CHAPTER ONE
MARNIE
I STEP INTO MY FOYER; the blast of arctic air greets me, sending goose bumps down my arms, counteracting the blistering heat of California. Exhausted from the day, with a headache brewing from the demands of working for an up-and-coming fashion magazine, ideas fly through my mind for the next issue. To top it off, my toes are cramping from the stilettos I’ve been running around in all day. The only thing I want is a warm meal, a glass of wine, and a foot rub from the love of my life.
“Hello, Tyler…Babe, you home?” I call out, but get no answer. I kick my heels off and lean down to rub the ache in the balls of my feet. I close my eyes and moan with relief. The house is quiet. Usually, if Tyler comes home before me, there would be music playing, but nothing. I search the living room and find the gift from me to him with the balloons floating above it. I giggle as I read the messages on the Mylar ones— “I love you” and “Happy Anniversary.”
I can’t believe it’s been two years since we said, “I do,” and each day, it keeps getting better and better. Tonight, I’m going to see how he feels about adding to our little family. The thought of having a child with Tyler sends butterflies of excitement fluttering in my belly.
I bite my lower lip to contain the smile and smooth my hand down my deep blue dress that hugs my curves just right. My hair cascades over my shoulders when I remove the bobby pins that have held it in a tight chignon all day. When I shake it out, the violet streaks woven through the amber locks flash before my face. I turn and make my way toward the kitchen, expecting the scent of herbs and spices of the pork roast I placed in the crockpot this morning to be filling the house, but I don’t smell anything. “Shit,” I mumble to myself. “Did I forget to turn on the crockpot?” Tyler loves the way I make the pork; he’ll be disappointed if I absentmindedly forgot to turn it on.
I quickly pad across the kitchen to check the crockpot and stumble to a halt. The crockpot and all its contents are splashed all over the floor. “What the hell happened here?” I hop over the spill and grab the paper towels to clean up the mess. As I bend over, I hear it.
A light feminine giggle, followed by a masculine groan, echoing from our bedroom. I freeze in place; my stomach begins to roil as the sounds become louder. I walk out of the kitchen, leaving the mess there. I slowly stalk down the hallway, passing a sock and a pump. I find panties flung and hanging from the bathroom doorknob. Hot tears blur my vision when I see more articles of clothing are strewn about and none of them belong to me. But all of them lead to my bedroom.
“Tyler, God, that feels good. Fuck! Right there.” A hand flies to my mouth and the other to my stomach as bile hits the back of my throat. I know who that female voice belongs to.
“You like it rougher, don’t you?” Tyler grunts. I squeeze my eyes shut. Tears flow down my cheeks, and I lean against the wall. What do I do? Do I quietly leave and pretend I don’t know anything? Do I barge in and confront my cheating husband and whore of a best friend, or do I make them dinner?
Shaking my head at the absurd idea of offering them dinner, I make a quick decision. I race to the den, whirl around the desk, and fumble trying to yank open the bottom drawer to retrieve a large plastic box.
The moaning and groaning intensify, and the headboard starts to bang against the wall. My head now throbs in rhythm of their fucking. My fingers numbly rotate the number lock, and with a pop, I fling open the case and grab my Colt .45. I check the chamber; the glint of a bullet spurs me into action.
A steely resolve straightens my back. On silent feet, I move across the tiled floor of my kitchen and the wooden floor of the hallway. I let my hips sway with determination. I slow as I reach my door. The banging and moans escalate while I wait for the right time.
“Fuck yes, I’m coming, Tyler,” Tera, my ex-best-friend whore, cries at the top of her lungs. A second later, Tyler starts his long moan and panting, giving me my cue.
I kick open the door. It bangs against the wall with a loud crash. My aim is square, right at the cheating asshole of my soon-to-be ex-husband.
“What the fuck?” he squeals, vaulting off the whore and landing on the side of the bed, tangling himself in blankets while his tiny dick shrivels up. Tera screeches and hands fly, trying to cover her plastic tits and bedazzled vagina. Both of their eyes zero in on the barrel of my gun.
Tyler’s the first to speak, “Marnie, what are you doing?” He holds his hands out in front of him. I stare at him. Has he lost his mind? What does it look like I’m doing? Thankfully, Tera’s screeching has calmed down to pitiful whimpering.
A smile slowly splits my face. “Well, dear husband of mine, I’m debating making you a woman or how fun it would be to see if Tera’s fake tits explode with a bullet.”
I gently pick up a picture of our wedding day and hold it close to me. It was taken right after we said, “I do” and before our first kiss as husband and wife. I stare at the stranger who is looking adoringly into my eyes just after he promised to love, honor, and protect me until death. He was so good-looking in his black tux. His onyx hair, which normally would have been unruly and obscure his warm coffee eyes, was slicked back, because I asked him to; I wanted to see his reaction as I walked down the aisle in my dress.
