Changing Fate (Changing Teams Series Book 3)

by Jennifer Allis Provost

  Ten Years Ago

  Britt jumped out of the passenger seat as soon as I parked the car, bounding up the walkway to her grandparents’ house. Normally I would have told her to be careful, but not that day. I was just as excited as she was.

  “Think she’ll like it?” I asked Britt.

  “She’ll love it,” Britt exclaimed. “She’ll love it, and you, and we’ll all be together again.”

  “I hope so.” I withdrew the velvet box from my coat pocket and gripped it tight. Inside the box was a three carat amethyst ring surrounded by diamonds. “Amethysts were always her favorite.”

  Britt stopped dead. “Then why didn’t you name me amethyst?”

  I chucked my daughter under her chin. “You know why.”

  Britt made a face, then we entered the Cavanaugh house. After a moment, we found Cin sitting at the kitchen table.

  “Hey, Cinnamon,” I said while Britt raided the fridge. When she only stared down at the table, I asked, “You okay?”

  “What?” Cin looked up with a half-assed smile. “Yes, I’m fine. Did you two have a good time?”

  I didn’t quite believe that she was fine, but I left it for the moment. “Are your parents around?”

  “No, they went out to dinner.”

  “Just as well.” I knelt down in front of her.

  “Sean, what are you doing?” Cin demanded.

  “Listen, I know you’ve been mad at me, and I don’t blame you,” I began. “I’ve always let my heart, not my head, lead me.” I put my hand on her knee, squeezed. “You know that.”

  Cin put her hand on mine. “Sean.”

  “But I’m fixing things,” I continued. “It’s taken me years to do it, but I’ve gotten everything straightened out for us.”

  “Sean, I can’t.”

  “I know I screwed up,” I said over her. “But I love you, Cin. More than anything I want you, me, and Britt to be a family again.”

  A tear rolled down her cheek and splashed onto my hand. “Sean, I’m getting married.”

  I laughed. I swear to God, I thought it was a joke. The sadness in Cin’s eyes told me it wasn’t. “You don’t look very happy about it.”

  Cin wiped her cheek and looked away, just as Britt slammed a cereal box on the table.

  “You’re getting married?” Britt demanded. “Who the hell to?”

  “Language, Britt,” Cin whispered.

  “Answer her.” I got to my feet and stared down at the woman I loved more than life itself. “Who the hell are you marrying?”

  “His name is Patrick,” Cin replied. “Patrick Sullivan.”

  “Your boss?” Britt threw up her hands, knocking over the box and spilling cereal all over the place. “Why would you even be interested in him? He’s seriously creepy. Marry Dad instead.”

  “Britt, go upstairs,” Cin said.

  “No! I want to hear—”

  “Listen to your mother,” I said. Britt glowered from me to Cin, then she turned and ran up the stairs to her room. When I heard her door slam, I asked, “Have you two been dating long?”

  Cin shook her head. “We went to dinner a few times. So no, not long.”

  “Was it love at first sight for you two?” I pressed. “He fuck you better than me?”

  “We haven’t…and that’s none of your business.”

  “Isn’t it?” I demanded. “How is it not my business? God, Cin, why are you doing this to me?”

  “Why am I doing this to you? This has nothing to do with you.” Cin stood up so fast I took a step back, but she kept coming. “Patrick has a career, his firm makes great money. He can send Britt to a good school, give her things we can’t.”

  “You want some other guy to pay my daughter’s way?” I asked. “I can take care of her!”

  “How? With your big lottery winnings? Oh, wait, you spent all of that on comic books!”

  “I bought an inventory so I could open my own store,” I yelled. “I signed the deed for the place yesterday. With the rest of the money, I set up a trust fund for Britt, and I bought you this.” I tossed the velvet box onto the kitchen table. Cin reached toward it, then she looked at me.

  “You set up a trust fund for Britt?” she asked.

  “Yeah. She can use it for college, a house, whatever she wants. It’s hers when she turns eighteen.”

  “But where will we live?” Cin asked.

