The Secrets That We Keep

The Secrets

That We Keep

The Secrets That We Keep

By

Isabel Lucero

Copyright © 2013 Isabel Lucero

Editing:
Angella Graff

Cover Design: Robin Harper from Wicked by Design

Formatting by: Angella Graff

All rights reserved.

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication and use of these trademarks are not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

If you have obtained a copy of this book without purchasing it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please delete the file and purchase a copy legally. This novel is for your enjoyment only and may not be resold or given to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

First, I have to thank my husband. He not only put up with my reading obsession and one-click addiction, but he also sat there and listened to me ramble on and on about each book I was reading. He’s pretty awesome. I’m so lucky that my husband is not only, a reader like myself, but he’s also a writer. Being able to bounce ideas off of each other, and offer advice and opinions is amazing. I wouldn’t have had the motivation to do this if it weren’t for him. Thanks for everything, babe! I love you.

I also have to thank my babies. They don’t whine and complain when I have to put my headphones on and disappear into my own little world in order to create another one. They inquire about my story and I do my best to explain it to their innocent, little ears. They are two of my biggest supporters, even if they’re the littlest. One day I’ll write a story that has two of the funniest, craziest, cutest children to ever exist. Love you, kids!

I have to thank Author Belle Aurora who was the first person, to reach out to me and offer to “pimp” me out. I couldn’t be more thankful. She also was my first Beta reader and offered advice and opinions to help me out with my book. It’s truly amazing to have a published author reach out to you when you haven’t even started your author page yet, and offer to help you out. I asked her tons of questions and I’m so grateful that she answered every one of them. Thanks so much, Belle!

To
all of the book bloggers who responded to my messages, shared my page, teasers, giveaways and cover, I appreciate it more than you will ever know. Without you, authors wouldn’t go as far. Your work does not go unnoticed. Thanks! I have to shout out Tiffany from This Redhead LOVES books. You read my book and offered me editing advice. It may not have been as easy as we would have hoped to communicate with each other about it, but I figured most of it out. ;) Thanks so much! Also, Tonya and Amy from Turnthepage, who are a couple of awesome ladies that I know I can count on for any promotion.

Huge thanks goes to my editor,
Angella Graff. She did an amazing job! She was able to let me know where my book needed help and commas. ;) I hope you never stop editing because I’m going to keep coming back to you!

To my formatter,
Angella Graff, you’re a woman of many talents. I couldn’t have done this without you.

H
idden deep in our hearts and minds are the secrets we keep from the world. In time, these secrets will come to light. They always do. They have the ability to destroy the life you have built. While some secrets are merely a white lie, and others are more of a fabrication, there are also those dark secrets, the ones that will shatter you and shatter those around you if they were to ever be revealed. You live in fear of these secrets; terrified every day that someone one day will find out and out you. You can only hope nobody will ever find out the truth because you don’t know how they’ll react. You don’t know how you will react. Everybody has a secret, but we hope that it will eventually go away and be forgotten. Unfortunately, secrets never go away, they only hide until revealed. Once revealed, you can only hope your life won’t be completely ruined.

O
nce I get the text, I rush out of the salon in a hurry. I was hoping to spend the day at the spa getting a little pampered. My mani and pedi were completed before I got the text, but unfortunately I was unable to get my hair done.

While
I’m in the car, waiting in the God awful traffic to get home, I debate on whether to pile my long, caramel colored locks on top of my head in a messy bun or just to leave them loose. While I’m rummaging through my purse trying to find a rubber band for my hair, but instead only finding makeup and old receipts, I hear an obnoxiously long honk coming from the car behind me. The car in front of me just started driving so it’s not like the light has been green for a long time.

“Really, dude
? Is it necessary to lean on the horn that long?” I say, gesturing into the mirror, knowing the old guy can’t hear me, but knowing he’ll understand my gestures. For a moment I think that he may have passed out and his head is just resting on the horn because he doesn’t seem ready to let up anytime soon. But when I look into the rearview mirror, he’s staring into the back window of my car with an annoyed look on his face. I want to be just as obnoxious by just sitting there taking my time, maybe give him a wave and a smile through the mirror, but luckily for him, I’m in a rush.

When I finally make it home,
I race towards our house, exiting the car in such a rush that I get my long flowing skirt caught in the door of my silver Audi Coupe. I mutter a few curse words while I try tugging on the white skirt to get it to come loose but to no avail. I step back towards the car, open the door and pull it free slamming the door shut.

W
ith my skirt finally free from the door, I dart around the front of the car, making my way past the garage and head to the front door. Clutching my phone in my hand, I can’t help but wonder what the text meant. It was from my husband and all it said was, “Where are you? Get home now.” I responded to the text asking if everything was okay but hadn’t received a response. Julian was supposed to be out of town until tomorrow night. That’s why I had planned my day of pampering for today, so I could look good for my husband when he returned.

