Joslyn
(Women of Privilege)
Book 3
WRITTEN BY
BRIDGET BUNDY
JOSLYN (WOMEN OF PRIVILEGE) BOOK 3
PREVIOUSLY KNOWN AS BROKEN
COPYRIGHT © 2015 BRIDGET BUNDY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
THIS BOOK IS A WORK OF FICTION CREATED BY THE AUTHOR. ANY PERSON, PLACE, THING, BUSINESS, AND/OR INCIDENTS ARE THE INVENTION OF THE AUTHOR. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO A PERSON ALIVE OR DECEASED, PLACE, THING, BUSINESS, AND/OR INCIDENTS ARE PURELY COINCIDENTAL.
NO PARTS OF THIS PUBLICATION MAY BE REPRODUCED, DISTRIBUTED, OR TRANSMITTED IN ANY FORM WITHOUT THE WRITTEN PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR.
COVER/EMBLEM CREDENTIALS:
COVER CREATED BY BRIDGET BUNDY
Alegreya Copyright © 2011 Juan Pablo del Peral
allura copyright © 2011 TypeSETit, LLC
nymphette copyright © Lauren Thompson
QUICKSAND Copyright © 2011 Andrew Paglinawan
COVER PHOTOGRAPHY BST2012 – FOTOLIA.COM
SECOND EDITION OCTOBER 2015
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Epilogue
Join Me Online
Published Novels
Acknowledgements
To Nicety Hannon.
Thank you for your support and your advice. I truly appreciate everything you have done for me.
Chapter One
Harlan Montgomery, my husband of twenty years, sits across from me with his elbows on the table and his forehead resting on his fists. He’s mentally beating himself up. His plate of bacon, toast, and sunny-side eggs are untouched. The children are more than aware that their dad is having a tough morning. They mimic him. They worry, but not about the same things that clouds his mind. Their plates are untouched. Being completely uprooted from our home and not having complete control of our lives is hard on Harlan. He’s a man that must have perfection and routine. I know we can get back to the good and normal times that we’re all used to. It will happen. I remind Harlan every chance I get. I just wish he would accept it.
“Eat up,” I say to the kids. “No one leaves the table with an empty belly.”
The familiar sounds of forks begin to tap plates, knives scrape the stoneware. Small miracles to break the silence. The children still look to their dad, hoping that he’ll start eating, too. Harlan is in the same position. I’ll let him be, his mind has consumed him.
Harlan and I have four children. Our oldest is sixteen years old. His name is Davian, my sweet young man. Everyone calls him Dave. That’s what he prefers, but I call him by his full first name. I can’t help it, a mom’s right. He tries hard to be the best big brother to the other three, and he looks up to his dad. My son is very smart, excellent grades in school. He has goals to be valedictorian when he graduates, and he wants to be a teacher. I rather he becomes a lawyer and works his way to a justice in the United States Supreme Court. With one year left in high school, Davian has a long way to go before he graduates, and I got plenty of time to set his goals straight for him.
Kristina is my eight year old video game addict and underachiever. I can barely get that child to do a single page of homework, but if I give her a new video game, she’ll have it mastered within a day. Getting her to put that same focus into her schoolwork is like asking an ant to lift a house at the foundation all by itself. But I stay on her, take away what has her attention the most, and she gets her work done. I’m the worse mom in the world according to Kristina, but I’m fine with her opinion. I’m not on her to win a popularity contest or to gain her approval. I’m on her to ensure she gets the most of her education. Someday, she’ll understand.
My youngest two are twins, Janae and Kale. They are six years old, and they are every bit identical twins. When Janae speaks, Kale completes her sentence and vice versa. They have the same taste in food, and they enjoy the same activities. They watch the same television shows, and if they get bored doing that, they’ll walk away without saying a word at the same exact time. When the entire family is sitting down to eat, they’ll stare at one another and look away simultaneously. I believe the twins can read each other’s minds, and they can’t stand it when they’re not together. This year, they’ll be in the first grade, and I’m afraid they’ll have different class schedules. It’ll be a problem Harlan and I will have to deal with.
When everyone is finished, I clear off the table and the children help. Harlan remains in his chair, looking out onto the patio. The rain is steadily falling, making the mood more solemn. There isn’t much he can see from the distorted view of water on the panes. His mind must be wandering, thinking back to the moments of when he shot Joshua Davis in our home. The vision replays in his mind, dogging him incessantly, taking up space and time. Sometimes, he jumps as if the shot went off again.
Davian rushes back into the dining room and pushes his chair back under the table, scratching the metal feet on the wood floors. It brings Harlan back to the here and now.
“What did I tell you about that?” Harlan warns his nervous son.
“Sorry, Dad.”
“Go upstairs. Get yourself together.”
