Fractured Paths (Fractured Love Series Book 1)

by Heather Anne

  Copyright © 2016 by Heather Anne. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author and or publisher, and where permitted by law. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. Ebooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away, as it is an infringement on the copyright of this book. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, actual events or locations or other public venues is entirely coincidental.

  Edited by Aleesha Davis at BP Editing Services. bpgirlsedit@gmail.com

  Cover by Kari Ayasha at Cover to Cover Designs.

  http://www.covertocoverdesigns.com

  Formatted by Brenda Wright at Formatting Done Wright

  www.facebook.com/FormattingDoneWright

  Dedication

  To Joe- I know that you are up there somewhere dancing on meteors, rockin’ out to GnR, rooting for the Yankees and finally at peace.

  And to Chase my best boy and the greatest gift I have ever been blessed with. It is an honor to be your mom.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Epilogue

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Author Bio

  Prologue

  Four Years Earlier

  "Hurry the fuck up!" I shout to my brother, Landon, as he punches the gas.

  "Chill out dude. I’m going as fast as I can. If we get pulled over, it’s going to take us longer to get there. Just breathe. Everything will be fine, she probably fell asleep.”

  I want to believe that. I want to think that when I get to the house she will be tucked under the covers, but my gut is telling me differently. That inner voice I tried to drown tonight in Jack Daniels is telling me something is seriously wrong. I take out my phone and try calling her again.

  "Fuck! No answer," I slam my hand down on the dash.

  I look at the text she sent me a few hours earlier I am so sorry I couldn't give you everything you wanted. Just know I will always love you.

  My heart is racing. We can't get to the house fast enough. I need to make sure she is ok and I am kicking myself for even leaving her alone with the grief. I know this is a regret I will carry for the rest of my life if she isn’t ok. She wasn't when I left, so I know I am fooling myself into thinking anything has changed since I left the house hours ago.

  Landon plows into the driveway and I fling my door open before he even comes to a stop. All I can hear is the pounding of my heart and the raggedness of my breath.

  "She didn't leave the light on." I panic running up the stone path to the front door. As I fumble with my key, the door slides open. Fuck! She never leaves the door unlocked when I leave the house.

  "Lainey! Lainey!" I yell as I flip on lights and bolt up the stairs, taking two at a time.

  I see the glow of light under the closed door of the bathroom and I freeze. I know that what's behind that door is going to change me forever. I take a deep breath, place my hand on the knob and turn it slowly. I can hear my brother’s footsteps behind me.

  As I open the door, I can’t help the sob that escapes my throat.

  "No! Lainey! Oh my God, what have you done?"

  I rush over to the tub where her bloody hand is hanging over the edge, the crimson red pooling on the floor. Her engagement ring and wedding band are shining through the river of red. Her skin is grayish and I look at her face and feel my knees buckle.

  The blood is rushing to my head. I feel so light headed, I start to shake uncontrollably. I can feel my brother’s hand on my shoulder and hear his quick intake of breath, but it’s barely noticeable through my incoherent speech and uncontrollable sobbing. I take a breath and continue to examine her face. Her lips are blue, her brown eyes open and lifeless, and I can see tear tracks down her beautiful face. I wipe her hair off her cheek; her forehead is cold and I pull her up from the tub but can only manage to get her head and shoulders out. Her head flops to the side and I let out a soul crushing groan. Shuddering, gut wrenching sobs wrack through my body as I try to pull her closer as the pink water pools around her rounded belly.

  I couldn't handle the news about losing our son. I should have fucking been there tonight. I shouldn’t have left her alone for one minute let alone four fucking hours. I should have had my phone on me; I should have gotten here sooner, and then maybe she would still be here.

  My Lainey. My beautiful fucking wife. She would have still fucking been here. My heart broke when we got the news about the baby, but seeing her like this, seeing her lifeless body amidst so much blood, I am no longer broken. I am shattered.

  Chapter One

  I stumble out of my car, fifth of whiskey still in my hand, grateful it stayed in one piece, unlike my car that is now wrapped halfway around a tree. The smell of smoke and burnt rubber permeates the air.

  I take a swig from the bottle and hiss as the amber liquid stings my lip. It must be split; I can taste the coppery blood mixing with the alcohol. Fuck! I take the bottle and toss it as hard as I can into the trees, satisfied when I hear the glass shatter.

  Running my fingers through my hair, I think about my choices. I can sit here and wait for some asshole to drive by and call the cops, or I can call my detective brother and try to manipulate my way out of this. I groan in frustration knowing that this will be the last straw for my family.

