Shattered Dreams (Dream #1)

Chapter Ten

Autumn

The alarm makes my eyes fly open because it’s not the soft bells that I normally have. No, not this. This is a blaring, “get the fuck out of bed, the house is on fire”

alarm. I feel a hardness that was plastered behind me move away and turn, then a couple of things crash to the floor. “What the fuck?”

someone mumbles, and I close my eyes again, thinking this is a dream. Actually, a nightmare, when I feel the bed beside me move and then the covers shift. I hear him stumble, but I’m too afraid to actually open my eyes again. I hear movement in front of the bed where his jeans were. “Where the fuck is it?”

I hear him growl as he searches the floor for it and the alarm turns off.

I lie here watching the wall, hoping he gets dressed and gets the fuck out of here without me having to look at him. “Oh my God,”

he says. Then I feel him sit on the end of the bed, and I make the mistake of looking down at him. He’s sitting there with his head in his hands as he leans his elbows onto his knees. “What a clusterfuck,”

he mumbles, and all I can stare at are the nail marks down his back. He shakes his head before he gets up, snatching his boxers off the floor and covering his perfect ass. It’s a shame that he’s got it all. He slides his jeans up, bending to grab his shirt. I can spot the bite mark I left next to his nipple, along with a little purple mark on his neck. He covers his perfect six-pack, and his eyes snap to mine, and he sneers at me, “Stop looking at me.”

“Nothing to look at,”

I counter. “I’m waiting for you to get the fuck out so I can get up.”

He bends down to put his boot on before going to the other one. “Can you do that outside?”

He looks up at me, his stare piercing my soul. “This changes nothing.”

He stands up and puts his hands on his hips.

“You mean us having sex?”

I pfft at him, trying to pretend that it’s okay. People have one-night stands all the time, and then they wake up and hate themselves. I think I’m doing a fine job of that, if you ask me.

“Whatever it was.”

His teeth are clenched as he talks to me. “It was.”

“Nothing.”

I toss the cover off me and get up. His eyes sweep my body as I lean forward, grabbing the sweater I keep at the end of the bed. “It was under nothing.”

I stand by the bed, trying not to vomit everywhere. “I was drunk.”

He turns his head to the side. “I hate you just as much today as I did yesterday.”

I can see him bite down, his jaw getting tight. “Actually, a little more.”

“Good,”

he snaps, “we’re on the same page.”

He turns to walk out of the room, or maybe he’s about to storm out. I don’t fucking care at this point. He came here, and now we both have to deal with what we did.

“Just so we are on the same page,”

I say, and he stops but doesn’t turn around. I look at his back as I say the words. “We had unprotected sex last night.”

I can see his hands ball up beside him, his shoulders getting tight. “I better not catch anything from you.”

He whips around to look at me, anger all over his face. “And I’m supposed to believe that you’re clean?”

He rolls his eyes. “Fucking please.”

“Believe it, don’t believe it,”

I say. “I don’t give a shit. I just know I’m clean.”

I point at myself. “You, on the other hand”—I make sure I look him up and down—“who the fuck knows.”

“Yeah, and how do you know that?”

He folds his arms across his chest.

I point at him. “Because, unlike you, this was the first time I’ve had sex in eight years.”

I ignore the look of shock on his face as I turn to walk to the bathroom. I don’t want to hear whatever shit he’s going to say, so I slam the door behind me. Leaning my back against it, I look down at my hands shaking as I slide to the floor. At the same time, I hear the front door open and then slam. I close my eyes and try to make the nausea pass by breathing in and out slowly.

Closing my eyes, I hope it makes the nausea go away, but instead, all I can see is Charlie over me. Yelling at me to open my eyes, his eyes looking into mine as he fucked me. I shake my head to stop the images as I get up and walk over to the shower, turning it on before taking the sweater off and seeing a reflection of myself in the mirror. I avoid even looking at myself before stepping in and washing away the smell of sex and Charlie. Two things I never thought I would say in the same sentence. I even wash my hair since he touched it. Every single inch of me washed twice, for good measure.

I wrap one of the towels around myself before stepping out and wrapping my hair. I walk out of the bedroom, taking one look at the bed and ripping the cover off to the floor before the sheets follow it. Gathering them in my arms, I move over to the washing machine and stuff the sheets in and then the cover. I set it on heavy-duty wash before going to the kitchen and starting my coffee. Grabbing the mug, I walk back into the bathroom to start blow-drying my hair. I ignore even looking at the bed, just like I avoid looking into my eyes in the mirror.

But now I’m standing in front of it as I take the towel off my head, combing my hair, moving to the side and seeing the reddish-purple mark. My hand drops the comb as my fingers come up to touch it, and I immediately get sick to my stomach. I lean over and vomit out the coffee I was drinking. I dry heave for a few minutes before I stand back up, trying not to think about the fact I just fucked my best friend’s boyfriend. Sorry, scratch that, my dead best friend’s boyfriend.

The whole time I’m getting ready, I think about how stupid I was last night. How it took one touch from him to light my body on fire. How it took a kiss and for that one kiss I forgot I hated him, but how it took one minute to make me hate him even more.

I put some concealer on the mark on my neck before getting dressed in white jeans, grabbing a light denim-blue button-up shirt, pulling up the sleeves, and tying the front in a knot before grabbing my white sneakers. I make my way to the dryer and put the sheets in there and hang the quilt up.

I get into the office later than I have in the last week. I pull open the door and step in to see my father behind the desk. “Hey there, sweetheart,”

he greets me, and I smile at him. He looks a little tired today, more so than yesterday.

