If Only

by Lisa M. Owens

  Bree’s breath caught in her throat as she watched the drama unfolding before her very eyes. She could feel Bryan’s penetrating midnight blue gaze watching her, wondering if she had betrayed him. She instinctively shivered from the indirect contact, realizing he had every intention of following through with his battalion of threats.

  His face was devoid of any emotion, but his eyes gave him away and revealed the truth. Flashing blue fire burned, the promise of violence causing her hands to tremble. His rage might not be obvious to everyone else in the room, but she knew Bryan Sexton well enough to recognize he was on the brink of erupting like a volcano.

  Bryan lunged forward, like a rattlesnake poised to strike, but Scott was ready for him. When his hand reached out, Scott grabbed the other man’s wrist and twisted it effortlessly behind his back. Forcing Bryan’s figure forward, Scott slammed him repeatedly against the wall.

  At a simple nod from Donald, Tyrone quickly intervened, reluctantly dragging Scott away from the mangled body of Bryan Sexton.

  “That bastard’s not worth going to prison over,” Tyrone stated with a wry grin as he patted Scott on the back and gave him a conspiratorial wink.

  Bree could hardly recognize the man standing in front of her. His high-priced, custom-tailored charcoal suit was wrinkled, and his long-sleeved white shirt was untucked and ripped in three places, missing a button and scattered with bloodstains. One eye was swollen shut, and his nose was bleeding, with a trail of blood flowing from one side of his mouth.

  Instead of his usual cocky stride, he was now walking with a pronounced limp, while small cuts and bruises of various shapes and sizes in a rainbow of colors covered both his face and hands from his encounter with the mirror.

  He took a single step forward, mentally assessing the damage. He could get out of this. He had gotten out of worse. His father would understand. He would manipulate the older man just like he had always done.

  Crossing his arms confidently across his chest, Bryan pasted a fake smile onto his bruised face. “Father, surely you don’t really believe—”

  “Enough!” Donald bellowed, interrupting his son in mid-sentence.

  Donald Sexton ran a hand through his silver-streaked hair, his midnight blue eyes blazing. Without another word, he approached his son, suddenly looking much older than his sixty-seven years. The entire room was silent, almost as though they were all holding their breath.

  “Once again, you have disappointed me,” he scolded, placing one hand on Bryan’s left shoulder.

  “Father…”

  “Silence!” he yelled as he stared into his son’s eyes, so identical to his own. His hand dropped from Bryan’s shoulder. “I am no longer your father. And you are no longer my son.”

  Reaching his hand out for a pencil lying on his desk, he picked it up and rolled it between two fingers, back and forth in a fluid motion as he stared intently at Bryan, who failed to meet his father’s eyes. When his midnight blue eyes fell to the telephone sitting on his desk, he smiled, a slow and crafty smile.

  “Your fate is beginning to look very bleak, Mr. Sexton,” Donald stated as he spoke to his son, addressing him as though he were merely another employee and not his flesh and blood. “Hand me your wallet,” he ordered.

  Bryan opened his mouth to object, a steady stream of lies and promises on the tip of his tongue, but one look at the old man made him change his mind and keep his mouth closed. Reaching into the back pocket of his slacks, he pulled out his brown leather wallet with a sigh of defeat.

  Seizing it from his outstretched hand, Donald perused its contents. Silently counting the large wad of cash, he removed every one of them except for a single twenty dollar bill. Shrugging off Bryan’s protests, he pulled out each and every one of his son’s credit cards. There were eight in all, all with lines of credit exceeding fifty thousand dollars.

  Humming a tune to himself and ignoring his son’s pleas, he used a pair of scissors to turn the credit cards into a useless pile of shredded plastic.

  Tossing the scissors onto the mutilated cards, he grinned maliciously at Bryan, a crafty glint in his blue eyes. Sliding his hands into the pockets of his slacks, a ruthless smile crossed his face. “Consider yourself demoted, Mr. Sexton. As of now, you are just a regular employee of Sexton Books. Your new position will begin immediately. Check in with Marlene Grace downstairs in the daycare. During the day, you will be helping her with the employees’ children. Changing diapers, taking out trash, getting baby spit-up all over those overpriced, overrated suits of yours.”