  For the past four years, they have watched me destroy myself. They’ve watched me submerse myself into a world of isolation and numbness. The pills and liquor have become my solace.

  According to my sister, it’s a wonder I can hold a jo
b, but I tell myself it hasn’t gotten that bad. I look at my car - now a pile of twisted metal and shattered glass with black smoke billowing from under the crushed hood. I know I should be grateful I’m alive and only have a split lip along with a ton of other cuts and bruises, but I’m not. I’m pissed.

  Since that day four years ago, I have been existing through life with the sole purpose of not living. Not that I’m suicidal or anything, more self-destructive, and if I don't survive my antics, so be it.

  Sometimes when the drugs and alcohol have taken me completely over, I can feel her, smell her, and I just want to join her. God knows with the shit I’ve been doing over the years I should have by now, but I can't even do that right.

  I shake my head, needing those thoughts to dissipate, even if just for a moment. I take a breath and make my choice. The wrath of my siblings seems better than jail, so I reach into my pocket to call Camden, knowing my night is about to get much worse.

  As I dig through my pocket, I feel the slick plastic of the little baggie- the reason I’m out tonight. The blonde I pounded in the alley was just a perk and I was already so far gone, it's a miracle I even got my dick up, let alone got off. I smile at the thought as I take the baggie with three pills and slip my hand down my pants and boxer briefs, tucking the baggie underneath my balls. I adjust a few times so the edges don't skim the bottom of my sack and I call my brother.

  "Davis." My brother's booming voice echoes over the phone and I roll my eyes because he damn well knows it's me. The asshat always tries to be commanding to me which I find so comical.

  "Good evening, little brother," I laugh. I try to sound sober but I know from the string of curses coming from the other end of the phone, I am failing miserably.

  "What's the problem, Grayson? Why are you calling me at 1:30 AM?" he sounds exasperated, and I try to hold in another laugh.

  "Um, car trouble?" I muse.

  "Fuck, Grayson. What did you do?"

  I laugh again. "There was this tree and I really don't think it likes Hondas too much.”

  "Fuck! Where are you?" he asks.

  "Right on Beach where all the trees are right before you hit the ocean," I explain, glad I’m not so far gone I can’t tell him where I am.

  "I'll be there in five. I’ll call Landon to get Jeffers to tow your car," he says. "And Gray?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Have you had enough yet?" His voice is hopeful.

  "Not by a long shot," I admit and end the call.

  An hour later, I am pacing back and forth in Camden's living room. I’m surrounded by five pissed off Davises, Cam's friend Lauren, who was a nurse before she moved to Connecticut to take over her elderly grandmother’s coffee shop, and Trevor. Fucking Trevor. I want punch his smug, counseling face in.

  "This is bullshit" I exclaim, continuing to pace, wishing I hadn’t thrown that whiskey. I need to be numb if I’m going to face this stupid excuse for an intervention.

  Cam stands up and while he is just as tall as I am at six-foot-two, he’s broader. His green eyes shimmer with disgust. "You either do it our way or I call this in and you deal with the consequences.”

  "Fuck you, Camden. Fuck all of you!"

  I look directly at each of my siblings, my eyes landing on my sister, Madison. Seeing her lower lip quivering guts me. I feel my chest burning and I want nothing more than to hug her and tell her everything is going to be ok, but that would be a lie. Nothing will ever be ok. That is a harsh reality I learned four years ago and I’ve yet to be proven wrong.

  "If you aren't going to do it for us, do it for Amber," she says softly and I can feel the burning behind my eyes at the thought of my perfect, little niece. I shake my head to ease the emotion.

  "Gray, if you don't get some sort of help, I’m sorry, but you can't be around her any more. You are volatile at best and lately everyone has been walking around on eggshells. You are spiraling out of control. You need help," she sobs.

  My baby brother, Hudson, my least favorite brother, hugs her close and glares at me. He doesn’t need words, in fact he hasn't done more than grunt at me in six months. To be fair, it was after I almost lost him his chance to train with the UFC.

  "Gray," my brother Landon places his hand on my shoulder "It's time buddy. We all lost her man, but we also lost you that night. I was there. I saw you die in that bathroom with her. You are alive, you need to live. Please, just hear Trevor out. I didn't come back from Iraq after seeing all that I did, losing my sand brothers, just to watch my blood brother – my best friend – wither away and die in front of me."

  Shit. I knew Landon had been through hell deploying shortly after Lainey but he rarely talked about it. Never really explaining where he had been or what happened before he got back a year ago.

