The Best Next Thing Read online

  Not an ideal shift in topics. Charity could tell from the upward lilt in her voice that Lia, like so many other people present at the community center today, was going to be even more curious about Charity and her background now. In fact, she was surprised it had taken the woman this long to bring it up.

  “It was basic first aid,” she dismissed. Hoping that would be the end of it.

  “Are you talking about that business with Sinclair Ross?” Sam’s voice intruded, as the two men entered the kitchen through the backdoor with Trevor, Sam’s ever-present shadow, trailing behind them. Sam was carrying a tray of cooked meat, and Miles was clutching a couple of beer bottles.

  “Yes, I was just telling Charity how wonderfully she dealt with the situation.”

  “I was just trying to keep him calm,” Charity deflected. “He was terrified and in pain…and I dare say, a little embarrassed. He’s an attention hog, but that wasn’t exactly the kind of attention he was looking for.”

  Sam laughed at her statement. “Oh, it got him the attention he wanted alright.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That dumb kid wanted only one person’s eyes on him, and in the end, he had her undivided attention. Dislocated shoulder or not, I’m thinking he’s not feeling too badly right now.”

  Charity’s eyes widened as she gleaned his meaning, and she chuckled as well. Of course! That made so much sense.

  “Oh, my goodness!” she exclaimed, feeling silly for not realizing it herself. “He has a crush on Charlie.”

  “Major one, poor bastard. He’s in for a tough time with her brothers.”

  “How many brothers?” Miles asked..

  “Just two. You know Mason, my former business partner. But I don’t think you’ve met his brother, a big taciturn guy named Spencer. They’re married to Lia’s sisters. And they’ll eat that poor kid for breakfast.” Sam put the tray of meat on the kitchen counter. He then made a beeline for Lia and wrapped his free arm around her slender waist.

  “Hey there, sunshine, did you miss me?”

  “While you were miles away on the patio, tending the fire?” She laughed, raising her hand to cup his jaw. “Of course, I did.”

  He nuzzled her neck, and she playfully pushed him away.

  “You smell like smoke and sweat,” she protested, wrinkling her nose.

  “Like a manly man, you mean?”

  Charity watched them lightheartedly bicker, grateful that their interest had shifted from her. She sneaked a glance at the silent man who had come to stand beside her at the kitchen counter. He wasn’t watching the playful couple, instead his eyes were trained on her face. He smiled lazily when he recognized that he’d been caught staring, but did nothing to disguise the smoldering intent in his gaze.

  Lia was right. Charity’s every nerve ending felt scorched by that penetrating stare. She felt stripped naked, vulnerable, and on edge. Her skin was too tight for her body, her nipples were hard, painful points, and her knees threatened to give way. She fought to control her breathing, a little embarrassed—and a lot exhilarated—by how quickly a single look could turn her on. She already knew how fast he could make her come, but she was starting to wonder exactly what else he could do with his body, hands, and mouth.

  She took a fortifying gulp from her glass of red wine.

  This was going to be a draining evening.

  It started innocently enough. They were having a perfectly civilized, adult evening. The conversation had been pleasant, the food good…and Charity was surprised to recognize that she was enjoying herself.

  Until Sam produced the deck of cards. Miles, who had been reclining on the love seat next to Charity, his arm stretched out behind her and his hand idly playing with the loose strands of her hair in the nape of her neck, sat upright in an instant at the sight of the cards. He rubbed his hands together, in a gesture that could only be described as gleeful and grinned wickedly.

  “Oh hell, yes. I’m a legendary Uno player.”

  “Please, you haven’t played until you’ve been stuck with a squad of bored, soldiers waiting to go on a covert op. We would do anything to alleviate the tedium and tension. This game was our number one boredom buster. It got fucking cutthroat…”

  “Sam,” Lia rolled her eyes with a sigh. “Language.”

  “Sorry. Forgot myself. It got darned fucking cutthroat.”

