Every Breath You Take (The Every Breath Duet Book 1) Read online

  Every Breath You Take

  Copyright © 2018 by Faith Andrews

  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 the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Except the original material written by the author, all songs, song titles and lyrics contained in the book are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.

  Interior Design & Formatting by:

  Christine Borgford, Type A Formatting

  Cover Designed by:

  Najla Qamber Designs

  Editor:

  Brenda Letendre, Write Girl Editing

  Contents

  EVERY BREATH YOU TAKE

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Books by Faith

  About the Author

  To my Blanche,

  Thank you for being a friend.

  Love, your Dorothy

  #mybestfriendisbetterthanyours

  THERE’S A PAPER thin line between love and obsession.

  If you really think about it, the two words actually go hand in hand. When you love someone, shouldn’t you obsess over them? Shouldn’t your heart be entirely consumed by that person, to the point that every breath they take is vital to your own survival?

  Love should be intense; otherwise, what’s the use? Love without passion, without infatuation, isn’t a real love at all. It’s ordinary. It fades over time. It’s not meant to last or to fulfill. It falls flat.

  I loved her. I knew that much. I’d loved her from the first moment I saw her, as crazy as that made me sound. And from that moment, it was my sole purpose, my solitary goal, to make her mine.

  Once I did, I would covet her and make her whole; she’d be my most prized possession. That innocent beauty, that vulnerable heart. From the top of her chestnut brown hair to the tips of her tiny feet, she was exceptional and she deserved to be the center of someone’s universe. The center of my universe.

  I would make her happy again. I would give her everything she ever wanted. I would be her protector, her best friend, the air she breathed. We could be that for each other.

  And we were this close to getting there . . . until he got in the way.

  I LOOKED STRAIGHT into the eyes of my husband and saw a complete stranger.

  “What did you do, Hunter? How? When were you going to tell me?”

  “I’m sorry, London. I’m so fucking sorry.” He sounded desperate, but he had no answers. Only a pained look of regret as his work-hardened hands tugged at his golden blond hair. Strands of beautiful waves that I used to curl around my fingers after we made love or fooled around in the back seat of his car.

  But everything was different now. He was different. Not the man I fell in love with ten years ago. Our marriage had been strained for some time now, and it had been so long since I touched Hunter’s hair, my fingers had forgotten the texture. Like so much as of late, that sensation had slipped from my memory. Everything had changed. And there was no turning back.

  How did I let this happen? I thought we were stronger than this.

  I wished with all my might for those sensations to resurface, that I would feel that soul-soaring, heart-pounding love again. But they were too far gone, buried too deeply beneath the mess Hunter’s gambling put us in.

  Pain and frustration marred his ruggedly handsome face. I’d always imagined his features were etched of stone, perfectly carved, without even the tiniest of imperfections. But tonight, that stone-like precision was faltering. And even though it killed me to see him this way—weak and helpless—it wasn’t enough to fool me into forgiving him again. Not this time. This time he went too far.

  “Are you telling me it’s all gone? There’s nothing left?” I fisted the papers in my hands, rustling them as I waved them in his face. Collection notices, past due statements, overdraft statements, a notice of default on our goddamn mortgage. “We’re in foreclosure, Hunter! You lost our house!”

  “What do you want me to say?” Unshed tears garbled an agonized scream. He ran his hands through that beautiful sun-kissed hair and collapsed onto the couch, hiding his eyes from me. “I’m so sorry, London.”

  I was sorry, too. For so many reasons. For failing to see the severity of my husband’s problems and for not being able to change them. It wasn’t for lack of trying. Oh, no. We’d tried many times. But with work scarce and his time idle, I guess things had gotten out of control. So out of control, there was no reigning it in now. Even if we somehow, miraculously came out of this, I was certain it would only be a matter of time before we wound up in this exact position again. There’s no fucking fixing this. Everything’s gone.

  Maybe this was all my fault for relying on him so much, for ignoring what was right under my nose. When we got married only two years out of high school we were young and naïve. Love was supposed to be enough. I trusted my husband to take care of the things he promised to take care of. I never imagined giving him full responsibility of our finances would result in him gambling practically everything away and then keeping all of this from me.

  The trust was gone. Our love had faded. This was the breaking point I never imagined a couple like us would reach. But we had, and even though I didn’t want to admit it . . . I was done. I didn’t have it in me anymore to fight and now we were dirt poor on top of it.

  “I can’t do this anymore! I don’t want to do this anymore! I need you to leave!” The dam finally broke. I had nothing left to give. It was over. We were over. A crashing halt to our happily ever after.

