Holding Aces Read online

  Holding Aces

  Copyright ©2014 Nikki Groom

  Paperback:

  ISBN-13: 978-149968937-2

  ISBN-10: 1499689373

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission.

  The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorised, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Hang Le / byhangle.com

  Editing by Jennifer Roberts-Hall / indieafterhours.com

  Proofreading by Claire Haiek / Freelance

  Formatting by Kassi Bland Cooper / Kassi’s Kandids Formatting

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Bonus Material

  Acknowledgements

  Author Bio

  My husband, Ash

  My real life Prince Charming

  You have my heart-Always x

  I HAD TO LEAVE. It was bad this time.

  Each time it happened, I stupidly forgave him. I knew it wouldn’t be the last time, and not to my surprise, each time after that it was worse.

  I’m not even sure if I felt the physical pain anymore. I was numb, inside and out. A shell of the person I once was.

  But this time … this time he had gone too far. I had needed medical attention. His kick to my left side had broken two ribs, one of which had punctured my lung. My kidneys were bruised from his fists slamming into me repeatedly, and my wrist was broken from the impossible angle he had twisted it.

  Up until now he was careful not to mark my face or anywhere that someone could see. Each time it happened, he whisked me away for a weekend to ‘make things okay’ and let the bruises fade, and each time he took a little more of my soul.

  My mom had her suspicions; I could see it in her eyes, and her gentle probing questions without asking directly for fear of accusing him of something he may not have done.

  But she knew.

  I wanted to tell someone … anyone. It was a lonely burden, an elephant sitting on my chest. He had worn me down so far that I didn’t have an identity. Functioning on a daily basis but not feeling.

  I was his.

  Nothing more, nothing less.

  He was a powerful, well-respected businessman, so no one would ever believe me, and even if they did, he would pay them off and it would all be forgotten. I thought it was unbelievable that money could buy the conscience of a man, but it had become a familiar occurrence.

  He had taken me to a private hospital and visited every day, the devoted fiancé. He had cried when he told the nurses how I was attacked in our home by an intruder, and I had cried at my helplessness.

  I had ten days in that hospital with no fear and no pressure to conform because he couldn’t do anything to me while I was there. It was the longest I had been away from him in five years, and it was the best thing that could have happened to me. Every day my confidence built and I found a little more of the girl I once was. Only now, the girl had grown up. Now I was a woman and I knew what my future held. I knew that if I stayed, he could eventually kill me.

  So I did the only thing I could do …

  I ran.

  I’VE ALWAYS THOUGHT I was pretty tough. I’ve learned to adapt and grow with each situation I was faced with and nothing had really fazed me until now.

  I’m living a lie.

  Unhappily married to a man I don’t love, answering to a name that isn’t mine and not being able to see a way out because, after all, I’m responsible for my own actions and it feels so tangled I can’t see past it.

  I chose to run.

  I chose to hide.

  And now, I don’t know where to go from here.

  I want to go home, but I don’t know if I can. I want to be me, but I don’t know how to find my way out of this mess.

  My legs start to pound harder on the treadmill as the thoughts and possibilities fight their way through my mind. I welcome the burn through my thighs as I push forward, and my lungs fight to take in more air, a welcome distraction, my only distraction from the false life I’m living.

  Don’t get me wrong, it’s not a bad life. I’m not ungrateful. Just not happy. I miss my mom, I haven’t seen or spoken to her since I left Boulder City, and I miss my friend Lottie, the only true friend I’ve ever had.

  I regret the fact that I let Jonny push those closest to me away. He’s the reason that I now have no one. He’s the reason I’ve lived with a false name for eighteen months. He’s the reason for everything bad that has happened to me since the day I met him.

  On the plus side, I live in a beautiful house in LA. I’m married to a wealthy music executive, Aaron Jamesson, and I have the world at my fingertips. Money buys a lot of things, a lot of distractions, but it doesn’t fill the hole. It just makes it easier to live with.

  Aaron seemed to be everything Jonny wasn’t. We had a fun courtship and a beautiful wedding. He offered me a friendship which I welcomed and gave me the opportunity to start over with a new life and a new identity, something which I never thought would be possible.

  I’ve created a persona much different to my own. Agreed to things I wouldn’t have otherwise. Like having a baby. God, the thought makes me break out in a cold sweat. I know it won’t be long before Aaron starts to wonder why we’re not expecting yet, and I don’t know how to delay the inevitable.

  I’ve lived a life as Natalie Jamesson and tried to keep as little of my true self from creeping in as possible. For a long time, I didn’t feel bad. The freedom of leaving my past behind outweighed the guilt that lurked on the periphery. How can you feel guilty when you’ve forgotten how to ‘feel’?

  At the time, I had thought him naive to not see through me, but I know I played a good game. Only now, I think I’m the one that’s been played. I let myself ‘feel’ and it all went wrong from there.

