Beautiful Surrender (The Surrender Series Book Three) (2 page)

“I
know, but Dr. Perkins is a dolt. She doesn’t understand me. I’m not getting
much from talking with her.”

“She’s
supposed to be one of the best therapists on the east coast for treating your
condition. Please, Marty. Won’t you do it for me?”

He took
a deep breath then relaxed his shoulders. “Okay. I’ll do it for you.”

***

I’d
just gotten back to my dorm room from a party to find Marty sitting on my bed
waiting for me, his mouth a thin line. His apartment was further away from
campus than my room so we’d been spending a lot of time at my place. It made
sense for him to carry my extra key.

The
first words out of his mouth were an accusation. “You don’t care about me
Kristen.”

I
didn’t take to that greeting well. “I do, Marty. Damn it. I do.”

“Then
why did you go to that party when you knew it would only make me jealous?”

“God. I
just went with some girls. They were nice enough to invite me. It’s not like I
have a lot of other friends here. I invited you but you said you had too much
work to do.”

“I
know. I just hate the thought of other guys making a move on you. You’re so
beautiful. It drives me nuts to think you’d leave me for someone better.
Someone more handsome and charming.”

“I’d
never cheat on you Marty. You have to trust me.”

He
grumbled then softened his voice. “I do trust you.”

***

It was
spring break and I didn’t really want to go home to see my parents so I went to
Marty’s instead. He’d said they had a large house and his parents would be
excited to meet me. His dad, Charles Pritchard, was a founding partner at one
of the most prestigious law firms on the east coast so his family was
financially very well off. It’d been a week since I arrived at the Pritchard
household located on the outskirts of Boston and things weren’t quite what I
expected.

I was
standing next to Marty in the living room. We were planning to go out for a
dinner date but the car was gone and the other two cars were in the shop.

“Where’s
Dad?” Marty asked..

“He’s
out late again,” Mrs. Pritchard said. She was sitting in a recliner aimed at
the big screen TV but the TV wasn’t on. She had a half-empty bottle of amber
liquid in her hand. Even in her disheveled state, Melody Pritchard was a
knockout for her age. Radiant blonde hair, hourglass body, and the face of a
Victoria’s Secret model. I could see how Marty got his good looks. She lived up
to the “trophy” part of trophy wife for sure. “Probably at work banging the
secretary.” She brought the bottle to her lips for a long sip. “Nobody loves
me. Not your father. Not you. My own son doesn’t love his mother.”

“I do,
Mom. You know I do.”

“I
raised you. I gave you my tits to drink from. You made them saggy and ugly.
That’s why your father is cheating on me. Because I’m no longer pretty enough
for him. How can I blame him for wanting other women?”

“No,
Mom. Dad’s just busy with work. He’s not cheating.”

She
took another drink. “Men are all the same. Liars and cheaters. Isn’t that right
Kristen?”

This
was awkward. Super awkward.
What was I supposed to say to that?

“. . .
I don’t know Mrs. Pritchard. Marty hasn’t cheated on me. At least not that I
know of. . .” I looked at Marty warily. He gave me a sympathetic look as if to
say “I’m sorry you have to deal with this.”

Mrs.
Pritchard huffed then took another sip and gestured the bottle at me. “I like
you. You’re a good girl. I’m glad Marty met you.” She turned her attention to
Marty. “You be good to Kristen. She’s such a nice girl. A real sweetheart.
Don’t you cheat on her like your no good father cheats on me.”

“I’d
never do that, Mom. I’m good. Just like you raised me.”

She
nodded. “That’s right. You’re a good boy, Martin. My son.”

Mr.
Pritchard didn’t get back with the car until midnight that night. We ended up
ordering delivery pizza and watching mindless action movies in Marty’s room. I
faintly heard Mr. Pritchard and his wife arguing downstairs but most of it was
drowned out by the explosions and gunshots blaring from the TV.

