Dark Light

Chapter One

I looked at myself one final time in the oversized mirror while my dad and stepdad stood behind me with tears in their eyes. The soft gold wedding gown was perfect. It was a strapless A-line fit-and-flare cathedral gown. Elegant embroidery and diamonds embellished the entire bodice. The satin overlay skirt had faint embroidery and diamonds along the hem. The long cathedral veil had diamonds along the hem and a little embroidery detailing. The dress and veil sparkled and blended well with my luminous skin tone and fit my five-foot-nine, curvy frame beautifully. I had opted for a pair of flats in a champagne color that were embellished with crystals.

                My elegant, luminous makeup was fabulous, thanks to Arianna, sister of Zach, my husband-to-be, on his dad’s side, and Joyce, Zach’s stepmother. My hairstylist, my mom, Gloria, had done a superb job on my hair. Together we had decided on long, romantic, elegant curls. The front was pinned up beautifully, with a few strands of curls hanging, and the back hung perfectly. My mom had added some diamonds to my hair and my ears to complete the look.

                The bridesmaids, my stepsisters, Lauren and Melissa, and Arianna, wore strapless ivory lace A-line gowns with sweeping trains, while the sashes were the color of my dress. My maid of honor, Carmen, my best friend, wore the same dress as the bridesmaids, but her sash was espresso brown. They looked stunning in their gowns that sparkled with diamonds. To complete the elegant look, they all wore ivory birdcage veils with ingrained diamonds and midheight champagne-colored heels with crystals.

                They all looked as if they were the brides, which to most brides would’ve been a no-no. But I wasn’t your typical bride, and I’d chosen those gowns because I wanted the women of my wedding party to look just as lovely, stunning, and elegant as I did. Why wear an amazing wedding gown that is the focal point of your ceremony, second only to the vows and “I dos,” and not have bridesmaids and maid-of-honor dresses to complement its beauty and elegance?

                Furthermore, there was no doubt about who the bride was in that church. My gown had bride written all over it, and I strutted in it like the sexy bride I was.

                My bridesman, Timmie, wore a fitted ivory suit with a diamond-set lace necktie and lace handkerchief the same color as my dress. The lace necktie and handkerchief had been the idea and creation of my stepmother, Elizabeth.

                My junior bridesmaids—Gabrielle, my daughter, and Lilly, my baby sister—wore ivory sweetheart A-line chiffon dresses. The flower girls—Megan, Carmen’s daughter; Hanna, Lauren’s daughter; and Erica, Melissa’s daughter—wore beautiful tea-length ivory dresses with sashes the same color as the bridesmaids’. Even their dresses had little diamonds in them.

                Derek Jr., Lauren’s son, and Cody, Melissa’s son, served as the ring bearers. They wore the cutest espresso-brown, two-button, notch-lapel suits with bow ties and vests that were the color of my dress. They were so handsome that they looked like little GQ men straight from the cover.

“Something old. Check,” my mother said, caressing the diamonds in my ears that had belonged to my six or seven times great-grandmother.

                “Something new. Check,” Marietta, Zach’s mother, said, placing an elegant diamond necklace around my neck that she and her parents had bought me as a welcome-to-the-family gesture.

                “Something borrowed,” I said, eyeing my mother’s multistranded golden pearl and diamond bracelet with a hearty smile.

                “Oh…no, no, no,” she said, waving her right index finger at me. “You’re not slick, Abi. You’ve had your eye on this since you were a little girl. Borrow, my ass. I will never see it again.”

                Everyone laughed.

                I couldn’t deny the fact that I had planned to get that elegant vintage bracelet. I really had loved it since I’d first seen it.

                I just smiled devilishly and pleaded, “But, Mom, look at how beautiful it would look on me. The pearls are the exact same color as my dress, and the diamonds match the ones in my ears. You wouldn’t really deny me the pleasure of having the perfect wedding, would you?” She fixed her beautiful green eyes on me and I begged. “Please.”

                After my begging and pleading, she finally put the bracelet on my wrist and said, “Borrow. Remember. And you look absolutely gorgeous.” She kissed my left cheek.

                I kissed her back. “I come from a long line of beautiful and gorgeous women.”

                “Yes, you do, sweetie. And you have that something blue on your thigh?” She raised her brows.

                I proudly hiked up my dress so she could see the garter Liz had made me with the blue stitching that read Always Yours.

                “Let’s go get you married,” my mom said, a single tear rolling down her cheek.

At exactly 1:00 p.m., the orchestra began playing and the ring bearers started their way down the aisle, followed by the junior bridesmaids. After the rest of the bridal party traversed the sanctuary, the flower girls dropped calla and Peruvian lily petals on the runner that was lined on both sides with sparkling crystals.

                The doors to the ceremony closed. It was time for me to make my grand entrance.

                “Are you ready, princess?” my dad asked. I nodded with a hearty smile.

                “Take a deep breath, sweetheart,” my stepdad added. I did so. A few times.

                Please, God. Spare me from a repeat, I prayed, asking him to let the wedding go off without a hitch. Last time it all crashed two days prior. I couldn’t help but think about my aborted wedding to Gabe, my daughter’s dad.

                The orchestra played and the doors opened to reveal the three of us. My dad, Dr. Adam Winterfield, and my stepdad, Dr. Richard Shanahan, wore black two-button suits with pearl-colored neckties. Everyone rose with smiles. We walked half the length of the aisle, and though it was long, I looked at Zach and saw his beautiful, delectable lips say, “Wow!” while he shook his head. A huge smile broke out on his face, as did a few tears from my eyes. That made me happy and erased the fears I had.

                “Slow down, sweetheart,” my stepdad whispered. “He’s going to be there.”

                I couldn’t wait to be near Zach, to see my six-foot-three, two hundred twenty pounds of lean muscle hunkalicious man face-to-face, to smell him, to kiss him, to touch him. I slowed my pace and bit my bottom lip, shaking my head while keeping my gaze on Zach. I might have even licked my lips. It was a damn-baby-you-look-good-and-I-can’t-wait-to-get-you-alone gesture.

                Zach noticed and grinned devilishly, shaking his head. The guests noticed as well and chuckled in response. A wider smile covered my face, and his greenish-gray eyes sparkled with desire.

                The guys all had on the same espresso-brown one-button suits with neckties and vests the same color as my dress, while Zach wore a one-button lapel suit the same color as my dress with an espresso-brown necktie and vest. They all looked really good. And my baby—he looked yummilicious.

“Who gives this woman to be married to this man?” the bishop asked, once we finally made our way to the front of the church.

                “We do,” my dad and stepdad avowed together. They kissed my cheek, gave Zach two earfuls, shook his hand with really tight grips, and then released me into Zach’s waiting arms.

