After Trey and Bryson had departed, Brittany sat at the kitchen table and thought over the events of the last few hours. Mitchell Thomas’ house had been shot up. Masked gunmen had stormed the place like a scene from a movie and ruined the cute little foyer, terrified Spenser and traumatized their son and three daughters. More than that, they’d infuriated Mitchell.
Oh, he’d shown nothing but the utmost kindness to her, attended Spenser’s every need, but Brittany knew a cold and furious man when she saw one. His anger was chillingly calculated. Trey, on the other hand, had been contemplative, undoubtedly angry too. Instead of exploding as he usually did, he kept his thoughts to himself. She was still shaking when they’d returned home and Trey had taken her to bed, making love to her with fierce tenderness, as if he were as in love with her as she was with him.
Now he’d asked her to move into his room with him and Brittany felt happier than she had in a while. She still had a long way to go but Trey would be at her side, supporting her. Best of all Bryson seemed to be accepting their relationship.
If only she could figure out what to do about Karl. Counseling would help her. But if she had to face him often, and listen to his threats, watch the taunts in his eyes, how would she ever overcome what she’d been through?
The hours she kept her mind free of thoughts of Karl and pretended nothing happened, she could live. She could respond to Trey’s lovemaking and revel in it. She could be in the apartment alone. She could have hope for her future.
But Karl was insane. His girlfriend’s close resemblance to Brittany sickened her.
Her cell phone rang and she went to her purse where she’d left it on the coffee table last night. She glanced at the phone’s display. Spenser. Brittany immediately answered.
Hearing her new friend had seen her OB and everything checked out pleased Brittany.
“I’m fine,” Brittany said, answering Spenser’s inquiry. “We need to try to have another dinner as soon as possible.”
“I’d love that,” Spenser responded. “You talk to Trey and I’ll talk to Mitchell tonight.”
“Cool beans,” Brittany chirped. “I’ll call you tomorrow and we can plan from there.”
Spenser drew in a deep breath. “Sure thing.”
“Are you sure you’re okay? I-I’m not trying to pry,” Brittany added when the woman drew in another deep breath.
“I thought I’d lost my husband. When I heard that last bit of gunfire.” Spenser sniffled. “I’ve been so angry with Mitch. He just sees me as his wife.”
“That’s not a good thing?”
“No! I want to be what I once was to him. His lover and his friend. Not just his brood mare and the woman who shares his last name and the same bed.”
“I haven’t known Mitchell very long but I know he loves you very much. The night I was at the precinct, he couldn’t stop talking about you. Each time he did, you could hear the reverence and awe he has toward you. After all the years you’ve been together, he’s still dead in love with you.”
“Truly?”
“I swear to you.”
“I’m so glad I met you. Mitchell said he loved me but I’m tired of having babies. I need a rest and he won’t listen.”
“I think he’ll listen to anything you have to say to him right now. Imagine what would’ve happened if you’d been near that door.” Brittany’s voice shook. “Just know he loves you.”
“And I think Trey loves you,” Spenser responded. “He has never once brought a woman to our house.”
“That doesn’t mean he loves me.”
“The way he looks at you tells the tale, honey. So why don’t we leave it there and take each other’s advice?”
“You’re right.”
Not long after, Brittany ended the conversation with Spenser. Feeling buoyed by the other woman’s words, Brittany went to the room she’d been assigned and carried her belongings to Trey’s room. It took her two trips to carry the shopping bags and luggage from one room to the other.
It didn’t take her long to place her new panties and bras—and the old cotton ones—in the top drawer Trey allotted her. She was reading too much into the gesture, she knew, but she couldn’t stop the smidgeon of happiness from bubbling up.
Once she finished putting away her things in Trey’s room, she busied herself cleaning the dinner dishes and saving the leftovers before sitting at the table and making out a grocery list. Tomorrow, she’d borrow either Trey’s or Bryson’s truck and go to the supermarket. Satisfied with her progress so far, she swept and mopped the kitchen then found furniture polish and an old rag and began dusting the furniture in the living room and bedrooms before pulling the vacuum cleaner out of the closet near the front door.
While the hum of the vacuum drowned out the external sounds, her internal dialogue continued. She wasn’t whole yet and she couldn’t take care of a relationship or a man until she took care of herself. Next thing she needed to get in order was school. Her grades were abysmal and she’d already lost her scholarship because she just wasn’t interested in her studies. She couldn’t pull herself from the trauma of the rape and she didn’t want to be a social worker, just as Trey had pointed out. She’d always dreamed of being a forensic pathologist and would avidly watch documentaries about autopsies and cadaver farms and forensic science. Some people might’ve considered that rather gruesome but Brittany felt that job was important too.
Once she obtained her degree, she could always volunteer at a rape crisis center. She had sacrificed four years of her life and two years of college and it had to stop.
Trey had shown her what a man and woman shared could be beautiful and passionate and erotic. It wasn’t dirty. She wasn’t dirty for wanting and loving Trey and physically expressing her feelings with him. While she believed those words, her memories wouldn’t relent and twinges of shame stole some of her newfound peace and joy.
Hurrying back to the kitchen, she saved the bottle of furniture polish, setting the rag she’d used on top of it. She had another hour, at most, before Trey and Bryson returned. Bryson would be leaving shortly thereafter for work but she wanted everything in place before they returned. She didn’t want Bryson’s glowers or Trey’s presence to distract her from her tasks. The doorbell sounded and Brittany sighed. Another of Trey’s women, she supposed.
Stomping to the door, she called, “Who is it?”
No answer. Unease slid through her. Stop it! You’re being ridiculous.
But what if I’m not? she thought, a little frantic. If Spenser had opened that door last night…
She backed away from the door and asked again. “Who is it?”
Sudden, urgent knocks made her jump. Her heart pounded, sweat beading her brow. The doorbell rang again, followed by louder knocking. Cold dread knotted her belly and her mouth went as dry as sandpaper. The knob rattled and shook, someone searching for a way to force it open.
“Open the door, Brittany!”
A male voice…one she didn’t recognize.
“I want in!”
“Karl, if that’s you, go away!” she called over her shoulder, turning and stumbling toward the hallway.
A body slammed against the wood and the door trembled as if it would give way at any moment. Unable to think clearly, she ran to Trey’s bedroom and bolted the door. Like a madwoman, she wrestled with the heavy chair to get it against the door too.
A loud crash told her whoever it was had gotten into the house. Snatching Trey’s comforter off the bed, she tripped over the edges as she reached the closet, her haven. She shut the door, quietly and tightly.
“I have you now,” the low, unfamiliar voice snarled.
Trey’s bedroom doorknob rattled, and Brittany leaned over and vomited.