***

“What
do you think about the idea of having kids someday?” Marty asked, his hands
behind his head. I was leaning against his chest still coming off the buzz of a
recent orgasm.

We’d
just had angry make-up sex after having a heated argument over someone—a
guy—leaving a benign comment on my Facebook wall. We fought, I ended up
deleting it, then we humped like rabbits. It was becoming a more frequent
occurrence.

I
laughed and looked up at him. “Aren’t we jumping the gun here a bit? I haven’t
even graduated yet.”

He
smiled. “Just a hypothetical question.”

“I
don’t know. I haven’t given it too much thought. Kids are cute when they’re
babies but even then they’re a handful. I can’t imagine how rough it’d be when
they become teenagers. I’m not sure I’m fit to be a mother. Lord knows I
haven’t had a good reference.”

“I
think you’d make a great mom.”

I
laughed again. “That’s quite a compliment. Care to provide some reasons to back
up your claim Mr. Know-It-All?”

“You’re
very caring. Compassionate. You know what not to be like.”

“Doesn’t
mean I know what
to
be like.”

His
smile widened and he winked one blue eye. “I have faith in you. You’re a quick
learner.”

He was
poking fun of me so I tickled his ribs because I knew he hated that. “How about
you? What do you think of being a dad?”

“I’m
looking forward to it someday, definitely. Settle down. Be a good father. I’d
spend a lot of time with the kid and give a lot of attention, that’s for sure.”

“You’re
not going to be busy all the time like your dad?”

“I’d
try my hardest not to be. I definitely don’t want to be like that.”

I began
to think about what it would be like raising a kid with Marty. Just keeping our
relationship on the tracks was hard enough because of his condition, I couldn’t
imagine what it would be like if we added a child to the mix.

“You’re
thinking about something,” he said. “What is it?”

I shook
my head. “Oh it’s nothing.”

“C’mon,
you can tell me.” He stroked my hair gently. “Don’t worry, you’re not going to
upset me.”

“Okay,”
I said softly. “I was going to ask if you were worried about your condition, if
it’ll be passed on to the baby.”

He
paused to think about it. “Supposedly, part of it is genetic so it’s possible
it could be passed down. But it’s definitely not certain.” After a moment he
smiled. “If it happens, you can be there to keep us both in line.”

***

“Why
would you drop out of law school?” I asked.

We were
in my apartment in Boston. I’d already graduated and been working at a
financial company for a few months. Marty was going to Yale Law School in
Connecticut but had shown up at my place unexpectedly. We’d been on and off for
close to a year now. Things started getting rockier after he went to law
school. Every time I’d break up with him, he’d apologize profusely and promise
to change. I’d forgive him and we’d try again. It was complicated between us.

This
was one of our off cycles.

He
shrugged. “It was pointless. I hated it.”

“But
you were going to work at your dad’s firm right? What’s he going to say?”

“He can
go screw himself,” Marty huffed. “That’s all he cares about: his law firm.
He’ll probably be pissed and cut me off financially but whatever. I’m sure I’ll
find something else to do.”

“Marty,
it doesn’t sound like you’ve thought this through. You’re over halfway done.
Why not just finish it?”

“It’s
stupid. I never wanted to do it anyway. My dad just forced me to do it. Having
his son go to the top law school in the country makes him look good. He doesn’t
really care about me.”

“You’re
upset, Marty. Let’s think about this.”

“No one
cares about me. Dad’s never around. Mom’s a mess. You’re all I have Kristen.”

I
inhaled air into my lungs to compose myself. “We can’t keep doing this, Marty.
It’s getting tiring. We go through the same thing over and over again.”

“I’m
tired too but we love each other too much.” He stared into my eyes. The intense
gaze from those blue irises bore through layers of doubt and uncertainty. “We
both know we’ll never be over.”

***

I
shoved clothes and items into my luggage in a hurry. My pinky still hurt, which
made it difficult picking things up with my right hand. I needed to get out of
here. Get out of Boston.

