Page 14 of Tomorrow Belongs to Us
In that instant, I knew thathewas what I needed. I didn't want him to leave, and he didn't seem to want to move away.
An awkward silence filled the space between us, in between the high wooden shelves holding the musty books.
And that was how we began.
The struggle was so real back then, to hold the family together, to be a sounding board for my desperate mother, to be the one taking care of my sister and brother. All because father took an interest in one of his co-workers.
My mother was falling apart in front of us all, and I had to be strong for my brother and sister.
That’s why I started going to the library more and more, and it soon became my escape.
After that, whenever I’d go to the library–because it was always quiet and easier to study there compared to my home—I would often see Mr. Turner.
Each time I saw him, it made me happy.Hemade me happy because he cared for me. He seemed genuinely concerned. He was the only one who cared for me.
I wrench myself away from the past before I sink deeper into a rabbit hole I can’t escape from.
I need to focus on now. On me and what I want: to wean myself away from one-night romantic encounters and to focus on getting the promotion because that would give me more money and more responsibility. In turn, I would feel worthy.
I can’t afford to let Lance Turner into my head, messing things up for me again.
Chapter 7
LANCE
“Daddy bought it for you. Why can’t you accept it graciously?” Vivian’s voice nudges an octave higher, grating on my nerves even more.
I thank the universe that I’m on the phone and not having a face-to-face conversation with her. I’m in my car, having finished a session with the physiotherapist.
“Because I don’t want it. I’ve never wanted your father to buy me anything,” I snarl, trying to soften the anger in my voice. I can’t help it. This woman has made my life a misery. She is everything I didn’t want in a partner, and most of my married life has been spent with me trying to forget that I made a big mistake. But things are beyond repair now, and every interaction between us is filled with spite.
I’ve had enough of her controlling father. He’s a wealthy businessman, and has provided his daughter with a life of wealth and privilege. Vivian has always had everything, and not known the value of anything.
She’s a grown woman, a pampered woman whose father has set her up in a sprawling mansion in West Newbury. It was our marital home until I broke out and found freedom. My father-in-law has also made many provisions for his granddaughter, and I suspect he continued to give Vivian an allowance the entire time we were married and living together.
My in-laws couldn’t have made it any clearer from the outset that my salary wasn’t enough to support the lifestyle to which their precious daughter had become accustomed. I’ve always felt as if I wasn’t enough. Not only because of Vivian, but because of her parents as well.
“My father insists on it!” she exclaims, as if it’s nothing. “You can’t drive the old stick shift with your shoulder injury. Just accept Daddy’s gift and take the car!”
Screw her Daddy.I clutch the cell phone, flexing the fingers of my free hand. “I don’t want it. I like the car I drive. It’s safe—”
“Safe?” she laughs. “That pile of junk looks like it’s going to fall apart anytime soon. Don’t be so ungrateful, Lance. My father’s only trying to help you. The car is here and all you need to do is drive it away.”
That’s one of the problems with Vivian. She doesn’t stop. Jab, jab, jab, jab, jab. It’s constant, the way she picks and picks until I give in, and I often do, out of sheer exhaustion, and because I want a peaceful life. I often gave in, which was why I stayed in the marriage way longer than I should have. The high point of my life and the marriage was the birth of Cassie.
“I’m happy with my pile of junk. I’m not coming over to the house because I don’t want the car. ‘Bye.”
I throw the phone onto the passenger seat and start the car. My shoulder feels stiff sometimes, especially in the morning, but I’m doing the exercises and pray that it will fully heal. The shoulder isn’t as bad as my sleep. In bed I constantly toss and turn and think about the shooting, about Heidi Byrne and her ex-boyfriend, the man who wanted her dead.
When I do manage to fall asleep, I wake up in the middle of the night, terrified, shivering. Sometimes the shooter doesn’t shoot me, but kills Heidi. Sometimes, the bullet hits me in my chest.
Those are the nights I wake up with palpitations. I have to get up and walk around, and I try to watch TV or read a book. I can’t shake it, this fear of doom and gloom. I’m not a man who is easily scared, yet this incident affects me more than I care to admit. The doctors advised me to get therapy to talk over what happened, but I don’t need it. This will pass in time.
But on those nights when I awaken with dark thoughts, I often think of Megan, and how freaky it is that we both live in the same town. This is fated. Thinking of her calms me down. Memories of our past soothe me, until I remember how it ended. My mind goes back to that night.
That. One. Night.
There were times when I wished I’d been a stronger man, that I hadn’t been tempted, and then when I left I should have reached out and explained.