I searched far and wide for the perfect wedding dress and contacted famed designers for sketches and fittings, but none of them were close to what I wanted. They wanted over-the-top, poufy, with bows and flowers everywhere. It wasn’t me; I wanted simple and elegant. Then one day, I was shopping in an antique store with Tera—before she turned she-whore on me—and I found it. It was perfect—the simple, long-sleeve, v-back gown had beautiful lace and beading flowing down the back and into a small train. And despite its age, the beading was still intact, and the lace hadn’t yellowed with time. Once I tried it on, I knew it was the one. It was made for me, with the perfect fit that made my small bust stand out.
When I walked down that aisle in my vintage dress, I saw lust mixed with love in Tyler’s brown eyes. The closer I got to him, tears welled, and it was all I could do to not ruin my professionally done makeup.
I shake my head and return to the present. I stare again at the picture, and the love that once filled my heart is replaced with burning rage. I slam the photo into the garbage, glass shattering everywhere. In a fury, I yank the rest of the frames of us off the wall and smash them into the garbage until all that’s left is my heaving chest and glass on the floor. I let out a sigh, glancing at the faded spots on the walls of where the images of my life use to be—images of a seemingly happy couple starting their happily ever after. I squeeze my eyes closed, letting the fat tears roll down my cheeks as the aching emptiness fills my chest.
That was all I wanted—a happily ever after—and I thought I had that with Tyler. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Everything I’ve ever known was a lie, from the gold on my left hand to the man who placed it there. He used my naiveté to his best advantage. He wormed his way into my life, my bed, and into my hard-earned livelihood.
It all changed in a blink of an eye, so quick that my brain still hasn’t fully processed it. In a span of one month, I went from having everything to everything just fitting in a suitcase.
The divorce resolved in only four weeks since I agreed to all of Tyler’s demands so he wouldn’t press charges for me holding the gun to them. I guess I should be happy he didn’t involve the police, otherwise, I would be sitting pretty in a jail cell. I gave him everything—the townhouse, which he sold, and the BMW, which Tera now has the pleasure of driving. Worst of all…I gave him my heart.
Footsteps echo in the room, signaling my sister Ashley’s arrival. “Marn…what the?” she asks when she finds me sitting in the middle of what used to be our living room.
She settles next to me and wraps her arms around me. “Shh, it’s okay. This is a fresh start without him.” I melt into her embrace and let the tears, anger, and fear of the unknown fall. Ashley gently pulls away. I keep my gaze down. “You ready to go?” She swipes a tear from my cheek.
I glance up to see the mirrored hurt in her green eyes. “Do I have a choice?”
“Baby girl, I wish you did,” she murmurs, placing a kiss in my hair. Ashley has always been a bit over-protective of me. Our parents suffered two miscarriages after Ashley was born and thought they were done having children. Well, they were wrong. I came along ten years later. I was their “oops” baby, but they loved me just the same.
Ashley climbs to her feet and moves in front of where I’m still sitting, then she holds her hands out for me. I grasp them with mine, and she pulls me up to stand. Looking around again, the despair settles deeper into my soul.
Ashley smirks. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Just think, it’ll be like old times. We can play hair dresser, do late night pedicures, and old movie marathons.”
A small smile breaks free, despite my sour mood. “I feel this is more for the in-house babysitter you’re getting.”
“Well, there is that. Jake and I haven’t been out on a date since J.J. was born. So…yeah, we may be taking advantage of having you stay with us.”
I let out my first decent laugh. “I knew it! You’re lucky I love that little turd.”
She smiles back at me. “I’ve missed that laugh, and you’re right, he is a little turd, but goddammit, he’s so cute, just like his daddy.” She heads over to the doorway, picks up a basket full of my clothes, and leaves to take it to her car.
I stand by myself, allowing the hollowed sadness to take over. I almost had what Ashley has—a loving husband who thinks the sun rises and sets with her, and a beautiful little son, a product of their love. It was so close, just within reach. Now, I have nothing. I’m empty, just like this room.
Ashley stomps back in. “Let’s go!” she growls at me as she grabs my arm and tugs me outside. The harsh sun burns my teary eyes and flames my tear-soaked cheeks. She stops when we reach the passenger door of her SUV. “Hold on, for a second.” She marches up the cement stairs, grabs the door, and slams it hard enough to echo for miles. When she whips around, a wide smile splits her face.
“Proud of yourself?”
“That, girl, was me closing the door on your old life. Now, you have fresh start.”