Breaking Free Page 2

  She closed her eyes and rubbed her face. Focus. And drop the pity party. So Trent drank. A lot of men did. He had a stressful job and two boys about to enter college. This was nothing more than a hiccup. They’d been married for 19 years, had weathered ten moves, three job changes, and the death of Trent’s mom. They’d get through this.

  Leaving the “cave” as Trent liked to call it, she walked down a short, narrow hallway and into the office. Papers cluttered the heavy antique desk and spilled onto the beige carpet.

  She settled into the desk chair. As it was in the “cave,” empty beer bottles filled the trash, evidence of Trent’s increased drinking.

  When did drinking go from a stress reliever to an addiction?

  Forcing the question out of her mind, she turned her attention to the computer, typing their bank’s name into the browser. Then she paused, trying to remember their login information. A&TGoddard. No. Seahawks4. No. After a few more failed attempts, she gave up. She took in a deep breath, released it slowly. Relax. There has to be an explanation.

  Maybe Trent had recorded their usernames and passwords somewhere. She closed the Internet browser and began rummaging through the desk. A bottle of vodka lay in the top drawer shoved behind a box of envelopes.

  Reaching for the bottle, she knocked a picture frame over. It landed on the ground, shattering into pieces. She picked it up and studied the image of her and Trent taken on their wedding day. An easy grin spread across his face, and his dark eyes sparkled as he looked at her. Her heart squeezed as memories of their former love came rushing back. How long had it been since he’d looked at her that way?

  How pathetic. The woman who taught others how to build their marriages couldn’t hold on to her own.

  Her phone rang. She checked the screen and exhaled. “Trent. I’ve been trying to reach you. Someone must have gone through our trash, or maybe they used one of those card readers or something.” The word tumbled out. “I don’t know. I can’t figure—”

  “I took care of it.”

  She paused and took in a deep breath. “What do you mean?”

  “I took care of it. Look, I’ve got to go. Things are crazy today. I’ll see you tonight.”

  The line went dead. Blinking, she set her phone on the desk and leaned back in the chair. She should feel relieved, right? So why did her nerves still feel charged with electrodes?

  Because stolen accounts or not, their life—their marriage—was still a mess.

  Cigar smoke burned Trent’s eyes and throat. A single lightbulb dangled from the ceiling, casting dark shadows across the hardened faces hovered around the small, circular table.

  “What you got, old man?” Henry, a pale kid with bony shoulders that poked through his black T-shirt, studied Trent. He picked up a stack of chips and let them fall to the table one by one.

  Trent gulped the last of his Scotch. They’d called his bluff, and now he would pay. Bile soured his mouth as he dropped his cards on the table. “Spot me another hand?” He needed one win, just one.

  The tendons in Henry’s jaw flexed.

  Trent’s pulse pounded in his ears, drowning out the steel drums and electric guitar that reverberated through the thin walls. His gaze darted to the metal door separating the back room from the bar. Swallowing hard, perspiration beading on his forehead, he considered making a run for it.

  They’d kill him.

  Jay, a short, pot-bellied, bushy-browed man with clumps of hair growing out of his ears, dipped his head and Bruce, a man with arms the size of tree trunks, pushed up from the table. His eyes narrowed. Pricks of electricity shot up Trent’s spine.

  “You saying you ain’t got the cash to pay for your losses, man?”

  Trent’s mind raced. He was broke. Flat broke, so far in the hole he wouldn’t be able to claw out no matter how hard he tried. Unless they let him play another hand. Just one more—that was all he needed.

  “Pay up.” Jay stood. His beady eyes narrowed. “We aint got all day.”

  Trent rose on shaky legs and shoved his hands deep into his front pockets. Nothing. He wrestled his wallet from his back pocket and flipped it open. Empty. Staring down at the worn leather, his eyes latched onto the shiny gold band encircling his ring finger. How much was that worth? A couple hundred at most. Nowhere near the $2,000 these thugs expected. But at least it’d buy him some time.

