Mandy (Heaven Hill Shorts #10) Read online

  Mandy

  The Heaven Hill Shorts #10

  Laramie Briscoe

  Contents

  Also By Laramie Briscoe

  New Release Alerts

  Blurb

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  About the Author

  Connect With Laramie

  Copyright © 2020 Laramie Briscoe

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without express permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and storylines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  Cover: Laramie Briscoe

  Formatting: Laramie Briscoe

  Created with Vellum

  Also By Laramie Briscoe

  The Haldonia Monarchy

  Royal Rebel

  Royal Chaos

  Royal Love

  Heaven Hill Series

  Meant To Be

  Out of Darkness

  Losing Control

  Worth The Battle

  Dirty Little Secret

  Second Chance Love

  Rough Patch

  Beginning of Forever

  Home Free

  Shield My Heart

  A Heaven Hill Christmas

  Heaven Hill Next Generation

  Hurricane

  Wild

  Fury

  Hollow

  Heaven Hill Shorts

  Caelin

  Christine

  Justice

  Harley

  Jagger

  Charity

  Liam

  Drew

  Dalton

  Mandy

  Rockin’ Country Series

  Only The Beginning

  One Day at A Time

  The Price of Love

  Full Circle

  Hard To Love

  Reaper’s Girl

  The Nashvegas Trilogy

  Power Couple

  The Moonshine Task Force Series

  Renegade

  Tank

  Havoc

  Ace

  Menace

  Cruise

  Laurel Springs Emergency Response Team

  Ransom

  Suppression

  Enigma

  Cutter

  Sullivan

  The MVP Duet

  On the DL

  MVP

  The Midnight Cove Series

  Inflame

  Stand Alones

  My Confession

  Sketch

  Sass

  Trick

  Room 143

  2018 Laramie Briscoe Compilation

  2019 Laramie Briscoe Compilation

  New Release Alerts

  JOIN MY MAILING LIST

  http://sitel.ink/LBList

  JOIN MY READERS GROUP

  fbl.ink/LaramiesLounge

  Blurb

  Mandy Barnett

  Dalton and I have been through a lot in the years we’ve been together. Somehow we’ve come out on the other side.

  But this?

  This might break us.

  After all - it’s completely broken me.

  Chapter One

  Mandy

  The days all run together now, like never-ending pieces of a dream I can’t wake up from. I want to wake up, I try everyday to let go of the fog.

  But it lingers, in everything I do. In front of my eyes, in my head, and even over my heart. The heart I’d opened up so wide for a baby I had begun to assume wasn’t coming.

  We’d tried for months and months to get pregnant, only to have each test be negative. Dalton and I, we’d given up, honestly. Both of us had thrown up our hands and said if this is meant to be, then it’ll be. We’d stopped worrying about temperatures and times of the day, and ovulation kits. We’d gone back to being spontaneous and having fun with each other - in a way I don’t think we’d ever done before.

  Only to have this baby ripped away from us.

  And now this fog. It won’t lift, and I can’t see past it. But it feels like no one understands.

  “Mom!”

  The shouted word causes me to slip from the stool I’m sitting on. Glancing at my son, I have no idea how long he’s been there, how long he’s been yelling my name, or what he’s even said to me.

  “Hey!” I do my best to give him a smile. “How was school?”

  His cheeks are ruddy with irritation, almost the same way Dalton gets.

  “Sucked,” he throws his book bag down on the living room carpet. “You were supposed to come and pick me up, remember?”

  “Was that today?”

  I could have sworn it was tomorrow.

  “Yeah, it was today.”

  Okay so he’s supremely pissed, much like his dad is at me lately.

  “I’m sorry, time just got away from me.”

  He looks at me, accusation so obvious in his gaze. “You’re still in your pajamas. It’s what you were wearing when I left this morning,” his eyes shift back to the sink. “Looks like you didn’t eat either.”

  “I cleaned up after myself.”

  The lie is too easy. They’ve become so easy these past few months, and nobody questions me. Nobody checks on the truth anymore.

  Why don’t they check on the truth? Why can’t they see I’m hurting; dying inside?

  My son, he’s defiant, going over to the fridge, he opens it so hard the door hits against the wall.

  “Hey,” my tone is sharp, hoping to show him I still run this place, even if I feel not at all equipped or qualified to take care of either one of us. “Don’t be banging doors.”

  “There’s nothing gone from this fridge, Mom. I know because I looked before I went to school, and I knew you would lie to me, so I took pictures,” he pulls a cell phone out of his pocket.