Thankfully
I didn’t have much stuff. The apartment had been fully furnished when I moved
in. All my essential things fit into two large suitcases—at least they did
after I smooshed everything together. Everything else I could leave behind.

As for
the email and Facebook passwords, I’d have to change them when I got to New
York.

I
needed to start over.

The
pounding at my apartment door became a quiet knock after I told him to go away.
The controlled response irritated me. How could Vincent act so cool after I’d
just found out he cheated on me with Ariel?
That asshole had some nerve
showing up at my doorstep.
I was going to open the door and scream at him.
He was a wolf in sheep’s clothing and he’d fooled me.

The
worst part though—he wasn’t the first.

I
twisted back the deadbolt, but purposefully left the chain lock in place.
Vincent wasn’t coming inside—not unless he begged. And even then, probably not.
I opened the door a crack and glanced at the man standing on my welcome mat.

I
froze.

It
wasn’t Vincent at the other side of the door.

Piercing
blue eyes. Square, rimless glasses. Tousled brown hair parted down the center.

It was
Marty.

My hand
instinctively leaped to the heart-shaped necklace around my neck.
How could
this be happening?
I’d been so consumed with Vincent and work lately that I
nearly forgot he had shown up at my apartment a month ago when only Riley was
home.

“Kristen!
I’m so glad I found you. I’ve been so worried.” The familiar crisp, masculine
voice flowed over me, halting my breath. He placed one hand over his heart
while keeping the other one behind his back. He was wearing a black v-neck over
jeans that led down to brown suede boots. The casual, laid-back appearance contrasted
sharply with my reaction to seeing this man on my doorstep.

“Marty?”
I wanted to shut the door, to run away, to change addresses again. Maybe change
my name this time. But I couldn’t move. My hands and feet had turned to ice.

“Wow,
you look amazing.” He smiled as his eyes scanned up and down my body. “Even
better than I remember. I don’t know how that’s possible.”

I
became acutely aware that I was still wearing the hip-hugging black dress I’d
worn to dinner with Vincent. My hair was still styled but my makeup was a mess
after crying over Vincent’s infidelity.

“H-How
did you find me?”

“When I
went to your place in Boston, I found out you weren’t there. I didn’t know
where you went until I typed your name into Google recently and found this
address.”

That’s
insanely strange.
I regularly Googled
myself to make sure my new address never showed up on the internet for that
very reason. I knew my company never posted specific employee information on
their website. Had I slipped up somehow?

He
continued. “I want to say I’m so so sorry for everything I’ve put you through.
I know why you left in such a hurry and I can’t blame you.”

Tears
caught in my throat as I recalled the traumatic moments of my pinky being
twisted. A flood of conflicting emotions confused me. Fear. Relief. Pain. Hope.
Good and bad memories flashed through my mind. Office hours. Swing dancing.
Nights we made love. Days we screamed at each other. His fist going into the
wall. We’d been together for two and a half years and I thought I’d locked away
those memories in some dark recess of my brain but all of it came crashing down
on me now like an avalanche.

“I know
I can’t ever take things back. I should’ve called but I knew I had to tell you
this in person.”

My grip
on the necklace tightened. He was right. He shouldn’t have just shown up on my
doorstep unannounced. Not the first time. Not like this. I glanced warily at
his other hand, which was still behind his back. I clicked off the safety on my
mace necklace preparing for what he might do after what I was about to say to
him.

“Marty,
you shouldn’t be here.”

His
blue eyes shifted. A subtle cover slid over them that changed their appearance
to pleading. “I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I’ve been working on myself. I’ve
been seeing Dr. Perkins. I haven’t given up on us.”

“That
was two years ago,” I stuttered. “I’ve moved on. I needed to start over.”

A
flinch in his features betrayed frustration. For a brief instant his eyes
flickered intensity. It was the same look as when he punched a hole in his apartment
wall. But as soon as it appeared, it disappeared. “Don’t give up on me,
Kristen. We’ve been through so much together. We’ve shared things we’ve never
shared with anyone else. Don’t throw that all away.”

