Trainwreck 2 (Trainwreck #2) (2 page)

BOOK: Trainwreck 2 (Trainwreck #2)
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Ari

Three Years Earlier

“G
oodnight stars. Goodnight air. Goodnight night noises…”

“Everywhere!” shouted out my adorable three-year-old son Benjamin as I got to the end of his favorite book,
Goodnight Moon.
He knew every word by heart as did I; I could practically recite it to him by heart. But there was nothing like reading him a children’s book, turning the pages together, and looking at the charming pictures. It was one of our nightly rituals.

I closed the book and, sitting by his side, tucked my little one into his cozy bed, and made sure his favorite toy, his Green Power Ranger, was tucked in beside him. I drank him in. He was a spitting golden-haired version of me, except he had his mother’s wide-set green eyes. Something that would regrettably always make me think of her.

“Daddy, can you read me another story?” begged Ben. “Please?”

Usually, I readily gave into his request, but tonight I had too much on my mind.

“Not tonight, buddy,” I replied, trying to mask my anxiety.

“Where’s Mommy?”

It pained me that he still loved his mother so much. My chest tightened. I hated that question. There were only two answers—either recklessly clubbing somewhere or passed out on the couch.

“She’s working,” I lied.

“Mommy works too much.”

Actually, the problem was she didn’t work at all. Or at least, not any longer. After giving birth to Ben, everything had changed. She had never gotten over her postpartum depression and every day, sank deeper. She spent her days sleeping and her nights boozing. Opening bottles was about the only activity she could manage these days. Vodka. One glass after another until the bottle was consumed—that along with tranquilizers and sleeping pills—and she was passed out somewhere. She’d gone into rehab twice but had regressed shortly afterward each time. The time for us to end our once fairy-tale marriage had come.

“Sleep tight and don’t let the bed bugs bite,” I told my son before giving him a kiss on the forehead. “Daddy and Mommy love you from here to the moon and back.”

I hated saying that last line. It was such a lie. But my shrink told me it was important for our son to feel loved by both parents even though my wife was an absentee mother, totally indifferent to the needs of our child. Actually, indifferent didn’t quite cut it. She was oblivious to his needs and had no interest whatsoever in taking care of him. Thank God, I had a wonderful housekeeper who was able to double as a nanny to fill in for her and give him the maternal attention he so coveted and lacked.

One more hug followed by an exchange of “I love you”, and I turned off his light. I crept quietly out of his room, leaving the door slightly open the way he liked it. I kept the hall light on, the beam helping him with his fear of the dark as did his treasured Power Ranger. Man, I loved this kid. More than anything or anyone. I’d kill for him in a heartbeat.

The hallway of my spacious Upper East Side apartment was long, and along the way, I passed a console table filled with family photos. A large framed photo of Cassandra and me on our wedding day dominated the grouping, which also included several
Harper’s Bazaar
and
Vogue
covers. A shudder rippled through me. How happy we looked! How beautiful she was. The golden couple with a gilded life ahead of them. Now that was going to be over. I swallowed down the rage I harbored toward her. The rage that had replaced the crazy passion we’d once had. Or maybe it was just youthful lust. Impulsively, I turned the photo around before heading to the kitchen. At the thought of the impending future, butterflies swarmed my stomach and a chill swept through me.

Despite my queasiness, I was hungry. I hadn’t eaten all day. Just hours before, my sister had drawn up the final divorce papers and served them to her. I knew exactly where my soon-to-be ex would be at six p.m. on a Friday—at the Bergdorf’s spa, having her weekly facial, massage, and manicure—the only activities she could muster these days other than boozing and popping pills.

I glanced down at my watch before opening the refrigerator. Eight p.m. My heart hammered. She’d likely be home soon to get ready for a night of clubbing. Total debauchery. With this thought on my mind, I pulled out the roast beef our housekeeper, Luisa, had made earlier for dinner along with a bottle of Dijon mustard and a beer. Too on edge to heat it up or to make myself a dinner plate, I decided to make a quick sandwich. A baguette was sitting on the counter. Grabbing it, I ambled to the corner where the cutting board and a set of expensive knives—a wedding present—were kept. Placing the platter of cold roast beef down on the granite counter and the baguette on the board, I reached for one of the knives and sliced open the bread. The sharp ten-inch blade easily cut through the crusty loaf. I then began to slice the meat.

“What the fuck, you asshole! How dare you?”