  He jerked off his ring, and then froze. What was he doing? His wedding ring? The thought sickened him, but what else could he do? Besides, it was only temporary. He’d get a new one soon. Before Alice even noticed it was gone. Releasing his grip on the smooth gold, he tossed it onto the table with a flick of his wrist.

  Jay gave a high-pitched cackle, making him sound insane, and maybe he was. He grabbed the band. “What? This like a good-faith offer? Because unless you’ve got a lot more where this came from, you’re gonna be eating your teeth.”

  Bruce watched his boss, Jay, closely, hands fisted at his sides. Trent’s lungs constricted, his breathing quick and shallow. With the slightest nod from Jay, Bruce would unload his 250 pounds worth of muscles into Trent’s face.

  “There is, I swear.” He spoke fast. Where was he going to get the money? How much time would they give him? He’d already blown through his and Alice’s savings, and telling them his paycheck was coming wouldn’t help.

  Jay scowled. “You’ve got two weeks, with interest.”

  Bruce uncoiled his hands and stepped aside to allow Trent to pass. Trent took three tentative steps, then spun around and bolted across the room and out into the crowded bar. His eyes fought to focus amidst the throng of gyrating bodies. In his haste, he nearly collided with a waitress carrying a loaded drink tray.

  “Sorry.”

  Once in his car, he slammed then locked the doors, trying to catch his breath. To slow his pulse. He needed a drink. With a trembling hand, he pulled the liquor bottle from the glove box. His taste buds swelled as the cool glass touched his dry lips. The warm liquid bit at his gums and warmed his throat. After taking two more gulps, he tossed it back into the glove box, turned the key in the ignition, and gripped the wheel with clammy hands. This was it. This was the last time he was going to throw away nearly half a month’s wages in one night. He was done—for good.

  CHAPTER 2

  Alice’s husband sauntered in well after dark, a dopey smile on his face. The smell of sour whiskey mixed with smoke assaulted Alice’s nose, eliciting a gag reflex. As a third-generation drunk, he was becoming just like his father. She tensed as she thought about Tim and Danny. How long would it take before alcoholism got hold of them?

  Meeting him in the foyer, she crossed her arms. “Where have you been?”

  “What’s got you going tonight?” He stared at her for a long moment, and she stared back. “I watched the game with some guys from work.” He continued into the living room.

  She followed. “This is the third night you’ve gone out this week. I don’t like how much you’re drinking.”

  “So I had a few beers and lost track of time. Who are you, the curfew police?”

  “A few beers? You’re drunk, Trent.”

  “Buzzed, Alice. I’m buzzed. Seriously, you need to chill it.” He stormed into the kitchen.

  She chased after him. “No, I won’t chill it. We need to talk.”

  He whirled around, blotches of red coloring his neck. “I said lay off!”

  She sucked in a sharp breath and, blinking, froze, acutely aware of his size and strength. These angry outbursts were becoming more frequent. What if he—

  No. He’d never hurt her or the kids.

  Trent opened the fridge, grabbed a beer, and then slammed the door shut. When he turned around, he nearly ran into her standing a few feet behind him. Pressing his lips into a tight line, he pushed past her and trudged into the living room.

  Alice started to follow, then noticed the kitchen window hung open. How far had Trent’s voice carried? She shut and locked the window.

  Getting emo
tional would only make things worse. Lifting her chin, she strode into the living room.

  Trent lounged in the recliner with his legs extended. He flicked on the television. Alice perched on the edge of the loveseat. She checked the digital clock on the DVD player. Almost nine. The boys would be home soon. Trent was tired. So was she. Talking about his drinking, their failing marriage—about anything—would only lead to an argument.

  She huffed and sank into the corner of the couch.

  He took a long gulp of beer. Watching her, he stood. “Hey now.” He drew closer and held out his hands. When she remained seated, he took hers in his, and lifted her to her feet. “Come on. Don’t be mad.” He pulled her to him, gentle but insistent, until she finally gave in. “I should’ve called. Forgive me.”

