by Carian Cole
“I love you, Tabicat. For fuckin’ ever. No more of this leaving shit, okay?”
Her smile is brighter than the sun. “I love you, too. So much. I’m not going anywhere ever again.”
EPILOGUE
TABITHA
Two weeks later
VANDAL VALENTINE. Just his name makes my heart flutter, and my body tingle. Our relationship was born in lies, deceit, and guilt. He thinks meeting me was his plan, his deceit, born of his guilt.
But it wasn't just his plan. It was mine, too.
It was irony at it’s best.
My eyes drift over to a box in the corner of my bedroom that I couldn’t throw away when I packed up my things earlier this week to prepare to move into Vandal’s new house this coming weekend. It pulls me to it like a magnet, and I go to it, kneeling in front of it like an altar to be prayed upon.
Slowly opening the box, I stare down into the pile of bent folders that led me to the man that was never supposed to own my heart. I finger the papers that I spent hours printing on my little inkjet printer and then poured over during sleepless nights. Analyzing the words. Studying the pictures. Trying to figure out what kind of man he was, and what made him tick. Months ago, these sheets of paper and the words and pictures on them fueled an insane hatred inside me that made me do the unthinkable: plot revenge.
My husband was a great man with morals, respect and a heart of gold. The man that took his life was none of those things. His dirty laundry was aired all over the internet. Drugs. Alcohol. Devious sexual behavior. Rehab. Lewd photos of him with women. Fights in bars and backstage. The list seemed endless and the more I read, the madder I became. What higher power decided that this man should be allowed to live while three innocent people—one of those a child—lost their life?
I WANTED to hurt him like he hurt me. But how?
IT WAS like fate handed him to me that day in the cemetery when we met. I knew exactly who he was. My brain scrambled as he loomed over me at my husbands grave and one look in his eyes revealed something startling that even I could recognize: he wanted me. I could feel it emanating from him like fire. So when he asked me to go with him, I went. I knew what he wanted, and I could use that to get inside him and then destroy any part of him I was able to. Of course I was petrified, but I was so messed up in the head, I just didn’t care. My grief and anger had unhinged me.
My feeble plan turned into a big fail. This man was not a man who loved. He was not one to be easily seduced. He took the control that I thought I had and soon I was spiraling into a dark, sensual hole with him. I fell into those black eyes of his, and I couldn’t crawl back out. The truth is, I didn’t want to, because I fell in love with him. I saw layers of him I never expected to uncover. I felt his care, his love, his intense desire, his sadness, and his regret. He wasn’t the monster I thought he was. He was just a man who made a terrible mistake.
And then I saw the glimmer of hope in his eyes, and I felt it in the way his touch changed. The power shifted. He fell in love with me, too.
I absolutely hated lying to him, because my feelings for him were very real; I can’t deny any of that, as much as I struggled with it. I just wanted him to tell the truth. I needed to hear it.
But when his truth finally came out, I couldn’t handle any of it anymore. I should have told him my truth that same night, and let all the cards fall, but I was paralyzed with fear and shame. He and I were a mess in every sense of the word. We both set out to get to each other for our own twisted reasons, and somewhere in that tangled mess, we found love, and that wasn’t supposed to happen.
It hurt like hell to leave him but I had to get away from him and give us both time and space to think about what we had done not only to each other, but to ourselves as well.
I spent most of that time beating myself up for being so weak. I fell in love with Vandal way too fast. I submitted to him way too willingly. I found happiness much too soon. I didn’t deserve to start over and have a new life when Nick’s was ripped away from him. How could I let the man that took him away give me everything? Wouldn’t that make me an even worse person? Could I live with that?
I realized Vandal’s intentions, although deceptive, were not to hurt me, but to give me something back—and all he had to offer was himself. How could I hate him for that? Wasn’t he loving me in his own way the entire time? Everyone makes mistakes, even horrible ones. But that doesn’t mean they don’t deserve to be loved.
My intentions, however, were to try to hurt him and that makes me worse than him. Now all I can do is love him and hope that I can forgive myself for my own deceptive behavior and not let it slowly eat at me.
I close the lid on the box and shove it back to the pile with my other belongings. Maybe someday, when we’re stronger, I can tell him the truth.
For now, I just want to focus on the new life I’m starting with the man I love.
They say a relationship can’t last if its built on lies, but I refuse to believe that. Maybe the truth doesn’t always matter, and protecting someone from heartache is more important. I believe that fate brought us together, so we could love and heal each other in the way we each needed the most, and to me, that’s all that matters.
Our love will never be pretty. It will always be tarnished by the past. Those ghosts will always haunt us. We are both so damaged by our pasts, by ourselves, by our lies, and by each other. It’s who we are, and it’s bound us together forever.
