Breaking Hearts Page 2

  “Danielle had the most to lose and nothing to gain by Sean Turner’s death. When he died, she inherited an almost bankrupt strip club and a pile of debt he ran up in the months since she left. She had an army of friends surrounding her to keep her safe from Sean and his henchmen. The fact is, many, many people had a reason to want Sean dead. Danielle didn’t kill him, and Mr. Cooper cannot prove otherwise.”

  Grace smiled once more at the jury, then came to sit beside me as Calvin stood. “Your Honor,” he said, with enough glee in his voice I imagined him about to spring into cartwheels. “I call Mr. Keaton Shaw.”

  Ugh. Keaton’s debt to me had been repaid, and no matter what he said about forgiving me, I had no idea what he would say or do on the stand. He raised his right hand, swore to tell the truth, and took his seat to the left of the judge. After he stated his name for the record, he shot me a half smile. I hoped against all other hope it was a good sign.

  When he tightened his tie, adjusted his jacket, then pointed a straight-forward gaze at the jury, several of the female jurors sat up straighter. His beauty inspired the same reaction wherever he went.

  “Mr. Shaw.” Calvin walked from his seat to the podium, almost wringing his hands together in evil merriment. This had to be his nerd dream. He had the captain of every sports team in our graduating class sitting in front of him testifying against the homecoming queen. It played out like an after school special gone wrong. “How do you know Mrs. Turner?”

  Keaton’s eyebrows moved toward the center of his forehead as though he’d never heard a question more stupid. “We all grew up together.” His tone clearly indicated he included Calvin in the group.

  Calvin chuckled. “Right. We did.”

  Though I’m sure Cal remembered growing up outside their circle a little differently than Keaton remembered growing up surrounded by Gatlin, Joss, Simon, Kelly, and Luke.

  “Growing up, how well did you get to know Mrs. Turner?”

  Keaton smiled. “We were friends, then we dated in high school. After high school we lived together for a while.”

  “And when you were living together, was it while you were still married?”

  Uh-oh.

  “I was in the process of getting divorced.”

  “But you were still married?” Cal’s question left Keaton no room to wiggle out of the answer.

  “Yes.” He ground out the word as one eyebrow cocked on his forehead, daring Cal to take it further.

  A bubble of anger formed in the pit of my stomach as Calvin asked, “And your divorce stemmed from your involvement with Mrs. Turner?”

  Oh, good Lord. I nudged Grace. Object, dammit. She’d never been good at hearing my mind messages, so I kicked her shin. She whirled to look at me and tilted her head. “Stop.”

  “My wife thought I was having an affair.” Explain, explain, explain. I hoped Keaton had the gift of telepathy Grace did not. Unfortunately, he remained sitting, hands clasped in his lap, waiting for the next question.

  Calvin continued grinding his ugly little axe to a razor sharp point. “During the time you lived with Mrs. Turner, did either of you use drugs or alcohol?”

  “Yes.” Keaton looked at me and frowned.

  “Both of you?”

  “We didn’t do drugs.”

  I closed my eyes as memories of those days washed over me…dim, alcohol-fogged memories.

  “And during your time away, Mrs. Turner became pregnant?”

  I wanted to smack Cal’s self-satisfied smile right off his smarmy, thin lips. If eye rolling topped Grace’s no-no list, I had to assume smacking the prosecutor was off-limits, but the desire itched inside my palm.

  “Yes.”

  “And she let you believe the child belonged to you for how long?”

  “She didn’t do it on purpose. We lived together like couples live together.”

  I guessed that was his way of saying we’d had some sex. Knowing Joss had a seat a few rows behind me, I couldn’t decide if his lie helped or hurt either of us.

  “He could have been mine.” Keaton frowned.

  Calvin peered up at the judge. “Your Honor, the witness is non-responsive.”

  The judge glared back at Calvin. “And your question was leading. Rephrase.” She shot a lifted brow look at Grace.

  “How long did Mrs. Turner let you believe you’d fathered her child?”

