I didn’t want to see that awful man. The man from when I was thirteen. My mind fought to find some logic, some rationale as to why and how he was here now. I thrashed away from him, trying to push him off the bed.

  “Sissy likes it rough, huh?” his voice was a hoarse whisper. “Want me to fuck you like the boss man did in the stable that night? You liked it rough then, didn’t you Sissy?”

  I found my voice and shrieked with rage. A hand clamped down savagely on my mouth to quiet my screams. My survival instincts kicked in. I bit his hand as hard as I could, tasting his blood.

  “Ow!” he bellowed, “you fucking bitch cunt!” he hollered, pulling his hand back momentarily. A moment was all I needed. I screamed wildly, kicking and flailing at him with legs and arms. My hand came in contact with something on the nightstand. It was the lamp. I grabbed it, swinging it around and smashing it against something. I was hoping I’d hit him.

  “Help! Someone, please help!” I wailed.

  He was on top of me now, livid with rage. The curtains were billowing out from the night breeze, letting the light of the stars and moon inside the darkened room. In the seconds just before his meaty fist found my face, I saw the man from my past once again in the dark. It was Charlie! His fist took the image away. I sank blessedly into black unconsciousness.

  I was dreaming again. In my dream, I had a horrendous headache. It throbbed and pounded worse than any hangover. But I hadn’t been drinking. I was confused. I heard voices around me in the dream. They were hushed voices, almost whispering. Were they talking about me? The voice talking now was louder. I didn’t recognize the voice.

  “Mr. Sinclair,” the unrecognizable voice said firmly, “we've no way of knowing when she will come to. These things are not predictable. Every person is different; healing is dependent upon many factors. I know that you want an answer. I just don’t have one to give you.”

  “Fine, doctor,” Trey’s voice said. He was perturbed I could tell. He mumbled to someone else a few moments later, “You’d think that with all the damn tests they’ve ran on her over the past 24 hours, they could tell us a bit more than that.”

  “I know it’s frustrating.”

  That was Mark’s voice! Mark and Trey were both here in my dream? Why couldn’t I see them? I opened my eyes but there was nothing but darkness. Why was I blindfolded?

  My eyes fluttered open to blackness. This wasn’t a dream, I realized. But something was definitely covering my eyes. A bandage, perhaps? I was thirsty, definitely thirsty. I tried to say something, but all that came out was a squeaky groan. Someone came close to me; I could feel someone there.

  “Tylar, are you awake?”

  It was Denise. Denise was here, thank God!

  “Denise…” I groaned; my voice was a hoarse rasp at best.

  “It’s me Tylar. I’m here with you. You're in the hospital.”

  Not again . . .

  “I’m going to buzz for your nurse.”

  Had I been in an accident? Did I fall from Derringer? I couldn’t recall anything. A few moments later someone else came into the room. It must be the nurse as I felt someone hovering over me, taking my blood pressure then checking something on my arm. Probably an IV.

  “Ms. Preston? Can you hear me, Ms. Preston?”

  I nodded because it hurt to talk.

  “That’s good. You’re doing fine, Ms. Preston. The doctor will be in to talk to you in a few minutes. Just try to relax.”

  “Denise,” I croaked.

  “Yes, I’m still here, sweetie. I’m not going anywhere.”

  I raised my arm to feel what was covering my eyes. I felt gauze wrapped around my head.

  “Tylar, you don’t want to mess with that bandage. The doctor will explain everything to you when he comes in, okay?”

  I nodded. Several minutes later, someone entered the room. “Hello Tylar, I’m Dr. Greyson, your treating physician. I’m glad to see that you’ve come around. You have been in a slight coma due to the head injury you sustained a couple of days ago. Your memory of that may be fuzzy, but it will come back in time. The fact that you came to indicates that the swelling in your brain has reduced. It’s all part of the healing process.”

  I nodded to let him know that I was listening.

  “As for the bandage over your eyes, it’s there as a result of a blow to your left eye. The injury is called an indirect orbital floor fracture, or ‘blowout fracture.’ What this means, Ms. Preston, is that there is a small hole in the floor of the eye socket. Because you’ve been unconscious, we don’t know if there was any damage done to the surrounding eye muscles, which may affect your vision. I can remove the bandage now, and we can test your vision.”

  I felt the bandage being unwrapped from around my head. There were two cotton pads resting against my eye sockets. The doctor removed those. I blinked my eyes several times, adjusting to the light in the hospital room. The doctor leaned over my bed, holding one finger up in the center of his face, in front of his nose.

  “How many fingers am I holding up, Ms. Preston?”

  “One,” I answered hoarsely.

  “Very good.”

/>   He leaned over and took a pen light from his pocket, turning it on and shining it directly into each of my eyes. “Dilation is occurring, that's good.” He held his index finger up again, asking for my eyes to follow its movement without moving my head. He moved it east to west, then north to south.

  “Very, very good, Ms. Preston. It appears that you have no damage to the muscles. We’ll do a more thorough eye exam later. You'll be here for a couple more days. We’ll want to run a few more tests. For now, your immediate instructions are to get rest and regain your strength. Your throat will be sore for a few days more as the bruising heals. I'll check you in the morning.”

  With that, he left. I had no opportunity to ask any questions, though it was doubtful that I could have spoken anyway. I looked over at Denise, feeling helpless. She came over and sat in the chair next to my hospital bed. Just like old times, I thought wryly.

  “Tylar,” she asked softly, “do you remember what happened the night…well, the night you got injured?”

  I shook my head.

  “It’s probably just as well, at least for now, anyway. Listen, I have to go out for a couple of minutes, but I’ll be back.”

  I desperately tried to think of the last thing I could remember. I wasn’t even sure what day it was. I looked around the hospital room. It was just like the last one I was in.

  Denise returned. “I had to call Trey to let him know the good news,” she said, smiling as if she knew something that I didn’t. “He will be here shortly,” she winked, “and I'll leave you two alone.”

  I had no clue what I looked like. I brushed my hand through my hair. It felt kind of greasy. I looked over at Denise.

  “It’s not that bad, honey,” she said.