  He gripped her waist and peered into her eyes, his breath hot on her mouth. “You know I’d be lost without you, right?” He brushed his lips against her cheek, then her neck, and began to serenade her. “Oh, woman, what you do to me. You’ve made me such a lovesick guy. Oh, woman what you do to me. Darling, if I were to lose you, you know I’d simply die.” His voice turned husky. “I love you way too much, Alice Goddard.”

  Tears stinging her eyes, she leaned against his strong chest. She stiffened. Was that perfume she smelled?

  Now she was being paranoid.

  The front door clicked open, signaling her boys’ arrival.

  “We need to talk. When you’re sober.” And the boys weren’t in earshot. She took a deep breath, which did little to calm her nerves. Walking to the entryway, she met Tim and Danny with a very wide, very forced smile. Tim stood in the hall with his duffel bag draped over his shoulder. Danny tossed his backpack on the ground. They were both covered in dirt and sweat.

  Alice surveyed their mud-smeared cloths. “Leave any dirt on the field?” She laughed. “Looks like you had a rough day at practice. Didn’t break anything, I hope.” She shot Danny a wink.

  “Tried not to.” A crooked grin spread across Danny’s face as he wiped his forehead with his sleeve.

  “And you boys studied, right? Like you said you would?”

  Mumbling, Tim gave Alice a sideways glance before disappearing around the corner.

  Alice followed her boys into the living room where they plopped on the couch. “I’m serious, Tim. Remember our deal. Bring up the grades or no soccer.”

  Tim rolled his eyes. “We studied.”

  “Good. Thank you.”

  Trent flicked Tim’s arm. “So, how was practice?”

  “Like you care.” He stretched his feet in front of him.

  Trent frowned. “Drop the attitude, buddy.”

  “Whatever.”

  Rubbing her temples, Alice retreated to the kitchen. She gripped the counter with both hands. Fatigue crept up her back and seeped into the base of her skull. When would this blanket of gloom lift?

  Late the next morning, Trent scanned the living room, glanced at the front door, then down the hall. The ticking of the clock punctuated the silence. A car approached. He froze, his heart hammering. The vehicle passed and the house went quiet again. He slipped into the bedroom and closed the door. His lungs tightened, his breath coming in raspy spurts.

  Alice could return home any minute, or she could be gone for hours. Her schedule was incredibly unpredictable. Best to get in, do what he needed to do, and get out before she returned and started asking a million questions, questions he had no intention of answering.

  He closed in on his wife’s dresser, and the shiny wooden jewelry box sitting like a neatly wrapped gem on top. He ran his hand across the smooth, glossy wood, his fingers tracing the delicate vines etched into the stained mahogany.

  What kind of husband stole his wife’s jewelry? The kind who had thugs breathing down his neck, that’s who. He had to do this. He had no choice. Not if he wanted to keep both kneecaps.

  Swallowing hard, he threw open the box and sifted through Alice’s trinkets. Rhinestone earrings lay next to pearl necklaces. The bracelet Tim and Danny gave her for Mother’s Day two years ago shimmered in the dim light. Trent fingered the delicate charms dangling from golden links then set it aside. He was desperate but not that desperate. He’d take what he needed and leave the rest alone.

  Most of it was costume jewelry worth a few dollars at best, but a few pieces, like the gold bracelet Alice inherited from her great-great-grandmother and the sapphire medallion set in white gold, would get him a pretty price. Enough to buy him a few days, or even better, a few hands of poker. All he needed was one good hand to fix everything.

  He squeezed his eyes shut. No more! He was done gambling. It was time he settled his debts and got out. For good.

  He selected a handful of jewelry pieces, those that could earn a decent sum without alerting too much attention, and dropped them into a zip-lock bag. After stuffing the bag in his front pocket, he hurried out of the room and to his car. He stowed them in the glove box beneath the car manual until he could find a pawnshop. One that wouldn’t rob him blind.

  He made it back to work in time for his boss’s afternoon “catch-the-vision” pep talk.

  Mr. Lowe met Trent in the hallway with a grin. “And in walks our star player.” He gripped Trent’s shoulder with his powerful hand.

  Trent widened his stance and forced a smile.

