The Ex Files (2 page)

S
HERIDAN
H
ART

“I think Daddy has a new lover.”

Sheridan stopped moving; the coffeepot she held frozen in midair.

“Mom!”

Only then did Sheridan feel the heat of the coffee spilling over, onto her hand. “Ouch.” She snatched her hand away and grabbed a paper towel. But as she patted the spillage spreading over the counter, her thoughts were on her daughter. “What did you say?”

Tori shrugged. “I think Daddy has a new lover. Don’t worry, Mom,” she admonished. “He hasn’t introduced me to him. It’s just that Dad’s been a bit different. Kinda happy.”

The world had certainly changed. Here she was talking to her thirteen-year-old daughter about her father’s male lovers. It had been more than three years since Quentin had declared his love for a man. Still, Sheridan couldn’t find a way to call that part of her life normal.

Sheridan could feel her daughter’s eyes, waiting for her reaction. The silence was interrupted by a car horn.

“They’re here.” Tori jumped up from the dining table and Sheridan exhaled. This talk had ended—at least for the next forty-eight hours.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Sheridan said, as she handed her daughter the suitcase that waited by the front door. “Call when you get to Palm Springs.”

“Okay.”

“And don’t forget to get your reading done since you’re missing school today.”

“Okay,” Tori agreed, although Sheridan doubted that she would look at any textbook.

“Have a good time.” She kissed her daughter’s cheek, then opened the door and waved at the three Nelsons—her daughter’s best friend, Lara, and Lara’s parents.

Leaning against the door frame as Joseph Nelson tossed Tori’s suitcase into the trunk, she already wished the weekend was over. She wasn’t looking forward to these days alone. That thought and the chill of the lionlike March morning made her shiver.

“’Bye, Mom,” Tori yelled before she stepped into the car. “Tell Brock I said hello.” Then she added, “And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Tori slammed the car’s door on her words, leaving Sheridan standing with her mouth open, long after the Jaguar pulled away.

Tori was growing up—too much, too fast. Quentin’s stepping out had changed them all.

In the kitchen, Sheridan settled at the table with her coffee. Three days alone, too much time to ponder. Too many hours to think about all she’d lost. In the last three years, she’d lost all the men she’d loved: her husband, Quentin, to a man. Her son, Christopher, to college. And then, worst of all, just three months before, her father, Cameron, to God.

Thoughts of her father were the ones that made her heart swell. And then came the ache. And then, the tears. Emotions that were overwhelming, never ending.

The ringing phone paused her tears and she gripped the receiver, grateful for the reprieve from her growing sorrow.

“Hey, babe.”

His voice alone made her smile, although it didn’t stop her pain. Why had Brock chosen this weekend to be away too?

She said, “I’m glad to hear from you.”

“What were you doing?”

Sheridan wiped her eyes. “Nothing.”

“I was hoping you were thinking about me.”

“Tori just left, so I was sitting here….” She stopped.

“It’s going to be tough without her, huh?”

She nodded. “Tough without her, tough without you. With Mom in San Francisco…I wish…”

“What do you wish?”

“I wish you were here.” She sighed when the bell rang. “Hold a sec.”

She scurried to the front door, eager to shoo away the intruder so that she could get back to Brock. She swung the door open and for the second time in minutes, she stood standing, unable to speak.

Brock grinned, flipped his cell phone closed, then lifted her into his arms. “I’d forgotten that Tori was going away until you mentioned it last night.”

“But what about D.C.? What about your mom?” she asked.

“I told her I’d be there on Monday.” He leaned back. “I couldn’t leave you alone.”

He was the man who made her heart sing, but now, she cried and he held her close.

“That’s not the reaction I expected. Maybe I should go.” He turned, but she grabbed his hand before he could take a step.

“You’re not going anywhere.” With her foot, she slammed the door shut.

He brushed his lips against hers, but when he tried to pull back, she wouldn’t let go. Minutes later, when they broke apart, his eyes searched hers. “Sheridan…”

“Yes.” She kissed his neck and when he moaned, she pressed into him even more.

“No,” he said.

“Please,” she said.

Pushing him against the wall, she gave herself pleasure with the feel of him. “I want you,” the words slipped through her lips before they again joined together.

He carried her up the stairs and she drowned herself in his shoulder-long locks, sinking into his scent. Within minutes, they were one, their melodic moans filling the room.

Sheridan was an emotional knot—lust and loss—tied together. Brock was the release that freed her from her pain. His arms, his lips, his hands—her comfort. But an hour later when he rolled over, still panting, her pain rushed back. Sheridan turned away, folding her knees into her chest.

She could feel it before she heard it—his sigh.

“Please don’t do this, Sheridan.”

She could hear all that he felt. He asked, “Why do you do this?”

She turned over and rested her head against his chest. “I needed you.”

“And I wanted you.” He wrapped his arms around her. “I hate this. I hate the guilt that wraps itself around you every time.”

“Because we shouldn’t be doing this.”

“But you…”

“I know.” She squirmed inside his embrace. “I just needed…” She felt the tears and wondered for how many more days, weeks, months would she cry?

She sobbed, a blend of grief and guilt. He tightened his arms, and she wept more.

Time passed; her tears stopped. Brock leaned onto his side and, with his lips, wiped away the teary residue on her cheeks. “We don’t have to go through this anymore.”

Now she sighed.

He continued, “It doesn’t make sense that we’re not married.”

“I can’t think about that right now.”

“We wouldn’t have these guilt fests if we were married.”

She bounced up in the bed. “You want to marry me so we can have guilt-free sex?”