                My dad turned, pulled me to his tall, solid frame, and with glassy hazel eyes whispered, “I am so proud of you, Abigail. You will always be my little princess…my baby girl. You look absolutely gorgeous, Mrs. McConnallay.”

                The tears he had desperately tried to hold back escaped his eyes. I wiped them away with my finger and hugged him tightly. I cried in his chest while the guests said, “Aw.” I pulled away and glanced over at my mom, who was bawling her eyes out. I grabbed her hand and squeezed it tightly before hugging her just the same. My mom and dad both swiped some tears from my cheeks before my dad returned me to Zach.

                After the bishop read a few scriptures, Zach and I exchanged our lovely, heartfelt vows that left us both in tears. We vowed and agreed, before more than three hundred guests, to have each other as husband and wife, through good and bad, and worse. The bishop declared me Zach’s wife and Zach my husband, and told us to seal our blessed union with a kiss. We did. Caressing each other’s faces, we slowly and passionately kissed, devouring each other’s tongues.

                “Only you. Only you, baby,” Zach whispered, with his hands on my face and his forehead and nose against mine. We kissed again.

                Gleefully the bishop said, “It is my honor to present to you Mr. and Mrs. Zach Austin McConnallay.”

                Everyone applauded as we kissed again. Multicolored calla and Peruvian lily petals fell from the ceiling, showering us as we walked down the aisle as husband and wife with huge smiles. I later found out that this had been Zach’s one and only demand during the wedding planning—that I be showered with a million of those petals at that very moment. It was truly romantic and beautiful.

                The reception looked absolutely magnificent. So magnificent that I cried like a baby at first sight. Zach was equally blown away. The room was elegant, luminous, and actually sparkled. There were different shades of gold and brown and cream and ivory, with sparkling crystals and a ton of calla and Peruvian lilies everywhere.

                The centerpieces were just beautiful—the vases were covered in sparkling crystals and held a few dozen calla lilies, Diva Maria lilies, and ivory white Peruvian lilies. There were also oversized vases throughout the room, covered in a million crystals, that each held a few dozen long-stemmed calla lilies and ivory oriental lilies.

                Our moms and stepmoms had done an amazing job. Their bossy, overzealous, and take-control-over-every-goddamn-thing behaviors were definitely appreciated.

                “Wow! This is beautiful,” I said, hugging each of them. “Thank you so much. I love it—it’s better and more than I envisioned.”

                “I’m glad you love it, sweetheart,” my mom said, hugging me tighter.

                All our guests and the bridal party were just as blown away and commented on how stunning the reception looked.

                During the reception, after Zach and I had our first dance, which was to Luke Bryan’s “First Love Song,” everyone danced to “Gangnam Style.” It was so cute and delightful to watch Zach dance the moves with our grandparents. I thought they did it better than he did. It was plain hilarious watching our parents take a stab at the popular dance craze. Watching them pony across the floor made me laugh until I cried. My dad, who I thought had the most rhythm of everyone, tripped over his foot and fell flat on his face. And not because he was drunk. But he got up and got right back on that pony.

                Everyone was dancing and having a blast when the local police interrupted our celebration and forced the DJ to stop the music.

                Coming over to where Zach and I were, one of the men said, “Mr. McConnallay, I have a warrant for your arrest.”

                What the fuck?

                Taking Zach’s drink from his hand, the officer pulled a pair of cuffs from his handcuff holster and said, “I need you to turn around and put your hands—”

                “Excuse me!” I blurted. I stepped between Zach and the man, preventing him from cuffing my husband. “Whoever’s sick joke this is, it’s not funny.”

                “Ma’am, I can assure you that this is not a joke,” he replied. “I have an arrest warrant for you as well.”

                “What? What for?” I asked, now confused. Zach asked the same.

                “For assault and battery. Now I need you and Mr. McConnallay to put your hands behind your backs.” Another officer came over and started assisting him by applying my cuffs.

                “I didn’t assault anyone. What the hell are you talking about?” I said.

                Zach looked shocked.

                “I’m their attorney. I need to see those warrants,” Matt said. Matt, who was tall and athletically built, with brown eyes and dark hair, was a damn good attorney, Zach’s best friend, and one of his groomsmen. He was also my best friend’s man and the father of their little girl.

                After Matt reviewed the arrest warrants, he looked at us and nodded. “It’s legit. Henry Epps has filed assault and battery charges against both of you for an incident that occurred at the Blue Moon Bar and Grill on the sixth of October, where you allegedly attacked, assaulted, and battered him, resulting in injuries, including a broken nose and a busted lip.”

                “That son of a—”

                “Don’t say anything, Abi,” Zach interrupted.

                The officer read us our Miranda rights as I stood in disbelief. I couldn’t believe it. I was being arrested on my wedding day, and in front of our more than three hundred guests and my daughter.

                “Bro, what the hell is going on?” Xander, Zach’s older brother, asked.

                “You wait just one goddamn minute here,” my grandfather, my mother’s dad, said, rolling up his sleeves. “You take your damn hands off my granddaughter and her husband right damn now. Who the hell do you think you are, coming in here, breaking up these kids’ wedding?”

                “We have warrants for their arrests,” the officer replied.

                “Ah, nonsense,” my grandfather said, waving the man off, his blue eyes getting darker and flashing fire. “That isn’t a goddamn warrant. It’s a piece of paper you wipe your ass with. Now undo their cuffs and get on out of here, and leave these babies alone so they can have their wedding in peace, or I’m going to kick y’all’s asses.” He stood tall, his six-foot-one, broad farmer’s frame ready to throw down.

                “This isn’t Texas or any of those states down south,” one of the officers said. He had obviously noticed my grandfather’s thick southern accent, and the cowboy hat and boots he wore made it a no-brainer. “Step back and shut your mouth before I arrest you for assaulting officers and obstruction of justice.”

                “You should be glad that you’re not in Texas or any of those states down south. Otherwise, I’d have my cowboy boots deep in your ass by now. And they are a size thirteen, so go figure. Now—”

                “Pa-pa!” I blurted, just as he seemed to have added an inch or two to his stature.

                “Sir, step back or I will arrest you,” the officer said, showing my grandfather his cuffs.

                “Why the hell are you dangling your goddamn sissy cuffs in my face like you are expecting a red-light special or something?” my grandfather said, mocking the officer.

                “Pa-pa!” I yelled. I was also taken aback by his reference to the handcuffs and red-light special. I couldn’t and didn’t want to imagine my grandparents doing anything daring in the realm of bondage. I shook that thought from my head quickly.

                I needed to defuse the situation and calm him, quickly. I knew from experience that when my grandfather got that Jack D—Jack Daniels—in his veins, he turned into a badass. He would’ve gone John Wayne on anyone he thought was threatening him or his family.

                “How are you going to get me out of jail if you’re locked up with me, huh? Now stop it,” I said.

