Loved By You (Always & Forever Book 1)

Prologue

Ria

You know that question they ask you in high school? ‘Where do you see yourself in ten years time?’ And of course, you say all the things you think you’re meant to; Have a successful career, a loving, devoted husband, 2.4 kids, and a golden retriever. Well, I have all that.

I”ve got the husband, the kids, and the family. Eighteen-year-old me would be happy with the life I have; Twenty-eight-year-old me is faced with a reality that is not as idyllic as I imagined.

I stare at my husband”s shirt, which is stained with red lipstick on the collar, feeling like I’m about to lose my mind because all I can think about is how I need to get this stain off. I can’t look at the evidence of his wandering eyes anymore. My hand trembles as I reach for the stain remover. My heart races as I pour it onto the fabric. I scrub... and I scrub. but all I can do is watch as the stain grows, ruining the shirt forever. I can barely breathe, my body thrumming from the exertion. I pause the assault on the shirt, the smell of the stain remover tickling the back of my throat, my eyes burning with the threat of tears as I look down at the ruined fabric. I can”t save the shirt. I can”t fucking save the shirt. I’ve tried, but I can’t. A lump lodges in my throat, thick and unwelcome.

An invisible weight drags my body to the floor as I grip the now wet material to my chest. Memories of all the other times I”ve ignored the stains on his shirts flood my brain. All the times I replaced them without question. But tonight, I needed to save the shirt. I know I can”t keep replacing them. I can”t keep pretending. A sob fights its way into my throat, but I stifle it and try to focus on anything that will ground me. The cool floor against my legs, the washer-dryer pressing against my back. It’s enough to stop me falling apart.

How did it come to this? When did he decide I was no longer enough? When did he fall out of love with me? Was he ever in love with me?

I knew I didn”t have the best example of what love was growing up. My childhood home was a burning one, fueled by chaos and drama, and after spending a brief time in foster care, I swore that wouldn”t be my life. I’d get out, I”d do better. I thought I”d won the life lottery meeting Alex. Handsome, kind, from a good family and he showered me with love and affection, but maybe I was blinded by what I thought love was. Maybe, I am no better than my mother.

Have I spent my marriage being a blind fool?

Anger bubbles up inside me. This won”t be my life. I refuse. My girls won”t grow up like I did. I stare down at the shirt, the red stain still bleeding out and I know what I need to do.

I rise to my feet, throwing the shirt on the counter. Wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, I let out a long breath, sighing. I know what I need to do.

I grab trash bags from the cupboard and stride out of the laundry room and down the hall to our bedroom. I stand in front of his neatly hung suits and shirts in our walk-in closet; ones I”ve spent hours making sure were freshly laundered and ready when he needed them, and rip them down, one by one.

Tears flowing, my pulse racing, I shove it all into the trash bags. Every tug of his clothing pushes my anger levels higher until I”m shaking with unexpressed rage.

Dragging the trash bags through our bedroom, I open the window, tossing the lot out onto the manicured lawn below. The thought of removing every trace of Alex consumes me.

Taking the stairs two at a time, thankful that the girls are sleeping over at Alex’s parents” house and not here to witness this. I want to hit him right where it hurts. Heading outside and opening up the garage door, I frantically look around for his most prized possession.

Bingo

I swear I’m having an out-of-body experience. I don”t think about my actions, I just do it. Pulling his favorite club from the bag, I lift it above my head, and drive it as hard as I can into the garage wall, screaming every time metal meets brick.

Each strike is for every lipstick stain I”ve found on a shirt, every time he’s climbed into bed smelling of another woman”s perfume, the nights he”s left me alone to tend to our girls and been God knows where, and for always feeling like an afterthought and never his priority. If I had a cent for every time he’s made me feel worthless, I’d be worth something by now. I know we could have been happy, and that’s the hardest part to accept, but I just wasn’t enough. I hit again and again with every club till they are all bent and broken, just like he”s left my heart.

Then, throwing the last club to the ground, chest heaving, I swipe my hair away from my sweat-soaked face, thinking of what I can get rid of next.

As I go back into the house, I try not to glance at the family photos that line the walls of the staircase. A reminder of the lie we’ve been living. I grip the handrail on the way up the stairs, steadying myself as a wave of dizziness washes over me. I focus on my breathing, rubbing my free hand against my thumping chest, willing the panic attack that’s fighting to take over my body to settle.

Breathe, Ria. You”re okay. Just breathe.

I slow my steps as I head back to our bedroom, taking in the mess I’ve left on our plush cream carpet; a carpet I chose for what was meant to be our forever home. My safe space from the chaos I was running from, but all I appear to have done is run from one burning building to the other.

The panic attack now almost suffocates me. I need to get out. I need him out. I search through the rest of the closet, grabbing as much of Alex’s stuff as my hands will hold. As I throw his belongings like they are hand grenades ready to detonate, I hear the front door open and slam shut. Seconds later Alex roars, “Ria, what the fuck?” My body”s stills. Perfect. He must have seen his clothes on the lawn. His footsteps echo against the wooden staircase as he climbs them quickly.