THE END
Sorta ;)
STERLING
MEET STERLING
Sterling is the cat that inspired the kitty in the book. He resides at Blind Cat Rescue, and a portion of this book’s sales will be donated to his care.
If you would like to make your own donation, please visit Blind Cat Rescue:
www.blindcatrescue.com
LUKAS - BOOK 3
ASHES & EMBERS BOOK 3
COPYRIGHT
LUKAS
ashes & embers series, book three
Copyright © 2015 by Carian Cole
All Rights Reserved.
Edited by: Loredana Elsberry Schwartz
Front cover photography by Regina Wamba MaeIDesign & Photography
Model: Eli Hewitt
All rights reserved.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please delete it or return it to the seller and purchase your own legal copy. Libraries are exempt and permitted to share their in house copies with their members and have my full thanks for stocking and offering this book. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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, incidents, and places are products of the author’s imagination, 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 owners, 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.
This book is intended for mature audiences.
Created with Vellum
DEDICATION
To Tyler, for the creative inspiration
CHAPTER 1
IV
Y
“BABY, I MISS YOU SO MUCH,” his voice is raspy with strained desire.
I press the phone to my ear, my heart pounding, a thin sheen of sweat spreading over my skin.
“I miss you, too, more than ever.” My fingers tighten around the phone.
“Just wait ’til I get my hands on you tomorrow night. You’d better get a lot of rest tonight because you’re going to need it. I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’re not gonna be able to walk ’til Monday.”
My breath catches and I cover my mouth with my hand. Tomorrow night. Friday night.
“Oooh . . . let’s just forget dinner and spend the night in bed.”
“Mmm, baby, I like the way you think,” he sighs into the phone. “I better go now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I love you.” My stomach twists into a knot.
“I love you, too, babe,” he says back.
The words are so familiar to me; he’s said them to me thousands of times. But this time, he’s not saying them to me, and that’s not my voice saying it back. I have said them, many times. But not this time.
This time, there’s someone else hearing and saying those words with my husband.
I wait for him to hang up before I gently press the end button and put the phone back in its charger next to the bed, my hand trembling so violently that I almost drop it. Hot tears burn in my eyes and spill down my cheeks. Grabbing a tissue from the nightstand, I dab my eyes and run for the master bathroom as I hear him coming down the hall toward our bedroom.
I sit on the edge of the bathtub, trembling, my mind racing, trying to somehow make sense of what I just heard. It must be some sort of mistake. Or a joke. I did not just hear my husband on our telephone, at midnight, telling another woman he loves her and he’s going to see her tomorrow night.
He misses her.
He loves her.
She loves him.
He’s going to fuck her hard.
I lurch toward the toilet and vomit up eighteen years of trust, devotion, commitment, and love.
Now all that’s left is lies.
“Ivy . . . are you alright?” The doorknob rattles. “Babe, why is the door locked?”
I wipe my face with a cold, damp washcloth and take a deep shaky breath. “I’m not feeling well. Go to bed.”
“Can I get you anything? Unlock the door. I don’t want you locked in the bathroom while you’re sick.”
Still sitting on the floor in front of the toilet, I reach over to unlock the door, and he immediately comes in, standing over me.
“What’s wrong?” He squints at me in the bright light of the bathroom. “You were fine a little while ago. Did you eat something bad?”
No. I married something bad.
Concern is all over his face, and it looks sincere, causing my stomach to turn again at the thought of how long he’s been lying to me. Right to my face. As I kneel on the floor, I vomit again, and he takes a step backward. My head spins round and round. He loves her. He misses her. She loves him. Friday night. He’s supposed to love me. Only me.
Earlier, he mentioned having to work late tomorrow night. He’s been working nights and weekends for a long time, leaving me and the kids here alone.
He was with her.
Of course.
As I continue to wretch, more signs flood through my mind like evil flash cards.
Strange expenses on our credit cards.
Long nights at the office.
A short temper with the children.
Avoiding family outings.
Lack of interest in sex. Only with me, apparently.
My stomach heaves again.
“Ivy, you’re worrying me. You never get sick.” He fills a small paper bathroom cup with water and hands it to me. “Try to drink a little water.”
Taking the cup, I peer up at him and start to sob. I’ve loved Paul for eighteen years, and never once in all that time have I ever doubted him in any way. Not once.
Confusion shrouds his face. “Are you crying? What’s wrong?”
“I heard you.” My voice is a scratchy whisper, my throat raw from dry heaving. I take a few sips of water, my hand shaking as I hold the tiny cup and wait for him to say something.
“Heard me what?”