  Hatred glittered in Bryan Sexton’s dark blue eyes as he glared at his father. His voice dripped acid as he replied, “But I hate children.”

  “I know,” Donald murmured as a slow smile spread across his face and he relished Bryan’s obvious discomfort. “I will check in daily with Marlene just to make sure you are cooperating, and I will also have a surveillance camera placed in the daycare, so I can keep track of your activities. Luckily, I had the foresight to set up a video camera last year in your office.” As Bryan’s mouth dropped open in astonishment, he continued, “On the weekends, you will be working here with our janitorial staff. Those duties will consist of making repairs, cleaning toilets, scraping gum from underneath the kids’ tables in the daycare, and any other fun chores Tyrone here can think of.”

  Tyrone rubbed his hands together with glee. His job was getting even more interesting, and he was looking forward to his new duties.

  Donald remained silent, allowing Bryan to stew in his own juices for a couple of minutes. He touched a pewter picture frame that had a place of honor on his desk. Picking it up and cradling it in his hands, his eyes softened as he gazed at the image of his late wife. “As to your criminal activities,” he continued, placing the frame back onto his desk.

  Opening his desk drawer, he removed two silver discs and handed one to Bree. “I took the liberty of asking Tyrone to make three copies on DVD from security’s loop monitors. Mrs. Weston can decide what she wants to do with her copy and whether or not she wishes to press charges against you.” He shrugged away Bryan’s protest with a simple wave of his hand. Clucking his tongue at his son, he pointed a finger in his direction. “You could be looking at both felony and/or misdemeanor charges,” he commented with a shake of his head.

  He began counting a list of charges on his fingers. “Assault and battery, malicious intent, attempted murder, attempted rape, and the possibilities go on and on.”

  Bryan couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t handle this cat-and-mouse game his father was playing with him. He was a grown man, and he was being treated like a little kid. Limping over to where his father was standing, he looked the other man in the eye. “You are getting out of line, old man.”

  “Old man?” Donald scoffed with daggers in his dark blue eyes. He stepped forward, poking his son squarely in the chest. His voice lowered menacingly as his eyes glittered in anger. “You are being written out of my will,” he threatened as he watched Bryan’s eyes widen in disbelief. “I am taking away your posh position with this company, I have destroyed all of your credit cards, I am repossessing your overpriced vehicle, and I will no longer make your expensive mortgage payments. You will have nothing.”

  Bryan Sexton laughed out loud as his midnight blue gaze raked over his father. “I will have nothing? You are getting senile, old man. Have you forgotten I have a wife with, shall we say, extravagant tastes? She has her own money, money that has absolutely nothing to do with you. Take away your money, take away my inheritance, you old goat. But I will not be going without. And you know it.”

  He turned on his heel and started to walk out of his father’s office. He had one hand on the door when the cruel cackle in Donald’s voice made him pause and then turn.

  “Simone is on her way, even as we speak, to this office to pick up her copy of the DVD. She is planning to begin divorce proceedings as quickly as humanly possible.” He grinned at the grimace on Bryan’s face.

  “Did y
ou honestly believe I wouldn’t cover my bases? Without my money and without her money, you will be shopping at thrift stores and eating off the dollar menu at fast-food establishments. I have secured a little apartment for you, a nice little efficiency in the worst section of town with a charming view of the alley. Also, here is the key to your new car. A brand-new decrepit piece of crap guaranteed to break down at each and every available opportunity.”

  Bryan opened his mouth to speak, but he closed it right back, resembling a fish opening and closing its mouth. If he didn’t find a way to talk his way out of this, he was screwed. Clenching his fists, he fought the urge to wrap his hands around the bastard’s scrawny neck.

