Breaking the Rules_A Different Kind of Love Novel Book 3 Read online

  Breaking the Rules

  A Different Kind of Love Novel Book 3

  Liz Durano

  Velvet Madrid

  Copyright © 2018

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Photography by Paul Henry Serres

  Cover Design by James at GoOnWrite.com

  Invictus, William Ernest Henley. 1888.

  Contents

  Other Books by Liz Durano

  Prologue

  1. Sawyer

  2. Alma

  3. Sawyer

  4. Alma

  5. Sawyer

  6. Alma

  7. Sawyer

  8. Alma

  9. Sawyer

  10. Alma

  11. Sawyer

  12. Alma

  13. Sawyer

  14. Sawyer

  15. Alma

  16. Sawyer

  17. Alma

  18. Sawyer

  19. Alma

  20. Sawyer

  Eight Months Later

  Five Months After That…

  Author’s Note

  Sawyer and Alma’s Playlist

  Acknowledgments

  Also From Liz Durano

  About Liz

  Other Books by Liz Durano

  Celebrity Series

  Loving Ashe

  Loving Riley

  * * *

  California Love

  Finding Sam

  In His Heart

  * * *

  A Different Kind of Love

  Everything She Ever Wanted

  Falling for Jordan

  Breaking the Rules

  * * *

  Fire and Ice

  Collateral Attraction

  For

  Miss April

  * * *

  Thank you.

  It matters not how strait the gate,

  How charged with punishments the scroll,

  I am the master of my fate,

  I am the captain of my soul.

  * * *

  Invictus, William Ernest Henley

  Prologue

  Alma

  I don't feel his hands around my neck until it's too late. His fingers tighten, robbing me of breath. I can’t scream. I can’t move. Fear overwhelms me, taking over every cell in my body. He’s shouting, calling me by a name I don’t recognize in a language I don’t understand. Tears cloud my vision as I try to pry his fingers loose but he’s too strong.

  Drew, wake up! You’re dreaming again!

  But the words don’t come out. There are only my desperate gasps for air as his fingers tighten and I claw at his face, my nails digging into his eye sockets.

  Suddenly he lets me go and I fling my body off the bed, my knees hitting the floor first, shooting pain through my thighs and hips.

  “Alma?” Drew’s voice sounds uncertain at first, as if unaware of what just happened.

  I make it toward the far wall before my legs fail me, my knees buckling beneath me. I turn around and press my back against the wall, my arms held up in case he comes at me, still deep in his dream and thinking I’m the enemy.

  “Alma? Baby, you okay?” It’s a man’s voice now, this time filled with confusion. “Fuck, baby, what happened? You okay?”

  When I don’t answer, he crawls toward me, his eyes searching my face. His cheeks are hollow. He hasn’t been eating well the past few days, his dreams spilling over to his present reality.

  “Baby? You okay?” he asks again as he finally makes it toward me.

  I want to tell him that I’m not okay, that this time, he could have killed me but I can’t speak. My throat feels raw. I shake my head and his eyes glisten with tears.

  “Oh, Al, I’m so sorry.” When he gathers me in his arms, I don’t fight him. I can’t. I’m too tired, too weak, and too scared. He pulls away to check my neck, recoiling in horror when he sees the proof of what he’s done. “Baby, I’m so sorry.”

  I break into sobs. What if he hadn’t woken up?

  “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry,” he mumbles again and again. “Say something, Alma. Please. Say something.”

  “You need to see someone, Drew,” I whisper hoarsely. “Whatever it is you’ve been doing, it’s not working. You need to tell someone.”

  As Drew pulls me closer, I feel his body trembling. I know he’s been hurting ever since he returned from his last deployment two weeks before everyone else. Combat stress, they said. He could no longer lead his unit as effectively as he could. It had been his decision but it might as well have come from higher up. It broke him somewhere inside. Now, it’s breaking us.

  But I can’t keep forgiving him like I have the past eight months since it started happening—the anger, the rage, and the dreams, all of them transforming him into a man I don’t recognize anymore—our marriage bearing the scars that hadn’t been there before.

  “You could have killed me,” I whisper as I bring my hand to my neck and the other on my belly, “me and the baby.”

  As he lets me go, I see the guilt on his face. His expression shifts to disgust and then fear. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I’m sorry, babe. It won’t happen again. I promise.”

  “But–”

  “Promise me you won’t tell anyone,” he says, gripping my shoulders. “I’m not the monster you think I am. I haven’t turned into... into them.” Them would be the enemy he fought in Afghanistan, the ones who picked the men of his unit with their improvised explosive devices, the same men he was tasked to eliminate one by one. He’d always been one of the best snipers, but after six years, somehow he came home with their faces appearing in his dreams.