  Charity choked on her wine, before hooting with laughter, and Lia palmed her face in exasperation.

  “We’re talking about edgy, highly trained, SAS men, with itchy trigger fingers…all of that pent-up aggression and frustration had to go somewhere. We got really good at this game really fast.”

  “Well, I had equally cutthroat competitors. It was my siblings’ favorite school holiday pastime growing up. You ever try playing this game with a ten and twelve-year-old? I assure you, your SAS buddies would cower in terror.”

  “I’ve never played this game before,” Charity ventured, and they all three turned to gape at her in shock. She flushed and felt immediately self-conscious. Truthfully, her parents and Faith had probably played it often, but a game like this would have seemed much too tame for her younger self. If it wasn’t physical and didn’t contain some element of danger, it just wouldn’t have interested her. Even as a child, Charity had always been outside, on her bike, board, or blades. Card or board games could never hold her interest for long.

  But now, the idea of a fun activity that didn’t involve any kind of risk to her physical well-being, was highly appealing.

  “Uh…it’s pretty easy,” Lia said, after a beat. “It’s fun. A little juvenile, we like to pretend that we keep it around for when Charlie comes to visit, but truthfully, my sisters, their husbands, and Sam and I play it without Charlie more often than not.”

  What followed was two hours of competitive and hilarious backstabbing, laughter and fabricated drama. Charity honestly could not remember the last time she had enjoyed herself more. Miles and Sam were so focused on taking each other out, that the women snuck in more than a few victories. Leading to a catastrophic “team up” between the guys in a bid to take out the “female threat”. That didn’t end well, with the uneasy armistice between them failing after just one round.

  “Why the hell did you throw down a wild card on me?” Miles seethed, two rounds later. “You should have kept it for her. You had her dead to rights.”

  “Are you still on about that? She’s the woman I love and want to have babies with someday, I couldn’t do that to her. She’s a delicate, fragile flower and…Lia, what the fuck?”

  The last as Lia smugly and triumphantly threw down a draw four wild card, while stating, “Uno. Blue, please.”

  He drew his four penalty cards, grumbling bad temperedly while he did so, and Lia happily put down her winning card on her next turn.

  She stretched and yawned immediately afterward, “That’s it for me, I like to end things on a victorious note.”

  “Your fragile flower is more than a little bloodthirsty, Brand,” Miles pointed out grimly, and Lia laughed. A sweet fairy-like sound that was completely at odds with the slightly evil grin she leveled on them.

  “Oh, while you honed your questionable skills playing with your younger siblings, Miles, and Sam was grunting and growling away with his SAS buddies, I cut my teeth playing this game with the most ruthless and villainous of all competitors…sisters. Trust me, you do not want to play this game with them. Now would anybody like some coffee or tea?”

  Miles glanced at Charity with an enquiring tilt to his head, and she lifted her shoulders slightly, leaving the decision up to him.

  “It’s getting late,” he said. “I think it’s time we head home.”

  Charity pushed to her feet when he did, and Lia and Sam walked them to the door. While the men continued their banter, Charity turned to Lia and gave her an impulsive hug.

  “Thank you, I had a wonderful time.”

  “I’m so happy you joined us tonight. Why don’t we have lunc
h on Friday, if you’re free? I’m at loose ends during the day because of the school vacation and would love the company.”

  “That would be nice. Thank you.”

  “No. Thank you. It gives me an excuse to get out of the house.”

  Charity was sure that Lia had no end of friends and family who would happily have lunch with her and was under no illusion as to who was doing whom the favor. But it was kind of her to pretend.

  They didn’t linger much longer after that and were soon in the SUV on their way home.

  “Thank you,” Charity murmured, after a lengthy, comfortable silence. Miles shifted his attention from the road for a second to look at her.

  “For?”

  “That was the most fun I’ve had with both feet on the ground in I don’t know how long.”

  “You know that that statement is going to need a shit ton more elaboration, right?” he deadpanned, and she laughed.