                “Okay, angel face,” he said. He gave the officers one final grim look. It was an I-meant-what-I-said-about-kicking-y’all’s-asses look. I knew that look as well.

                Why the hell did that sick son of a bitch wait so long to file charges? And to do this on our wedding day…the motherfu—

                The same officer interrupted my thoughts. “I also have an arrest warrant for Dr. Adam Winterfield.”

                “What for?” Elizabeth and I blurted together.

                He ignored us and stepped in front of my dad, who had come over to Zach and me. “Dr. Winterfield, sir, please turn around and place your hands behind your back.” My dad did so without hesitation. My dad, like my mom, was of mixed race. He was of Cajun and Atlantic Creole descent with golden skin, hazel eyes, and brown hair.

                “Adam, what is going on?” Elizabeth asked.

                “I need to see that warrant as well,” Matt said. Reading the warrant, he looked up at my dad with wide eyes and an oh-shit look. Something bad had happened.

                “What is it, Matt?” I asked, nervous.

                The officer began cuffing my dad. “You are under arrest for the attempted murder of Dr. Henry Epps.”

                I gasped and looked at my dad as the officer read him his rights.

                “Daddy?” I cried out with tears in my eyes. It was a what-did-you-do cry.

                “Don’t worry, princess. Everything will be fine, okay?”

                “Daddy?” I immediately starting blaming myself for his arrest. I knew that the information I had shared with him almost two weeks back about the rapes had probably led my dad to do whatever he had done that had resulted in the arrest warrant.

                Gabi and Lilly started crying and hugging me tightly, while Carmen yelled at Matt to do something. My wedding ended with me, Zach, and my dad being escorted out of the reception in handcuffs by the police.

                “I’ll meet you guys at the station to work on your releases,” Matt said.

                “Matt, don’t worry about me,” Zach said as we were being escorted past all our guests.

                It was the most embarrassing walk of my life.

                “Make sure Abi gets out tonight. I don’t want her spending any time in a damn jail cell, especially on her wedding night,” Zach added.

                Zach, my dad, and I were taken to the nearest police station, where we were identified and charged. After getting fingerprinted and photographed, we went to stand before the judge to see if bail would be granted.

                That fucking psycho, Dr. Epps, ruined my wedding, I thought. And my dad tried to kill him? Oh God, what have I done by opening my mouth? Again.

                “Abi, what is it, love? What are you thinking?” Zach asked.

                “I’m tired, babe. I’m just sleepy.”

                “I know you, baby. And you were not just thinking about how tired you are. What is it, Abigail? Talk to me, love.”

                “I was thinking about my dad. And how it’s my fault that he was arrested. If only I had kept my mouth closed, everything would be fine. He never would’ve been arrested for attempted murder, and our wedding wouldn’t have been ruined. I’m sorry I ruined our wedding,” I cried, putting my head on his shoulder.

                “You didn’t ruin anything, love. Today was perfect, and not even Henry can take that away from us. We had an amazing wedding, and we’ll have an equally amazing marriage.” Though we were still cuffed in the front, Zach grabbed my hands. “Don’t worry, love, okay?”

                “Your mother was so right about that damn Pandora’s box. And why would Epps wait until the day of our wedding to do this?”

                “Abigail?” my dad called, finally coming down to wait with us. “You didn’t do anything wrong, princess, so stop blaming yourself. What the hell is going on, McCon—Zach? Why is my little girl in a fucking jail on her wedding day?” my dad asked in a grim whisper that only Zach and I heard. “What assault are they talking about that you two neglected to tell me about?”

                “Adam, I am not happy about my pregnant wife being here any more than you are, but we all are here because of that asshole, Henry.”

                “What the hell happened?” my dad asked again.

                “Daddy, it’s my fault that we all are here. We—”

                “Baby, I told you to stop blaming yourself,” Zach said.

                Looking at Zach, I said, “It is my fault. I’m the one who threw the water in his face, slapped him, and kicked the hell out of him in his baby maker.”

                “You did what?” my dad shouted, getting the attention of everyone in the room. Continuing in a softer tone, he asked, “Did you make sure he went down crying like a bitch?” His smile was bigger than it had been when he’d walked me down the aisle a few hours earlier.

                “Yes, sir, I did,” I replied with a smile, both confused and enthused. I thought he was upset when he shouted, but it was just his excitement.

                “That’s my girl,” he said, grabbing my face with his cuffed hands and kissing me on my forehead. He looked at Zach and asked, “So you busted up his lips and broke his nose, huh?”

                “I wish like hell I’d broken more,” Zach replied.

                Smiling, my dad said, “I saw your handiwork up close. He had on some kind of MacGyver special-made nose splint and nose guard. Good job.”

                “Thank you, sir.” Zach smiled widely.

                “Daddy, what did you do to him that they are saying you attempted to murder him?” I asked.

                “Exactly what they said, princess, and I can’t go into details here.”

                Still waiting to stand before the judge, one of the other detainees said, “You guys are one fucked-up, dysfunctional family to be here on your wedding day.”

                My dad and Zach both stood up to stare down the guy, and my dad asked, “Do you want me to do to you what I did to the asshole I put in critical care?” The guy didn’t respond. “Do you?” my dad asked again, yelling. The guy continued to stay quiet. “Then keep your fucking mouth closed.”

                Damn, Daddy. I knew you were aggressive and hot-tempered, but I had no idea that you were an undercover bad boy. Dr. Badass.

                Two officers came over and instructed Zach and my dad to sit back down and remain orderly. They complied.

                I looked at my dad in complete amazement and asked, “How much trouble did you get into when you were growing up?”

                “Enough that one should not be fooled by the MD behind my name.” He raised his brows. I could only assume what he meant by that.

                After everything calmed down, my dad told me to switch seats with Zach so that the two of them could talk. While they talked about Epps and whatever else they discussed, I put my head in Zach’s lap and fell asleep.

                Zach woke me up a little later. “Get up, baby. They’re calling your name.”

                I looked for my dad but didn’t see him. “Where’s my dad?” I’d already started tearing up. My initial thought was that they had denied him bail and he would have to remain in jail until his trial.

                “No, baby, don’t cry,” Zach said, wiping away my tears just before they rolled down my cheeks. “He’s posting bail, babe.”

                I exhaled deeply and smiled, tears of joy falling from my eyes.

                The official called my name again. “Go, babe, before they skip over you,” Zach said.

                Walking down the aisle to stand before the judge, I thought, This is the second time I’m walking down an aisle today. Everyone’s eyes are on me, watching the bride as she makes her way up to the altar. The only problem is Zach isn’t the man waiting for me. The judge—the officiant—will oversee the proceedings, and he looks mean as hell. This wedding could go one of two ways. I could be left at the altar—denied bail—or look forward to a second reception—granted bail.

