Breathe: A Love’s Complicated Novel

  Breathe

  A Love’s Complicated Novel

  Hollis Wynn

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to action persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by Hollis Wynn

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover: The Coverist by Ande

  Photography: Adobe Stock

  * * *

  www.holliswynn.com

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  Also by Hollis Wynn

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  For those who doubt their ability to love or be loved.

  Chapter 1

  “Bri, I’m walking into the house. I’ve got to get going so I have everything done before Jake gets home,” I say unlocking the door to the apartment.

  “Have fun and let’s catch up next week,” she says before hanging up.

  Today is Jake’s birthday and I’m coming home early to surprise him. All the ingredients for his favorite dinner—steak, twice baked potatoes and broccoli casserole—along with everything to make a German chocolate cake are in the bags I carry. I am determined to make it a night to remember. He doesn’t know that I took off early to shop and get ready for tonight, but I still open the door to our apartment and yell for him.

  “Jake? Baby, are you home?” No response. I drop my shoes by the front door temporarily. I’ll put them away before he gets home tonight because Jake hates when anything is out of place. I head into the kitchen with the shopping bags and set them on the counter.

  “What is that noise?” I ask myself. It sounds like the shower is running.

  I pad to the back of the apartment toward our bedroom. The closer I get, the louder the noise is. I guess he is home, I think to myself.

  The door to our bedroom is partially open and I see a pair of heels that aren’t mine sitting on the floor at the end of the bed. What on earth? I push the door open and walk straight to the bathroom. The door is closed but I try the knob anyway. It’s unlocked so I walk in.

  I mean it’s my house, why wouldn’t I?

  The bathroom is so full of steam that I can’t see my reflection in the mirror, but I can see the outline of a body in the shower. Based on the heels on the floor and the hips, I’m quite sure it’s a woman, I just don’t know who she is. So, I sit on top of the counter and try to keep my panic at bay while I wait for her to come out.

  When she opens the door a couple of minutes later, I’m staring straight at her and she screams bloody murder.

  “What the hell are you doing in my bathroom?” she says.

  My panic is obvious as is hers. She attempts to cover herself with her hands, all while her eyes are open so wide, I anticipate they’ll fall out of her head if she moves it.

  “You mean my bathroom?” I state sarcastically.

  “No, I mean my fiancé’s bathroom.” She’s standing in the buff staring expectantly at me.

  “You must be in the wrong apartment,” I say loudly. “I’d suggest that you pack your shit and get the hell out of here.”

  The look on her face has me vacillating between confusion and anger. Who the hell does this chick think she is? Her fiancé’s apartment?

  By this point, she’s grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her body. “I’m in the right place. I’m sure of it.”

  “How can you be so sure? Maybe the doorman let you into the wrong place.” I’m grasping at straws here because my gut is churning and I’m pretty sure there is something fishy going on here. I just can’t put my finger on it.

  “Oh no, this is Jake Adams’s apartment. The guy in the photo in the bedroom? Yep, he’s my fiancé.”

  That’s when I flip. My heart starts beating a million miles an hour and I’m shaking uncontrollably.

  “Get the hell out of here. You may think you’re Jake’s fiancé, but you’re not. I am. We’re getting married. We’ve already put a deposit down on a reception location and have the date.” I realize my hands are flying all over the place and I twine my fingers together in an attempt to look more calm than I feel.

  “Remove yourself from the premises immediately or I’m going to call the police,” I say and walk past her, bumping my shoulder into hers. “I’ll be in the kitchen. You have five minutes to dress, pack your things, and get out of here.”

  I turn and storm out of the bedroom and walk into the kitchen. The need to keep my hands busy is overwhelming, I don’t want to lose my shit. Then I spy a bottle of whiskey on the other side of the counter. I am heavy handed with pouring the amber liquid into a tumbler. I stare down at the glass as if it’s going to provide some divine intervention, though I know that’s ludicrous. One long pull and I’m sputtering and coughing in front of the counter.

  “I think we need to talk,” she says, as she walks into the kitchen. She’s not dressed to leave but is wearing one of Jake’s button-down shirts and not much else. The audacity of this woman.

  “No, I don’t think so. I can’t imagine you will can anything that will make any sense at this point.” I shake my head and take another sip of the whiskey.

  “Just hear me out. Please.”

  I don’t look up at her, but I can tell she’s moving around. A minute or so later, she has a cup of water in front of her and is sitting down at the end of the table. She’s been here before, that’s obvious.

  “Fine. But talk fast.”

  It’s then I realize how beautiful she is. She has long, curly, blond hair and the brightest green eyes. Her skin is glowing. Interestingly enough, she seems fairly calm. Like this isn’t a shock to her. I turn around to face the table and lean my hip against the counter, holding my whiskey like it’s going to keep me from drowning.