  It’s the same story that battles through my head every day.

  I never come up with a solution but I can’t see a way out and again I find myself being unhappy. I just take each day as it comes and hope it works out somehow, leaving fate to find its path and hoping for a little luck along the way.

  I finish up my workout, grabbing my towel and draping it around my neck as I switch off the lights and come out of the gym room. The front door slams and Aaron’s loud voice carries through the foyer, his agitated tone making me feel a little uneasy. Since we came back from our honeymoon, where a small part of me started to think we might be able to be genuinely happy, things have gone downhill and proven that I should have kept my heart locked and my head on straight. That tiny band of gold around my finger has changed things, changed Aaron. Something shifted the minute we touched back down in LA, and if som
ething generally doesn’t feel right in the first instance then the chances are it probably isn’t.

  “I’ve told you I don’t fucking have it at the moment … No, the earliest I can get it to you will be next Friday … Fine.” He abruptly hangs up the call and stands just inside the doorway, running his hands through his hair. His stress is almost visible and I don’t know if it’s worth trying to talk to him when he is in this kind of mood, but ignoring him will definitely make things worse. He glances up to find me looking at him.

  “Hey!” I say cheerily before I walk over and reach up on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek. The strong smell of beer coming off him indicates that he’s had more than one drink with his lunch. He’s been drinking more lately, but whenever I mention it he dismisses my concerns.

  “How long have you been standing there?” he snaps.

  “Um, only a couple of seconds. I just had a workout and finished up as you came in. I’m just going to take a shower, then I’ll be down, okay?”

  “Fine.” His tone is flat, completely indifferent, and it throws me. It shouldn’t make me feel so disappointed, but it does.

  “Uh, just gimme ten,” I mumble.

  “Sure.” The monotone answer makes me feel further deflated. I stupidly look forward to him coming home because a very naive part of me thinks each day he might be different, but today is no different from yesterday and all the conversation he can manage is monosyllabic.

  I turn and take the stairs two at a time, hoping he’ll have mellowed by the time I come back down. Stripping off my sweat soaked clothes in record time, I fling them into the corner of the bathroom. Why do I even let him make me feel like this? Maybe a couple of years of marriage was too much to hope for; we’ve only just made it twelve weeks. I release the clip that has been gripping my hair in place and run my fingers through my long blonde locks. I haven’t had it cut or colored since the wedding and it hangs nearly to my waist.

  I turn the shower on as hot as I can stand it and step in. The multiple jets pummel my overworked muscles and I close my eyes as the burning water stings my skin. It’s bordering on painful, but the feeling is a very welcome distraction from the workings of my mind. Tipping my head back, I close my eyes and let the water flow down through the lengths of my hair.

  A cold hand on my waist makes me jump, and I snap my head up and my eyes fly open to see Aaron standing in front of me. Judging by his lack of clothes, he’s joining me in the shower whether I like it or not.

  “Baby,” he says softly, “I’m sorry I was blunt with you ...”

  I feel my whole body tense as his hands work their way around the curve of my hips and settle on my ass, pulling me closer to him as he plants kisses along my shoulder and collarbone. His arousal presses against my stomach as his hands slide along my wet skin. As much as I crave the physical closeness that we used to have, I don’t want him. Not now, not like this. His recent behavior has pushed me away and the distance grows further with every second that passes in his company. My pre-marital guarded self is returning slowly and surely, and unfortunately for Aaron, it’s making an appearance today.

  I roll my shoulder away from him and step back. “Not now, Aaron.”

  His hands stop their exploration of my body, and he pushes me away from him a little, holding my shoulders with his hands and crouching to look directly into my eyes.

  “What do you mean, not now?” His hard stare makes me shiver, but I square my shoulders and refuse to be ground down.

  “I mean exactly that. Not. Now.” I punctuate the last few words through gritted teeth so he fully understands that I will not be persuaded otherwise. I push his arms away and brush past him to get out of the shower, but his fingers grip my elbow tightly before I make it out, and he pulls me back to look at him.

  “Not now? You’re denying me? I’m your husband for Christ’s sake. How are we ever going to get you pregnant?”

  He’s angry now, and I hate how selfish he’s being, acting like I’ve ruined his plans. Well, he’s not the only one who is angry. I’m angry for letting him in, for letting my guard down, and most of all I’m angry at myself for falling for this shit.

  I put my hands on my hips and lean my body toward him, brave in my rising anger. “Well, Mr. Father Of The Year, what if I don’t want to get pregnant, huh? Did you think of that?”

  His face pales and I feel his grip on my arm tightening. Shit, did I really just say that? Shit, Shit, Shit … I instantly regret voicing those words. His face changes, his stance changes and suddenly the space we are in feels so small.

  I feel small.