                “Ms. Winterfield?” The judge just looked at me with knitted brows—a confused look. “Did you at least get a chance to say ‘I do’?”

                People behind me laughed. I looked back, and Zach raised his brows and motioned his head for me to turn my attention back to the judge.

                I nodded. “Yes. Yes, sir, I did.”

                He proceeded with the hearing.

Chapter Two

Zach and I got home just a little after nine thirty. He started me a hot bath and lit candles all around the tub after helping me out of my wedding gown. I fell asleep in the tub, and after some time, he came in to wake me.

                “Mrs. McConnallay,” he whispered, kissing my neck.

                I looked up at him with a big smile and stroked his face with a wet hand. He looked so sexy. He still had on his wedding attire. His sleeves were rolled up, necktie loosened, shirt hanging free with some buttons undone, and vest unbuttoned.

                He kissed my lips and said, “Come, let me help you get out.”

                I shook my head. “Please come in with me after you refill the tub with some fresh hot water.”

                “That’s an invitation I can’t turn down,” he said with a big smile, letting the water drain.

                He began refilling the tub with hot water and quickly started peeling off his clothes.

                “Slowly,” I said with a devilish grin. He winked at me.

                Slowly he removed his vest and let it drop to the floor behind him. Then he slowly unbuttoned the remaining buttons on his shirt, staring at me intensely. I bit down on my lip.

                “Mm…Mrs. McConnallay. You know what happens when you do that.”

                “I don’t remember,” I said, leaning forward on the side of the tub. “Remind me.”

                He dropped his pants in front of my face, and I moved my eyes down to his midsection. His erection was confined behind his midthigh briefs, begging to be free. Moaning, I looked up at Zach, biting down on my lip even harder.

                Feeling up his erection through his undergarment, I kissed it before releasing it from its confinement. Zach turned the running water off just as I licked the tip of his erection.

                “Ah, baby,” he moaned.

                I looked up at him with his erection deep in my mouth. He was staring at me passionately. He put his hands behind my head and started moving his hips slowly, thrusting in and pulling out of my mouth. I moaned when he went deeper and began stroking him simultaneously with my right hand. He moaned loudly as I increased the speed and friction of my mouth and hand.

                Just as I began to taste the onset of his delight, he pulled away, panting, with a huge smile.

                “Oh, baby, you are so amazing at oral pleasure,” he panted.

                Zach stepped out of his pants, removed his briefs and socks, and climbed behind me in the tub, careful not to knock over any of the lit candles. Kissing my neck and gently touching my breasts, he pulled me onto his erection with my back facing him.

                “Ah,” I moaned. I slowly worked my hips, enjoying the deep, pleasurable thrusts.

                Zach’s groan in my ear sent a shiver down my spine. It wasn’t like any I’d heard before. Soon after, he began thrusting into me with pure want and need, and whispered, “I love you.”

                I released some of the water from the tub, as I didn’t want it spilling out or knocking the candles onto the floor. I turned to face him and continued riding him with equal want and need, telling him that I loved him, too. A single tear fell from his eye, followed by another. It was Zach’s first time showing such emotions when we were having sex. It only confirmed the love he had for me. I kissed him deeply as a few tears of my own fell. My heart melted seeing Zach express his love for me in the form of tears.

                Zach put one of his hands in my hair, placed the other one firmly on the middle of my back, and began thrusting up into me fervently. Feeding off his intensity, I began moving up and down on his erection wildly until I screamed out his name in a teary orgasm. He continued thrusting until he stilled inside me in an equally loud orgasm.

                Wiping the liquid emotion from his eyes, I kissed him deeply and said, “I love you.”

                “Only you. Only you, babe,” he panted before we got out of the bathtub to finish consummating our marriage in the bedroom.

I woke up at 6:15 a.m. to make Zach breakfast in bed, but he had already beat me to the punch. He was in the kitchen preparing to cook.

                “Good morning, baby,” I said. I smiled and kissed him.

                “Good morning, my love,” he replied, kissing me back. “I was hoping you would sleep in so I could make you breakfast in bed.”

                “I’m awake to make you breakfast in bed. I guess we had the same idea.”

                “You’re so sweet, love. No one has ever made me breakfast in bed before,” he said, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me close to him.

                “That’s because you never let anyone before me stay over to do so. Let me take over, and you go get some more rest. You’re going to need it.” I elevated my eyebrows suggestively.

                “Is that so, Mrs. McConnallay?” I only smiled. He Palmered me as he walked out of the kitchen. Palmer was Zach’s assertive yet loving palm against my ass cheeks that I had welcomed and loved since day one.

                After I finished cooking, I prepared Zach’s plate, set it in the center of the tray, and put a cover on top of it. I made him some fresh-squeezed orange juice and put the day’s paper on the tray. After handwriting him a note and adding it, I took the tray up to the bedroom.

                I put the tray on the nightstand, straddled Zach, and kissed him until he woke up. Oh, he woke up, all right.

                “Mm, I think I’d rather have you for breakfast instead,” he said, feeling up my ass when he opened his eyes.

                “Now, baby, breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” I said, kissing his lips.

                “Well, I guess I should get to eating, then,” he replied. He flipped me onto my back, and his head was quickly between my legs and his tongue on my clit. I pushed his head away and pressed my knees together.

                “You just told me it was the most important meal of the day. It has all the nutrients and vitamins that I need, so why did you stop me from having breakfast?” Zach had the cutest look on his face. It was serious, flirty, and devilish all in one. My body tingled. Sucking on my bottom lip and sighing deeply, I cut my eyes over to the nightstand where the food was.

                “Oh, Mrs. McConnallay,” he said, smiling with an impish look.

                He removed the cover from the food with an enormous smile. I smiled back and left the room as he began reading the note card. I went downstairs to get my food. When I got back to the bedroom, he was eating. He stopped when he saw me.

                “Some of your vows, babe,” he said, holding up the card.

Mr. Sexy,

You found me in the dark and lured me into the light. I was without breath, and you gave me your own. In the darkness, I was a lost, scared little girl. In the light blossomed the woman you asked if you could have and hold. It’s no secret that you loved me whole again.

Thank you for being the man that you are.

Love always and forever,

Mrs. Zach Austin McConnallay (the one and only)

            “You really did change my life,” I said, sitting on the bed beside him.

                “You changed my life, too, love. I never thought that I would be married…happily and willingly, and excited about starting a family. I never wanted either until you showed me what real, unconditional love really is.”

                I smiled and kissed him.

                After we finished our breakfast, I cleaned the dishes and did some chores while Zach went up to the office to make some calls.

                I went up to the office later and overheard Zach as he growled, “Fuck him. He deserves to be exactly where he is. He beat the hell out of my mother and would’ve killed her if I hadn’t stopped him.”