  “Where did you get a cell phone? You’re ten years old, you’re not old enough to have one of those yet. We’ve discussed it.”

  “Dad gave it to me so he can be in contact with me when he needs to. He said you don’t answer your phone when he tries to get in touch with me.”

  How dare Dalton do this to me? How dare he act like I can’t take care of the kid who managed to live? How did Walker make it when the other baby didn’t? I grab myself around my middle - which should be distended, almost ready to give birth right about now - instead it’s hollow.

  My eyes shift to the son in front of me. The living flesh and bone I’m responsible for. The child who did make it nine months. I’m failing him, and we’re putting him in the middle oof our bullshit. I swore to myself I’d never be this person, but I’m just not strong enough right now. I’m not strong for me, how can I be strong for them?

  “Your Dad should have spoken with me before he gave you that.”

  Walker raises an eyebrow. “Then maybe you should talk to him.”

  I don’t know when he got this attitude. Probably when I wasn’t paying attention, but he’s acting much older than his age, and it’s sc
ary. He’s so much like his father it’s frightening.

  “Go to your room, right now.”

  My finger shakes as I point down the hallway.

  “No,” his eyes meet mine.

  “No?”

  When did I lose so much control over everything?

  “I won’t go to my room and let you sit out here in your pajamas while you stare off into space. Not anymore. I’m calling grandpa.”

  The last thing I need is for my dad to show up here. “No you’re not.”

  “Yes I am!”

  “Walker, I’m not playing around with you.”

  “I’m not playing around with you either. This,” he gestures to the filthy inside of our house. “Isn’t who you are. You’re not my mom anymore, and if you think you are, you’re wrong.”

  He takes off running, going straight out the door.

  I want to follow him, but I can’t make my feet move. It seems like too much work to put one foot in front of the other. I can’t seem to make myself care about anything anymore, and it’s with that thought I actually do make myself move.

  Instead of going for the door, I go toward the cabinet in the kitchen. The one I’ve been thinking about for weeks. It keeps me up at night as I fight between my desire to forget my life, and to reclaim it.

  Stopping in front of the cabinet, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. My heart pounds and my mouth salivates as I think about what’s behind the piece of oak Dalton made himself. We stained these together the first week we moved in here.

  We ended up on the kitchen floor, stain covering our bodies as we’d enjoyed the time alone. It’d taken us two more days than we’d thought to get the kitchen done. When Dad had something about it, we’d looked at each other with little smirks on our faces and had answered with something like, it’d been worth it.

  But that was another time, might as well be a whole other life. It’s definitely not one I recognize anymore.

  Slinging open the cabinet, I see what I’m looking for.

  The amber liquid of bourbon, pill bottles that I’ve hoarded and stashed the last couple of months as I’ve gone from one doctor to another, complaining about not being able to sleep, holding onto them for the perfect moment. The shot glass, I’ve been saving it too.

  This moment.

  The one when I don’t have to be in pain anymore.

  Grabbing all of it out of the cabinet, I go back over to the counter and have a seat, counting out the pills in a neat row. Opening the bottle of bourbon, and pouring a shot into the shot glass Dalton and I got on our last trip to the Alabama coast.

  Everything is set out, everything is perfect, the time is almost here.

  Pulling my phone over to me, I look at a picture of Dalton, and I’m hit right in the heart with the memory of the last time we saw each other.

  That’s the only thing that stops my fingers from reaching for the pills.

  That memory.

  The one that tore us completely apart.

  Chapter Two

  Mandy

  ONE WEEK PRIOR

  D: I’m at the field. Come meet me.

  My stomach flutters when I see his name pop across my phone. It still says Hubby <3. Almost as if everything’s okay.

  But it’s not, and I’m not sure it’s going to be again. He’s asking to meet in our field. The one where I told him I was pregnant, the place we went a few days after the miscarriage and held each other as we both cried. Only he seemed to move on, and I can’t.

  As much as I want to see him, I go with the best excuse, Walker.

  M: Walker’s in bed and it’s cold.

  D: Walker slept through a legit tornado, and I know how to keep you warm.

  His words warm a place that’s been cold for far too long. Whatever happens tonight won’t make what’s going on between us right, but I miss him. For just a few minutes in all the chaos that’s been surrounding us, I long to feel normal. Even if it’s only for a moment.

  I shouldn’t do it, but all the choices I’ve been making lately seem to be the wrong ones. Might as well go for broke.

  M: I shouldn’t do this, but I’ll be there in a few minutes.

  D: Thank you, babe. I love you.

  I love you.

