by Autumn Sand
Table of Contents
Title Page
Drop One Publications
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
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Epilogue
A Letter from the Author
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Autumn Sand
Mayhem
A Twisted Hearts Love Story Book 2
Drop One Publications
Mayhem: A Twisted Hearts Love Story Book 2
Book 2
Copyright © Autumn Sand 2016
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of Autumn Sand, except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act 1976.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
For permission requests, write to the author addressed “Attn: Permission Request”, at [email protected].
eBook ISBN 978-0-9967954-2-5
Library of Congress Catalogue Number 2016914940
Cover design by Pixel Mischief
Edited by All About the Edits
Proofread and Formatted by The Last Step Proofreading
Prologue
Cry For You ~ Jodeci
10 Years Ago
Tick
Today is the official beginning of what my father calls my manhood. Funny, I thought I’d already entered manhood when I lost my virginity. Now, here I am, a recent high school graduate, getting married to my pregnant high school sweetheart today. I knew from the first time I saw Kayla that she would be the one.
We started dating our freshman year. I was the football hero and she was the star cheerleader. Our plans always were to go to college, then get married. Things took an abrupt turn with a few stolen bottles of tequila and one hell of a prom night, and now I‘m going to become a dad. My friends like to tease me and call it a shotgun wedding, but the thing is, I’ve always wanted to marry Kayla. College is on hold for both of us for now. I’ve already got a job lined up and we’ll be living in my parents’ basement until I can save enough money for an apartment of our own. Is it ideal? No, but with Kayla by my side, it’ll be great.
“I can’t get this bow tie tied correctly!” Snatching what my father jokingly refers to as “the noose” from around my neck, I toss it on my unmade bed.
My father’s footsteps come from behind me. He bends, careful not to wrinkle his tuxedo pants, and picks up the torture device tying it in mere seconds. Stepping back, he admires his handiwork. “There you go. Nothing to it at all.” He smiles and pats me on the back.
Over at the mirror, I gaze at my reflection in my black tuxedo with, what was the name of that color again? Oh, yeah, a Guava Pink vest that Kayla spent weeks picking out as the perfect color for our wedding day. I still don’t get it. This color looks like plain ole pink to me but Kayla looked horrified when I said that. I shake my head at the memory of her trying to explain to me all the different types of pink under the rainbow. I’ve learned my lesson, just shut my mouth when she talks about a color, nod my head in agreement, and all will be alright in the world once again.
“Guess it’ll do.”
“You have the ring?”
I turn around, grab the ring from my study desk, and carefully place the box in my pocket. My best friend Raj, who is my best man, is meeting us at the church. “All set.”
My father bends his head slightly and stares at me from above the rim of his glasses. “Not sure what I should tell you in terms of advice for the future. But the one thing I’ll say is to love and protect your family.”
He’s beaten that into my head since I was a kid. I shrug at him slightly and give him a lopsided grin. “For a minute there, I thought you were going to give me the birds and the bees talk.”
He laughs at my comment and removes his glasses to wipe the tears from his eyes. “Think you already figured that part out.”
Man, did I ever. I guess I should’ve paid more attention in sex ed about condoms. Too late now, and besides, I wouldn’t change the events anyway.
“Come on, we’re going to be late,” my mom yells from downstairs.
My father and I head down the creaky old steps. Waiting for us on the bottom landing is my mother in a Guava Pink floor length dress with sequins. She smiles brightly when she sees me in my suit. I bend to kiss her on the cheek as she wipes a tear from her eye. “Who’s my favorite girl?” I’ve gotten out of many of punishments with that line. She slaps at my chest playfully as I pretend to be wounded.
“We should probably leave now. You don’t want the bride thinking you’re not going to show up.” My father strides to the door, holds it open, and ushers us out. When I told him that Kayla was pregnant, not once did he yell, scold, or admonish me. He never treated me as a kid who didn’t know what he was doing. He gave me the respect to make my own decisions and supported me all the way. I love my old man for that. As he waits for me by the door, his eyes show warmth and he smiles. Pulling me into a hug, he inhales deeply before releasing me and nodding. The three of us head out the door and into my future.
We drive to the church, passing the tree-lined streets of my neighborhood in our small town in Upstate New York. Dad always jokes that we are far enough from the madness of New York City but close enough not to need a passport. Rubbing the back of my neck as we get closer to the church, I tune out my mother’s endless chatter and I try to settle my nerves by visualizing Kayla standing at the altar with me. At 24 weeks pregnant, her belly has started to form into what I call a soccer ball. She always hits me when I tease her about it, but in all honesty, I love the little life that is forming in her stomach. It is a creation of the two of us and our love for each other. I’ve already started talking to my son or daughter; I read in a book that a baby can hear voices from the womb. I want my kid to know my voice right away, and I want my baby to know that I love him or her already.