                Oh my God. I gasped loudly and covered my mouth with my right hand.

                “Matt, I’ll talk to you later,” Zach said, looking at me. He ended the call. “Come here, love.”

                I walked in timidly. “I’m sorry for interrupting you,” I said when I sat beside him. I knew the look of shock was still on my face.

                “You didn’t, love. You came in at the right time. Just seeing you brightens my mood, and I needed that to distract me.”

                I had gone up to the office to see if Zach needed anything and hadn’t expected to overhear what I had. I needed to know what Epps had done to Zach.

                “Tell me about that day, would you?” I was referring to his fourteenth birthday.

                He looked at me, kissed my lips, and got up. I thought he was going to drop it and not talk about it, like the times before, but he poured himself a glass of brandy, and after drinking from it, he said, “It was my fault, baby—why that day even happened. It was my fourteenth birthday, and my mom needed to stop by the house we used to share with Henry. She had to get a few things for the party I had begged her to have for me at the condo she was renting. It was a fucking Tuesday.

                “She had left him, seven or eight weeks prior, because she couldn’t take being someone else’s trophy woman, and he was cheating on her. They argued a lot, especially about my mom going back to school to get her PhD. He didn’t want her going back to school. She was accepted to Carnegie Mellon University and had already discussed with my dad about me staying with him while she went there for school and to get away from Henry, who had found her admission letter and begun getting aggressive with her. He never hit her until that day.

                “Well, we thought he was at one of his offices, and my mom told me to wait in the car while she grabbed the things she needed for my party. She said it would take her about ten minutes. Ten minutes turned into thirty, thirty-five minutes before I decided to get out of the car to see what was keeping her. Galloway was my driver back then. I told him I was going to get my mom and would be right back.

                “I couldn’t hear any screaming or anything from outside the house, but when I went in, the house was a wreck. Things were broken and tossed about. There was blood everywhere…on the floor, the walls. I thought he’d killed her, Abi.” He paused and poured himself another glass of brandy, and tossed it back before pouring a third.

                This explains why he used to drink a lot, and why he is drinking a lot right now.

                He continued, “Her bloody handprints were all over the walls and the stairs, and it made me sick to my stomach at first sight. I see them in my dreams, baby,” he said, drinking more brandy. “I called out her name, but she didn’t answer. I followed her bloody handprints and shoeprints upstairs to their bedroom. She was bloodied from head to toe. She was crying for him to stop and complaining of agonizing stomach pains. I pulled him off her and started punching him.

                “He pulled a gun from the top drawer and started hitting me in the head with it, and my mom screamed, ‘I’ll stay, Henry, I’ll stay. Just leave my son alone. Please don’t hit him anymore.’ He kept hitting me with the gun, and my mom screamed, ‘You’re going to kill him. Stop, Henry. I promise I’ll stay. I’m not going to leave you. Don’t kill my baby.’

                “She was holding her stomach, crying, while he continued beating me with the gun. The last thing I remembered before going unconscious was seeing Galloway wrapping his arms around Henry’s neck from behind. I woke up the following night in the hospital.”

                Wiping the tears from his eyes, I said, “That wasn’t your fault, babe. None of it was, and I don’t want you blaming yourself again for Epps’s insanity. It’s his fault.”

                He poured another glass of brandy and said, “He killed my sister, baby.”

                “What?” I blurted.

                Zach had never mentioned having a sister other than Arianna. This was a complete shock and took me totally by surprise.

                “That motherfucker killed my little sister,” he said, drinking faster. “He had beaten my mother so badly that she had a miscarriage in the bed they had shared. My mom didn’t tell him that she was pregnant because she knew he would’ve done everything in his power to make her stay, so she hid her pregnancy from him. She was about five and a half months pregnant when it happened. You know, it’s bad enough to hit a woman, but hitting a pregnant one is even worse. Her stomach was extended enough that he knew he was beating the life out of a fucking pregnant woman. That’s why she was crying about the stomach pains—she was losing the baby right there. Had I known that was happening, Abi, I swear, baby, I never would’ve taken a swing at him. Instead, I just would’ve tried to get her to a hospital.” Tears flowed heavily from his eyes. “In a way, I helped him kill my sister.”

                I quickly wrapped my arms tightly around his neck, trying to absorb as much of the hurt and pain that he bore as I could. “Oh God, baby,” I said with tears in my eyes.

                “I had gone with my mom to her appointment the day before, and the doctor told us it was a girl—a healthy, thriving little girl, who even stuck her tongue out at us on the sonogram,” he said against my breast. I was still holding him tight when he pulled away to get more liquor.

                Walking behind him and taking the decanter and glass of amber thunder away from him, I said, “This is why you started drinking heavily?” I held them behind my back.

                “Yes, love,” he admitted, reaching around me, trying to retrieve the confiscated drink.

                “No, baby. You’ve had enough to drink already. You don’t need any more,” I said.

                “I do, baby. It hurts so badly, Abi. I just need a sip. It’s good for pain. You know that.”

                Oh my God. I never imagined seeing him like this—so…so dependent on alcohol. This is probably why he avoided opening up to me: so he wouldn’t drink himself to death. Such bad wounds, and he believes he needs the alcohol to drown the memories.

                “You find me disgusting because I’m overindulging?” Zach asked, interrupting my thoughts.

                “No, baby…I don’t,” I replied immediately.

                “Yes, you do. I see the way you’re looking at me now. And I know you very, very well, Abigail, so I know you are thinking about me drinking. Tell me, love…do you find me disgusting now? Do you wish you’d never married me?” He took the decanter and glass from my stunned hands.

                I’d never imagined I would see Zach in that state—so drunk, so vulnerable. He was not at all the Zach I knew, which was why I was speechless. His body language and demeanor had changed. He slouched and slurred his words. His smoky, flirty greenish-gray eyes weren’t the same either. They were cloudy and cold-looking—blank and lacking life—for lack of a better choice of words. It killed me seeing him like that. How the hell did he get so drunk so fast?

                Putting the drink to his lips, from behind the rim of his glass, he pointed his index finger at me. “I know what you are thinking, love. You’re thinking, ‘I regret marrying this drunken asshole.’ Aren’t you, Abigail…love?” He leaned against his desk for stability as he began stumbling.

                “No, I’m not. Now give me the drink. You know you’ve had enough.” I helped him to stabilize his drunken body.

                “Ah. You’re different from Taylor. She would always let me have my drink in peace. She would even pour it for me. But, you…you, my beautiful, lovely wife, want to take it away from me. Why?” He touched the tip of my nose with his index finger.

                I searched his eyes, but Zach wasn’t there. I didn’t know who the hell this man was, and I was damn sure that he wasn’t my husband.

