Broken Course Read online

  Broken Course

  Copyright © 2014 Aly Martinez

  All rights reserved. No part of this novel may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted without written permission from the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. If you would like to share this book with others please purchase a copy for each person. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people.

  Broken Course is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and occurrences are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, events, or locations is purely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover Design by Ashley Baumann at Ashbee Designs https://www.facebook.com/AshbeeBookCovers

  Edited by Mickey Reed at I’m a Book Shark

  http://www.imabookshark.com

  Formatting by Stacey Blake at Champagne Formats

  http://thewineyreader.com/champagneformats/

  Table of Contents

  Also by Aly Martinez

  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

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About The Author

  Also by Aly Martinez

  Changing Course (Wrecked and Ruined Book 1)

  Stolen Course (Wrecked and Ruined Book 2)

  Savor Me: A Novella

  Among The Echoes

  This book is dedicated to the readers. Every. Single. One of you. Thank you for spending your time with my words. But most of all thank you for loving my "friends" as much as I do. I never thought anyone would be willing to read Sarah's story. Thank you for proving me wrong.

  "YES," I hiss to myself as the silver metal slices across my wrist. Blood pours onto the bathroom floor as I stare emotionlessly, praying that it takes my life along with it. My breath slips from my chest as my head lightens. The dark-red fluid running down my arm does nothing to quell the loathing that still burns inside me.

  That’s for Manda.

  "I'm sorry. Oh, God. I'm so sorry." But it's not enough just to be sorry anymore.

  The tears slide down my cheeks, mingling with the blood on the floor. My life and grief finally meet in the same moment that will enable me to escape both. The numbness overwhelms my body, so I take another swipe across my arm just to remind myself that I'm still here and living—the worst punishment of all. The pain doesn't even register amongst the guilt and hate that devours me.

  That’s for Emma.

  I briefly catch a glance of my blood-streaked face in the mirror. The hollowness I feel on the inside is finally leaking out, filling my soul as it empties from my veins. I can't fight for a life I don't want to live.

  I surrender.

  My world may be filled with people, but somehow, I still find myself completely alone in the shadows of my mind. It physically hurts to open my eyes every day. As my lids droop, I don’t fight the exhaustion any longer. I drag the knife across my forearm, pressing as hard as the pain will allow. My hands are shaking and the pain is agonizing. But I deserve this.

  That’s for Brett.

  "I quit," I announce to the image in the mirror. "I quit," I repeat on a whisper.

  I can feel the darkness closing in, freeing everyone who has been tangled in my web since that night. If I'm gone, I can't hurt anyone else. I only wish I could have done this before I’d had the chance to kill the only person who ever loved me unconditionally. I move to my legs and, as quickly as I can, carve the knife across my thigh.

  That’s for my family.

  My only regret is that I can't clean up the mess I made in this life before I leave it. I don't deserve the attention or the love. I deserve to disappear and fade into ashes. I deserve to be nonexistent. While that should scare me, it seems less painful than continuing the façade of living.

  I move to my other leg, the only place that remains unscathed. Then I draw the sharp edge diagonally, watching carefully as the blood springs to the surface.

  That’s for Casey.

  "Sarah!" I hear Brett scream as he pounds on the bathroom door.

  I just want to forget.

  "Sarah, what the fuck are you doing?" he shouts, but I barely lift my shaking arm to slice the tip of the knife across my neck—the final effort that will prevent him from forcing me to fight any longer.

  I can't do this anymore.

  The cool metal tip forces a cry from my lips, but I'm not strong enough to do much more than superficially wound myself.

  That’s for myself.

  Just as Brett breaks open the door, I glance down at my wrists and legs and let out a relieved breath as I see the irreparable damage.

  It's almost over.

  I should be frightened. I should be terrified of death. I should be sorry. However, as he begins shouting and frantically trying to put pressure on all of my wounds, I feel none of that.

  I feel the end—it's euphoric.

  "Sarah, don't do this. Damn it! Stay with me." Brett brushes the hair from my face, but I'm too far gone to even open my eyes and take in one last glance of his beautiful face.

  Let me go.

  "Just hang on, baby. It’s all going to be okay."

  As I drift off in his arms, I know he couldn't be more wrong.

  Seven Years Later…

  "HEY, BABE." I answer my phone to hear Erica sobbing on the other end. "What’s wrong?" I immediately freeze in the middle of the busy Chicago sidewalk.

  "It’s a boy!" She laughs across the line. "We're going to name him Adam."

  My whole body instantly relaxes and a smile spreads across my face. "Congratulations!" I say, laughing right along with her.

  Suddenly, a tall blonde fumbling through her purse and cussing catches my eye. She’s gorgeous, but her level of anxiety is what really makes me take notice.