“What’s that up ahead, Lewis?” my mother asks my father as she cranes her neck to see the problem. Lost in my thoughts, I hadn’t noticed that we had slowed down and come to a stop.
“Not sure. It looks like an accident,” he answers, patting her hand.
“Fuck, Dad, we’re going to be late.” Before my mother can scold me for my language, I open the car door and step out into the street. Cars are beginning to line up behind us and horns begin honking. With quick steps
, I walk toward Officer Grady, who is directing traffic away from the accident. “Hey, Grady, what’s the holdup?”
His eyes flash. The color has drained from his face. “Accident. Tractor trailer hit a car.” He tries to avoid eye contact with me. Officer Grady used to be my little league coach back in the day. I remember seeing that same look that’s on his face now whenever he thought we were about to lose a game.
Unease stirs in my gut and I chalk it up to nerves and the fear of being late.
“Fuck, that sounds serious.” I try to strain my neck to see if I recognize the car. Our town is small and everyone knows each other, for the most part. “Do you think we can get through? Getting married today.” Our town only has one main road, and unfortunately, this is it. If we back up and go around, it’ll take another twenty minutes.
He turns his head toward the wreck and then faces me. Again he is not willing to look me in the eyes. “Sorry, son.” He places his hands on his hips and lowers his head.
A small breeze blows and a shiver goes up my spine. Sounds of the EMTs and bystanders surround me in what suddenly feels like a vacuum. “Wh-“ I can’t manage to finish the words because my eyes are now on the mangled wreck of a car that has taken the shape of an accordion. Even in its wrecked form I recognize the car. It proudly promotes the Honor Student, Girl Scout, and Boy Scout stickers on the bumper.
Disoriented, my heart plummets into the pit of my stomach and it takes every bit of my strength to stay standing. “I know that car.” It comes out a croaked whisper.
Officer Grady grimaces and holds his hands up. “Dante, you need to get back in your car.” I see it in his face; he knows who is in that car as well. Air rushes from my lungs as I try to move around him.
“No. I know that car!” I try to go around him, but he’s holding me back. My mother and father are at my side.
“Dante, what is it?”
I turn toward my father as I try to catch my breath. “That’s Kayla’s family’s car, Dad.”
My father’s mouth is agape and he suddenly shakes his head. “Are you sure?”
I don’t stop to talk. I try to force my way around Grady as he attempts to block me again. My father helps me by stepping in front of him as I run down the street to the crushed car. The EMTs are working on someone on the ground. I stop a few feet from the activity in front of me.
Kayla was so excited when she finally found the wedding dress of her dreams. She was so afraid that she may not be able to fit in it by time our wedding day came. Always the superstitious one, she wouldn’t allow me to see the dress. “Dante, its bad luck to see the dress before the wedding day.” I can still hear her soft giggles when she would mock scold me every time I tried to take a peek in the big garment bag hanging in her bedroom.
I never told her that I already saw her in the dress the day she brought it home from her final fitting. My mother went over to her house to see her try it on and Kayla, being the sweetheart that she always was, did as my mother asked. My mother, Kayla, and her mother oohed and ahhed like school girls, not knowing that I had come over to return a game to her brother. It was a quick peek. At first I turned away, remembering her words, but then I turned back. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the beautiful woman who was to be my wife. She glowed in that dress and I knew then I was the luckiest man alive.
Looking at the ground, I see that very same white wedding dress on the woman that I love now splattered with blood. Kayla’s blood.
Reality hits me. I scream. “KAYLA!” I sprint toward her. My lungs feel like they’re on fire and my heart has been ripped out of my chest. There she is, my Kayla, lying motionless on the ground in front of the EMT. I collapse beside her and clutch her hand in mine. Her auburn hair is matted with blood. The metallic smell of her blood and the exhaust fumes from the wreckage causes the bile to rise in my throat. I swallow hard and wipe tears from my face with one hand, being mindful not to release hers with the other. I need to feel her the way I need air.
“Sir, you have to move. We need to transport her now.”
Placing my hand on her stomach, I try desperately to feel a movement. Something, anything! My heart pounds in my chest as my mouth turns dry and feels like cotton. “No, baby, no. You have to be okay.”
“Sir, we need to transport her now.” A hand nudges my shoulder, but I push it away as I squeeze Kayla’s hand tighter.
“Son.” Is that my father’s voice? I’m not sure. “Dante! Son! You have to let them take her to the hospital.” The cobwebs begin to lift a little.
“Dad?” My voice sounds hoarse as I choke back the tears.
“Yes. You have to let them do their job.” He reaches down and pulls me up and into his embrace as I wail in anguish into his shoulder. The EMTs place her on a stretcher and into the ambulance leaving behind four bodies on the ground covered by sheets.