  “I never said you were a–”

  “Promise me, Alma. Don’t tell anyone about this.” His grip on my shoulders tighten, his eyes engaging mine. “I’ll fix this. I’ll do everything I can to make this right.”

  “Then get yourself into inpatient therapy. You need help. Please, call–” I pause, almost saying his best friend’s name before I realize that it will only send Drew into a rage. Sawyer Villier had come to talk to Drew a month earlier because I’d asked him to, nothing more. A friend visiting a friend out of concern because I told him Drew was acting weird, mumbling to himself, staring into space, and scaring the crap out of me. But something went wrong during that last visit and before I knew it, their six-year friendship simply shattered in the blink of an eye.

  “Call your case manager,” I say instead. “Tell him you need inpatient therapy. The rest of the things you’re doing… the pills, the weekly therapy sessions… they’re not cutting it and I can’t keep pretending that things are getting better.”

  Drew gets up from the floor and paces the room. As he rakes his fingers through his unruly blond hair, I can’t believe I’m looking at the same man who rescued me after I got stood up by a date at an Oceanside bar six years ago. After watching me for half an hour, he decided that whoever I was waiting for had just made the biggest mistake of his life. I didn’t really need rescuing but the way Drew looked at me told me he was a man of his wo
rd.

  That man is gone now. It feels as if he left a huge part of him behind in Afghanistan this time. He’s different. Angrier. Short-tempered. Forgetful even, which is so unlike him. I can’t keep telling myself it’s because he’s not familiar with Los Angeles because he grew up here. His parents live in Palos Verdes. But he’s been forgetting the simplest things lately, like directions to the doctor’s office for the ultrasound a few weeks ago. He couldn’t remember where it was or when it was even when he had the address on his phone.

  The same thing happened at the VA when they sent him to another building to see a new therapist and he lost his way. He’s too proud to admit it. He used to be the happiest guy in the world, always finding something to smile about no matter how bleak things were. It was one of the things his fellow Marines told me they loved about him. Now, I can’t remember the last time he laughed.

  “I can help you fill out the forms,” I say. “If you tell your case manager what happened, I’m sure she can refer you–”

  “I told you, I’ll take care of it,” he says through gritted teeth before getting up from the floor and walking to his side of the bed. He slips on a pair of jeans and grabs a shirt from the dresser, one of its panels knocked loose from the last time he punched it.

  “Where are you going?” I ask as he slips his feet into his boots.

  “Where else?” he snaps, “Out.”

  “But, Drew, you can’t just walk out.”

  He kicks the dresser with his booted foot and it cracks. “Look, Alma, I’m doing my best, alright? I’m not a fucking kid that you have to make my calls for me or keep an eye on me.”

  This time I don’t say anything. I don’t want him to get more upset. Besides, this isn’t the first time we’ve had this discussion. Nor is it the first time we’ve tried to get him admitted. He’d gone to get help two months ago but turned around when he realized that men he knew just might see him there. Him, Drew J. Thomas, recipient of the Presidential Medal of Valor and two Purple Hearts, the squad leader who led his men through hell and back, the same Marine who risked his life to pull his best friend to safety when they fell under enemy fire.

  But what can you do when the man everyone remembers is not the same man who came home to you?

  “If you don’t call someone about getting inpatient therapy today, I won’t be home when you get back.”

  Drew kneels in front of me and rests his hands on my belly. At thirty-six weeks, I can’t wait to welcome our son into the world but not like this, not when his father can’t separate his dreams from reality.

  “I thought you promised to be with me through everything, Alma. Through sickness and in health, for richer or poorer…” His eyes search my face. “What happened?”

  “It’s not just me now. Our baby is due in a month,” I whisper, covering his hand with mine. “I need you to think of him, too. What happened today… what if it happens again after the baby is born?” My voice breaks as I continue, “What if you don’t wake up next time?”

  Drew’s expression turns into anger. “I told you. It’s not going to happen again.”

  “I just want you to get better. Ask your case manager to refer you to an inpatient therapy facility today. Could you do that for me?” I reach out to touch his stubbled jaw but Drew turns his head away and gets up.

  “What are you doing?” I ask as he grabs his phone, wallet, and keys from the bedside table.

  “What do you think?”

  Before I can say anything, Drew walks out of the room, slamming the door behind him. As I hear the front door slam shut, I’m too stunned to do or say anything. I fight back the tears but it’s no use. They roll down my face, falling on my belly.

  I stare at the space where he’d been minutes earlier, my heart breaking. None of my vows had prepared me for this. None of them included sitting back and letting the demons he fought overseas take residence in every corner of our home. I touch my neck gingerly, the memory of his hands tightening around it sending shivers up and down my spine.

  What if he hadn’t woken up?