  "Are you coming up for the baby shower? Some of the nurses at work are putting together a little something for us in a few months."

  "Isn’t that for chicks?" I respond, never tearing my eyes off the blond
e, who pulls out her cell phone, just to become more agitated.

  "No. Slate will be there. You two can hang out while we gasp over baby clothes."

  The woman I’m all but gawking at walks away, only to quickly turn back around and head in my direction.

  "Erica, can I call you back?"

  "Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. You can get off the phone, but you’re coming to the shower."

  "Okay. Send me the info. I’ll be there," I reply just to appease her. "Bye, babe." I hang up and head toward the flustered woman.

  The closer I get, the sexier she becomes, and suddenly, I’m approaching her for a totally different reason.

  "Excuse me, miss. Do you need some help?" I ask when I get close.

  "God, yes! I’m late for an interview and I have no idea where the hell I am. The cab driver dropped me off here, but I think this is the wrong place. Oh, and my phone died, because really—that’s the kind of day I'm having. You don’t happen to know where State Street is, do you?" she rushes out then blows her hair out of her eyes with a huff.

  "Yeah. That’s, like, two streets back. You’re not far. Come on. I’ll walk you there."

  "Oh, thank you so much." She sighs with relief.

  I extend a hand toward her. "Hi. My name’s Leo James."

  "Nice to meet you. I’m Sarah Erickson."

  "Do you need to call and let them know you are running late?" I ask, offering her my phone.

  "I wouldn’t even know who to ask for. My friend’s dad pulled some strings to get me this interview. He didn’t even tell me who I’m meeting with." She shrugs, nervously tucking her hair behind her ear.

  "I’m sure they’ll understand. What kind of work do you do?"

  "Uh, I’m not really sure about that either." She smiles uncomfortably and glances at me out of the corner of her eye.

  "So, this is, like, a surprise interview?" I laugh, causing her smile to spread across her face. I nearly stumble at the sight.

  "Something like that." When she winks, I swear I almost choke on my own tongue.

  Fuck, this woman is gorgeous. Her slender figure is covered by a black skirt that hugs the curve of her ass and a white blouse unbuttoned just enough to show a tasteful amount of skin. She’s tall in her black heels, but I still have her by an inch or two. Her blond hair hangs down her back and her blue eyes sparkle in the midday sun.

  I clear my throat and barely manage to stop my wandering eyes. "Where are you from? That definitely isn’t a Chicago accent I hear."

  She looks over and laughs. "No, definitely not. What gave me away? I haven’t even said y’all yet."

  "No, you haven’t. Although I’m sure it will be worth the wait to hear it again." I smile back at her.

  She holds my gaze for a minute before biting her bottom lip and looking away. It’s not a shy reaction. It appears as though she’s just trying to cover her own flirtatious grin.

  "I’m from Savannah, Georgia. Born and raised. But I’ve lived here for years now. How much farther?" she asks, stealing an impatient peek at her watch.

  "Just another block or so," I respond as we stop at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change.

  "There is no way I’m going to get this job. I’m, like, fifteen minutes late already."

  "So you really have no idea what kind of job you’re interviewing for?" I ask when an awkward silence fills the air around us.

  "Nah, I do. It’s a very glamorous receptionist position at the newspaper, but that’s about all I do know. "

  "Well, that’s bound to be interesting at least."

  "Right. Answering phones and filing paperwork all day is my dream job," she says sarcastically before clarifying. "Don’t get me wrong though. I’m really excited about having a job again. What do you do?"

  "I own a security agency," I answer, and for some reason, it seems to surprise her.

  She looks at me with her head tilted. "Like installing security alarms?"

  "No, more like personal protection type stuff. Here." I reach into my back pocket and pull one of my business cards out of my wallet.

  "Guardian Protection Agency," she reads aloud, continuing her quick steps down the sidewalk. "You’re a bodyguard?"

  "I don’t do much of the actual street work anymore. I run more of the business side of things and train the new guys, but yeah, I guess bodyguard is the easiest explanation."

  "Wow. That actually does sound interesting. You’re making me feel completely inadequate with my receptionist position now. You know, the one I won’t be getting because I’m officially almost twenty minutes late now. Shit." She cusses to herself as I chuckle.

  "Well, you’re in luck, because we’re here." I motion to the large door of the Chicago Tribune. Stepping forward, I open it for her.

  "Oh, thank God." She smooths out her skirt and runs a hand through her hair before walking inside.

  "Miss Erickson?" an older woman snaps, making it quite clear that my blonde thankfully isn’t married.

  "Yes, uh, that’s me," Sarah responds hesitantly, and I can’t blame her for her trepidation. Even with just two words, this woman has made it clear that she’s pissed.