  As I cried into my hands, everything good we shared together flashed before me like a feathery soft vision in a romance flick. Homecoming and graduation, an elaborate proposal in front of our closest family and friends, an intimate backyard wedding, our first home together, making love in the hopes of starting a family of our own.

  Those precious milestones should have shone brighter than the tensions that weighed us down. They should have been enough to fuel me to forgive him and start over, in hopes of building everything back up again. I just didn’t
have it in me to fight any longer. All we did was fight and struggle and then fight some more.

  It broke my heart. It wore me down. There was nothing left of who we were or of the dreams we once had for our future. There was no future because everything good had been replaced with a shit storm of bad.

  Lies, gambling, Hunter losing his job, my mother’s failing health, working my ass off to keep us afloat, and now this.

  Everything we’d been through in the last year played a part in unraveling the ties that bound us together from the time I was sixteen years old. And now there was nothing left to keep those ties secure.

  Hunter and I had been through it all. He was all I’d ever known; the only man I ever loved. I was certain we’d grow old and gray together, with children to carry on his name and enough love to build a legacy. Unfortunately, love didn’t pay the bills, and along with our savings, our love for each other was currently depleted. I couldn’t look at him without resenting him for doing this to us.

  “I’m sorry,” Hunter repeated for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. He rose from the couch and stalked off toward the bedroom. “I’m so sorry I failed you.”

  Those words were a knife to my heart, but the truth was we had failed each other.

  For a moment, I thought about chasing after him, telling him we could fix this. But I knew that would only be another empty promise to add to the pile that had suffocated this marriage.

  LONG WALKS ON the beach were supposed to be cathartic. An escape from reality. Tranquility to drown out the tragedy. But with the bite of the unusually cold wind gnawing at my skin and a world of regret threatening to capsize me with every wave that rolled onto the shore, this was nothing short of agony.

  The weight of losing him, losing everything, was too much to carry even one step further. Succumbing to defeat, I collapsed onto the sand and screamed into the nothingness. I had no words at first, just wails and cries of grief and frustration. But when the bitter assault of cold air was too much for my lungs to inhale, I curled up into a ball and wrapped my jacket around my trembling body, talking to myself.

  I should lie here forever. Let it end this way. What’s the use in getting up anyway? I have nothing left to live for.

  It seemed that way. I was practically penniless. My house was being seized. Hunter was gone. When I came home from working a ten hour shift at the salon last night, I discovered he’d emptied the house of all his belongings and just . . . left.

  It’s what I wanted, but it still hurt like hell.

  I couldn’t wrap my head around how this happened to us. How did I let it come to this? I should’ve known what he was doing. I should’ve saved us.

  But I couldn’t do that alone. Marriage was a joint effort, and Hunter checked out the minute he placed that first bet. I didn’t want to place blame. I knew it was a culmination of many things, mistakes on both our parts, but he did this. He betrayed us.

  “You were my fucking everything!” I shouted at the stars. “How could you do this to us?”

  I would cry until there were no tears left. I wouldn’t stop until the sun came up, and even then, no one would find me here, not at this time of year. I had hours to wallow and nowhere to be. At least, that’s what I settled on until my phone buzzed in my pocket.

  I thought about letting it go to voicemail. It was probably another bill collector anyway, but I’d have to face the music eventually. I had to get my head on straight.

  I took a deep breath of cold air, reached into my jacket, and pulled it out to see who was calling. When his name flashed across the screen, a moment of much-needed peace washed over me. Of course Sam would call while I was planning my demise. He was good like that. A sixth sense. He was also the only bright light in my life at the moment, even if he was a world away.

  “Hello,” I answered, sniffling back the remainder of my tears.

  “Where the hell are you? Your mother called me like seven thousand times. Are you okay?” Sam was frantic. What else was new? But he wasn’t here, so that was his problem.

  “I went for a walk. I needed to clear my head.”

  “You’re at the beach, aren’t you? London! It’s late . . . and your mother said it’s cold. You’ll get sick.”

  “Oh, who cares. That’s the least of my problems. I’m hoping a tsunami will hit New Bedford and make this all go away.”

  “You’re kidding, right? I don’t have to worry about you doing anything to your—? London, I’m calling Allie. You’re making me nervous.”

  “No!” I yelled, lifting up on my knees. “Don’t you dare!” I didn’t want anyone’s pity. I didn’t want anyone to see me this broken. I wasn’t ready to explain.

  “Listen to me. You need to get in your car and go home. Now.”

  “Home?” I laughed. “I don’t have a home.”

  “You have at least thirty days before anything happens with the bank. It’s still your home.”