“You, while you were downstairs on the phone.” I swallow back the acid in my mouth. “With another woman.”
His skin pales, and his hand goes to clutch the back of his head like he does when he’s mad or upset. “Fuck.” He closes his eyes for a moment and then opens them slowly to meet mine. “You were eavesdropping on me?”
I stare at him in disbelief. “Are you serious? That’s all you can say? No, I wasn’t eavesdropping. I saw the phone light up and thought one of the kids was calling somebody.”
He blows out a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Ivy.” He paces the small room. “We have to talk. I didn’t want you to find out like this.” Oh, God. He’s not even denying it.
I stand up and wobble on my legs for a second before pushing past him into the bedroom. The bathroom is suddenly a way too personal space to be sharing with him. I sit on the edge of the bed, stunned that he hasn’t denied anything. Why isn’t he denying it? This is the part where I find out it was some kind of misunderstanding.
“Paul, what’s going on?” More tears stream down my face. “Please tell me I’m hallucinating or something, or that this is some kind of misunderstanding.”
He sits on the bed about three feet away from me. “Ivy, I’m so sorry—“
“You’re sleeping with another woman? You love her?” I demand, crying harder.
He rubs his forehead. “I don’t think we should talk about this when you just got sick.”
“I just got sick because of this.”
He looks at me and then quickly looks down at the floor like he can’t stand to see the sight of me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to find out this way,” he says again, his voice low.
My stomach pitches, and new tears spill from my eyes.
“Did you want me to find out at all? Or were you just going to keep seeing her behind my back?”
Still staring at the floor, he shakes his head. “I really don’t know.”
“So it’s true?” My body trembles uncontrollably as reality starts to edge back in.
The man I’ve loved since high school looks me in the eyes and nods his head. “Yes, I’ve been having an affair.”
My heart and stomach both sink, and then rage boils up inside me.
“Are you kidding me?” I hiss, trying not to yell. “I’ve been having a physical relationship with the detachable showerhead for a year now while you’ve been with another woman?” All this time, I assumed that his lack of sexual interest in me was due to him working too hard and dealing with too much stress. I never once even considered he was having an affair.
“Please don’t yell. I don’t want the kids to hear this.” He glances toward the hallway. “I didn’t plan any of this. You know how I feel about infidelity. I hate it . . . but it just happened.”
I let out a half-hysterical laugh. “Really? How exactly did it just happen, Paul? Who is she?”
“The hygienist at the dentist office,” he admits quietly, not meeting my eyes.
I cannot even fathom how anyone could be attracted to someone while they are scraping plaque and other ickiness from their gum line. The visual of it almost makes me laugh.
“I can’t believe this. The hygienist?” Despite the fact that she’s had her fingers in his mouth, as well as mine and my children’s, I have to admit she’s young, thin, gorgeous, and bubbly. She’s the kind of woman that all men want and all women hate but secretly want to be.
“She’s like twenty-two years old, Paul. What’s happened to you? Cheating on me for a year? Leaving me and the kids every weekend while you spend time with her?! Lying to all of us? What the hell is wrong with you?”
He sits there staring at the floor and doesn’t say a word. I want him to give me so
me kind of answer, some kind of explanation. But he gives me nothing.
I grab another tissue and blow my nose, hating that I’m crying in front of him because I am not a pretty crier, and now I suddenly feel ashamed to look like a mess in front of him.
“So now what?” I ask, even though I don’t want to hear the answer at all, because I already know what’s coming. “What do we do now?”
“We don’t have to talk about that right now. I think you’ve had enough for today. Why don’t you—”
I slam my hand on the nightstand, making him jump. “Don’t coddle me, Paul! Just say it. I don’t want to drag this on. This is killing me inside. Do you even see that? Do you even care?”
“Of course I care, Ivy. I care about you and the kids more than anything in the world.”
“Apparently not, or we wouldn’t be sitting here discussing your affair.”
He ignores my sarcasm. “You know I care about you and the kids. I always will. But I think we’ve grown apart over the past few years. You’ve said it yourself a few times. We barely see each other. We argue-“
“We barely see each other? Paul, you’re never home. I’m always here with the kids! You’re either working, or I guess, lately, you’ve been out dating, having wild sex, and having a fun life with someone else while you forget you have a family at home. The only reason we argue is because you’re never here! Don’t you dare try to blame this on ‘us’. I’ve been a good wife and mother. I’ve never strayed. I take care of everything around here.”
He closes his eyes for a long time and nods. “You’re right. You are, and I know that. You’ve always been a great wife, and you’re a terrific mom.” He shakes his head slowly, still looking at the floor, which seems to be the only place his eyes can focus on now. “I guess I just started to want something more, or different, than that.”