Davian rushes out of the room on his way upstairs to finish packing. He’s going to stay with my mom a while, a request he’s been making since school has been out. Kristina is next to disappear. Her destination is the entertainment room to drown in video game mayhem. The twins head off to their bedroom, where their temporary world exist until we move back home. I push in the remaining chairs under the table, being careful not to scratch the expensive cherry oak wood floors.
“Joslyn,” Harlan says, still staring out at the rain.
My husband is a proud man, but he’s sitting in the chair as if the world is on his shoulders. Watching him mentally torture himself tortures me. I try to help him, give him encouraging words, show him the brighter side to the nightmare, but Harlan hangs on to could haves, maybes, and should haves. Joshua Davis and Gia Briggs tried to burn down our house. They poured gasoline on the floors. He stopped them before they could light a match. He saved our children and our home. The results should be enough for him to return to himself, to be whom he was, but there’s only torment, a horrible crack to his upright and proud persona.
&nb
sp; “There’s something I have to ask you,” he says, “and it’s important that you’re honest with me.”
“I’m honest with you all the time.” The blood in my veins skyrockets and sizzles at the thought of what he might ask me, of what he could ask. Is he about to approach the subject I’ve been hoping to avoid?
“Why was that woman and her boyfriend in our house in the first place?”
The reasons behind Gia and JD’s visit. That’s what I feared he’d ask about. The moment is real. Harlan held this question for so long. Why did he ask now of all days? Why this moment?
“You think I had something to do with it?” I’m stalling.
“You make it your business to meet and greet every single family that moves into the neighborhood, and I know you met her.”
“Honey,” I remark as I take Harlan’s hand, “what she did to us was a surprise to me, just like it was to you. I was very nice to her. I have no idea what went through her head.”
He sighs heavily and goes over to the window, leaving me empty and reaching for his soft touch. He’s too far. I’m choked at the possibility that Harlan will point the finger at me and blame me for killing that boy. I’ve seen his anger, a fire so dark that it scares me. I don’t want to see it.
“What’s wrong, Harlan? Whatever it is, you can tell me.” I’m playing the concerned wife, showing him that I care. I do care. I love him with everything in my soul.
“I just don’t think this problem will go away so easily, Joslyn.”
“It will, honey.” I go to him and take both of his hands in mine. It’s important to me that we make contact while we speak. The feel completes his spoken acknowledgement. It reassures me I have all of his attention and that he still loves me. “Just remember, you saved our children.”
“But I took someone else’s child, too.”
“Harlan, Joshua Davis was a very dangerous person. You did what any good man would have done to save his family, and you should never feel guilty or bad about it.”
“Can’t help how I feel, Joslyn.”
The very act of pulling the trigger and killing another human being, even if it was to save his own life and his children, does not ease his mind. That’s the problem with Harlan. He believes he can save everyone.
“Good morning,” Jackie says as she comes into the dining room. “Should I give you guys another minute?”
“Yes,” I say with irritation.
“No.” Harlan releases my hands but gives me a kiss on the forehead. “I’m going to get my coat and tie.”
He walks by Jackie, touching her gently on the arm. She smiles at him, a glad to see you expression that’s friendlier than anything else.
Jackie is my oldest sister. She’s a partner in a law firm in Savannah, Georgia. My family and I have moved into her house on Prosperity Place until ours is repaired. Jackie isn’t married and doesn’t have kids. Family is not on her short-term itinerary, and with her being close to fifty, I don’t believe her lifelong goals includes a family, either. But I’m hoping one day she’ll start one. Even hardworking women like her deserve a man toy to hijack her professional drive and help kick-in some sexual excitement. Sometimes, I think she’s a robot. Bolts, screws, and nuts with focused drive to succeed. More to life than that. I tell her all the time.
Her red dress suit fits her small framed body to perfection. It looks as if the thing was made only for her. The three inch heels showcase strong legs. Jet black hair is upswept and pinned into a French roll. With a long round face and puffy cheeks, she’s gorgeous. Mattel could make a mold of her and sell a million dolls in days. But Jackie isn’t the type to dwell on beauty. She knows how to present herself without showing off. She’s too busy thinking too much to flirt.
“How’s it going, Sis?” she says.
“I’m worried about Harlan,” I say as I pick up the serving dishes from the table. “How long do you think the cops will question him today?”
“Don’t know but it shouldn’t be long. You have to go, as well.”
“Why? I thought they only wanted to speak to Harlan?”
She picks up the carafe of orange juice and the serving spoons before following me into the kitchen. “The police is trying to be thorough in their investigation.”
“What about the kids?”
“They haven’t asked about them.” Jackie puts the spoons in the sink on top of the dishes the kids left behind. She brushes her hands together and grabs a towel. “So, has everyone gotten comfortable?”
“Yes, everyone has settled in okay. They love it here.”
“Good,” she says. “You’re lucky I didn’t sell the house.”
“Why would you?”