  “Love is complicated, especially when you’re the other woman—like I am. Meeting Jake was something I never expected. He came into my life at a time when I craved male attention and he gave it to me. I knew that he was with someone, but when you love someone . . .” She trails off and I stare at her. What kind of woman agrees to be the other woman?

  “He loves you,” she says. “He told me he does. He also said that you’re good for his image. You’re smart and classy. You look good on his arm and his parents adore you.”

  My head starts to pound and I’m vacillating between wanting to strangle her for being so blasé about this and wanting to slap him. Anger is coursing through my veins like a cross country runner who’s close to the finish line.

  I just stare at her. If he loved me he wouldn’t be having a relationship with her.

  “Jake told me that his parents want him to marry someone who will be good for the image of the company, and you fit that bill. Me, I’m just a nobody who’s trying to make her life better.” She shrugs her shoulders at me and looks into h
er water. “He’s not a bad guy,” she says. “Jake just wants to be with someone who give him all the things you do not.”

  “A marriage is between two people, not between two people and a mistress who keeps the husband happy when times get hard,” I spit out at her. My anger grows by the minute—though I’m not sure who I’m mad at her, him or myself.

  “I gave him my heart, my soul—everything. What could he be missing that he didn’t get from me?” The question is part rhetorical and part curiosity. I really don’t know what we’re missing.

  Then she says it. The thing many women fear.

  “He says that sex with you is just okay.”

  “Are you shitting me?” I gasp. “He really said that about me? About us?”

  It’s then that she makes eye contact with me and I realize that everything she’s said is true—at least the version of the truth Jake has told her. I can see into the depths of her eyes that she really loves him and he’s convinced her all this is okay.

  “Keep going,” I say. “This is just getting good—or bad—depending how you look at it.”

  I take a seat at the other end of the table, at the same time she gets up and walks to the fruit bowl on the counter, then pulls out an apple. I watch her wash, dry, and begin slicing it before I notice her ring.

  I place my fingers in the corners of my eyes to stop the tears. I can’t let her see how much this is hurting me. In all my anger, frustration, and attempting to keep my heart from shattering into a thousand pieces, I failed to notice the gleaming, two-carat, Tiffany set diamond on her finger.

  If you wonder how I know the specifics, it’s because I have the same one. Apparently, Jake is more of a douche than I could have ever imagined.

  “When and where . . .” I pause trying to get my breathing under control. “Did you get that ring?” I get up from the table and hold my hand up in front of her face. “My ring. Where did you get it?”

  She looks up and gives me a half smile. What is wrong with this woman? Doesn’t she understand this isn’t normal?

  “I’m assuming that he bought mine when he bought yours. I’m not one to kick a gift horse in the mouth. So, when he brought the ring home to me, I said thank you and we celebrated as if we were the ones getting married.”

  And the hits just keep on coming. She thinks their fuck pad is a home.

  “First of all, he didn’t bring anything home to you. This is our home. Wherever you guys shack up and fuck isn’t his home,” I say as I walk back over to the counter. Then I think about it. It doesn’t matter what my home is, it’s never going to be with Jake—there’s no going back from this.

  Standing there staring at her, I feel the hot tears running down my face. I’ve tried with all my might to keep them at bay, but I can’t anymore. I don’t even wipe at them because they’re not going to stop. My heart is crumbling into millions of pieces.

  “What kind of woman agrees to this type of relationship? What’s the point in telling me now? Did you and Jake just decide today’s the day to share all the juicy details about your relationship? To see how much Amber can handle?” I don’t really want to know the answers and I turn my back to her to try to hide the pain she’s causing me.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  Well, that’s the last thing I expected to hear.

  “Good luck to you two,” I say, the tears running a river of black down my face. “You deserve each other.”

  I shoot back the rest of the whiskey in my glass, turn around, and walk into the living room.

  “Do not follow me,” I shout at her as I reach into my purse and grab my phone to message my brother.

  I send Chris a text asking him to bring one of his trucks to the loading dock at my apartment in one hour. He asks a lot of questions and I just reply with, Just bring the truck. We can talk about it later.

  Next, I head into the master bedroom, open the closet, and dig out the suitcases so I can pack my things. Thankfully, I don’t have much here because when I moved in with Jake I sold all my furniture except for a couple of sentimental pieces because he had a fully furnished apartment. Within an hour, I have all my clothes and shoes packed and I take one of his large suitcases to pack my books inside. He can keep the shelf, it’s not fancy anyway, but I’m not leaving my books.

  I start hauling my stuff to the front door, then stop to say, “I forgot to ask, what’s your name?”