  I brought myself to my feet in sloth-like motions. The wind had kicked up even more and Sam was right, it was too cold, I should go. I turned to the ocean one last time, silently praying for resolution, and then started up the hills of sand toward my car. “I can’t go back there. It’s like a fucking tomb. An empty, lonely reminder of him and all our failures.”

  “London.” He sighed through the phone. “I know it feels like the end of the world, but I promise you’ll get through this. We’ll get through this.”

  “Says the guy in China. I cannot believe you’re not here. I need you! You couldn’t have left at a worse time, and all for that geeky computer shit.”

  “It’s not geeky. I’m the senior developer at one of the biggest software companies in the world. It’s actually very sexy. And I know it fucking sucks. I wish I could come back, but I just got here. Hindsight’s twenty-twenty, babe. I would’ve never taken the transfer had I known this would happen.” I could imagine him raking his hands through his hair with worry. Long ago, he told me that as my best friend, it was his job to worry for me. He was so much more than a best friend—he was my rock. And if Sam weren’t more like a brother to me than my biological brother was, I would’ve snatched him up and made him mine. He wouldn’t have betrayed me like Hunter did. Then again, he wasn’t here when I needed him most.

  “I wish you were here, asshole!” I cried, shutting the car door and starting the engine. I turned the heat up to the max and waited for the hunk of junk to get going.

  “Please, London,” he rasped. “Don’t make me feel worse than I already do.”

  I wasn’t being fair. He’d never let me down before and this wasn’t his fault.

  “I’m sorry I made you worry.” My breath came out in a cold cloud that fogged up the windshield. “I guess I should call my mom.”

  “I think you should go there. She needs you, too.”

  Leave it to Sam to give me a purpose. He was always looking out for me. I was a lucky lady, even if I didn’t feel like one right now.

  “Will she make it go away?”

  Sam’s sigh echoed in my ear. He always had the answers, but I sensed this problem was harder to solve than most. “Time heals all wounds, London. You have to give it time.”

  Unfortunately, time was all I had. It was limitless but intangible. All I wanted was something to hold on to. All I wanted was for this pain to go away.

  Two months later

  My childhood bedroom in my mother’s Cape Cod was too small. Too compact to store the belongings I’d accumulated during my marriage, too tight to contain the thoughts and feelings that went along with its demise.

  I stared blankly at the lavender walls that once lulled me to sleep, the shelves of dance trophies and stuffed animals that at one time told the story of who I was. Long gone were the graceful ballerina and the little girl who played tea party with Mr. Elephant and Teddy the Bear. Standing in her shoes was a sad, lonely woman who had marched unwillingly to this homecoming.

  While I loved my hometown’s lingering scent of the sea and
the way the rickety white-washed porch welcomed me with a creak, I did not want to be here. I didn’t want to admit defeat and move back home with Mom, but I also couldn’t afford a place of my own. And my mother needed me; her kidney disease was worsening. The doctors were talking about dialysis. There was no good time to prepare for the deterioration of your mother’s organs, but maybe it was fate—or irony—that had us needing each other at the same time. I could lend a hand around the house, take her to her doctors’ appointments, offer moral support. She could mend the boo-boos the way she always did, even if these needed much more than a Band-Aid and a kiss.

  “London, baby, you all right in there?” Mom called out to me from behind the door.

  I rolled my eyes, much like my former teenage-self, then stood from the bed and walked to the door. “It’s your house, Ma, you don’t need permission to come in.”

  Ella Monroe was and always would be a stunning woman, even in the midst of ailing. She regarded me with gleaming blue eyes, creased with age and wisdom. “It’s your home now, too. It never stopped being your home. You know that.”

  Of course I did. I was always welcome without notice, any time, day or night. In fact, my mother used to love when Hunter and I stopped in unexpectedly.

  “Stay for dinner; I made enough just in case.”

  She enjoyed the company because she spent far too much of her time alone. My father left long before I was old enough to create memories of him, and my brother became a permanent California-boy after falling in love with San Diego in college. Perhaps their absence was the reason she had such a strong bond with Hunter.

  “What’s that look?” Mom asked, reaching out to hold my hand.

  Silly me, I forgot she had the ability to read my emotions no matter how hard I tried to hide them. “I miss him,” I admitted. There was no reason to beat around the bush.

  “Oh, baby.” She wrapped her loving arms around me and pulled me close. “I know. I know.”

  I took comfort in her soft, dainty hands patting my back as she hugged me. She knew this feeling all too well, on a grander scale even. I had emulated my mother throughout my entire life, only I never wanted this portion of my life to mirror hers.