  “Above the store.” I stepped around Cin, and picked up the velvet box. “I did just like we always planned, and got one of those big old houses. Store’ll be on the first floor, and we’ll live up top.”

  “You did?” Cin asked. “We can?”

  “Have I ever not taken care of you?” I opened the box and tilted it toward Cin. “It’s yours. Try it on.”

  Cin shook her head. “I can’t,” she whispered. “He had me sign all these contracts. Prenuptial agreements.”

  “Well, un-sign them,” I said. “Rip them up, burn them. Don’t marry him.” When she remained silent, I took the ring and slid it onto the appropriate finger. “Marry me.”

  Tears rolled down her face and her shoulders shook. I pulled Cin into my arms, and swore I’d never let her go.

  ***

  I was waiting for Cin when she got home from work the next day; being that my store wasn’t due to open for a few months yet, I had plenty of free time. Not to mention a sneaky daughter that did not like her mother’s fiancé, and had provided me with her work schedule.

  Cin parked in the driveway, then took a moment getting her things together. “Sean,” she said when she stepped out of her car. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Glad to be here.” Cin wasn’t smiling, and she wasn’t wearing her ring. “Did you talk to him?”

  “I did.” Cin frowned at the sidewalk for a moment. “I’m still marrying Patrick.”

  I felt like I’d just fallen so far I’d never see the sun again. “What about us? What about last night?”

  “Last night was a mistake.”

  “Didn’t feel like a mistake to me.”

  “We were both very young when we had Britt. It’s time for us to grow up, move on.” Cin took my hand, pressed her ring into my palm. “I’d like to return this to you.”

  “I bought it for you,” I snapped.

  “And…and I don’t want it.”

  “You’re lying.” I grabbed Cin’s chin, forced her to look me in the eye. “What’s really going on here?” When she was silent, I said, “Come on, baby, this is me. Tell me the truth.”

  Cin swallowed hard, her blue eyes wide and teary. If anything, she looked terrified. “Those contracts I told you about? They can’t really be ripped up.”

  “They’re just paper,” I said. “He can’t force you to marry him.”

  “But he can ruin me, you…our parents…Britt’s future.” Cin stepped back, straightened her coat. “Honestly, it’s all right. This is for the best.”

  I stared at her, and felt a gaping hole where my heart had been. The edges hurt so, so bad. “You really don’t want me anymore.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Cin turned and fled inside her parents’ house. I looked at the ring in my hand, and wanted to die.

  Chapter

  Twenty-One

  Cindy

  Present Day

  I used to hate Mondays, but after I married an evil lawyer, I gained a new appreciation for the first day of the American work week. Mondays meant that Patrick would be heading into the office after two days of being constantly underfoot, and I wouldn’t have to deal with him for the next ten to twelve hours. Even better, that pattern was repeated four more times in a week; sometimes, if I was lucky, he even worked weekends.

  However, this Monday was not one of the better ones. I felt like a Mack truck had slammed into me, backed up, and rolled over me a few more times. The body aches, coupled with a level of nausea equivalent to me having imbibed a gallon of tequila, led me to a self-diagnosis of the flu.

  “Aaugh,” I wailed.
I was lying in the center of my bed, flat on my back with one arm stretched out, and the other draped across my eyes. Even the light made me want to vomit. “I’m dead. That’s the only explanation for how I feel. I’m dead, and this is hell.”

  “You look rather alive to me,” Patrick said. He emerged from his closet and stood at the foot of the bed. “Which tie?”

  “The red one.”

  “You haven’t even looked.”

  “You only have blue and red ties,” I replied. “Red looks better on you, but you favor blue for some godawful reason.”

  Patrick snickered, letting me know I was correct. “My wife knows me well,” he said. Ever since I’d confronted him about his refusal to assist Britt with her legal problems, and the resulting two-day argument that followed, Patrick had been going out of his way to be nice to me. At least, I’m sure it looked that way to the casual observer. Patrick had repeatedly addressed me as “wife,” which was his subtle way of reminding me that I was legally bound to him. As if I could forget.

  “Are you feeling any better?” he asked.