  Grace stood up. “Objection. Relevance and foundation.”

  The judge looked at Grace, a half smile crooking her lips. “Sustained.”

  Calvin clarified the details. When had we lived together and where? How long after we began living together did I become pregnant? How long after I told him did I have the baby?

  “And how long before you discovered he belonged to someone else?”

  Grace stood again. “Objection, relevance.”

  “Your honor, it goes to her motive for seeking out Mr. Turner in the first place.”

  Grace almost popped her hip out of place coming around the desk, and for a split second, I thought she might wrap her hands around his neck instead of punching them against her waist. “Your Honor, we believed Mr. Shaw was going to be called because he was a first responder to the scene.”

  “She can’t tell me what to ask my witness.” Calvin’s voice climbed to a child-like whine.

  The judge cocked her head. “Approach, please.” They walked to the front of the courtroom, and I sat back in my chair, remembering.

  Chapter 2

  How it all started.

  Since the moment I first noticed boys in fifth grade, Simon Hunter was the boy I saw myself growing old with. He had the best smile, the most expressive honey-colored eyes, and a way with people that made an entire town love him. Even when he didn’t know it, he was everything to me. Any minute I could sneak into his presence was a minute I savored and cherished.

  When we got around to the business of being adults, our schedules seldom coordinated, but we spent most Fridays together. I’d skipped out on the last three, wanting him to see what it would be like without me. I wanted him to miss me with a desperate passion.

  The missing only happened on my end, and I had the phone log to prove it. As it went to voice mail, I glared at my phone and left my tenth message…a pitiful, I-miss-you-please-call-me-and-let-me-know-you’re-okay kind of message. Since high school, he’d been my reason for waking up in the morning, the hero in the dreams I had every night, and the focus of all the moments in between. And damn it. Friday was our day.

  After a quick makeup check, I left my apartment, the one we’d planned to share up until a few months ago when he started making all those trips to LA with Gatlin. I kicked the jealousy away with the toe of my shoe against a rock on the sidewalk.

  For three full blocks, I took my frustration out on chunks of concrete until I strolled past the bakery. It took every ounce of my will not to press my nose against the window to see if he’d decided to loiter inside while his sister worked, or if he’d just run in to get some free pastries. His car was parked out front, so I leaned against it for a few minutes, waiting…remembering the first time he kissed me…the way his hand cupped the side of my face, the brush of his lips so softly over mine. Had we been sixteen? Seventeen? It was a lifetime ago.

  Thousands of kisses followed the first one, and I always wondered when that feeling of perfection would wear off. I guarded against it, always creating new ways for Simon and me to retain everything we had going for us. Maybe we needed to take a trip, somewhere tropical where bikinis and board shorts were the required wardrobe until the sun went down. Yes. He’d been on the Storybook Lake police department long enough he could wrangle a weekend off to be with me instead of Gatlin. My schedule would be much easier to rearrange. I worked at the resort. No one would miss me if I didn’t show up for a month much less a weekend.

  All I needed was a plan, and since I had one and the confidence that came with it, I pushed off the fender I’d been lo
unging against and strolled into the bakery. Simon glanced up from the table he occupied with Jocelyn. After a long moment, he stood.

  “Good luck, bud.”

  Her smile confused me, but I ignored it in favor of the euphoria of knowing Simon and I would be vacationing together very soon--as soon as I could get to a computer and book a trip. I bit my tongue to restrain an insult over her dye stained uniform and waited for Simon to join me by the entrance.

  “You too. I’ll expect to be an uncle soon.”

  As he followed me out, I looked over my shoulder at him. “What was that about?”

  He let the door swing shut behind us and shoved his hands in his pockets. We stood staring at each other on the sidewalk. “It’s their anniversary, and she’s going to meet Keaton at the bar tonight.”

  “How lovely for them.”

  He met my sarcasm with his usual shrug. “I need to talk to you. Can we take a walk?”

  Something about his body language was off. He hadn’t touched me, kissed me, or so much as looked in my eyes. Instead of turning to walk beside him, I took a step closer, then blew out a quick puff of air when he stepped away.