We
are coming up on our three year anniversary and we are definitely one of those annoying, honeymoon stage, affectionate couples that people hate. Our courtship was pretty fast. We met at a restaurant where I was waiting for my friends and he was waiting on his. Our tables were close and we ended up talking until our friends had arrived and before the night was over, we exchanged numbers. Julian and I dated for about six months before he asked me to marry him, and I didn’t hesitate when I said yes. I know people think that’s too fast but we spent almost every single day together and were deeply in love. We were married about a month and a half after the engagement, at Julian’s insistence, and that was just fine with me.

Thinking he
might already be in the house makes me run even faster. Unfortunately the toe of my golden sandal gets caught on the raised bit of concrete on the way to the front door and I know I must look absolutely ridiculous as I’m trying to keep from falling smack dab on my face. I succeed in not hitting my face on the concrete, thank God, because I did not need to look all battered and bruised when I saw my husband, but I did land on my hands and knees and now I’m in the crawling position.

“Shit!”
My hands and knees sting a little bit and I’m hoping I didn’t ruin my skirt. I’m also sincerely hoping that nobody happens to be watching me right now. As I right myself, dusting off my skirt and checking for holes, I push my hair out of my face, and then try to glance around nonchalantly to make sure that nobody is around to see me looking like a crazed maniac. Of course as my eyes are scanning across the yard to the right, I notice Ms. Andersen staring right at me as she waters her plants.

“
Great,” I whisper under my breath. I wonder if the nosey old lady is going to ask if I am alright, but of course she doesn’t. She just keeps watching me as if she thinks I’m on drugs or something. I raise my hand to do a little wave at my neighbor and yell out, “I’m okay Ms. Andersen, no need to worry.” The old lady just mutters something under her breath while shaking her head and turns her back on me.

“What a bitch
,” I say quietly. That lady has never been friendly.

I turn and take
the few steps to finally make it to my front door. After unlocking it and pushing it open, I realize I left my purse in the car. Oh well, it’s staying there for now.

I thro
w my keys and phone down on the little table in the entryway and call out for my husband.

“Julian, you here?”

I scan the spacious living room to my left; the sun is shining brightly through the large bay window, beating down on the shiny hardwood floors. No Julian in here. I walk towards the kitchen and poke my head in there. Nope, no Julian there either. I start towards the stairs, hoping to find him up there somewhere.

As I climb
I yell out, “Julian, are you home baby?” No answer. I begin to think maybe he isn’t home after all. But why would he text me, telling me to get home now? I enter our bedroom and quickly glance around. No sign of him in here. “What the hell?” I say to myself. I walk past our amazingly comfortable California King bed, the bathroom door is open and I look inside quickly and notice the shower looks like it has been used recently. Well, I know he was home at least, unless some random person broke into my house to use my shower, but I doubted that.

The only other
place I think he may be is out back, so I head towards the window that overlooks the backyard. As I get closer to it I notice that it’s still cracked open a bit from this morning. I love the fresh morning air circulating through the room as I get ready and I must have forgotten to close it. When I get to the window and peek out, I can smell cigarette smoke. Uh Oh, Julian only ever smokes when he is stressed out and upset.

Looking down
, I spot my husband. He is sitting on the patio chair, hunched over with his left hand on his forehead, his thumb rubbing his temple. His right hand brings the cigarette to his mouth and he takes a long drag, and I take a second to just watch him. Even smoking he is gorgeous. He’s wearing a pair of well-worn jeans, a plain white t-shirt stretching over his broad shoulders, and nothing on his feet. His brown hair is still a little damp from his shower and his tanned skin looks flawless. I could stare at him all day, but that wouldn’t be productive, so I decide to try to freshen up real quick before I head out to see what is wrong.

While lea
ning towards the mirror that sits atop my dresser, I apply some lip gloss to my full lips and then stand up straight to check myself out. I think maybe I should get out of this skirt since it is slightly dirty from all of my shenanigans outside. As I’m pulling on some jeans, I jump when I hear the door downstairs slam close.

For
just a second I panic and worry that he might have found out and is angry with me. No, couldn’t be, there is no way he could have found out. At least, that’s what I hope. It’s been so long. This is what’s bad about secrets; you’re constantly worried about when they might come out.

I turn
to head out the door only to see Julian standing there blocking the doorway, staring at me with those beautiful, intense hazel eyes of his. He does not look happy. I open my mouth, ready to greet him, when he says, “Where have you been and what the hell took you so long to get home?”