                I finally replied, “Because you can’t drown your memories with alcohol. The pain, the sorrow, the hurt will all still be there when you reach the end of the bottle, and even when you wake up from a drunken coma with a killer headache. I know talking about that day hurts…trust me, I know. But drinking isn’t going to make it go away. I don’t find you disgusting, nor do I regret marrying you. Don’t ever hurt me again by saying that. It hurts me a lot, hearing you say that.”

                I snatched the liquor from his hands and gave him a stern look. “And don’t ever bring that woman up like that again—comparing me to her. I’m not going to let you drink yourself to death or pour your troubles for you. I love you. The way you’ve been helping me get past my past, I’m going to try to do the same for you, if you allow me to do so. But we are not involving brandy or whatever else it is that you drink to try to drown those horrendous memories.”

                I put the liquor on the desk and gently yet sternly put my hands on his face, possessing his soulless eyes with my own. “I am so very sorry about what happened to you and your mom—and for the loss of your baby sister. That man…that…that monster hurt us so deeply that our souls still bleed from what he did to us, and he robbed us of a lot of things that we will never get back, but I don’t want him robbing us of our present and future. I don’t want you drinking yourself to death over him—he’s not worth it.”

                “Whenever I think about it, I drink,” he blurted. “And every year around my birthday, it’s worse. I hate my birthday,” he said. Looking at me, he rephrased, “Hated my birthday.” Zach and I share the same birthday—October twenty-ninth.

                I stroked his hands while leading him over to the couch. I sat down and told him to sit beside me. He lay down instead, putting his head in my lap, and looked up at me. I studied his drunken, pained face with my hands, stroking his cheeks, temples, eyebrows, and brandy-covered lips.

                Looking at me intensely, he guided my right hand to a location near the middle left section of his head. Pressing my fingers firmly against a long faint scar I’d never noticed, he said, “It took close to forty stitches and staples to close the gash he left after beating me with his gun. I lost so much blood that I had to have three transfusions. My mom had to have four transfusions herself.”

                Tears flooded my eyes and fell freely onto his face. Wiping my tears from his face, I lay my head on his and said, “I never felt it—your scar—until now.”

                “The cosmetic surgeons did a good job of making sure the scar wouldn’t be so prominent to the eye or if randomly touched, but if you really feel for it and massage it deeply enough, you can feel it. And it will always be there as a constant reminder of what happened that day.”

                I looked where my fingers were and saw the faint line. I kissed it and said, “Why the hell isn’t he in prison for what he did?”

                “Galloway had obviously called Xander while I was out cold and told him what had happened, and they decided, after they had beaten the hell out of Henry, that they didn’t want to tell my dad. They knew that if my dad had knowledge of what had actually happened to my mom and me, he would be in prison for murdering Henry. So they told him it was an attempted burglary gone wrong.”

                “And now my dad might actually go to prison for trying to kill him,” I said.

                “Baby, my dreams…nightmares were constant before I met you. I haven’t had one since.” He reached up and grabbed my face. “That’s because I’ve had you to dream and think about every night.”

                That made me smile. “I know a lot about bad dreams…nightmares myself. I—”

                Cutting me off, he slurred, “You don’t have the dreams I have, love. Fucking bloody hand and shoe prints everywhere. I follow them to that bedroom and see my mother giving birth. But not to my sister—to a birthday cake with my name on it. And when I cut into it, my little sister is dead inside. I see that motherfucker in my dreams beating the hell out of my mother while she’s giving birth to my dead sister inside a fucking birthday cake. And then little bloody handprints come at me with guns, hitting me in my head—just like he did.”

                “That’s a horrible dream, baby, but drinking to numb the pain of what happened just isn’t the solution,” I said.

                He was about to argue, but I stopped him. “No, no, listen to me, baby,” I said. “You know I’ve been there, in your situation myself, so I can honestly voice this to you. I’ve smoked so much weed, hoping that those images in my head of them raping me would vanish in the smoke cloud, or that I could drown those images and the pain I felt with all the booze I drank. It didn’t help. I even started popping pills, and it still didn’t help. It was just a temporary relief that compounded another problem on top of the problems I already had. And that problem was drug and alcohol abuse. I depended on them to cope with what had happened to me, and had I not gotten pregnant with my daughter at fifteen, who knows where I would be today. I could be strung out on drugs, babe—turning tricks to support my habits—or worse. Dead.

                “That is why I call Gabrielle my angel…why she is my everything. Giving her life actually saved mine. I stopped everything when I found out I was pregnant. And, no, it wasn’t easy, but I stopped and never went back down that path. I can drink now, knowing that I am not doing it to drown or suppress what happened to me. And you will, too. The truth is I was violated, and there’s no suppressing that.”

                He kissed me deeply, seemingly in agreement. The taste of brandy was heavy on his lips and the scent strong on his breath. It was as if I had taken a shot myself. Zach was indeed in a vulnerable state and a lot of pain. He grabbed my face again and pulled it closer to his. He kissed me and closed his eyes, and in a matter of minutes, he was sleeping peacefully on my lap.

                I watched him, stroking his face, temples, and lips. He needs professional help just as much as I do. Maybe this is why he wants to be with me—he needs to be with someone who is struggling with emotions. This is why he’s probably so trusting of Taylor and keeps her in his life. Why did he marry me? I’m not his type…he typically goes after blondes, and I am far from a blonde. Everything in me tells me he truly loves and is in love with me.

Chapter Three

While Zach was in my lap sleeping off his liquor, I kept myself occupied by watching a movie. My laughter woke him a few times, but he was able to quickly fall back asleep. After a couple of hours, I gently moved his head from my lap so that I could get up to cook something to eat. I kissed him, put a blanket over him, and left the office, closing the door softly behind me.

                Zach came into the kitchen about forty-five minutes later, wrapped his arms around my waist, and kissed the back of my neck.

                “I’m sorry, Abigail,” he said softly against my right ear. “I lost control of myself and drank way too much. That will never happen again, love. Okay?”

                Turning to face him, I wrapped my arms around his neck, kissed him deeply, and said, “It’s all right, baby. I understand. And there’s nothing to apologize for.”

                “I love you, Abi.”

                “I love you, Zach.”

                Grabbing me and kissing my stomach, he said, “I love you, too.” I smiled and ran my fingers through his hair.

                I handed Zach two aspirins from the cabinet and made him a hangover cocktail—the same kind I would drink when I was a teen and hungover. He stretched out on the sofa while I finished preparing our lunch. After eating, Zach and I began, despondently, canceling our honeymoon destinations.

                We had planned to honeymoon for a week and a half in Italy and a week and a half in New Zealand. I really had looked forward to going back to Italy, as I hadn’t been there since I first established Goodman Sports Group (GSG) with my ex, Gabriel, using the money my grandfather had put in a trust for me, and I’d never been to New Zealand, so I was looking forward to that experience. But, because of our bail agreements, we were not allowed to leave the country. That sucked, and I was beyond pissed.