  "You’re late. I’m sorry but the job is no longer—"

  I jump to interrupt her before she has a chance to dismiss Sarah completely. "I’m sorry. It’s my fault that Miss Erickson is late. Mrs. …?" I lift an eyebrow, fishing for her name.

  "Fernandez," she finishes for me, obviously trying to figure out who the hell I am and why she should care.

  "Ah, hablas español?" (Ah, you speak Spanish?)

  "Sí," she answers, still perplexed.

  "De donde eres?"(Where are you from?)

  "Puerto Rico."

  "Pasé un verano en la isla. Es hermosa. Me encantaría volver algún día, pero me da miedo que mientras este allí no quisiera volver a casa mas nunca." (I spent a summer on the island. It's beautiful. I'd love to go back someday, but I'm afraid I'd never want to come home again.) I wink and she narrows her eyes. "My name is Leo James, and I own Guardian Protection Agency." I drag yet another card from my wallet. "You see, I’ve been trying to recruit Miss Erickson for a position working for me, but she keeps refusing. When I saw her outside today, I had to give it one last shot to persuade her. However, sadly for myself, she politely declined. It seems she is very excited about the prospect of a position here at the Tribune. It’s my loss. But please don’t penalize her for my persistence. You would be lucky to have her." I finish with a charming smile.

  She flicks my card in her fingers. "Guardian, huh? You run security for Slate Andrews, right?" She changes the topic, and it forces the smile to fade from my lips.

  "I do," I answer with more attitude than necessary.

  "Is it true his new bride is pregnant? Our sports section would have a field day breaking that story."

  "I never comment on clients, Mrs. Fernandez. I’m sorry. There will be no breaking story," I almost growl.

  She shrugs. "You can’t blame me for taking one last shot," she says, throwing my words right back at me.

  "Of course not." I plaster on a patronizing smile.

  "Well, Miss Erickson, seeing as you are in such high demand, even if you did keep me waiting for almost half an hour, I’d love to speak with you more." The bitchy woman drags her gaze away from me to focus on Sarah, who is nervously smoothing her skirt behind me.

  "Yes, and I’m sorry again for being late," Sarah stumbles out.

  "Follow me." She walks down the long hall.

  A wide-eyed Sarah turns to face me and silently mouths, "Thank you."

  I smile and wink before pointing to my card she’s still holding. "Call me," I mouth back to her while making the universal phone signal with my hand. She quickly nods and heads down the hall.

  "I GOT the job!" I hear her scream over the phone as I sit at the computer in my office. It hasn’t even been an hour since I left Sarah at her job interview, but I haven’t stopped thinking about her yet. "I mean, hey… This is Sarah Erickson from, you
know…earlier," she says uncomfortably.

  I laugh at her reminder. "Yes, I remember. So I’m assuming the interview with the Wicked Witch went well after I left." I recline back in my chair, pushing my feet out in front of me.

  "Well, the first five minutes were questions about how I knew you. But after that, she seemed to warm up a little bit. She offered me shit for pay, but hey, whatever. I am gainfully employed."

  "Congratulations. I think you should let me take you out to dinner this weekend to celebrate." I smile to myself at the prospect of seeing her again, but the line goes silent. "Sarah?"

  "Oh, um…I… Well," she stutters.

  "Wow. Don’t sound too enthusiastic," I laugh.

  "No. I mean. Yeah, okay. Dinner sounds good," she says quietly, but I can still hear the uncertainty in her voice.

  I should offer to pick her up, but her hesitance tells me that she would be wary of such a conventional date. "You want to meet me at Shades on Friday night?"

  "Yeah. Shades. Seven?" she asks nervously.

  "Sounds like a plan."

  "Okay, well, I’ll let you go, Leo. Thanks again for today."

  "Sure. No problem. I’m glad things worked out. I’ll see you on Friday."

  "See you then. Bye." She hangs up.

  And even though it’s Wednesday, the weekend just became entirely too far away.

  "I CAN'T DO it," I say, staring in the mirror and running my fingers through my long, blond hair.

  "Sarah, stop. You look amazing," my little sister, Emma, says as she tugs my top down to reveal more cleavage.

  "What if he's a serial killer? I've only met him once." I shimmy my top back up to cover my chest.

  "He's not a serial killer," she tries to reassure me but pulls my top back down. "You have great boobs. Show a little skin."

  I glance down at my chest. She's not wrong. I do have nice boobs, but I'm not sure that is what I want to show off on a first date with a man I barely know. Second date, maybe. Third, definitely. What the fuck am I thinking?

  "I should just cancel. This is going to be a disaster." I walk over to my phone and grab it off the nightstand. I open my texts and prepare to send Leo a message with some lame excuse of why I can’t make it.