by A. J. Downey
His Wild Blue Rose
A.J. Downey
Contents
Book Four
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Also by A.J. Downey
About the Author
Book Four
Copyright
Text Copyright © 2018 by A.J. Downey
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner and are not to be construed as real except where noted and authorized. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or actual events are entirely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or names featured are assumed to be the property of their respective owner, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Edited by Barbara J. Bailey
Book design by Maggie Kern
Cover art by Dar Albert at Wicked Smart Designs
Model - Salvador Herrera
Photographer - JW Photography & Covers
Dedication
To Elka, Mary, and Barbara. For all your hard work on making this one the best it could be. Love you, girls.
Prologue
Alyssa…
“Don’t you walk away from me, Alyssa! You don’t get to walk away from fourteen years of us just like that.”
I stood, my chest rising and falling as my high school sweetheart smashed my heart to pieces behind me. I turned slowly, tears staining my face and shook my head.
“There is no more ‘us’, Raymond.” I held up my left hand and pulled off my wedding set and held it up in front of me. “This means that ‘us’ was just supposed to be me and you! Not you, me, and some random whore I’ve never heard of, makes three!”
He strode across the newly redone floor of our condo and grabbed me by my upper arms, shaking me.
“Don’t talk about her that way. She has nothing to do with us!”
I scoffed, “Are you serious? Are you kidding me? She has everything to do with us. She has everything to do with why I’ve had it, Ray! I can’t believe you! All of those nights waiting for you to come home until two and three in the morning? You, you, liar!”
“Lys,” he grated out from between his teeth, but I didn’t care. I pressed on.
“You were fucking some other woman while I waited for you, Ray! What did you think was going to happen? That I’d cover your ass? That I’d sit here, all prim and proper while you ran out on me, and pretend everything was just hunky-fucking-dory? ‘Nothing to worry about here, folks! Everything’s just fine and dandy, except my husband can’t keep his dick in his pants and –’“ He let go of one of my arms, his hand flying out and catching me in the mouth.
I stared at him in open-mouthed, horrified silence as the crack of his hand against my face echoed back from the ceiling of our condo.
We’d been together for fourteen years. We'd met just before I graduated high school, were together for four years, all through college, married as he entered law school. We’d tried for children when he’d graduated from that, but as it turned out, we had fertility issues. Well, I had them, something he was keen to remind me of whenever it came up. We’d fought about it before, argued over everything from money to babies, to where to go on vacation but never, and I mean never, had he ever hit me before right now.
We are so fucked up. We are so broken. How did I not see it?
I tried to take a step back but he was towing me forward, saying, “Lys, Lyssa, I’m sorry, I don’t know where that came from. Just, Lys, stop, stop it! Don’t fight me, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”
I struggled in his grip, and when he wouldn’t let go, I started screaming. I wanted away. All I wanted was away. I didn’t want him touching me with her perfume still clinging to him, with the photos of them at the dinner table still displayed on my phone, attached to text messages sent from one of my employees at my flower shop.
Stupid. Just a chance encounter.
“Let, me, GO!” I screamed and he snapped again. I’d never seen him like this. Never. It was like he was caught and the mask was off. He threw me to the floor, impatience and rage on his face.
I swallowed hard. I was scared. I was watching my life, the life we’d spent so much time building together, crumble and sift into ash around us.
“I don’t even know who you are anymore…” I whispered.
There was no fixing this. There was no going back.
1
Golden…
“So, you figure it out yet?” Angel dropped onto the couch beside me and I glared at my twin.
“Fuck, no. I’ll probably just put an ad out on Craigslist or something.”
He twisted off the top of his beer and took a swig, giving me some side-eye as he swallowed. I rolled my eyes and waited for our abuela to come out of his mouth, and he didn’t disappoint.
“You sure that’s a good idea? A lot of crazy people on the internet.”
“Pretty sure if I put in the ad I’m a cop, it’ll cut down on a chunk of the riffraff applying,” I said. “I’m just grateful I have the room to rent out. I like this place, but with the way housing costs are going through the fuckin’ roof around here, I might have to move.”
“As long as it ain’t back in with me.”
I snorted, “Fuck no. Sharing a womb, then a room, all the way up through eighteen with you was enough of that shit. Besides, I hate dealing with bitches trying to get us to double-team ‘em as much as you do. I’ve shared enough shit with you, I don’t want or need to share everything.”
