Chapter Two Ellie
An hour prior to the cat poop incident
I couldn’t get him out of my head.
It was wrong.
Ridiculous.
Pathetic, even.
I thought I was done mooning over this man. This sexy as hell stranger who had more muscles than anyone needed, sexy, tribal tattoos covering his biceps, a killer mouth, and stormy bedroom eyes.
Fuck.
I should never have let him touch me.
Was he the one who touched you?My inner bitch snarked.
Shut up.
But my inner bitch was right. I was the one who jumped him.
My cheeks burned with embarrassment as I recalled that evening with perfect precision.
How good he smelled, like spicy cologne and man. How hot he looked in a pair of gray slacks and a knit polo shirt. His trimmed beard and short hair felt so soft beneath my fingers, and that mouth.
Christ, his mouth.
Swoon.
Had I ever been kissed like that before in my life?
The answer was a loud, resounding no.
So yeah, when Andres Ramirez had offered to drive me and Sammy back to our new place at the offsite St. E’s residence in Morristown, I said yes.
Once he walked us upstairs, putting a sleeping Sammy to bed, I practically tackled him in the small living room of my new apartment.
Meredith had started this program with me and Sammy in mind. After Gary started showing up at St. Elizabeth’s in Manhattan, she knew I couldn’t stay there.
The house in Morristown was perfect for our needs, and I had no doubt it would benefit others who needed to switch locales.
We spent one wild night touching, kissing, and having the kind of sex I’d only ever read about before.
The man played my body like a master. It was like Andres could read everything I was feeling on my face, and he knew exactly what I needed and how I needed it.
I flew apart in his arms, chasing the sun, and flying so high I never thought I’d come back down.
But I did, of course. No one could stand that kind of pure pleasure indefinitely. It would kill you.
I couldn’t explain what made me behave so recklessly. Hell, we hadn’t even used protection.
I was on the pill. And I hadn’t had sex of any kind the last couple of years of my marriage to Gary.
Not that he was anything like Andres in the bedroom, or, um, living room, as it were.
I was clean, was my point, and I was on the pill to regulate my period. Yes, I should have asked him about his own history, but it wasn’t planned, and I would deal with any unfortunate outcome on my own.
There were none—thank goodness—and yes, I scolded myself and picked up a box of condoms just to have. Like just in case there was a repeat, which there wouldn’t be.
I’d made sure of that. Because, after our passionate interlude, I ignored him.
Like completely ignored him.
Well, what else was I supposed to do?
Andres Ramirez was out of my league. He was already taking up way too much space in my brain than any man had the right to.
A partner at Volkov Industries, the company co-owned by my new best friends’ husbands, Andres was not only single, sexy, and good with kids, he was also a damn genius.
I barely finished one semester of college. But my lack of formal education wasn’t the only obstacle between us.
Andres was gorgeous.
Like super freaking hot. He had stormy eyes not quite blue and not quite gray, but some sort of in between color that simmered with emotion whenever I looked at them.
He had short, dark hair, a close-cut beard, and bronzed skin covering his many muscles.
I mean, really? Who the heck had eight abs, anyway?
I was a newly divorced single mom with boobs that were slightly too small for my frame. My hips were too wide, my thighs jiggled when I walked, and my ass was too fat. I had cellulite bumps to prove it.
Flaws my ex liked to point out repeatedly during our marriage.
And let’s not forget all my fucking baggage.
There was a lot of it thanks to my piece of shit ex. Gary Peters. Total fucking slimeball.
Shit.
I shuddered anytime I thought about my former husband. That gem of a man had not only hit me and threatened our son, but I just got slammed with his latest demand.
Gary was now demanding alimony and visitation rights with Sammy.
I’d named my sweet almost-four-year-old boy, Samuel Alexander Maxwell-Peters, after my grandfather.
Gary didn’t protest the hyphen. Which was good, because if I got my way, I was going to dump his name entirely.
What kind of piece of shit asked his wife for alimony?
Worse, what kind of father never saw his son for more than ten minutes at a time during the almost four years the child lived with him, but was suddenly interested after the divorce?
I was so mad I could spit.
But I would give him money if it meant keeping him away from Sammy. Only the sonofabitch wouldn’t take any of the cash that was now frozen during the slew of inquiries Gary’s attorneys had drawn up regarding my father’s will and company.
He wanted more than money. He wanted to hurt me, yes, but more than that, he wanted control of my late father’s company. That was all Gary Peters ever wanted.
Maxwell Miningwas the multimillion dollar corporation my great-grandfather started over a hundred years ago.
Yeah, my family was old money.
I was the only remaining Maxell. Well, no, actually, Sammy was the last Maxwell.
God, I felt so stupid.
I knew some people experienced worse things than what I’d been through. And my heart broke for anyone who had to suffer at the hands of an abuser.
But I was so damn mad at myself.
I’d been young when I met Gary. Stupid, inexperienced, and na?ve. He was older and experienced.
He’d flattered me and teased me. Made me feel special. But I knew now it was all a lie.
Gary never wanted me. And he never wanted Sammy.
He admitted to purposely getting me pregnant, thinking it would make him the next heir to my father’s business.
But my father was grossly old-fashioned. He believed men were made for business, and women were made for keeping house. I was never taught anything about the business.
Not a fucking thing. And I never cared because I didn’t want to learn anything about mining.