“You
threw it all away. After what you did to me . . .” My hands trembled and my
legs felt weak. I staggered against the wall for support. My body burned and my
skin prickled. I could feel my heart beating rapidly. I wanted to shout, cry,
push, shove, and throw my hands up in defeat all at the same. It was a
strangely familiar feeling. Like I had sunk back into an old routine I’d
learned to break.

And
then I realized: after two years, we were arguing again.

“It was
out of line, I know. I won’t do it again, I promise. I’ve been working on
myself these years we’ve been apart.” He smiled in frustration. “You’ve got to
listen to me.”

How
many times had he made promises before? He’d always broken them. He wouldn’t
take his meds. He wouldn’t see his therapist. I’d wanted to believe in him time
and time again. A part of me even wanted to believe him now. That he’d finally
changed for better. But instinct won out. “No, Marty. No.”

“Please,
Kristen,” he said softly. He pulled his hand out from behind his back.
Surprised, I took a step back. In his hand was a bouquet of blue flowers. “I
brought you these. Bluebonnets, your favorite.”

I was
shocked. He’d remembered an offhand comment I’d made when we had visited the
botanical gardens while we were still dating. He’d asked me which flower was my
favorite and I’d said the bluebonnet because it reminded me of Texas and the
color matched his stunning blue eyes.

My
heart stopped in my chest. The anger, frustration, fear—all of it disappeared
for a moment.

He
stepped forward and extended his open palm through the narrow opening of the
door. I could’ve shut the door before, but now if I tried it would mean
shutting it on his hand.

“I’ll
never hurt you again,” he said softly.

“Marty,
I—”

His
fingers nearly touching my hand at my necklace, I became painfully aware of my
pinky throbbing. I didn’t know what to do. It was happening all over again. The
helplessness. The frustration. The desire to please. The hope that things would
be different this time. The fear that they wouldn’t be.

Then
his fingers touched my hand. The next moment happened too quick for me to
process. When my brain caught up, I saw Marty toppling across the floor. A
short but muscular body in a striped polo had tackled him to the ground
scattering blue flowers across the hallway.

“Bernie!”
I screamed, recognizing his orange tan.

Where
did he come from? What the hell was he doing? What was going on?

“Get
off me!” Marty cried as he struggled to free himself from Bernie’s bearhug from
behind.

The two
men rolled across the dusty hallway carpet, wrestling for dominance, kicking
the ground, kicking the wall, crushing flowers in their wake. Bernie slid his
bearhug high and managed to wrap his arm around Marty’s neck for a chokehold.
Marty grasped at Bernie’s arm trying to pry it away but the arm was too strong
and muscular; within moments, Marty’s face became red from lack of circulation.

Growling
and gritting his teeth, Marty pushed himself off the floor with Bernie still on
his back hovering a foot off the ground. Marty threw his back against the wall,
slamming Bernie so hard it felt like the whole apartment building shook. It was
enough to loosen Bernie’s grip and Marty took advantage of the opportunity. He
adjusted his chin and bit down on Bernie’s forearm causing Bernie to release
the hold. Marty staggered away but not before kicking Bernie in the face,
making him reel backward.

“You
fucking moron, messing with me,” Marty cried, gasping for air. He faltered on
his feet fighting against dizziness to regain his balance while Bernie leaned
against the wall recovering from the damage he’d taken, spitting out blue
petals from his mouth—and a tooth—in the process.

A tall
man with long, toned arms swiftly moved behind Marty like a ninja and grabbed
one of his arms and pulled it behind his back while twisting his wrist. It was
professional, like something a police officer would do. How did Kurt know how
to do that?

I
unlatched the chain on the door and rushed into the hallway—not caring about
how I looked.