Angel laughed and beer almost came out of his nose. I grinned and finished off the dregs of my own bottle, and reached for the second he’d brought me from the kitchen.
“Besides, you live in a fuckin’ shoebox on that boat.”
“So, what’re you waiting for?” he asked, changing the subject with a roll of his eyes and dismissing my dis on his boat. I think he was getting too used to them out of me. I needed to up my game.
Anyway, it was my turn to give him some side-eye around the bottle in my hand, pressed to my lips. I swallowed and raised an eyebrow at him, took another swallow and with a hearty ‘ah’, demanded, “What’re you talking about?”
“I say, grab your laptop. Let’s post this thing. There ain’t no time like the present.”
I s
hrugged and set my beer on a coaster on the glass top of the coffee table. I dragged my laptop up into my lap from underneath the end table that matched the coffee table and opened it up.
“Oh, damn,” I muttered at the play going down on my television’s screen, and Angel and I got side-tracked by the game for a couple of minutes while the damn laptop loaded. I dragged up the web browser and went to Craigslist.
“What?” Angel demanded, when I sat there, staring blankly at the blinking cursor on the screen.
“Trying to remember my fuckin’ password.”
He laughed at me. “This is going so well already.”
“Shut the fuck up, dude,” I said laughing, too.
“Don’t you use the same password for everything, like a normal person?” he asked.
“Fuck, no, that’s how your shit gets hacked. I use like three or four.”
“So which one is it?”
“I told your ass, I don’t have to share everything and I’m not gonna.” I tried one. “Son of a bitch,” I muttered softly.
Angel laughed at me some more and I let him have it. It wasn’t typical that I wasn’t good at something, even something as low-key as remembering my passwords. Two more tries and I got it.
“Now what?” he asked.
“Shit, motherfucker! I thought you had all the fuckin’ answers!”
He laughed and I smiled, shook my head, and put fingers to keys. I didn’t want to make fun of him too hard. I was going to need his help. I didn’t much like the idea of living with someone. Especially the kind of someone that would need a fully-furnished room like I was offering, because I wasn’t about to get rid of any of our abuela’s shit, which is what the second bedroom’s furniture was comprised of. It was all stuff that my grandfather had built her, by hand.
“You should get a chick for a roommate,” he said suddenly, and I scowled.
“Why the fuck would I want to do that?” I demanded.
He shrugged and said, “Chicks are cleaner.”
I crossed my eyes and then rolled them at him. Clearly, he hadn’t had the same experience I had with women, but then again, out of the two of us, I was the more-experienced in that department. I was the evil twin, as I liked to say. Even though I was one of the good guys, or at least, I liked to think I was, I was definitely the more adventurous of the two of us. If I wanted to get off, I had no trouble picking up a broad at the 10-13 for a one-and-done.
Angel, I swear to god, was saving himself for marriage or some shit. He was as his name implied, a perfect fucking angel. Me, definitely not so much.
“What the fuck should I write, dude? I don’t want to come off like an asshole. I really do need someone to pick up half of the rent.”
He looked at me and smiled. Chuckling, he said, “Well, try starting out with what you’re looking for in a roomie. Your expectations. Write it, and I’ll tone it down for you.”
He went back to watching the game and I scowled. I was really hoping he’d just write the damn thing for me, but if I had to be honest, his was the better plan. If I let him write it, I’d end up running a fuckin’ halfway-house up in here.
“Cool, thanks… Remind me again why this couldn’t wait until after the game?”
“Because you’re the one bitching about the rent getting to be too much, you cheap bastard.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I grumbled. I couldn’t fault him there.
I stared at the blinking cursor and contemplated calling up Backdraft, to get Lil to do it for me. I hated this type of shit.
2
Alyssa…
“I told you, it’s not a problem.”
“I just don’t feel right, Kenzie. He’s just going to keep coming around, keep bothering you, and I don’t think that’s fair. He’s my problem. Not yours.”
Makenzie Higgins, one of my best friends since college, sighed, her shoulders drooping. She’d given me a place to stay after leaving the battered-women’s shelter – something I still felt weird about. Not about the fact that I’d stayed there; I’d needed to. It was more the fact that I, of all people, even had a need to stay in one.