“Have you lost your mind, woman?” he yells, his eyes widening as he looks around the room. “Why are my clothes everywhere and why are my new clubs bent as fuck in the garage? Do you know how much they cost me?”

“I’m just helping you pack,” I reply with no emotion in my tone.

“Why? Where am I going?” he barks, rubbing his forehead.

“I don’t really know or care. A hotel, your office, or your latest fuck buddy. Go bump uglies till your dick falls off, but you no longer live here,” I say breathlessly, whilst waving my arms around at all his stuff.

“I beg your fucking pardon. Where has this come from? Are you having one of your episodes?”

I turn on my heel and head back into the closet, Alex hot on my heels. “No, you self absorbed prick. I am not having one of my ‘episodes’,” I say, using my fingers to make air quotes. “I found a stain on your shirt from your work dinner last night.”

His face drops when the realization hits him. I can almost see the cogs in his pea-sized brain trying to conjure up another shit excuse. I push past him, carrying more shirts which I dump on the bedroom floor.

He turns to face me. “Ria, this isn’t…” he stutters.

“Save your excuses for someone who gives a shit, Alex. I’m done. I should have left your pathetic ass the day I found the first shirt, but I didn’t because of our girls. I wanted to try, and God, have I tried, but I’m done. I can’t do this anymore.” My eyes burn with tears that threaten to fall, but I refuse to let them. Relief floods my body at saying the words I”ve tried to say for so long, but I’ve been too terrified to let out.

“Ria, please let’s talk about this. It”s really not what you think, it’s—”

“Not what I think,” I scream before he can finish his sentence. “What I think, Alex, is you, for whatever reason, can’t seem to keep your dick in your pants, and rather than come home to me, you’d rather stick it in whoever’s open and offering.” I suck in a breath before I continue, “I deserve better. I can’t spend another day wondering where you are or who you’re with. It’s killing me, piece by piece, Alex. I am done. Pick up your crap and leave.” My voice cracks on the last word.

His eyebrows pinch, his face reddening with anger. “This is my fucking house, Ria. If you are done, you leave.”

“I don’t have a job and I have the girls to look after. Where am I supposed to go?” I say shakily, shocked that he’s telling me to leave.

He steps closer, invading my personal space, the stench of bourbon filling my nostrils, a smug smile forming as he stands inches away from my face. “Well, you should have thought about that, shouldn’t you? And probably before you started launching my shit across the front lawn in a tantrum. Maybe if you calmed the fuck down and stopped being a drama queen, you’d see just how fucking good you have it, shut your mouth, and get on with it. You’re making this more than what it is.”

“More than what it is, Alex,” I shout, my earlier rage bubbling to the surface again. my muscles quivering and my heart pounding in my chest. “You’ve been sleeping with other women. We’re married. That is not okay.”

“For fuck”s sake. Show me a man that hasn’t dipped his dick in his secretary or a bar slut. Don’t take it personally. We all do it.”

My mouth gapes. I have no words. The man I fell in love with at nineteen, who saved me, who gave me the two most precious gifts—my darling girls—has just stood in front of me and brushed his affairs off as if they are normal; something every man does, something I just need to accept.

I’m not sure where the strength comes from, but the words leave my mouth before I have time to process them. “Fine, then me and the girls will leave.”

“What?” he scoffs. “Where the hell do you think are you going to go? You have no one, Ria. Your car crash of a mother is off fucking anything with a pulse. Your daddy doesn’t want you,” he mocks. “And your brother pissed off and joined the Marines just to get the hell away from you and your mom.”

“Oh, and…” he adds as he throws back his head and lets out a demonic laugh. “I fucked your friend from college. Granted, not the best sex of my life, but fuck me, that girl could ride a dick like I was her personal show pony.”

My stomach lurches at the reminder of his affair with my college friend, bile threatening to escape. Why is he trying to hurt me more than he already has? He hasn’t apologized or even tried to.

“So, Maria Kennedy. Where the fuck are you going to go?” A slow, unkind smile spreads across his face.

The use of my full name feels like a stab to my heart. It won”t be my full name anymore. Realization of how different things are going to be hits me, knocking the air from my lungs.

I take in my husband of six years. His baby blue eyes, chiseled jaw, the little scar on the left side of his top lip he got playing soccer as a teenager. His sandy blonde hair with the patch at the front that’s a touch lighter than the rest. The five o’clock shadow that I always found insanely attractive. I wonder at what point the man of my dreams turned into the man of my nightmares.

“I don’t know, Alex, but as long as it’s away from you, that’s all I care about.”

He looks me up and down like he can’t stand the sight of me. “Yeah, well, all the best with that. You need to clean up this shit show before you go.” And with that, he storms past me; out of our room and out of my life.