                We went up to the bedroom to unpack our luggage, and Zach’s phone kept ringing and buzzing with incoming messages. It was her. The bitch. Taylor. Zach’s crazy ex, fuck-buddy, or whatever you want to call her. I knew her distinctive ringtone and notification sound. I gazed at Zach, whose gaze met mine. I gave him a disapproving look and left the bedroom in a hurry.

                “Come here, love,” he called out, chasing after me. “Wait a minute,” he said, holding on to my waist. Pulling my back to his chest, he said, “I’m sorry she’s calling and sending messages.”

                “I hate the fact that she is a part of our lives. I already told you what I think of it, but because you feel you have to support her, I have no choice but to deal with it. How do you even know that she is still seeing a doctor for her mental…infirmity?” I faced him.

                “Let’s call and ask her.”

                I wasn’t expecting him to say that. I looked at him with drawn brows. “What?” I asked.

                “Let’s call and ask her—you make a valid point, baby. I’ve never verified if she was still seeing a psychiatrist. I’m giving her money every month for treatment, and if she’s not getting it, then that would mean you were right about her making a fool of me.”

                He pulled me with him into the bedroom, where he called her back.

                She answered on the first ring. “Hi, baby. How are you?”

                “What do you want?” Zach asked discourteously.

                “You,” she replied. “And what’s with the attitude?”

                Laughing, Zach said, “What’s with the attitude? Let’s see. You know I just got married yesterday, and you’re calling and texting me like crazy while I’m trying to spend time with my wife. Don’t you think that warrants a fucking attitude? Now what do you want?”

                “My money,” she said. “You didn’t deposit the money into my account this month, and my account is overdrawn.”

                Overdrawn? Overdrawn because you’re out buying fucking doves and sending them to me dead and covered in blood? Overdrawn because you’re busy sending threats to me?

                “First of all, it’s not your money, it’s Zach’s money, and you will get it when you show proof that you are still seeing a doctor,” I said with an attitude of my own.

                “And who the fuck do you think you are, spitting out demands like that? Why the hell are you even on the fucking phone? Bitch!”

                “Hey, you watch the way you speak to my wife or, proof or not, I’ll cut all your expenses and take my property from you. Understand me?”

                “Zach, I prefer to speak with you in private. Please?” she asked.

                “Do you understand me?”

                “Yes. Can you please take me off speaker and talk to me privately?”

                “No, Taylor. Now, you’ll get it as soon as you get me that proof.”

                “And just how am I supposed to do that, Zach?” she asked despondently.

                “Easy,” I said. “Just call your doctor in Canada and ask him or her to forward your information to you here. As a matter of fact, when you moved back to the area, you would’ve transferred your care to the doctor that you are currently seeing. Therefore, he or she will have all your records, including those from Canada. Call that doctor and ask for a copy of your records. And don’t worry about the fees associated with obtaining copies of your records, Zach will cover the cost.”

                “And who the hell asked you, bitch? I asked Zach,” she hissed.

                I hissed back, “Did your account become overdrawn because you started sending those fucking threats to me? Did you really think that would deter me from marrying Zach? You are one fucked-up person to be sending someone a dead fucking dove. And if you take another fucking picture of my daughter, I promise it won’t be pretty for you. You need to be in a padded room.”

                “Zach, put a leash on that bitch,” she countered.

                “Knock this shit off, you two,” Zach blurted.

                I left the bedroom, cursing them both in Italian. I couldn’t believe Zach didn’t see the problem with talking to Crazy so soon after our wedding. He acknowledged her, and we hadn’t even been married twenty-four hours.

                I went to get some fresh air on the terrace, and Zach found me there. He apologized again, and we talked briefly about Taylor, and later my dad, before I went up to the bedroom to nap. Unlike with my pregnancy with Gabrielle, I seemed to have been sleeping a whole lot more with this one. But again, as it was known, no two pregnancies were the same.

                Zach had cooked dinner while I napped, and came up to get me when he was done.

                “Abi, wake up, love. Come down to eat,” he said, kissing me.

                “I’m not hungry.”

                “Baby, you have to eat.” He pulled my hair back from my face so our eyes could meet.

                “I’m okay. Can you put it up for later?”

                “No, Abi, you’re pregnant and you have to eat, love. Come on, get up. I made your favorites.”

                My favorites?

                Since I had gotten pregnant, everything had become my favorites. My eyes widened, as did my smile. Zach returned an equally big smile, so I got up and followed him, hand in hand, down to the dining room.

                Zach pulled my chair out so that I could have a seat at the table, placed my linen napkin in my lap, and poured me a glass of sparkling cider. He returned the smile I gave him and set my plate of food in front of me.

                “Thank you, honey,” I said.

                He kissed me. “You’re very welcome, my love.”

                Zach had made me a mixed spinach and arugula salad—with shaved parmesan cheese, feta cheese, walnuts, finely diced green, red, and yellow peppers, dried cranberries, Gala apples, olive oil, and a sweet dressing—just the way I liked it. It was complemented by grilled salmon, grilled jumbo shrimp, and a big, juicy grilled steak. It all looked and smelled amazing. And of course it was just as delicious.

                As we ate, Zach asked, “Baby, if we have a daughter, can we name her the name I had chosen for my sister?”

                “Oh, babe,” I said, grabbing his face. “If it’s fine with your mom, then of course we can. What name had you chosen for your sister?”

                “Thea. Thea Amelia.”

                “Thea?” I looked at him with raised brows.

                “Yes, love. It’s Greek. It means ‘gift from God.’” A beautiful smile broke out across his face.

                I kissed him. “That is a beautiful name, Zach, and I love it. We truly do have a gift from God. And surprisingly, Amelia is the name Gabi threw out there that night we told her about the pregnancy.”

                He smiled. “It was the first name she said, babe. And remember, she said she liked that name the most. It shocked me, baby—to hear her say that name and be so adamant about it being her sister’s name. That’s the reason why I remained quiet the rest of the night, as well as why I had that big smile on my face. It made me think of my sister sticking out her tongue at me and Mom on the sonogram.”

                “You, Gabi, and I like the name Amelia, so we can agree on Thea Amelia if we have a daughter. And if we have a son?”

                “Well, that’s a no-brainer, love. He will be my namesake.”

                “Then Zach Jr. it is.”

                Zach’s phone rang, and it was Matt. Zach let the call go to voicemail, and Matt called my cell right after. I looked at Zach, holding up my phone. “Matt.”

                “Answer it, babe. It must be important because he just called me,” he said, looking a little nervous.

                Putting the phone on speaker, I answered, “Hey, Matt. What’s up?”

                “Hey, Abi. Where’s Zach?” He sounded serious and somewhat upset.