  I retrieve my phone from the bedside table and scroll through the names in my Contacts list. I feel my desperation mounting, the realization that I can’t be here when he gets back. Not unless he calls the VA and requests more help. I wish I could call one of the wives or even his Sergeant for help but we’re no longer living in Camp Pendleton. Ever since Drew chose not to renew his contract eight months ago, Torrance has been our home.

  I also can’t call Drew’s parents who have no idea what’s really going on. They believe Drew is perfect and there’s nothing I can do or say that can change that. He’s their oldest son, the man who led his men each day on patrol to kill the enemy, the same man who’d have given up his life to save others. He’s the hometown hero with a scholarship grant established in his name at a nearby junior college. In their eyes, Drew can’t do anything wrong.

  I keep scrolling, my thumb pausing over a familiar name. Sawyer was one of the Marines Drew had saved years earlier, pulling him to safety while they were under enemy fire after one of the Marines in their unit stepped on an IED. While the blast would kill two of their friends, one of them dying on the helicopter on the way to the hospital, it spared Sawyer’s life. Sawyer was flown to Germany and then to Walter Reed where he underwent numerous surgeries to save his leg. It meant an end to his career as a Marine sniper but he and Drew remained close. When Drew was deployed two more times, Sawyer would come over to help around the house. Nothing major, but it was a big help. Whether it was clearing the rain gutters of debris or helping me carry the Christmas tree into the house because I was determined to celebrate the holidays even when Drew was deployed, Sawyer was always someone we could depend on. But that was before he came over last month and Drew ordered him to leave, declaring their friendship over. Still, I don’t have a lot of options. Drew has already pushed away everyone else.

  I tap his number and wait as the phone rings. Four rings later, Sawyer picks up but I can barely hear him over the background noise. It sounds like he’s in a wind tunnel.

  “Villier here,” he says, his voice curt.

  “Sawyer, it’s me, Alma.”

  “I know.”

  “I was hoping you could talk to Drew…” I’m stammering but I can’t help myself. I’m suddenly embarrassed, ashamed for needing his help. It never used to be like this.

  “You know I can’t do that, Al,” he says. “You know what happened the last time I was there.”

  “I know but–”

  “I have to go.” The line goes dead, the noise in the background gone. I take a deep breath, wishing I didn’t feel so hopeless but he’s right. Sawyer is the last person Drew would want me to call.

  I look at the room around me, at the walls with the holes Drew had punched out that I’ve patched and patched again, the dresser drawers that hang loose because he’d yanked them clean off their rails when he couldn’t find a matching pair of socks or the piece of wood behind the door where the mirror used to be. And then there’s what I woke up to, his hands wrapped around my neck. There’s no patching that one.

  You either mean what you say or you don’t, Alma. Make up your mind and stop making excuses for him. One day he’s going to hurt you again and this time he won’t wake up from his nightmare. You won’t either.

  It takes all my willpower to get off the bed and start packing. I don’t want to leave but I also don’t want to be here when Drew returns. Seeing the bruises forming on my neck as I stare at my reflection in the dresser mirror is all I need to know that everything is not fine and it won’t be unless he gets help. And no matter how much I love him, I need to do this, not just for myself but for our baby, too.

  What if he doesn’t wake up the next time?

  1

  Sawyer

  A Year Later…

  It’s too early to start drinking but I brought the beers anyway, one for me and one for the man lying six feet underground in a place that looks more like a city
park than a cemetery. With its perfectly manicured lawns, meditation gardens and a manmade lake, it’s not a bad resting place at all. His grave even overlooks the Pacific Ocean.

  I look down at Drew’s name on the headstone, one man’s life condensed into a rectangular piece of black granite and a few words under his name. Loving son. Faithful husband. Devoted Father. And beneath it, in bigger letters, United States Marine Corps.

  They must have added the part about being a devoted father later on for his little boy didn’t come until after his military funeral. I should know, I was here wishing I wasn’t only because it would have meant that he didn’t pull the trigger. It would have simply been a bad dream.

  But there’s nothing about me standing in front of his grave that resembles a dream although many times I wish it were. At least, I know how to handle those little fuckers now… like waking up. But there’s no waking up from this one. Drew Thomas is dead. After all the bullets we dodged in Afghanistan, this one had his name on it a year after he returned. But who am I kidding? They all had our names on them. Smith, Jonas, Thomas… even mine.

  What the fuck, man? After everything we’ve been through…

  I take a deep breath and will myself to relax. I didn’t come here to raise hell with a dead man. I didn’t come here to judge. I came to pay my respects, visit him one last time and get a few things I never got off my chest since the day he was buried. I get down on one knee and wipe the headstone with my hand, my fingers lingering on his name, Drew Jonathan Thomas.