Of course, I’d needed some place to go after my hospital stay,
someplace safe to heal, to find a divorce attorney, and to figure out what was next. My face had healed, so had the rest of my body. There wasn’t a visible mark left on me, but there were marks. Oh boy were there marks. I swallowed hard and Kenzie dropped onto her couch, which had sheets and a blanket, serving as my bed. She cozied up beside me and I pressed my lips together. I’d never been uncomfortable with close physical proximity before, but now, I found that if anybody got too near my physical space, anyone got inside my bubble, my skin would just crawl with nervousness.
I swallowed hard and she scanned the listings on my laptop screen. I refreshed the page and new ones popped up at the top.
“Ooo, what about that one?” She pointed.
“‘One of ICPD’s finest looking for a renter,’” I read aloud.
I clicked on it to bring up the ad.
“‘I’m an Indigo City beat cop looking to rent out a fully-furnished room in my apartment for half the rent. Ideal roommate pays their rent on time by the first every month (obviously), is clean, picks up after themselves, and has a healthy respect for privacy. Kitchen is a communal space, as is the living room. You’ll have your own bathroom for the most part, though it’s shared with any guests that come by. Bedroom is furnished with a queen-sized bed, an antique sturdy dresser, and has plenty of closet space. Serious inquiries only. Must be able to pass a background check. No illegal substances, no pets, no bullshit. Serious inquiries only. Contact Rodrigo Martinez at, blah, blah, blah, email.’ You should do this one.” I blinked at Kenzie and she looked over at me and smiled.
“Come on! It’s perfect. You don’t have to tell him your business, says right here he wants privacy, which means he’ll give it right back and you’d be living with a cop. I doubt very much that Ray would bother you there.”
I scraped my bottom lip between my teeth and sighed, frustrated, asking, “What do I even say?”
“Just say you’re a recent divorcee florist looking for some transitional housing for a year or two while you recover financially from your douchebag ex. It’s not a lie.”
“No, I don’t suppose it is, but it’s definitely a lot more complicated than that.”
She looked as unhappy as I felt.
* * *
“He shouldn’t be getting away with it,” she said bluntly.
I bit my lips together and shook my head.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said, equally bluntly.
“Sorry,” she murmured and she cast me that worried look. I hated that I worried her, I hated that I worried me, too. I couldn’t help it, though. I never in a million years dreamed‒ I slammed the door on that line of thinking and took a deep breath, in through my nose, out slowly through my mouth. and gently put my fingers to the keys.
Maybe Kenzie was right. I mean, what could be safer than living with a cop? I typed out a careful reply, giving my name and contact information. Letting out another careful breath, my heart pounding in my chest, I clicked the send icon and sent up a little prayer.
“I really hate that you feel like you have to do this,” she said, and I nodded.
“I know.”
“I wish he would just live with what he’s done, respect your space, and leave you the fuck alone.”
“Me, too, but I don’t think he can. He feels guilty, I get that, but there’s no coming back from that.” I sniffed and my eyes watered. I was sick of crying over my marriage, what happened that night, and the utter indignity of what Ray was putting me through in court, all in a bid to force me to talk to him. But I didn’t want to talk to him. I wanted him to go away.
My lawyer was handling it all, and was even going after him for all the court costs. I was grateful for her. She was precisely what I needed. The domestic violence shelter I’d stayed in after I’d gotten
out of the hospital had put me in touch with her at my request.
She was doing better than what I could have ever asked for. It was going to cost Ray, too, in the end. She was confident that the judge would award me everything I wanted, which wasn’t much. I just wanted my business and to be free of him. I’d only taken clothes and my important papers when the police had escorted me to the condo to collect my things.
I didn’t want anything else but what was mine to begin with:
my clothes, my business, some old photographs from before we were married, and a few other sentimental things. It’d all fit into seven plastic totes and a single large suitcase. They were all piled in Kenzie’s living room, off to one side of the couch.
“It’s going to be okay, Lys. I promise,” she said and covered my hand with hers. I jumped at the contact; I just wasn’t used to being touched anymore.
I closed my eyes, refused to let the tears spill over, and kept scrolling through the adverts for rooms for rent.
3
Golden…
I opened the front door to two women standing on my doorstep. I frowned and asked, “Which one of you is Alyssa?”
The cool drink of water who was a corkscrew strawberry blonde with legs for fucking days pointed at the shorter, pretty, if sort of plain, brunette and said, “She is,” at the same time the brunette gave a little wave and meekly proclaimed, “I am.”