  Fingering the silver-banded, diamond-encrusted watch on his left wrist, Donald fought the uncontrollable urge to chuckle. His son was finally getting exactly what he deserved. For the first time in his spoiled, selfish life, Daddy wasn’t rushing to his aid to clean up one of his messes. And it felt damn good not to have the added responsibility. Bryan was way past old enough to take care of his own problems. A flash of inspiration struck, causing him to grin to himself.

  “As for the position you have recently vacated,” he murmured with a gloating smile as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “Since the position of Vice-President is now available, I plan to enlarge Simone’s role in the company.”

  It looked as though Bryan’s head was about to explode. This was absolutely the final straw. Everything else and now this? His soon-to-be-ex-wife was being promoted to his position? “You son of a bitch!” he growled as he lunged at his father.

  A familiar clench of fear clawed in the pit of Bree’s stomach. Her hands trembled, and her mouth quivered. Midnight blue eyes nearly burned a hole into the back of her head. Once again, she was being blamed for Bryan’s own actions.

  Donald waved a hand in Tyrone’s direction, his eyes watching the anger expressed in both Scott’s eyes and his frenzied, enraged movements. “Tyrone, why don’t you take Mr. Sexton and Mr. Weston down to the basement so they can…” His eyebrows raised and a secretive smile spread across his face. “Talk. Shove Mr. Sexton down the stairs once or twice for me, won’t you?”

  Tyrone met Donald’s wicked smile with one of his own. He reached over and pushed Bryan toward the door, as he continued to yell and protest, with Scott following closely behind.

  “Are you quite all right, my dear?” Donald’s harsh voice softened somewhat as soon as Bree and Donald were alone, concern flashing in his eyes.

  Tears obstructed her vision as she reached for the tissue he handed to her. Murmuring her thanks, she nodded.

  “Were you checked by your doctor the day this incident occurred?”

  “I went to the emergency room to be examined right after it happened,” Bree responded.

  After thinking for a few moments, he questioned, “Were there any fees involved? Any special tests, x-rays, a sonogram, or prescriptions?” Shaking her head, she answered as she dried her eyes with the tissue he had given her. “I’m on the company’s insurance. All I had to take care of was the co-pay.”

  Without speaking, Donald reached a hand into his pocket and extracted the money he had removed from his son’s wallet. Without even bothering to count it, he handed the large wad of bills to Bree.

  “This is not a bribe of any kind,” he spoke, stopping her as she opened her mouth to protest. “My son should have to pay for both your medical expenses and for the cost of replacing your wardrobe from this incident. I am punishing him to the best of my ability, but I cannot file criminal charges against him for you. Only you can do that, and feel free to do so. If he has to spend some quality time in jail to get his head screwed on straight, then so be it.”

  Without another word, she turned to leave. She had one hand on the doorknob when he stopped her with a question. “Why were you in his office, Mrs. Weston?”

  Her gaze lowered, embarrassment coloring her cheeks. “I was summoned by one of the secretaries. She told me it was you who wished to see me. I arrived and then was directed to Bryan’s office, not even realizing it wasn’t yours. I didn’t comprehend what had happened until it was too late. By then I was already trapped inside with no way out. I should have known better.”

  Shame crossed Donald’s face as he looked into green eyes a man could nearly get himself lost in. “Maybe we both should have known better,” he agreed, without managing to sound condescending. “For whatever its worth, I want to apologize for the actions of my son.” Picking up a pile of paperwork on his cluttered desk, he continued, “As for the threat my son made, you and your husband wouldn’t have been fired.”

  At her shocked expression, he proceeded to explain, “Since I was the person that signed your original contracts, he didn’t have the authority to cancel them. The only way Bryan could ever have cancelled your writing contract was if he had been the one to sign the initial contract or if I had died, leaving him in control of the company. Then he could have terminated it on my behalf.”

  “Then he lied,” she murmured.

  “My son has lied about a lot of things, Mrs. Weston. And the horrible truth of it is you are not the only person he has lied to.”