“Hey yourself,”

I reply, walking over and bending to kiss his cheek. “What are you doing here?”

“I work here.”

He laughs. “I would ask you the same thing.”

I sit in the chair in front of the desk. “Same,”

I tell him as he looks over the invoices in front of him, closing the book so he thinks I won’t see them.

“Did you eat?”

I ask, and he leans back in his chair.

“You know I’m the parent in this relationship.”

He chuckles, folding his arms over the book in front of him.

“Is that a yes or a no?”

I raise my eyebrows, waiting for him to answer me.

“I was going to grab something when I came in,”

he admits. “I wasn’t feeling so hot this morning.”

I get up right away. “I’ll go get you something from the bakery,”

I tell him. “What do you want to eat?”

“Something light,”

he says, leaning back and taking money out of his pocket. “Here.”

“It’s on me. It’s not every day that you can buy your father breakfast.”

I make a joke out of it. “I’ll be back.”

I’m about to walk out of the room when he calls my name. “Autumn, this was outside for you.”

He picks up the white envelope, and I grab it, seeing my name written in the middle in black writing and underlined twice.

“Thanks, Dad,”

I say, holding it in my hand. “I’ll be back.”

I turn and walk toward the front of the bar and head to the bakery. Walking in, I’m greeted the same way I was when I got here. “Morning, Ms. Maddie.”

I smile at her as she walks out of the back with a tray of donuts on it to refill the front display case.

“Morning, Autumn,”

she returns. “What can I get you?”

“I’ll have two yogurts with granola and fruit,”

I say, and she nods, going to the back to get my order. I open the white envelope in my hand, finding the folded white piece of paper, pulling it out, and the card dropping to my feet. My heart speeds up when I see it’s the same card I got yesterday at the bar.

The back of my neck tingles when I pick it up and then unfold the paper.

Autumn,

I would love to talk to you and get your side of the story.

Clear up some facts.

Call me at your earliest convenience.

Darren

I tear up the letter and walk over to the garbage can in the corner, tossing the letter and the card. My hand shakes as I move my fingers watching the papers fall into the can, the pieces falling away. I turn in time for Maddie to be there with my white bag. “Here you go,”

she says. I walk over, pretending everything is okay as I open my wallet and take out my cash to pay her. “I threw you in a donut on the house.”

I smile at her. “You need to fill out a bit.”

I laugh at her remark. She was always saying I was sticks and bones anyway, so I’m not sure why she noticed it more now. “Thank you.”

Grabbing the bag, I leave her the rest of the change for a tip.

I’m walking out of the door with my head almost down when I bump into a hard shoulder. “Oh my goodness,”

I say, looking up. “I’m so—”

The words are stuck in my throat when I see the woman in front of me. Waylon’s mother, her bleached-blond hair styled perfectly. Her makeup just right, the string of pearls around her neck, and more at her ears. Her outfit is slacks and a knitted sleeveless shirt with the matching sweater tied around her neck.

“I don’t believe it.”

The snarl is more than I remember it to be. “What the hell are you doing here?”

I’m sure there are people all around waiting for this showdown.

“I live here,”

I reply, putting my shoulders back, trying to show her I don’t care what she thinks of me.

“I heard you were in town, but I was hoping you would crawl back to that rock you’ve been living under for the past eight years.”

Her voice is venomous.

“Got tired of that.”

I try to garner all the strength I can. “Decided I shouldn’t be the one hiding my face anymore. I did nothing wrong.”

“The minute my son started dating you, I knew you would be trouble,”

she hisses, and it takes everything in me not to roll my eyes. If anything, I made her son a better person. I mean, he was downright horrible at the end, but I want to believe that at the beginning, he was better, and it was because of me. “He could have had anyone he wanted, yet he picked you.”

She looks me up and down. “He probably felt sorry for you.”

“Not as sorry as I feel for myself,”

I tell her, “having to endure the memories that I loved a man who was—”

I don’t get a chance to finish the sentence. Her hand flies up so fast, she snatches my wrist in her hand, jerking me forward. “Don’t you dare say another word about my son.”

“You best take your hands off me, Mrs. Cartwright.”

I pull my hand free, making her move forward a foot. “People are already watching, wouldn’t want the Cartwrights to have to bury another story.”

I walk around her, leaving her standing there and trying not to look around. But the curiosity gets the best of me, and when I do, I see I was not wrong. People have even filed out of the diner to get a good look at this showdown. My eyes go to the mechanic shop and seeing even Brock is coming out of his shop with a couple of his guys.

Brady waits for me at the door of the bar with his arms across his chest, his jaw tight, and I see the vein in his forehead looking like it’s about to explode, along with the rest of him. “What was that?”

he asks, his eyes then going back to Mrs. Cartwright, who is acting as if we didn’t just almost get into a fistfight in the middle of Main Street. She turns to smile at a couple of people, waving her fingers at them. There’s a smile on her face, and all I can think is she’s just like a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

I try to get my body under control before I talk. “She was just welcoming me back to town,”

I joke with him. “Said if I ever needed to borrow a cup of sugar, to come on down.”

I walk into the bar with him right on my heels. “You shouldn’t have to do this every single fucking day.”

“Sooner or later, people will get tired of it and move on.”

I look over my shoulder. “Hopefully, sooner rather than later.”

I try to steady my heartbeat as we walk.

“We would understand,”

he says, and I stop walking, turning to look at him, seeing him with his hands on his hips, “if you decided that you wanted to leave. If this is too much for you…”

My eyebrows go up. “I don’t know how else to say this.”

I stand tall. “But this is my home, and I’m. Not. Fucking. Leaving.”