Page 81 of Stone Vows

My eyes shoot to his.

“My brother is a private investigator, Alexa. It wasn’t too hard to put everything together once I knew your name.”

“Lexi,” I say.

“What?”

“My name. It’s Lexi. It’s what everyone has always called me.” I look at the floor. “Everyone buthim.”

There’s another knock on the door, and again, I look at it in trepidation. Yet I also feel a sense of relief, because now I have a few more moments to gather my thoughts. To figure out all that I need to tell him.

“Relax,” he says, sensing my fear. “It’s all good.”

I watch him cross the room, my heart pounding as I try to figure out if I can trust him. I want to trust him. I might even need to trust him. But trusting men is not exactly my strong suit.

He opens the door and I cry out. I cry out as I race across the room and jump into the arms of my brother.

I look back at Kyle, tears streaming down my face.

“It’s okay, Lexi,” Kyle says, smiling at our sibling reunion. “Catch up with Caden. There will be plenty of time for us to talk later.”

Chapter Thirty-seven

I jolt awake, darkness surrounding me. But I feel safe somehow. The scent of the pillow is familiar. It smells of him. Of Kyle. It’s the smell I dreamed about all these months. The smell I craved.

Moonlight shines through the bedroom window. Kyle’s bedroom window. And I see the silhouette of my daughter sleeping on the bed next to me. I must have fallen asleep after the excitement of seeing Caden.

I hear voices beyond the bedroom door. He must still be here. The clock tells me it’s just after midnight.

My head falls back on the pillow when I remember the dream that woke me. The nightmare. Seeing my brother brought it all back as if it had happened yesterday. I squeeze my eyes tightly closed as if that will somehow ward off the bad memories.

It doesn’t.

Nothing can.

And I find myself reliving it all over again.

“Is it that fucking hard to iron out all the goddamn wrinkles, Alexa?” Grant yells. “A fucking five-year-old could have done a better job.” He looks at his watch. “Shit, we don’t have time now.”

He rifles through my dresses and pulls out the shortest, tightest, most revealing one. I haven’t worn it in years. He thrusts it out to me. “This one.”

“Grant, no,” I beg. “It’s too tight. Too revealing.”

He laughs. “Maybe you should lose some fucking weight then. You’ll wear it. My wife is going to be the hottest one at the Policeman’s ball.”

“Please,” I say, hanging it back on the rack and pulling out the green one instead. “This one is more appropriate.”

He rips the green dress—my favorite dress—out of my hands. Literally rips it out, tearing the bodice so that it’s unwearable. He throws it down on the floor and pins me against the wall with his hand to my throat.

“Maybe we need to go over the rules again,” he says.

That was the day my fate was sealed. That was the day I knew I couldn’t leave him. I’d had it all planned out. I had been stashing money away for months. I’d sewn it into the lining of my purse, along with some random pieces of jewelry he’d given me over the years. Jewelry that a narcotics officer from a blue-collar family shouldn’t be able to afford. Jewelry that, after presented to me, it was expected I’d give something in return.

But that night, I fought back. I was done with his rules. I broke away from him and grabbed a suitcase, throwing my things into it as I screamed at him that I wasn’t going to take it anymore.

It was a mistake. I should have known better. I should have played the good little housewife that night and then left quietly when he was at work the next day.

As it turns out, we never made it to the ball. Instead, I ended up in the hospital with a fractured rib. And a broken will.

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