  “Simon?”

  Finally, it dawned on me…the downcast gaze, the nervous stutter step, Joss wishing him good luck. He was going to ask. After all this time, all these years of waiting, he’d finally decided to make an honest woman of me, and I was ready.

  “Let’s go for a walk, Dani.” Without waiting to see if I’d follow or fall in step beside him, he started across the street to the park. Bypassing the picnic tables and chess sets, he veered over to the playground equipment and sat on a swing. On any other day, he would crook his finger and we would engage in a public display of affection that could be considered inappropriate by most non-porn watching individuals. This day, he stared off at something far away only he could see. Probably getting the words organized in his mind to make it the proposal I’d always dreamed of.

  I clasped my hands in front of me. Waiting. Heart beating a few thousand thumps a minute. I swiped my palms down my jeans. No way was I having sweaty fingers when he went to slip that ring on.

  “Take your time, baby. I’m not going anywhere.” For as long as I lived, I’d be right there by his side, until death did we part. “This is the Friday.” I would have clapped as an exclamation point to my sentence, but I didn’t want to interrupt his thought process. This moment was one I would cherish. It needed to be perfect. I couldn’t stop the smile spreading across my face when I plopped down into the seat beside him.

  “Friday?” He shook his head and continued staring at his shoes.

  “Our Friday. The Friday I will remember for as long as I live, so you better make it good.” After a few minutes of staring at everything but me, he met my eyes, and I wished he hadn’t. There wasn’t happiness in his whiskey-colored gaze. It was something far different and it scared me.

  “Simon, what’s wrong?” My heart stopped. This wasn’t a proposal. No. It had to be. We’d been together for more than eight years. It had to be a proposal. I wouldn’t survive anything else. “What did I do?” I couldn’t fix what I didn’t know I’d broken. I might have blamed him, but historically, the mistakes in our relationship belonged to me, so I went with the odds.

  “It’s not you, Dani.” He ran his hand through his long, golden hair. “I didn’t want this to happen.”

  I stood, hoping my weakened muscles would hold me. “What happened?” Okay, maybe it was nothing. Not the images I imagined, anyway.

  His tongue ran over his bottom lip, and my normal flutter of attraction skittered through me. “I never wanted…I mean… I don’t want to hurt you.”

  My throat closed and the air in my lungs evaporated. No conversation that started that way ever meant anything good and I knew it. This couldn’t be happening. “Then don’t.” Had manipulating him into missing me backfired? My stomach churned at the thought. What had I done? More importantly, what had he done?

  His gulp echoed on the eerie quiet of the park. It was as though everyone in town had shut themselves in to avoid the devastation our break-up would leave behind. In the romantic notions of my mind, it made sense the town would suffer through my broken heart right along with me. The truth, however, was quite different. No one would care but me. No one would even know unless Simon or I wanted them to, or he told his sister. Then it would be picking a side. Who would dare go against the golden Simon? Devastation was not too strong a word. It didn’t even come close.

  “I’ve… I haven’t seen you at all lately.”

  When I opened my mouth to explain, he held up his hand.

  “Please, just let me get through this.”

  I snapped my jaw closed, but he didn’t continue speaking.

  He blew out a breath instead, scrubbed his palm over his face, and held a single blink for ten or fifteen seconds. “You know I went to California with Gatlin, right?”

  “Yeah.” A ball formed in the pit of my stomach, then went for a roll trying to make its way out my mouth.

  “Maybe we need some time apart.”

  A piece of my heart froze and an image of ice cracking flashed through my mind.

  “You’re the only girl I’ve ever been with, Dani, and when I talked to Kelly, she suggested…”

  I didn’t give a damn what she had to say. “Kelly Devlin? That-that”--I scanned my brain for an insult I could apply to her and came up empty--“Kelly Devlin?”

  “We think--”

  “As if it’s not enough that damned Jocelyn is always trash talking me, now I have to worry about Miss Congeniality, too?”