He held up his hands. “You know it’s not like that.”

“I don’t want to get married just for sex.” She glared at him.

He matched her stare before he leaped from the bed. Without a word, he snatched his pants. As he dressed, her heart cried for him. But her lips wouldn’t move.

He slipped into his jacket and marched to the door. Only then did he look at her. “All I want is to love you always. But we can’t stay this way, Sheridan.” He stood, waiting for words from her.

But she had nothing to give him.

With a shake of his head, he disappeared into the hall.

The front door had already closed before her first tear came. “What is wrong with me?”

She’d wanted Brock to stay. Wanted to hold him again and tell him every word he needed to hear. But it was as if sorrow didn’t allow her to understand anymore. She felt like a speeding bullet aimed toward a place she didn’t want to go. But if she didn’t stop herself, she was sure that soon, Brock would be added to her list of loss too.

She reached for the telephone, punched in the first three numbers to his cell. But then she returned the phone to the cradle. She lay down. And thought about her father. And cried more. And wished that Brock had kept his promise and not left her alone.

K
ENDALL
S
TEWART

The words slashed her heart.

Divorce Decree
.

The knock on the door pulled Kendall’s eyes away.

“Hey.”

Her hands covered the packet resting on her lap. “What are you doing here, Anthony?”

He strutted in as if he hadn’t heard the venom in her voice.

“I had to pick up a proposal from one of the designers. And…I wanted to check on you.” He slid into the chair like he had an invitation.

She stared at her ex-husband and hated that he looked the same as the day they’d met six years ago—like a supersize order of chocolate decadence. But that was then. Now she had to find a way to look past the mocha-colored skin and light brown eyes, the strong angle of his jaw, and the muscles that made him a man. She had to close her heart to his rhythm—the way he walked, talked. She had to stop all of that and just remember what he’d done. “No need to check on me; I’m fine.”

“Good.”

“I know you got the divorce papers.” She lifted the packet. “Mine were just delivered. And I’m fine,” she repeated, and nonchalantly tossed the package onto her desk.

He nodded, his smile gone. “I know you are.”

“So, why are you here?” she asked again.

He leaned forward. “Because I care.” He paused. “And, I’m sorry about all of this….”

She held up her hands. “You’ve said that before and I’ve heard it enough. No need for sorry anymore because I no longer care.”

He sat as if there was more he wanted to say. But his lips stayed pressed together as if he knew his regret meant nothing.

Kendall stared at him as he stood and walked toward the door. She couldn’t wait for him to get out of her sight. And then the other part of her heart yelled, “Wait.”

When he turned, she realized she had to say something.

“Ah, the meeting with…Lawrence.” She paused. “Lawrence Orbach.”

He frowned. “We have a meeting with the banker?”

“No. We don’t. I do.”

He sighed. “Kendall, you don’t have to do this. This business means as much to me as it does to you.”

“But it’s mine and I want you out.”

The pain that spread across his face was familiar. It was the same every time she said those words, in that way. He opened his mouth, but then surrendered. “Do what you have to do,” he said before he left her alone.

Kendall banged her fist against the desk. She hated when he saw her emotion. Hated that he still got to the weakest part of her.

She should have let him walk out of the office, but she’d stopped him just so she could have a little more time. It wasn’t like she had a meeting with their banker. She didn’t need one. Already knew that she couldn’t afford to buy Anthony out. And in their divorce settlement, they’d agreed to run the business they started five years ago—before they were even husband and wife—together.

This should have been the best time of her life. And it would have been, if Anthony hadn’t tossed a torpedo into the middle of their world—and her dreams—thirteen months before.

It was such a cliché the way he’d ruined their marriage. How she’d come home from a business trip—early, to make up for the argument they’d had before she left. How she’d walked into her home. Her bedroom. And in her bed, her husband. But he was not alone.

Even now, Kendall could hear the screams. But she wasn’t sure who the cries were from. She’d never figured out if they’d been from her. Or Anthony. Or Sabrina.

“Oh, my God!” She did remember squealing those words. She remembered wanting to run, but shock held her prisoner, sentencing her to stare at the sight.

“Kendall!”

She’d heard her husband’s voice, but her eyes couldn’t fix on him. Not even as he bolted toward her. Her eyes were trained on the woman who held the sheet over her bare chest.

“Kendall!” he’d yelled her name again.

It was his touch that freed her from her catatonic state. She’d stumbled down the stairs and out of their home. Even though thick tears clouded her eyes as she screeched out of the driveway, she could see where Anthony stood, at their front door, yelling, wrapped in his barely closed bathrobe.

She’d had only one place to go, which was why Anthony found her.

“Kendall!” He’d sounded relieved as he rushed into her office.

She’d faced him with swollen eyes and a busted heart.

“How could you?” she’d cried.

His eyes were as puffed up as hers and she wondered why. He didn’t have any reason to hurt.

“Kendall,” he’d said softly. “I’m so sorry.”

“How could you?” she’d asked again through tears that threatened to drown them both.

The sorrow in his eyes moved her to the brink of hysteria. “I’m sorry,” he’d said over and over. “We can try…to work through this.” He paused. “It was just this once.”

Like that even mattered.

He’d said, “Please, let’s try.”

She’d said, “Why Sabrina? Why my sister?”

Kendall squeezed her eyes shut now, pushing back that memory. That had been more than a year ago, but just the thought of her husband and her sister could still stop her from breathing. She wished she could push all of that pain into the past. She would have been able to—if only her heartache had stopped right there.