  “Before my marriage, while I was a student, I was into just about anything that involved height, flight and/or freefalling. You named it, I tried it. It started with paragliding, then parasailing, kitesurfing, hang gliding, parachuting…I loved the rush of it. The freedom. There’s nothing quite like it. My parents—both of whom are very levelheaded and practical people—thought I was crazy, of course.” She could hear the affectionate exasperation in her voice as she recalled their hand-wringing concern. “They were so terrified that I would get myself killed. But I was always scrupulously careful. I tripled checked my equipment. I was a thrill seeker. Not suicidal. And no matter how much I told them that what I was doing was perfectly safe, they never quite believed me.

  “They were so relieved when Blaine and I got serious. They had always liked him. And knew that he would keep me grounded, both literally and figuratively.” She laughed. But the sound was filled with bitterness. “Little did they know that marrying Blaine would be the most dangerous thing I’d ever do.”

  She shook her head to drag herself out of the funk that had settled over her.

  “Uhm. So, yes…my younger self, the idea of an evening of conversation and Uno would have seemed utterly unappealing. But I loved it. So, thank you.”

  “Do you miss that thrill?” he asked, not quite concealing a shudder. “Of throwing yourself out of planes, or off cliffs?”

  She considered the question, staring unseeingly out into the dark night.

  “No. I was always looking for that extra something to make me feel more alive. But after marrying Blaine, there was no longer any need for that affirmation. Not when I was living in a constant state of terror and hypervigilance. Marriage to Blaine permanently eradicated the thrill-seeking young woman I had once been. The first time he…” She paused not sure how much to tell him.

  He seemed to sense the reason for her hesitation. “I want to know, Charity.”

  She wavered a moment longer, before deciding to take him at his word.

  “The first time he hit me was on our wedding night. The first of many punishments. Only he called them lessons. Lessons on how to be a good wife. The cigarette burns were to remind me to smile. A pastor’s wife has to be approachable you see? And an unsmiling, sad-eyed wife, made parishioners uncomfortable.”

  “Jesus.” The softly hissed word was barely audible above the engine.

  Charity found the near darkness in the SUV comforting. Being unable to see his reaction to her words allowed her to speak freely. It permitted her to say things she would have hesitated to tell him in any other setting. There was anonymity in the dark. Anonymity and security. She imagined this was what a confessional felt like.

  “Jesus had nothing to do with it. Blaine was the devil, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. A failed human who had no business preaching to others.

  “As I was saying, the first time it happened was on our wedding night. We’d waited, on his insistence, we’d waited to have sex. He said it would be more special that way. I was stupidly in love with the wonderful, caring man I thought he was. And I thought he was being romantic. And that he meant for our first time together to wipe the slate clean for both of us, so to speak. I knew he wasn’t a virgin or anything. He’d blatantly admitted to being weak—his word—with his former long-term partners. I didn’t care, we’d both had other relationships before we started dating each other. I had a healthy sex drive, I liked sex. And I admit, I found the idea of waiting erotic. The thought of all those pent-up desires being unleashed on our wedding night was a powerful incentive to just go along with it.

  “But after the sex, as I was getting up to go to the bathroom, he made a comment about his little Cherry—my family’s nickname for me—not being so cherry after all. I laughed it off. And said something silly in response. I went to the bathroom and when I came out, he…” she paused and swallowed thickly. Flinching away from the memory.

  You think it’s fucking funny? You’re my wife, there are expectations. You never told me you were a whore!

  “I was so shocked,” she whispered, after repeating Blaine’s words verbatim. “Not just because of what he was saying but because of the language he had used. I mean, I could swear like a trooper, but after Blaine and I got serious, I toned it down because he was such a boy scout, you know? Darn and shucks and gee whiz, that kind of thing. Hearing that kind of language from him threw me for a loop. I think I must have done something… laughed maybe. I don’t know. Something.”