My body shakes uncontrollably and my father tries to hold and console me but I’m too gutted to feel anything but anger and grief. I pull away from my father, grasping his collar and tugging. “Why? Why did this happen on my wedding day, dad?” My pain cuts deep to my core.
He removes my hands from his collar and pulls me back into his arms, and I don’t have the strength to pull away. “I don’t know.” His voice is barely audible.
I turn and look at the sheet-covered bodies on the ground of who would have been my in-laws. I take a step toward them but my father places a hand on my shoulder and guides me to his waiting car. We follow the ambulance to the hospital at break neck speed.
Two hours later, Kayla’s aunts and uncles, along with my family, are all crowded in the hospital waiting room waiting for updates on Kayla and the baby. Her Aunt Jenny holds her rosary tight to her heart and cries in silence as her husband comforts her. Every now and then someone asks if I’m ok and I want to scream that I’m not. My mother has taken to trying to reassure everyone that Kayla and the baby will be fine. I want to ask her how in the hell does she know? How can she be so sure? But then the guilt of being negative hits me. How can I give up on them? I want to yell at God and ask him why would he do this to them? To us?
Time has always seemed like a blur to me. One day always feels like it just blends right into the next. But not today. Today time has stood still. Or at least it feels that way. I glance at the clock on the wall every now and then, thinking hours have passed only to realize it has only been a minute. What is taking them so long with the update? I stand abruptly, startling my mother who is sitting next to me, determined to get answers, and that’s when I see him. The doctor is walking toward us.
“Who’s the next of kin?” His expression is grave and his voice low.
Kayla’s aunt speaks first. “I am, but this is Kayla’s fiancé and the father of the baby.”
The doctor nods to me and hesitates before speaking. “Kayla sustained massive trauma to her head.” He pauses for a moment as we take in the information. He absentmindedly wrings the face mask that he took off in his hands. Inhaling deeply, he lets out a slow breath before finishing. “We did everything we could but…” He looks away briefly and turns back to finish his sentence. “I’m so sorry but we weren’t able to save her.”
I watch the doctor’s lips move but I’ve gone deaf to his words because of my pounding heart. My body goes rigid and I feel as if I’m being suffocated. Gasping for breath, I blink away the strange colors and stars before my eyes. My head rings from the sudden impact of the floor. I hear someone calling my name but the voice is too far away. “Wh-what about the baby?” I barely recognize my voice as I feel like I am having an out-of- body experience.
The doctor who has teared up stares directly in my eyes. “We were able to remove your son.” A small wave of hope goes through me. “But he went without oxygen for too long. He’s hooked up to a ventilator for support and weighs in at half a pound. I ordered an EEG to check for brain activity.” I watch the doctor’s mouth move as he prattles off details of my son’s condition, but I’m too numb to hear them.
>
The stabbing sensation in my heart increases as I fight for breath. “Will he make it?”
The doctor bends his head before responding. “Unfortunately EEG shows no brain activity. I’m sorry. There’s nothing more we can do.”
No! No no no no! I have to get to him. I need to see my son, he can’t die alone. I wasn’t there for Kayla but I will be there for him. I scramble to my feet. “I need to see him.” My voice is determined and unwavering.
“Of course, if you’ll come with me.” He turns and I follow behind through a series of halls. Stopping in front of a door, he turns to face me. “You’ll have to put on scrubs before you see him. Once you’ve changed, the nurse will take you in to see your son.”
I barely register what the doctor says, as a nurse guides me into a room to wash my hands and helps me get into the scrubs. She ties a mask over my face and takes me into another room to see my son. He’s no bigger than a can of soda and has tubes and wires connected to him. The machines help him take his tiny breaths. I sit next to him, placing my hands on top of the incubator, wishing I could hold him in my arms, and I sob like a baby.
When I was a kid, my mother used to take me to church. I remember the reverend being scary as he preached about hell and damnation. I was always afraid, if I was a bad little boy, God was going to punish me and I was going to be sent to hell. Sitting here with my premature son and my fiancée dead in another room, I feel as if I’m in my own private hell. This is hell on earth, and the preacher never warned about that. My hands begin to tremble as I try desperately to remember the Lord’s Prayer that they taught us in Sunday school. Tears fall down my face as I clasp my clammy hands together.
“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…” The sound of a “beeeepppp” interrupts me as nurses and doctors rush into the room. I stand up and move my mouth to ask questions, but nothing comes out as they work on him. The doctor places his stethoscope on my infant son’s tiny chest and glances up at the clock.
“3:02 p.m.,” he says as a nurse writes his words down.
“No!” My heart has stopped and a lump has formed in my throat. “No!”