A shrill familiar voice pierced the dimly lit room, over shadowing the clickety-clack of her heels. Fuck. Cassandra was home earlier than expected. Dropping the knife on the counter, I turned around and faced her. I soaked her in.

There was no doubt in my mind that madness consumed her. Her eyes flickered with rage, and her nostrils flared with each heavy breath. Had she been drinking? I wasn’t sure. One thing was certain: she was a far cry from the svelte beauty I’d once fallen head over heels in love with and married. Her skin was blotchy, her hair disheveled, and her designer clothes looked like they might burst through the seams on her bloated body.

“Cassandra, it’s the only choice I had. Our marriage is over.”

“It’s all that damn kid’s fault. I never wanted him.”

My blood boiled. “Please don’t involve him. He’s only three.”

“Fuck that little bastard.”

Her words cut through me like a knife to my heart, but I’d learned from her therapists that she projected her own self-loathing onto both Ben and me. The frightening life or death incident that had occurred only a few weeks ago had been the final straw. Drunk out of her mind, she’d shoved our precious son to the floor, knocking him unconscious. The image of my beautiful little boy lying in a coma, hooked up to all kinds of beeping machines and IVs, sent rage pulsing through my bloodstream.

“It’s not his fault. Leave him out of this,” I pleaded as she stomped my way.

“I hate you! Don’t think I’m leaving that easily!”

“Lower your voice. You’re going to wake him up.”

“Fuck him. I hate that little brat.”

“Daddy. Mommy. I can’t sleep. You’re making too much noise.”

My heart leaped into my throat. My little Ben, clad in his SpongeBob pajamas and clutching his favorite toy, was standing at the doorway. Had he heard what she just said?

“Go back to your room, Ben,” I urged, praying he hadn’t. An innocent three-year-old didn’t belong in the middle of this ugly crossfire.

“Go to hell, you little brat!” Cassandra made a sharp turn on her heel. “Or you’re going to get it!” And then she grabbed the knife.

My heart raced. Shit. What was she going to do to him now? Hadn’t she hurt him enough? Before taking my next breath, I yanked her back by her elbow. Jerking free of me, she spun around to face me again, the wretched smell of alcohol hot on her breath.

“You fucker!”

And then I groaned as white-hot pain surged through my body like a bolt of lightning. A liquid like lava seeped down my back. My vision blurred; my legs grew weak. A muddle of laughter, screams, and sobs filled my ears as stars filled my spinning head.

“Daddy, daddy! You all right?”

“See you in court. Or not.”

I was collapsing, struggling to hold on to the counter edge for support. The searing pain unbearable. That deadly clickety-clack of heels sounded again in my ears. But mostly, they were drowned out by a little boy crying.

Somehow, I managed to take my cell phone out of my pants pocket and speed dial one number before I crumpled to the floor. A wailing little voice kept me alive.

Then, everything faded to black.

###

###

Present

“Where to, Mr. Golden?”

At the sound of the smooth baritone voice, I snapped my eyes open.

My head was spinning and my heart was beating a hundred miles a minute. And beneath my shirt, sweat was pouring. I felt like I was close to having a panic attack. I had just relived the worst night of my life. And now I was living the second worse night.

My fucking ex, Cassandra, was back! And the poison was flowing. She had already contaminated my relationship with Sarah. Spoiled our perfect evening.
She
had made Sarah sick, not the mussels. I’m positive. I should have followed Sarah up to her apartment, but my urgent desire to see that my son was safe overpowered me.

“Well, sir?” repeated my driver, Andre.

“Home. Floor it!” Flooring it in Manhattan was like asking for rain in the desert. But if anyone could race through the city, it was Andre.

I no longer lived in the apartment I had shared with Cassandra, and to the best of my knowledge, she didn’t know where I now lived, but fear ate away at me. I couldn’t underestimate what she was capable of. As soon as Andre peeled off from the curve, I pulled out my phone and speed dialed Luisa to find out if everything was okay. She assured me that everything was good and that Ben was peacefully sound asleep. I let out a deep sigh of relief. Thank fucking god. Before ending the call, I told her I’d be home soon and to be sure the door was double-locked and that the security system was on. And to absolutely not let anyone up to the apartment. Without questioning me, she agreed to everything and bid me goodnight.

The next call I made was to my sister. Not telling her at all about my dinner date with Sarah, I told her about Cassandra.

“Jesus.”

“Gwen, I thought she wasn’t allowed back in the country.”

“Technically, she’s not, but there’s a way around everything. She must have used a fake identity and passport.”