“It’s too big, and I don’t plan on having enough kids to fill it.”
“You should talk to Charli before you sell,” I remark.
Jackie rolls her eyes.
There is a very thin tolerable association between my sister and Charli Love. They live in the same neighborhood, but they do not go out of their way to speak or see one another. When I mention my sister, Charli fakes that she likes her. Those cat eyes give Charli away every single time. They pierce me with unsaid attitude anytime I say my sister’s name, but Jackie flat-out hates Charli. She’s said it to me and to her in person. Honestly, their tiff is unfounded. There’s no background to it, but each has their own reasons to hate one another that I chose not to engage or entertain.
I reply, “She knows people who are itching to get into this neighborhood. She can unload this house probably quicker than you can.”
“Sis, let’s get something straight. The only thing Charli is itching to get is into my business. If I’m going to sell my house, it’ll be without her involvement.”
“Hey,” Harlan says as he enters the kitchen. “Can you fix my tie?”
“Of course,” I reply with a pleased as punch smile.
The highlight of my morning is putting the finishing touches on the man of my life. Harlan is handsome in his dark blue suit and power red tie. His white shirt is crisp and smooth, not a wrinkle in sight. He is a brilliant show to my eyes. Professional, meticulous, handsome, a complete turn-on. I’ll have another baby if he wanted. Hell, I’ll keep having his children for an eternity if ever the possibility existed. I know I made the right decision when I married him.
“You’re ready to take on the world,” I remark as I tighten the last knot.
Harlan gives me a wet kiss. His lips are soft and big. I suck on them nightly.
“Let’s go, Jackie,” he says.
“She has to go to the police station, as well.”
“Oh,” Harlan says with concern. “Did they say why?”
“Detective Parker wants to question Joslyn about Gia Briggs,” Jackie answers.
“Since both of us have to be there, I’ll ride in with Joslyn,” Harlan says.
“We have to drop off the twins and Kristina at the babysitter and Davian at Mom’s house,” I remark. “So, it’ll be another thirty minutes later than planned before we get to the police station. Is that okay?”
“You’re crazy to leave that boy with our mother, but he’s your kid. Alright, let me go. I’ll let the police know you’ll be a little late.” Jackie waves at me and Harlan before heading for the front door.
Once we’re alone, Harlan pulls me to his body for a warm hug. I bury my nose into his collar. Warm spice tickles my nostrils, heating my face. Instead of his passion kisses and playful sexual innuendoes, he simply touches my round hips and pats me as if we’re friends. No loving words escape his mouth. Harlan is tense, worried. If only I could make time go backwards and left Gia alone, not put so much energy into making her life miserable, my husband wouldn’t have shot that boy. We wouldn’t be living in my sister’s house. The police wouldn’t be a daily staple in our lives. Harlan wouldn’t be so tortured.
I made a mistake when I went after that woman because now my husband is hurting as an indirect result. That double edge sword; it not only cut Gia b
ut it cut me, too.
Chapter Two
Getting four kids out the door is like herding uncooperative sheep. This one forgot something. The other complains. The third and fourth rather stay in their room. But I manage to get them out with some sanity intact. Harlan and I are in a hurry to get to the police station. We don’t want the police to think we ditched the appointment. We drop Kristina and the twins at the babysitter’s house, who actually stays not too far from Prosperity Place, where we’re staying now. Our next stop will be my mom’s house to drop off Davian, where he’ll be staying for a month. I really don’t like the idea of him being with his grandmother for that long. She is a bit unconventional, and I don’t want that rubbing off on our son.
By the time we reach Diamond Causeway Bridge, just outside of Tudor Estates, I’m more at ease. Davian is in the back seat, listening to his music and looking out at the watery landscape of Skidaway River. Harlan is driving. His hands choke the steering wheel. Sometimes I glance over at him, wondering what it’s going to take for him to calm down, to just let things go.
“You shouldn’t be nervous,” I remark.
“I’m not,” he answers.
“What do you think the police wants to talk to you about?”
“I don’t know, Joslyn. I guess they’ve found something new.”
“Like what? And why do I need to answer questions? I was at the party that night.”
Harlan shrugs his shoulders. He shakes his head, distress showing with harsh lines at the corner of his mouth.
A flash of light dances across Harlan’s face. He notices it. I look back at Davian, who has a small mirror in his hand, making the sunlight reflect and beam toward the front of the car.
“Dammit, Dave!” Harlan twists around. “Put that away!”
“Sorry, Dad.” The boy works quickly to put the mirror in the laptop satchel on the seat.
The ride at that point becomes difficult. The silence feels like daggers. Harlan has sucked the oxygen right out of the car. I want to turn on the music to chase away that palpable uncomfortableness, but I don’t dare. Any little thing will set Harlan off. I need him to remain calm.
Joslyn (Women of Privilege Book 3) Page 1