  “What did you just say?” He moves his face so it is only inches away from mine; his tone is lowered and his pupils are dilated making his eyes look black and frightening. I’ve had this feeling before, and it’s not one I had planned on revisiting, but here I am at this moment with the nervous adrenaline flowing through my body and making my legs shake, unable to find the courage I need to get the hell out of here. Aaron’s moods have been unpredictable of late and I’ve been putting it down to him having a bad day, or the stresses and strains of work demands. I’ve been falling back into my old ways, making excuses for his snappy retorts, his unreasonable moods.

  “You don’t want to have my baby?” he questions.

  “Aaron it’s not like that.” I let out an exasperated breath. “I’m tired, you’re tired and you’ve clearly had a bad day. So please, let’s just go and get dressed and have something to eat.” I sound desperate and I fucking hate it, but right now I feel desperate, I will do anything to fast forward from this conversation and the tension that has rapidly filled this space. I just want him to let go of me so I can get out of here.

  “We’ve been trying for a baby for three fucking months.” He grates the words out, his voice tight and strained and his teeth clenched. He’s still holding onto my arm, and his fingers are gripping me so tightly that I’m sure it will leave bruises.

  Then his face drops, his grip loosens and his brows pull together in a deep frown. He backs out of the shower, and in the time it takes me to put on my robe, he is pulling everything out of the cabinets and tearing the place apart. Creams and lotions are hitting the floor all around us, smashing and leaving a slippery mess.

  “Aaron, what the hell are you doing?”

  He doesn’t answer as he continues to empty the cupboards and drawers until the bathroom floor is covered. He kicks some of the things out of the way as he pushes past me, out of the en suite bathroom and into our bedroom.

  “Where are they?” he roars, rushing to my dressing table.

  “What are you talking about? Aaron stop it ...” I try to grab his arm to make him stop, but he jerks it away, pulling out the top drawer and emptying the contents on the floor, and it dawns on me what he’s looking for. We both see it at the same time.

  Shit.

  His eyes fly up and lock onto mine.

  I can’t move. Can’t speak. I know he knows.

  We both dive for the box at the same time, but he’s quicker than me and picks it up, snatching it out of my grasp. He opens the tab and pulls out the half empty packet. He looks at the pills, calculating how many there are as I’m rooted to the spot, nervous for his reaction the longer he stays silent.

  “You fucking BITCH.”

  His voice makes me jump. He flings the pills on the floor and in two strides he’s in front of me, his face just inches from mine. “You lied to me, Natalie.” He’s so close I can feel his breath on my lips. “You let me think we were trying for a baby, yet all along you’ve been taking your fucking pills.”

  I look down, to avoid eye contact with him and try to think of a way to diffuse the situation a little, but there is nothing I can say to make this any better.

  He roughly grabs my face with one of his hands, and lifts it so I’m forced to look at him. He squeezes my cheeks, his thumb and forefinger digging into my cheekbones, and I wince with the pressure. “I’ve been working myself into the ground to provide for y
ou, to pay for all your nice clothes and your expensive lunches out with the wives so that we can have a family together, and this is how you repay me?”

  “Aaron, please, I—”

  “You what? Explain why you FUCKING LIED TO ME!” He yells the last words in my face and I screw up my eyes to try and block it out.

  “Aaron, you’re frightening me ...” I can feel my bottom lip start to tremble as images of what may happen next fill my mind. I know what’s coming. I’ve been here before.

  His fingers release their pressure on my jaw before my head snaps to the side, the back of his left hand connecting with my cheek and stunning me. It takes a couple of seconds to comprehend what he has just done. His wedding ring leaves a sharp sting and my cheek starts to burn. I instinctively put my hand up to touch my face as my eyes fly up to his.

  “Fuck.” He releases the word on a breath. His eyes are wide and his mouth is gaping open in shock. “Natalie, oh god … I didn’t mean to, I don’t know why ...” He reaches forward with his hand and when I recoil, the tears well in his eyes. “Please, Nat, I’m so, so, sorry.”

  “Get. Away. From. Me.”

  I start to walk backwards, my hand still covering my cheek in disbelief. Aaron’s face is registering disbelief as well; his shoulders are slumped and it’s clear that he has stunned himself.

  I back into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me and sliding the bolt as fast as I can. The adrenaline is coursing through my body, making me shake harder with both fear and anger. I throw on a robe, then scrape my wet hair into a messy pile on top of my head and secure it with a band. I touch my fingers to my stinging cheek and wince with the pain. It’s only then that I notice my cheek is wet. I wipe the moisture away with my fingers and glance down.

  I’m not crying. I’m bleeding.

  I rush to the mirror to take a look. Underneath my left eye is starting to swell and my cheek is covered with an angry red mark. I know from experience that this color will only deepen until the blackness of a bruise covers it. There is an inch of broken skin along my cheekbone, and the blood is starting to trickle down the side of my face.