  “You bitch, you fucking cheap little cunt! What’s so funny?” His voice increased in volume. It was shrill, and high, and almost feminine in pitch.

  Something struck her. Hard. And her legs gave way, the shock more than the pain stealing the support out from beneath her. She was on the floor, staring up at the man looming above her.

  “I fell.” Her words were filled with astonishment. He leaned toward her, and she gratefully reached for his hand. She wasn’t sure how she wound up on the floor, but despite his unfathomable fury, her beloved Blaine was there to help her up.

  Only…instead of helping, he balled his hand into a fist and slammed it into her stomach. She doubled over in agony and fought to breathe.

  He grabbed a fistful of her hair, and she futilely batted away his arm in an attempt to get him to release his painful, punishing grip. Her feeble efforts were no match for him. He yanked her to her feet by her hair, slammed her into the wall and held her there, while his other hand closed around her neck and squeezed.

  Slowly and purposefully.

  Breathing became an impossibility.

  Her eyes were wide, panicked and glazed with terrified tears. She stared into his face, searching for the loving man she had married just that afternoon. But she was unable to find him in the features of this hateful, terrifying stranger who now had her helplessly pinned against the wall.

  He was screaming at her. Saying horrible things. Calling her despicable names, while his hand continued to tighten around her throat. Black dots swirled in front of her eyes, until his face was obscured by them. His voice was fading…

  She was dying. She was sure of it. And that absolute certainty terrified her.

  But he released her abruptly and stepped away from her. Without his support, she slid down the wall and collapsed into a limp heap on the floor.

  Seconds later, he was on the floor beside her. Crying with her, holding her, apologizing. Begging her to forgive him.

  “I played it over and over in my mind afterward,” Charity’s voice was barely a whisper in the dark, and she wasn’t sure if Miles could hear her. “What did I do to set him off? What did I say?”

  “He was going to do whatever the hell he was going to do, Charity. Regardless of your actions and words,” Mile’s harsh voice startled her out of her safe confessional and yanked her back to the present.

  “He said he was sorry.” Charity’s voice was thick with tears. She was dimly aware that Miles’s free hand was tightly latched onto hers. “Said that he had been so very disappointed to discover that he wasn’t my first, and he hated how I had dism
issed and mocked that disappointment. My tone of voice had just triggered something inside of him. I would later understand that it was a pattern with him. I suppose it’s a pattern with most abusers. He’d apologize profusely while reinforcing that it was actually my fault he had reacted the way he had. He was so so sorry but, I shouldn’t have done this, or said that, or worn whatever.”

  She became aware that the SUV was no longer moving and looked up in surprise.

  “Oh. We’re home.”

  “Yes. For several minutes now.” His voice was quiet, as if he were afraid of startling her.

  Charity cleared her throat self-consciously and tugged against his grip on her hand. He released his hold on her immediately.

  “I need a shower. I’ll see you in the morning. Thank you again, for a lovely evening.”

  Miles disliked the distance and formality in her voice and demeanor but he understood her need for space. Listening to her soft, almost dispassionate, recounting of such a harrowing example of abuse—the first of many such incidents—had been absolutely heartbreaking. He had hated hearing about it, had wanted to plead with her to stop…but he had also recognized that he was probably the only person that she had ever told.

  That trust meant everything to him. It felt sacred and he would be damned if he would flinch away from it just because he felt fucking physically ill to hear her speak of her trauma.

  But she had lived through that nightmare. The least Miles could do was listen.

  She was out of the SUV and halfway up the basement stairs before he could say another word. She opened the door, and paused…but didn’t look back. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and disappeared from view.

  Only when she was gone did he allow himself to react. He had both hands firmly locked around the steering wheel his grip so tight, his knuckles were white and his palms were starting to hurt. He inhaled, filling his lungs to capacity and holding the air for a long moment before releasing. The sound that emerged from the back of his throat, riding the exhalation, was low, feral…unrecognizably harsh.