  “Like I said, dead and in hell.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to call Dr. LeForge?” Patrick called from the bathroom. “He can be here within an hour.”

  “No, don’t bother him,” I replied. “If I’m not feeling any better by tomorrow I’ll call him myself.” I was rarely sick for more than a day or two, and Dr. LeForge creeped me out. I’d much rather treat my symptoms with chicken soup and orange juice than feel his cold, clammy hands on me.

  “All right. Feel better, darling.” Patrick kissed my forehead, then he departed for the office. To say I was thrilled to have the bedroom all to myself would have been an understatement.

  I propped myself up on the pillows and looked around the room, and realized that I’d never be alone in my bedroom. The last camera I’d found and destroyed had been in the bedside lamp, but I knew there were others. Since Patrick had moved us to the mansion in New Rochelle I’d been monitored by no less than three cameras in every room, with the exception of the bathrooms, and I had Britt to thank for that. When I found out that there were cameras in my twelve-year-old daughter’s bathroom I’d threatened Patrick with everything from bodily harm to legal action, and he agreed that the bathrooms could be surveillance-free.

  Although, now that Britt no longer lived here, who knew if he still abided by our agreement? I hadn’t found any cameras lurking around my vanity or behind the showerhead, but I knew better than to trust my husband.

  I rolled over to grab my laptop, and was hit with a wave of nausea so intense I barely made it to the bathroom in time. Disgusted, I peeled off my pajamas and got into the shower. I stood under the warm spray for a few minutes, then I grabbed my body wash. I opened the bottle and breathed deeply of the citrus and cucumber scent.

  And puked all over the tile walls.

  “This is more than the flu,” I mumbled, watching the vomit travel down the walls and into the drain. “Maybe I should call Dr. LeForge. I haven’t puked in the shower since I was pregnant with Britt.”

  Shit.

  I dropped the bottle of body wash, searching my memory for the date of my last period. It had been before Britt’s wedding, but how long before? A week, a day? And, what the hell was wrong with me, having sex with a man who wasn’t my husband and not using protection?

  The answer to the last question was easy; when you haven’t had actual sex with a penis for nearly a decade, it’s easy to put little things like condoms and diaphragms out of your mind. As for the rest of my questions, I needed to do some research, fast.

  Mindful of the cameras potentially lurking around every corner, I calmly washed and conditioned my hair, then I stepped out of the shower and toweled off. I slipped on my robe and entered my dressing room, stopping to check my calendar on the way. Based on my notes, the Red Lady had last visited me exactly two weeks before Britt’s wedding.

  Shit.

  I put on a black jersey dress, gray sweater tights, and tall black boots, then I got down to business. I pulled out my largest purse and puttered around my closet, trying to act natural as I dropped certain items in it, things such as my grandmother’s pearls and a wooden box my father had carved for my tenth birthday. Into the outer pocket I slid an album of Britt’s baby pictures, and another of her artwork. I debated putting in a change of clothes, but opted against doing something so obvious.

  I set my overstuffed purse on the bed, then I grabbed my laptop and the power cord and slid it into a ridiculously overpriced messenger bag Patrick had given me two Christmases ago. Laptop thus secured, I stuffed my notebooks in the outer pockets, then I gave my bedroom one last sweep, looking for those mementos I couldn’t live without. After all, if I did this, odds were I would never return.

  Once I’d crammed into my bags everything of import I could, I put on every necklace and bracelet I owned that was set with genuine stones. What can I say, strife makes one tacky. I threw on a coat and scarf to disguise my abundance of bling, slung my laptop bag across my body and grabbed my purse, and went down to the kitchen.

  “Good morning, sleepyhead,” Chef Aggie greeted me. “Would you like a muffin? Or maybe some eggs?”

  “A muffin sounds divine,” I replied, ignoring the somersaults in my stomach. “Can I have one to go?”

  “Of course.” Aggie wrapped a still-warm cranberry orange muffin in a cloth napkin, then put it, along with a banana and a bottle of water, into an insulated lunch bag. “Where are you off to? Will you visit with my favorite girl?”