                I looked nervously at Zach, who took the phone from my hand, looking at me just as nervously. “Hey, Matt. What’s going on, bro?”

                “I’ll tell you when I get to your place. I’m almost there. Hey, and I’m sorry for interrupting.”

                “I’ll call down and let the concierge know he can send you up.” They ended the call.

                “Babe, Matt sounded really serious and upset,” I said. Zach only nodded his head with a frown and a perplexed look. He had obviously heard the seriousness in Matt’s voice.

                Fifteen minutes later, Matt was at the door. Matt and I had been close friends since attending Georgetown together. He was on a very, very short list of men I could trust to be near me. During a campus event, I had introduced Carmen and Matt to each other. Since that day, whether they admitted it or not, they had been head over heels in love.

                “Coop and Morgan are representing Epps,” Matt said. He barely had a foot in the door.

                “What!” Zach yelled. He was angry.

                “I told them that Adam is your father-in-law and that you would be very upset if they continued representing Henry Epps, and they pretty much said they didn’t give a damn. But I didn’t have to tell them any of that—they already knew.”

                Zach pulled his cell from his pocket and quickly searched his contact list.

                “Who are Coop and Morgan?” I asked.

                “Clinton Cooper and Scott Morgan are, as of twenty-five minutes ago, my former bosses,” Matt said.

                Zach’s eyes shot up to Matt. “You quit?” he asked in the middle of scrolling. “They just offered you partnership.”

                “That’s okay. Their loyalty is with their friend, and so is mine,” Matt responded.

                “The same Clinton Cooper who went with us to the DA’s office to file the rape charges against Epps?” I asked.

                “Yes, love,” Zach said, maddened. Not at me, but at the situation. He finally found the number for Coop and put the phone on speaker.

                What the fuck! I told that damn man everything Henry Epps did to me, in detail, and now he could use it all against me. Against Zach. Oh my God…against my dad. I should’ve trusted my gut.

                “I told that damn man everything that monster did to me. Now he can potentially use that against us, right?” I asked.

                “Yes, Abi,” Matt answered.

                I cut my eyes angrily at Zach. His gaze met mine, equally mixed with regret.

                I’d had a bad feeling—even a nasty taste in my mouth—about Coop when I’d first met him. I had told Zach that I didn’t trust the man and that I sensed he was a dishonest person. Not because he was an attorney, but because every fiber in my being told me he was. But Zach had said I could trust him. I should’ve trusted my instincts instead, which hadn’t failed me—that is, at least up until that point. Why hadn’t I stood firm when I’d told Zach I didn’t want to talk to that scumbag? I had allowed my love for Zach to cloud my judgment. How stupid was I?

                Coop didn’t answer, so Zach called Morgan, who also ignored his call.

                “They’re obviously avoiding your calls,” Matt said. “They’re still in the office. I’ll call Connie and have her to patch us in to the conference room.”

                We all took a seat at the table, and after Connie put the call through to the conference room, Zach yelled, “After all the fucking money I and my family poured into that fucking firm, not to mention our customers we introduced to you, this is the fucking thanks we get? And Coop, you knew when Abi and I came to you back in October that that sick fucker was your fucking client, and you said nothing. You let my wife tell you every fucking thing, and what—now you’re going to use that information against us? You—”

                I held my hand up at Zach, interrupting him. I wanted to speak. I spoke in a soft tone. “Hey, Coop, this is Abigail. Do you have a minute to talk to me now, or are you too busy preparing for your case against my dad?”

                “I am very busy, Abigail. And Zach, I see Matt has called you with what you and your new bride probably believe to be troubling news.”

                “Do you have a daughter?” I asked him before Zach could respond.

                “Excuse me?” he asked.

                “Do you have a daughter? And the same question goes for you, too, Morgan. I know you’re sitting there listening in on this conversation. Probably even recording it.”

                Coop answered, “Yes.”

                Morgan answered, “No.”

                “Do you love the women in your life, Morgan?” I asked.

                “Yes, I do. Very much. Why?”

                “Do you, Coop?”

                “Where are you going with this?” Coop asked.

                “Would you answer my question, please? Do you love the women in your life?”

                “Yes, I do,” he finally answered.

                “Then tell me, how the fuck can you defend a child rapist? How are you sleeping at night knowing that he could’ve done the very same thing he did to me to the women in your lives? Coop, just remember your daughter—your precious little girl—is going to want to go out with her friends to parties and might go off to college one day, and I pray to God that she never has to endure what your client did to me. And if you guys continue to represent him, I assure you your firm will file for insolvency.”

                “Abi?” Zach shook his head at me, telling me to stop with the threats.

                “Is that a threat, Abigail?” Coop asked.

                “I don’t make threats, I make promises. And I’m known for keeping them. You want to test me?”

                Laughing, Coop said, “So did Matt tell you I plan to throw the book at your dad for what he has done to my client? I assure you your dad will spend the next thirty years in prison—maximum security. Now if you would excuse us, we have a case to prepare for.” He ended the call.

                Matt looked at me. “Abi, I’m not going to lie to you. Cooper and Morgan are two of the best in the Washington, DC, metropolitan area, and your dad has a huge fight on his hands, especially with his prior arrests. But, Gilberts, your dad’s attorney, is really good, too.”

                My dad’s prior arrests?

                “What prior arrests are you talking about? My dad has never been arrested.”

                Matt looked at me, seemingly regretting opening his mouth to reveal something that I clearly didn’t have any knowledge of. He obviously hadn’t known how I would receive the information. He cut his eyes at Zach questioningly—silently asking Zach if it was cool.

                “Would you tell me already, Matt? He’s my dad, not Zach’s. Tell me what you’re talking about.”

                “Dammit, Abi. I thought you knew this. Your dad was arrested for beating the hell out of Senator Ronald Newton. Well, he wasn’t the senator back then. It happened over twenty-eight years ago. Your dad beat him into a coma, just like he did Epps. That case resulted in your dad being put on probation for five years, which he violated when he was arrested a few more times for similar incidents.”

                I looked between Matt and Zach. “Wow.” I flopped back in my seat in complete shock. “My dad has a criminal record? A violent past?”

                They nodded, and Zach gripped my hand comfortingly.

                I’d never heard any mention of my dad being arrested before. Sure, I knew firsthand that my dad, when crossed the wrong way, was a hothead and could blow shit up like a bomb, but I’d never imagined him to be that violent—not to the point of beating people into comas. Had he taken advantage of the Winterfield muscle to get away with such heinous crimes in the past? Was my dad really a spoiled, rich brat whose daddy saved his ass numerous times and kept him out of jail? Could this latest arrest be the downfall of my dad, Adam Winterfield, MD? Surely he didn’t have the Winterfield influence to flash around this time. Or did he? After some time had passed, I left Matt and Zach at the table talking.