“Stand
back, Kristen.” Kurt yelled. “We’re not going to let him hurt you. We’re here
to protect you.” Kurt pushed Marty down onto the ground and Bernie jumped on
top of Marty’s back to hold him still with his weight.

“W-what?”
I stammered. I had no idea what was going on. It was all happening too fast.

“Kristen,
I wasn’t going to hurt you!” Marty shouted from his face-down position pinned
beneath Bernie.

“He
wasn’t going to do anything,” I cried.

“It’s
our job—” Kurt tightened Marty’s arm behind his back, making him yelp. “To
protect you.”

I shook
my head in disbelief, frantically trying to grasp the situation. “I don’t
understand.”

“Please.
Get back inside the apartment Ms. Daley,” said Bernie whose nose and mouth were
bleeding from Marty’s kick.

“Why?
How did you know my last name?”

I was
about to ask more questions when I heard footsteps bounding up the stairwell.
Had somebody in one of the other apartments heard the commotion and reported
it? Was it the police?

An
imposing figure in elegant dress clothes appeared at the top of the stairs. His
breathing was fast and his dark eyes were fierce.

Vincent.
He looked as if he had come straight from the restaurant
where I left him.

Noticing
me along with the commotion nearby, a grave look swept over his features. He
dashed down the hallway toward us, his black loafers thumping like hooves
against the dingy carpet.

“Vincent!”
I cried. I was surprised by the relief I felt at seeing him.

Vincent
stopped in front of us, his face marred with concern. He gently gripped my
shoulders. “Kristen, are you all right? Are you hurt in any way?” His usual
composure in dangerous situations was gone.

“I-I’m
fine, Vincent. But it’s crazy. There’s a fight . . . I don’t know what to do.
I’m scared.” Everything was happening so fast, I couldn’t form the proper words
to explain. Even if I could, he wouldn’t believe me. How could I explain that
Marty had shown up unexpectedly with flowers and then my seriously muscular
neighbor who likes Lady Gaga tackled him thinking he was going to hurt me? Even
I’d have trouble believing me.

I was
glad Vincent was here now though. Once again, I became aware of how Vincent
made me feel safe. He’d put an end to this drama.

Vincent
turned his gaze to Marty being held on the ground. Marty was still struggling,
cursing. Vincent’s jaw became tight and his eyes a blazing inferno. “You think
you can use fear to control her? I’ll show you fear.” Vincent clenched his
hands. “Bring him to his knees,” he said.

Kurt
and Bernie brought Marty up to his knees while continuing to restrain him.
Marty tried to resist but Kurt tightened the hold on his arm. As Vincent stood
in front of Marty kneeling, I could tell that they had similar heights and
builds. They glared at each other fiercely like two wild lions ready to fight
over a female. The similarity between them was jarring.

“What
are you doing Vincent?” I cried. Vincent ignored me. His focus was solely on
Marty.

“You
son of a bitch.” Vincent pulled his arm back and swung, landing a clean blow
across Marty’s cheek. Marty’s glasses flew off his head and slammed against the
nearby wall. I thought I heard somebody’s bone crack. I wasn’t sure if it was
Marty’s jaw or Vincent’s knuckle.

“What
are you doing?” I screamed.

“Why’d
you hit me you piece of shit? I’ll fucking kill you,” Marty yelled.

“You
think you’re tough beating up women?” Vincent snarled.

He took
another swing with his other hand, landing a blow on Marty’s other cheek.

“You
just want to control her. You have no right.”

“Fuck
you. You don’t know shit about me!” Marty cried.

Then
Vincent began kicking him in the stomach.

“Go to
hell,” Marty panted in between blows.

“You
don’t care about her. You never did.”

I’d
never seen this side of Vincent before. He punched Marty again and again as if
possessed. I watched in horror as a realization swept over me: Marty was going
to die.

I
leaped in front of Vincent to shield Marty. Vincent pulled his punch back as I
wrapped my arms around him and buried my face into his chest.

“Stop
Vincent! Please, god. Stop. You’re going to kill him!”