  I smiled, since Aggie had always adored Britt. “Unfortunately not. I’m just going to the library for some writing time,” I added, patting my laptop bag.

  “You brilliant girls,” Aggie said. “Dinner will be at seven. Unless you have any special requests, I will serve pancetta along with linguine and roasted Brussels sprouts.”

  “That sounds lovely,” I said. “Have a great day, Aggie.”

  “You as well.”

  I gripped the lunch bag’s strap as I walked to the garage. I set it and the laptop bag on the passenger seat, then I got in my car and pulled out into the world. I glanced in the rearview mirror, and saw the black sedan pull out right after I did.

  “Sorry, Leon,” I murmured to the driver who’d been assigned to follow me. “I know you’ll probably get fired for this, but I need to lose you.”

  ***

  All told, it took me over three hours to ditch Leon.

  A big part of this problem was the traffic jam on the New York State Thruway; not only was I mired in it, Leon was stuck only a few car lengths behind me. Much closer was Aggie’s muffin, the cranberry and orange stench making my stomach bubble like a lava pit. After a few minutes I just couldn’t take it anymore and, littering be damned, I grabbed it and threw it out the window.

  After an hour the traffic picked up, and I followed the Thruway to the Merritt Parkway. Soon afterward I couldn’t see Leon in my rearview mirror. When I pulled into the Fairfield rest stop, I thought I’d succeeded in losing him. I celebrated my newfound stealthiness by entering the Dunkin Donuts that conveniently adjoined the gas station, puking in the handicapped stall, and then purchasing an iced coffee and croissant for the road. After I paid a visit to the ATM and withdrew the maximum my bank allowed, I let myself smile. Just like the villain in one of Sean’s comic books, everything was going according to plan. Then I turned around, and saw that I’d been foiled. Leon was standing next to the main door, reading the paper.

  I threw my croissant in the trash and exited through the side door, then I hopped in my Mercedes and drove away. I took the next exit, and ended up in a town I’d never heard of. After a bit of driving around, I found a service station, parked, and waited.

  And waited.

  After thirty minutes had passed, I figured I was free. I plugged some false coordinates into my main phone’s GPS, then I headed north. What I needed was a drugstore, and then a second location with a bathroom. From
my many car trips from New Rochelle to Northampton and back again, I was familiar with a shopping mall that would suit my secondary needs perfectly.

  I found a drugstore on the way, and after I’d made my purchases I headed to the mall. Fearful that Leon or another of Patrick’s goons would find my car, I took my laptop bag inside the mall with me, which along with my giant purse and drugstore bag made me look like a very chic homeless woman. I spied another ATM, and made another withdrawal. All of the cash I was holding, coupled with the heaps of jewelry around my neck and wrists, made me feel like a walking Fort Knox.

  One of the mall’s flagship department stores had bathrooms that were not only clean for public restrooms, but also relatively private. I located the one in the back of the men’s department, unpacked my supplies, and peed on a stick.

  The little pink lines appeared almost immediately. I checked the box, but I knew what they meant.

  Positive.

  I was fucking pregnant.

  I stared at the lines for what felt like a decade, only rousing myself when someone entered the stall beside me. I capped the test stick with the included plastic sheath, got myself together, and exited the stall. After washing my hands, I sat in the bathroom’s lounge area, pulled out my secondary, yet far more dear phone, and called Sean’s store. My hands were shaking so badly it took me three tries for the call to go through.

  “Rocket Comics,” Sean greeted.

  “Thank God you’re there,” I said.

  “Cin? Cin, are you okay?”

  “No, I’m not fucking okay,” I whispered, desperately trying to keep from bawling in a public restroom.

  “What’s wrong? Tell me, baby, you know I’ll help you.” When all I did was snuffle, he asked, “Is it Patrick?”

  “No. Patrick has nothing to do with this.” I took a deep breath, and said, “I’m pregnant.”

  There was a long pause, then Sean said, “I thought he was impotent.”

  “He is.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Yeah.”

  Sean blew out a breath. “All right. Okay. We will deal with this. Where are you?”