  Bree met the older man’s troubled gaze, surprised to see tears shining in his midnight blue eyes. She had never seen Donald Sexton in this light before. She remembered him as an imposing figure, one who had never recognized his son’s shortcomings, a man who had been blind to Bryan’s wicked ways. But this man was unfamiliar to her. This man knew just what a monster he had raised, and he was hoping to make amends, to make things right. And this man was saddened to discover what kind of man his son had grown up to be.

  When nothing but silence filled the room, she murmured her thanks and once again reached for the doorknob. Turning to look at the older man once more, she found him sitting at his massive desk with his head held in his hands, and a rush of sympathy washed over her.

  Here was a man who seemed to hold the world in the palm of his hands. At first glance, he had everything a man could possibly want: prestige, power, money. But appearances could be deceiving, their lives nothing more than an illusion.

  For the first time since she had met Donald Sexton, the elderly man looked his age. He looked like a man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, a man who had been beaten down by life.

  Relief overcame Bree when she opened the door and discovered Scott was waiting for her, pacing the floor. She had no idea how long the discussion with Donald Sexton had taken. She had no way of knowing how long he had been roaming the halls, anticipating her arrival.

  All she knew was, as always, when she needed Scott Weston, he was there. Tears freely flowed down her cheeks as she walked right into his waiting arms.

  Not a single word was spoken; they just held one another, comforting each other.

  Bree gasped out loud as a sharp, piercing pain exploded inside her head. She could vaguely hear Scott’s exclamation as a mind-numbing pain wrenched through her entire body, leaving her incapacitated. Her knees buckled beneath her, and the last thing she saw clearly was the wedding band on his ring finger, flashing silver fire that blinded her right before the darkness enveloped her.

  Chapter 17

  “Bree? Bree! Do you think we should call an ambulance?”

  Bree struggled to respond, but when she heard Jade answer, she suddenly realized the question hadn’t been directed at her. She could hear her friends calling to her, but it sounded as though they were a million miles away, speaking to her from inside a tunnel. Reaching out blindly, she searched for the familiar and comforting support of her husband. She choked back tears when she opened her eyes at the comprehension Scott was nowhere to be found.

  She was lying uncomfortably on the sidewalk with one of her legs tucked beneath her body, where she had slipped on the patch of ice. She noticed she was still wearing her camel-colored coat, which she had tightened around her waist. Silent tears slipped unnoticed down her cheeks when it dawned on her
she had been sent back.

  Her eyes scrutinized her ring finger, devastated to discover she was no longer wearing the simple wedding band she had so adored and cherished. She began to shake when she realized what must have happened. It had only been a dream, a wonderful dream, but now it was all over; she was awake, and she didn’t want to leave Scott behind. She didn’t want to go back to the empty shell her life had once been.

  She gasped out loud when she suddenly thought about the baby. Not only had she lost Scott, the love of her life, for the second time, but she had also lost their baby. The baby she had always so desperately wanted. She felt a tremendous sense of loss.

  Her hands fluttered down to cup her stomach, caressing the smooth, flat surface. She wished she could simply crawl into a hole and die. She had seen how perfect her life could be, and now she wanted nothing more than to go back.

  Jade and Heather watched with dismay as their best friend suddenly burst into uncontrollable tears. The two of them looked at each other in confusion, not understanding what was wrong and not really knowing what to do.

  Heather reached down to wrap her arms around Bree’s body in a reassuring hug. “What’s wrong, sweetie?” she questioned, uncertainty lacing her voice. Bree was normally such a strong woman, and it unnerved Heather to see her acting in this way.

  Her voice racked with sobs as she struggled to speak. “Everything’s gone, everything’s gone,” she wailed, covering her face with her hands as she continued repeating that simple phrase, over and over, like a mantra.

  “What are we going to do?” Jade asked Heather, concern etched on her lovely face. Running a single hand through her straight jet-black hair, her violet eyes centered on Bree. “She’s going to make herself sick.”

  “Scott will never let her leave the house with us again,” Heather groaned, grimacing.

  Her ears perked up at the sound of Scott’s name. “What about Scott?” she demanded as she rubbed the vacant finger where earlier, her wedding ring had been.