  “Don’t, Dani. This is about us. Not anyone else. Kelly and I talked for a long time and she, I mean, we”--he shook his head--“I think we need some time to figure out if we belong together or if we’re just comfortable.”

  I pictured him and Kelly, perfectly wonderful Kelly, lying on a beach, running through the surf, holding hands… The longer I stood, the worse the pictures became. “Time? It’s been eight years, Simon.”

  “Dani, this doesn’t mean we’re finished. It just means we’re taking a step back to make sure.”

  “A step back.” Another piece of my heart chipped off. “Go. Be with Little Suzy Happy Pants if you want. We don’t need a break. We’re finished.”

  I spun away, then whirled around, anger and pain warring inside me. I never let blind fury beat me, but I couldn’t stop it. The sharp stabbing was too intense, and I clung to my rage to escape the grief already killing me, one aching cell at a time. I wanted to scream at him, to hold him accountable for my heartbreak, but I couldn’t summon enough anger to overpower the grief. “That’s what all the trips to California have been about, right? Not surfing with Gatlin, but screwing Kelly.”

  “I didn’t sleep with her. I would never cheat.”

  I laughed, the sound as bitter as the taste. “No? You keep going out there behind my back to see her, to be with her when you belong here with me.” Oh, God. The tears were coming, threatening to spill with just one more blink.

  “You told me to go whenever I asked you.”

  “Because I thought absence would make your freaking heart grow fonder.” I shook my head. “I was giving you space. I didn’t think you’d go out there and fall in love with someone else.”

  He held out a hand, and I jerked away, lifting my hands in the motion for surrender as I backed up a few steps.

  “Dani, we can still be friends. I don’t want to lose you.”

  I bit my bottom lip. “When you brought me over here, I actually thought you were going to ask me to marry you.”

  He reached out again.

  This time, I sidestepped to avoid the touch I longed for, but my pride wouldn’t let me accept. “Don’t. Just don’t.”

  “You’re gonna find a great guy.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat and took three steps, then a fourth. “That’s a great idea. I’m gon-gonna go home and g
et ready to go ou-out or something.” I stumbled over a divot in the grass and caught myself before I could do any more damage to my flailing self-respect.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Oh, yeah. I’m great.” I turned and fled, literally ran away from the scene of the crime. Only when I found myself alone in the dead silence of my apartment did I let the tears break free.

  Chapter 3

  I would have liked to have been the hero in the aftermath of our break-up, or at least the person taking the smallest amount of blame, but looking back, I had moments which should have made me hide my head in some sort of windowless box so no one ever had to witness my shame.

  Case in point…

  “So, what happened with Simon?” Keaton Shaw bent over the pool table to line up his shot. A blue button-down stretched tightly over broad shoulders and tucked in at his narrow waist. He’d flipped his tie over his shoulder so as not to interfere with his already lousy pool skills. His jeans fit snug, hugging his long legs and slightly rounded ass. The denim appeared as though it had been smoothed by time and a few hundred machine washes. I didn’t exactly tingle to touch it, but I admired him with the healthy kind of respect, which would earn me a few extra Hail Mary’s for coveting someone else’s stuff. And there was no mistaking--Keaton Shaw belonged to someone else.

  He’d been beautifully perfect since he arrived on the scene in eighth grade, but the sadness in his eyes lowered his total handsomeness score. Not by much, but enough. I knew Keaton--worked with him, dated him in high school, then dated his BFF for the last eight years--and he’d never admit to sadness or validate the idea of trouble in his perfect life with the equally flawless Jocelyn. Only someone who knew him well or suffered the same affliction would be able to tell.

  We had the same shoulder slump, identical too-much-sadness glances that tried too hard and came away weak. Yeah. I could tell.

  We shared a hurt delivered by people who’d divvied up their DNA to become two halves of a matching twin set. I’d been tossed away earlier in the day, but Keaton’s agony was much fresher, deepening the lines of his face, hunching his spine in a way I’d overcome already…until I had to breath the words, “Simon wants Kelly.” Then mine burned anew.