  “Got a whole list of new clients waiting to be dazzled by your creative genius, my man. I’d love it if you’d share what you’re doing with the Peak Performance Food project.”

  Trent blinked. He needed to come up with something . . . anything. No, not just anything. Mr. Lowe expected the best. Normally Trent could deliver no problem, but now . . . His creative juices had evaporated to the point of famine. How could he be expected to create anything, let alone design the biggest campaign of his career, with the threat of severe bodily harm looming over him? But if he didn’t get his act together soon, broken kneecaps wouldn’t be his only worry.

  Alice studied her reflection in the locker-room mirror. When had she become so pale? And contrary to the stylist’s promises, her new bob cut didn’t take years off her appearance. If anything, it accentuated the wrinkles fanning from her eyes. Next stop? The makeup counter at Macy’s for a large container of wrinkle cream. Except that required money.

  She glanced at the clock on the locker-room wall. She was late. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she ran up the fitness center stairs to her BOSU class. Whoever invented that plastic half ball and thought it should be used in an aerobics classes suffered from insanity. As did Alice for coming.

  She paused at the double doors leading to the gym to watch the other ladies. Most of them were half her age and nearly half her size. The instructor, a young blonde with tight abs and about 18 percent body fat, stood in the center of the room. According to the schedule posted to the wall, this was her third class today, yet the woman didn’t have a drop of sweat on her.

  Alice glanced at her stomach and tugged at the hem of her T-shirt. Sucking in a deep breath, she threw the doors open and quickstepped to the far corner of the gym. With her rear end to the wall, she could stretch and jump and kick and basically fly all over the place without sending the entire class into fits of laughter.

  “Hey, Alice. Over here.” Misty stood in the front row waving like an over-caffeinated teenager. She wore a color-coordinated—most likely size six—aerobics suit.

  Alice’s cheeks warmed as heads swiveled in her direction. Call attention to the fat, old lady in the baggy exercise clothes. Thanks, Misty.

  She shuffled to the front of the room. A brunette to her right leaned forward and pressed her palms to the ground. She glanced at Alice through her legs and offered a smile.

  Misty smacked on a wad of gum. “I left you a message about the women’s retreat. Beth keeps nagging me to go. Is it too late to sign up?”

  Alice shook her head. “There’s still room.”

  “Cool. I’ll talk to the hubs. So, you find out what happened to your accounts?”


  Alice set her water bottle on the ground. “Trent took care of it.”

  Misty’s mouth parted like she wanted to say something else when Beth bounded up to them and tossed a large blue duffel bag on the floor. “So, you ready to die a slow, painful death?” She poked Alice in the arm.

  Alice grimaced. “Is that a warning or a promise?”

  As a BOSU newbie, Alice had yet to make it through an entire class. Usually she floundered after 20 minutes and spent the rest of the time huddled in a corner, gasping. She still felt the effects of the last session. Stairs were a bear. Her obliques were so sore, yawning hurt.

  Was it worth all this just to be thin?

  “All right, everyone. Let’s get warmed up. Jack it out!”

  Arms and legs flapped throughout the room like a hip-hop frenzy. Alice felt like a bouncing inflata-ball.

  “Three, two, one! High knees—got 16 here!”

  She stared at the half ball in front of her. The flat bottom rested on the ground, leaving a smooth mound of rubber on top. She eyed the other women balanced on top of their mounds and shook her head. High knee jumps on a ball? Really? Her arms flailed up and down while her feet sprung from one side of her BOSU ball to the other. Every third bounce, she jumped too far and went flying.

  “On the floor for suicides. Let’s go! Harder! Faster!” Ms. Bunny Rabbit slid across the gym in wide, sideways steps. “Two minutes here, then squat kicks for two.”

  Alice shuffled from side to side, bottom out, torso angled to the ground. She crashed into a perky little 20 something to her right. Misty stifled a laugh, her hawk eyes devouring every unfeminine drop of sweat that plastered Alice’s hair to the sides of her face like thick strands of cooked spaghetti.

  Beth, on the other hand, offered a gentle smile. “You’re doing great. Keep it up.”