  It’s foreign to even read those words from him, which is wrong on so many levels. He’s my husband. Those should be some of the only words I expect to hear or see.

  Even though I’ve pretended like this isn’t a big deal, it is. I take a few minutes to run a comb through my hair, some mascara on my lashes, and lip gloss. The kind he loves.

  What are you doin’ Mandy?

  It’s a question I’ve asked myself a million times, but I just can’t seem to make heads or tails of it. Sometimes everything seems right, other times it’s like there’s someone I don’t know in my head.

  Quietly I check on Walker, before locking up and leaving. When I sit my butt down in the driver’s seat of my car I have a moment of insecurity. What if he wants to see me to tell me it’s over, that I’ve pushed him too far away this time?

  No, I shake my head. Dalton would never give up on me.

  Even if I’ve given up on myself.

  With shaking hands I start the car and do the couple minute drive to our field. This piece of land has been one of the most important places of our lives, and I hate that I’m probably going to break us here.

  My heart trips violently against my chest as I see him. There’s a glow around his face, no doubt the cigarette he’s smoking to calm his nerves. His eyes are on me as I park, shut the car off and slowly get out. I can feel them, burning through my clothes to the skin underneath as I walk toward him.

  I don’t run, not the way I want to, instead I stop at the front of the car, leaning against the hood.

  “Hey,” his voice is so deep, full of emotion, and fifty thousand times sexier than any other man I’ve ever spoken to. In the light of the full moon, I can see his hand flex to his jeans pocket, shoving it down to the knuckles.

  I wish he’d reach out and touch me.

  Nervously, I take a lock of my hair, twirling it around my index finger. “How have you been?”

  Why do I ask him this question? Obviously I’m a glutton for punishment. If he’s anything like me, we aren’t doing well.

  The pain in his voice cuts me to the bone.

  “How have I been? I feel like I’m missing my other half, Mandy. I wanna come home,” those words are ripped from his throat, tears are in his eyes, and for a second I want to tell him to forget all this shit, to just come home.

  But something stops me.

  “Dalton please,” I sigh before dropping my piece of hair and fixing him with a glare. “Do you think this is easy for me?”

  “It must be,” he yells. For the first time since this started, he yells at me. The only other times we’ve yelled have been at God. This time though, he directs that anger toward me. “Because it doesn’t seem like you’re going through the same shit I am. I’ve been patient Mandy,” he advances on me, putting his huge hands on either side of my hips, pressing his body into me.

  I’m not scared of him, I’ve never been scared of him.

  “You don’t know what I’m going through.”

  I try so hard to convey without words how I’m feeling, but I know I’m failing. It’s not there the way I want it to be.

  “Babe, I’m scared,” he whispers, the honesty in his voice almost my undoing. “I’m scared for you, for me, for Walker. What’s happening?” He leans into me, and I take his weight.

  It’s the weight of him that does me in. I’ve missed him, his body, his hands, his voice, his presence. A tiny noise off appreciation works its way from the back of my throat. He’s hard, his length pressing against me in a way I haven’t felt in so long. Immediately my nipples react, my core clinches. I miss my husband.

  “Dalton,” I reach down, cupping his bulge against the zippering of his jeans with my hand. “I’m scared too.”

  “Then let m
e back in.”

  He does this thing that I love. He widens his stance so that we’re eye-to-eye. He did it the first time he kissed me, and it’s always been something so intrinsically him.

  Unshed tears ton my voice when I speak again. “I want to, but I don’t know how.”

  He begs. “We can do this. We can make it work again, whatever is bothering you, talk to me about it.”

  Frustration pools in my belly. The same frustration I’ve felt since all of this happened. I can’t get people to understand me, and I’m getting sick of it. “I don’t know how,” I tell him again.

  “What do you mean you don’t know how?”

  My face screws up in a grimace the likes of which I’ve never made before. The sheer pain I feel is evidence of that. “I’m broken, Dalton.”

  “What?”

  How can he not see I’m broken? How can he not see how I’m struggling.

  “You’re not broken, why do you say that?”

  “Losing our baby, there’s a piece of me that shattered and I can’t put it back together, Dalton. I’m not sure how. I wake up every day telling myself this is the day you’re going to fix your hair, put on a little makeup, call your husband and fix the shitshow you’ve made of your life, but it never happens. And I know, don’t you think I know, how you feel?”

  “No,” he grasps me by the chin. “You don’t know how I feel because you’ve never asked.”

  “I can’t take it,” I sob. “The blame I know you’ll put on me, I can’t take it, I don’t want to accept it.”