“Is there anything you can do?”

“Ari, did you find out where she lives? Or what name she goes under?”

“No.”
Shit.
And then I remembered something. “I ran into Lisa Kent the other day, and she told me she saw someone at the Bergdorf’s spa who looked almost identical to Cassandra. It must have been her.”

I went on to tell her that my ex’s former shoulder-length blond hair was now waist-length and jet-black and that she’d likely had some face work done, including injecting her lips to make them fuller and removing the little bump on her nose that she’d always hated. She listened attentively.

“Well, that’s a starting point, but we don’t have much to go on. I’ll put a few of my private investigators on it and see if we can track her down. I wouldn’t be surprised if she frequents all her old haunts.”

A small burst of relief surged inside me. No one was smarter than my sister. “What should I do in the meantime?”

“Ari, the woman is a psychopath. She’s dangerous…capable of anything. I think you need a bodyguard and so does Ben. She hates your son more than she hates you—blames him for her breakdown and the demise of your marriage—and she could seek revenge.”

A shiver skittered down my spine as my stomach twisted. Andre had my back, but I needed 24/7 protection for Ben. One person came to mind. No one could do it better.

I hung up with Gwen and immediately speed dialed another number—Vadim’s.

By the time I ended the call, my trusted employee, a former Soviet KGB agent, was on his way to the city.

Leaning back in my seat, I took in the lights and sounds of the city as the limo cruised up Park Avenue. As my breathing and pulse rate calmed down, my mind traveled back to Sarah. What a fucked up night. I needed to make her understand that my ex wasn’t going to get in the way of our relationship though I didn’t really believe that for a second. Cassandra was jealous and vindictive. Someone needed to protect Sarah. And that someone was me. Worry again seeped into my bloodstream. Not wasting a second, I called her.

Dammit. The voicemail box on her home phone was full and not taking any messages. To make matters worse, I still didn’t have her damn cell phone number. My heart sank. Was she really sick or was she avoiding me? It didn’t matter. I wasn’t giving up on her and I wasn’t going to let her give up on me.

Fuck Cassandra.

During rest of the ride home, I filled Andre in on everything. He took the news like the stoic soldier he was. A former Navy Seal, he belonged to a secret network of informants and snipers, who could help me track down my. Dealing with Cassandra was like dealing with a terrorist. One never knew where she was hiding or when she could strike. Andre was armed and having him there for me gave me a modicum of comfort.

We reached my apartment building in fifteen minutes. I jumped out of the limo before Andre had a chance to open my door, brushed past the doorman, and headed straight up to my penthouse. Having a private elevator eliminated the worry of having to make stops or make small talk with other residents.

Luisa, as usual, was in the kitchen tidying up. She immediately took notice of the distress etched on my face and stopped what she was doing.

“Señor Golden,
eez
everything all right?”

“No, Luisa.” I took off my jacket and loosened my tie.


Eet
did not go well with Señorita Greene?
Qué lástima!

My maternal housekeeper had made her feelings about Sarah loud and clear to me. She liked her very much.
Una buena mujer
. She had long hoped I would find another woman, someone to love and be a mother to Ben. The fact that Ben had so readily warmed to Sarah made Luisa even happier.

Sitting down at the kitchen island, I told Luisa what had happened. Fatigue laced my voice.

At the news that Cassandra was back, Luisa’s dark eyes grew wide, and her hand flew to her mouth as her jaw dropped with a gasp. Her coffee-skinned face paled.

“Ay, dios mío!”

Luisa, who had been with me since my days in graduate school, had never liked Cassandra from day one. My condescending, narcissistic ex treated her like dirt, bossing her around and making absurd demands. I urged Luisa to seek work elsewhere and offered to write her a glowing recommendation. But childless Luisa, who loved me like a son, refused to leave me and remained loyal. She was the one who urged me to end my marriage as she witnessed Cassandra’s downward spiral…her descent to hell. Then Ben came along and he became the joy of Luisa’s life. In addition to being our housekeeper, she unofficially became our nanny. Cassandra was thrilled to pass on all maternal responsibility, from the changing of a diaper to rocking him to sleep at night. Luisa was loving and protective. The harm Cassandra inflicted on Ben pained her as much as it did me. Though she’d been spared that horrific fateful night as she had the day off, she’d vicariously shared the horror, and God bless her, she’d lovingly helped nurse both Ben and me back to physical and emotional health and stability.

BOOK: Trainwreck 2 (Trainwreck #2)
9.77Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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