  “I’m Charlotte, but you can call me Lotte. Everyone else does.”

  She walks toward me like she wants to hug me. No way in hell. “Amber . . .”

  “I was going to introduce myself, but you already know who I am obviously.” I walk away from her and go to grab another suitcase and bring it to the door.

  “He’s yours. You win,” I say. I think to myself that it’s a bit ironic how this woman—Lotte—and I are similar. We both just want to be loved. I can’t decide if I should call Jake and ask him if this is true or just leave, but I truly don’t want to know. What a mistake it would be to fall for his games again and wake up one day to find out he’s had a string of these relationships the whole time we were married.

  Chris knocks on the door at just the right time. “Open the door, Amber.”

  “I’m coming,” I yell.

  “What the hell is going on?” he asks when I swing the door open and it hits the wall with a thud.

  “I don’t want to talk about it right now. Can you take these down to the truck and I’ll be down in a bit?” I give him the sister death stare that he’s come to know, the one that says “I’ll tell you when I’m ready.” He doesn’t ask any more questions and grabs a couple suitcases to take downstairs.

  “It will take me a couple loads, I’ll be back up in a bit.” He walks out and I let the door slam behind him.

  I dig in my purse for my key and the fob for after-hours building access. I remove them from the ring and place them on the counter. “Please let him know that I’m gone and not to call me. I’ll be changing my number tonight and blocking his.”

  I walk back toward the door where I notice Chris is waiting. “Is this it?”

  “That’s it. I’ll be right down.” I take one more sweep of the apartment to see if there is anything I’ve left. The realization that my life was easily packed up in an hour is wretched.

  “Amber, you should really call him,” she says. “Give him a chance to explain.” I’m appalled that she said that out loud.

  “What is there to explain? He cheated. You’re pregnant. I’m leaving. He’s not my responsibility anymore.”

  I walk toward the door to leave and turn back around.

  “Congrats on the baby. I hope you have the life you’ve always dreamed of.”

  Then I walk out of the door. It’s over. Seven years later, I have nothing to show for my time with Jake except for a broken heart and a wedding to cancel.

  Chapter 2

  The next morning I wake up with a headache and dry eyes from a long night of crying and drinking. I roll around the bed before I open my eyes and remember I’m not at home. I’m in Chris’s guest room. That means it wasn’t a dream but a real-life nightmare. My fiancé is engaged to another woman who is having his baby. I couldn’t have predicted that I’d be this age, hiding in my brother’s extra bedroom, trying to figure out what to do with my life.

  “Ugh,” I exclaim to myself.

  I heave my body to the side of the bed, sit up and don’t move for what feels like forever, but in reality is less than a minute, before standing up.

  “Oof,” I fall back onto the bed with a loud gasp. My head feels like it’s going to pop off my body and everything hurts. My nose crinkles as I get a whiff of something that smells like old garlic and wine. I lift my shirt to take a sniff and realize the atrocious smell is me.

  The second time I try to get up, I’m much more successful. I slide my feet along the floor on my way to the bathroom, then I turn the shower on to warm up. Glancing at my reflection in the mirror, I see my cheeks are puffy and ye
sterday’s mascara has created streaks of black down onto my neck. My jeans and long sleeve thermal feel rough against my skin as I take them off.

  After stepping into the shower, I drop my chin to my chest and let the hot water beat on my skin. The pounding rhythm of the water helps lessen the tension in my muscles, though it does nothing for the way my heart feels.

  “Damn it.” Sobs wrack my body as I slam my hand against the shower wall. The tears start again, mixing with the water. Sitting down in the bottom of the shower I let it all out. The heartbreak, the despair, the anger. My family has always commented that I’m not a crier. What they don’t know is I’m not a fan of showing weakness, so I allow myself to cry in the shower and claim I got soap in my eyes. It’s easier than answering all the “are you okay” questions.

  Jake Adams is the love of my life.

  Jake Adams was the love of my life. Past tense.

  I met him when I was a senior in college and he was everything I thought I wanted and dreamed of in a husband. Standing over six feet tall, with soulful chocolate brown eyes and a head full of ebony hair, Jake’s lean muscular body was the icing on the cake. I would run my hands over his washboard abs before falling asleep with my head on his chest.

  Jake was two years older than my twenty-two when we met. He’d graduated from college and began working for his father’s firm, Adams Development. As one of the largest developers in the city, Jake was always in a meeting or traveling. He traveled back and forth between Chicago and Milwaukee often, to prove to his father that he could expand Adams Development.

  Too bad he didn’t put in a similar effort in our relationship. Some days I wondered if Jake cared more about his appearance than he did me.