I was a silly, sheltered little thing. I never wanted to do more than knit, and bake, and be a wife and mother.
Maybe it was because of my father’s ideals. Or maybe I was just as old-fashioned. I couldn’t really say.
Everyone was different, right? The world was full of people who all liked what they liked regardless of anyone else.
So what if I spent all my time reading novels and watching DIY shows, helping our cook in the kitchen, and learning to crochet from my nanny when I was growing up?
I was all for being independent and strong. But I thought that meant doing the things I liked.
I was lucky, I knew that. I didn’t have to worry about money.
Even without learning the family business, I had a trust fund. And when Gary proposed, I thought I would finally get everything I wanted.
Husband. Home. Baby.
I didn’t know he was using me. And I didn’t know my husband would turn vicious when he didn’t get what he wanted.
My father never believed a girl could run his company. Yes, I was his sole heir, but Dad set up procedures to sell the company when he died, leaving me a fortune, of course. But that was all.
But Gary was contesting everything. My money, my inheritance, and everything having to do with the business were all tied up in court. It would be months before I saw a dime.
That left me with few options.
Goddamn him.
I couldn”t believe I’d lost both my father and the rose-tinted glasses I’d viewed the world with just under two years ago.
My father had been sixty when I was born. He was much older than any of my school friends’ parents.
Maybe I should have expected it, but his passing from a sudden stroke still hurt.
My father wasn’t a cruel man. He just had different ideas about what it meant to be his daughter.
I remembered the rainy afternoon I’d gotten a call from his private physician, explaining my father had passed away. I went to find Gary and told my husband what had happened, lost between grief and disbelief.
That was the first time Gary hit me. And that was the first time I tried to leave him.
I’d been so stunned. I had no idea what happened or why. Then when Gary cried and apologized, I said okay.
I was not blinded by love. In fact, I didn’t ever really love Gary. He was older, smarter, and I’d married him, so I thought I had to stay.
He’d convinced me that I needed him, and stupidly, I believed him. Gary flattered me when I needed attention, and I mistook it for love.
I figured if he loved me enough, maybe I would learn to love him too.
I mean, it wasn’t like I had a slew of suitors. Shy, chubby women, even rich ones, didn’t exactly have to fight them off with a bat.
After it became clear I was not inheriting the company, Gary’s violent outbursts increased in frequency and potency.
Like most abusive assholes, he was not sorry.
The last time he hit me, he said he was going to teach me a lesson by hurting Sammy.
That was when I knew I hated him, and I needed to leave him.
I wouldn’t let him hurt my son. And when he moved towards my baby’s door, belt in hand, I did the only thing I could.
I covered my son’s door with my body and refused to budge. He broke my arm, trying to pull me away. When I proved immovable, he used his belt.
That was my first black eye. And just where my hairline met my left cheek, I now carried a scar from where his buckle scored my skin.
Yeah, I could admit that I was dumb for sticking around as long as I did.
But for Sammy’s sake, I got wise.
Over the last six months, with Meredith’s help and the other women, along with some therapy, I found myself again. My true self. And I was healing.
I was starting to forgive myself. To trust myself.
But this last ditch effort by my ex to hurt me was unbearable.
I would never allow Gary access to our son.
No, I didn’t have the power to make him go away, but I thought maybe I knew someone who did.
My stomach twisted in knots.
I hadn’t told anyone about that evening after Andres had escorted me and Sammy home after our Sourdough Sunday lunch before Labor Day.
I kept the secret of how I basically threw myself at the sexiest man I had ever seen. Stunned when he reciprocated, catching me in his strong, burly arms, and kissing me so passionately, I almost combusted.
My ex didn’t like aggressive women, and if ever I tried to initiate sex, he’d retaliate by humiliating me, making me feel bad for being human.
I was so tired of feeling bad about myself.
Andres had felt safe. He felt different. And when he watched me with hooded, stormy eyes, I wanted him.
So, I pounced. And he reacted.
We had sex in the tiny living room area of my makeshift apartment, and I’d been living with the guilt of that for two months now.
It was already late October. And ever since it happened, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him.
Andres was nothing like my ex. He wasn’t soft and pasty. He was thick, muscled, and so damn hot.
I started things, but Andres took the reins almost immediately. He took me hard anddeliberately.
Exactly like I needed him to.
Those heated, sea-foam-colored eyes of his never left me as he kissed, fondled, and fucked me until I could hardly remember my own name.
That night was incredible. For someone like me, whose only sexual experience came from a man who barely tolerated me, well, it was something I treasured.
I didn’t know it could be like that.
But even so, I ignored his attempts to talk to me after. I just couldn’t face him.
What must he think of me?
What kind of person had sex with a virtual stranger when she was living in a woman’s shelter?
The therapist I’d been seeing, Dr. Ravnikar, told me I should never judge anyone, especially not myself, for my actions.
But it was hard not to.
I didn’t have room for complications in my life, and Andres was definitely that.
Sammy needed me. And I needed my son to be safe.
Ironically, or maybe just because Fate was a cunt, Andres was the only person I could think of who might be able to help.
Gary’s threats were hanging over my head, and I didn’t have anywhere else to turn.
Thunder rumbled outside, and I glanced out the small window.
Sammy was asleep, but he didn’t like storms. I bit my lip as I grabbed my cell phone.
I didn’t know if Andres would listen, but I hoped, and as I dialed, I prayed.
Please, just listen.