  "Just hear Trevor out, please," Maddie pleads from the couch. I turn to Trevor, widening my stance and crossing my arms over my chest in an intimidating way. It causes Carson to chuckle and Camden smacks him upside the head.

  "Ok, Trevor, I’m listening." I feel pretty sober, though the pills are burning a hole in my balls. I wanted to take them before I had to listen to Trevor spout his find yourself bullshit, but it’s been too risky with all eyes on me.

  "There is a treatment facility," he starts and I cut him off.

  "No way! I don't need rehab, I’m fine." I spit out the lie, trying to pass it off as believable, until Hudson jumps from the couch and gets in my face.

  "You are so in fucking denial it isn't funny. Where are the pills Gray?"

  My eyes widen. My brother, the one who I haven’t spoken to in God knows how long, is the most observant son of a bitch.

  "Stop bullshitting me motherfucker," he seethes and grabs me by my collar.

  I internally cringe at the pure hatred in his eyes. "I don't have anything on me, I swear." Again, the lie comes so easily.

  Hudson pushes me and I fall back from the force of the blow. The alcohol and oxys that are still swimming through my bloodstream aid the process.

  "And you!" he yells, looking at all of our siblings. "You are all just as bad he is! Enabling him over the past four years. Of course he is going to continue to live the way he has been. Why wouldn't he? He has no consequences!"

  "Huds,” my sisters starts.

  "Shut the fuck up, Maddie."

  She flinches like she was the one just pushed down.

  Carson pulls me off the floor and Hudson gets back in my face, his tone flat. "We get it. You lost a lot, Gray, but get the fuck over it. She's gone. She's not coming back and she’s probably turning in her grave seeing the pathetic piece of shit you have become."

  He storms out of the house with Carson on his heels; before he closes the door, Carson flashes me a look of apology.

  Hudson is right. I am pathetic. My life is one big fucking ball of pain and grief and just pure shit. I look to Trevor.

  "It's 28 days in Massachusetts," he explains, knowing that he doesn’t have to elaborate. It's not like I haven't heard it before.

  “And?" I ask, knowing there’s a stipulation. I chance a glance at Cam.

  "When you get back, you need to attend the grief counseling group Trevor heads at the counseling center and no car or bike for a month," he lays down the law.

  I nod. What choice do I have? I know they’re right, but honestly, the thought of not being numb scares me. I’ve spent the last four years not feeling and I’m afraid of what will happen to me when I have to face those buried emotions. I may not survive.

  Be brave, I hear a feminine voice in my head say that sounds like Lainey.

  "Ok. When do I leave?"

  Chapter Two

  I can feel the sweat beading on my brow as I reach for the glass of water sitting in front of me on the table. I adjust the collar of my shirt and shift uncomfortably in the heat of the lights. I can do this. I need to do this. Maybe if the world stops blaming me, I can stop blaming myself. That’s the entire reason I agreed to this televised interview in the first place. Time to put on my big
girl panties and let everyone know this was not my fault.

  I take a long gulp of water, adjust the collar of my shirt for what seems like the fiftieth time, and wait to tell my story. I watch as the production crew scurries around my living room, adjusting lights and making sure everything in the frame looks perfect. A fresh faced make-up artist comes at me with a powder puff.

  "It will take away the shine," she says in a matter-of-fact way.

  "Will it stop me from sweating bullets, too?" I try to joke. I sound like a shaky mess.

  She laughs as she dabs at my face with powder just as Alyssa Daily takes the comfy brown armchair across from me.

  "Don't worry darling, just be you," the blonde, polished news reporter says as a tech guy adjusts the microphone on her collar.

  Why did I agree to this? I question myself for the hundredth time. It's been a year and I just want to put it behind me. Unfortunately, the media and the victims' families won't let me. I still can't believe I agreed to be on Prime News and talk about it. Talk about the day my life changed forever. I start to feel the anger that often rises when I think about Tim and everything I lost, everything he took from me and countless others.

  The interview starts out pretty easy. I tell her a little about Tim and how we met, how we fell in love, how he dropped out of college to enlist, and about the roadside bomb that caused the head injury.

  Yes, I knew he had PTSD. Yes, I knew he had some mental challenges after the life-threatening head injury. No, never in my life did I think he was capable of something like this. My husband. A murderer of innocent people. A suicide victim. Now here I am, a grieving widow and a casualty of circumstance.

  I should have seen the signs. I should have known something, right? These are questions I have asked myself so many times over the past year. Finally, after much scrutiny, it’s time for me to defend myself, but can I defend my dead husband who did something so unfathomable?