Wrong Side of Wright

WRONG SIDE OF WRIGHT

A SECOND CHANCE ROMANCE

He’s handsome, he’s charming… he’s a liar.

He'd put me through so much—broke me until I barely recognized my reflection in the mirror. Six years he lied about being married. Six years of my life stolen—wasted from my own stupidity. But I healed—or at least I thought I had.

I got one year...

Three hundred and sixty-something odd days before he showed up at my door... shot in the shoulder... begging me for help… showing me that everything I thought I knew was the farthest from reality I’d ever get.

But then I was given a choice…

Trust him and survive, or fend for myself.

Has loving him proved to have been the biggest mistake of my life?

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WRONG SIDE OF WRIGHT is a gripping, standalone, second-chance romantic suspense with a HEA.

CHAPTER ONE

It’s said the best way to move on is to start fresh, and that’s just what I’ve done. For the last year, I’ve regained some sense of normalcy after the shit show that had become my life. I was doing damn fine, too. My day started off like it always does—breakfast, a jog, and a little R and R which is pretty standard after working four eighteen-hour shifts at the hospital. Don’t get me wrong, I love being a nurse and caring for people, but the job can be tiring. Which is why I usually spend my time off, doing nothing.

I get off my couch, deciding to clean the small puddle of water surrounding my snow boots. No sense in putting the shoes away, I’ll need them all week, but it’s bothering me to think of the stain the water will leave behind on my hardwood floors. Heading for my utility closet, I grab my Swiffer Wet Jet, knocking over a box in the process.

Shit, I’ll get to that in a second, I say, waving my hand at the mess I’ve made.

It takes only a minute to clear the water and return the mop back to its place. I gather the items scattered on my floor and my breath catches when I recognize these things. I shuffle everything together and slowly carry the pile to my kitchen table. My hands tremble at the thought of sorting through it all. It’s been a while since I’ve seen any of it, and honestly, I’d forgotten it was there. I don’t know if it was the distraction of work, if I’d finally healed, or the fact I hadn’t cared to look in that damn closet.

I pick up the first item, cursing myself for not throwing it all away. Why did I keep it? Was it to torture myself with the memory of how he broke my heart into a thousand little pieces? I gave everything to Dylan and ended up with a shattered sense of love that I’m still recovering from. My heart skips a beat when my fingers graze against the engraved locket he gave me on our third anniversary. I clutch it in my grasp, and open it, reading the words inside. Words that used to mean the world to me: Lotus, I’ll love you forever and more. A tear trails my cheek and I quickly brush it away. No, Constance, don’t do this to yourself. Throw the fucking locket and everything else out the damn window. Resting my fist against the box, I lean my head back, eyes closed, inhaling deeply to calm myself. I promised I’d move on and not get caught up in my emotions. Yes, I loved him but clearly he didn’t love me, if he had— well I’d be living a different life than I am now.

I throw the necklace back in the box, inadvertently causing the keepsakes to shift. The corner of a picture peeks out through the rubbish, drawing my attention. I yank it out and trace my fingers along its edge. It’s an image of the two of us, the night we met during the fundraising gala hosted by Potomac General Hospital. I had just transferred in a few months before, and I had no idea who Dylan was. Had I known then what I do now, I never would have smiled in his direction. As I replay that night, my arms tingle before a numbing sensation travels through them and up to my shoulders. My hands tremble, causing me to drop the picture and squeeze my eyes together. I push through my anxiety, telling myself that I am in control. After a beat, my nerves settle and I’m able to breathe normally again.

My phone rings from the living room, bringing me back in the moment. I sigh and drop the picture before racing to answer it without checking the caller ID. There’s no point, I already know who it is.

There you are? the voice calls out.

Hey, Eric. On your way? I respond, shifting from one foot to the other.

Actually, I called to tell you I got wrapped into a double tonight. They’re short staffed in the ER and with this snowstorm coming, Sara asked me to stay. And you know how that goes.

She didn’t call me. I frown and switch to speaker so that I can search my call log. Nope, no missed calls. I’ll get dressed and head in.

No, don’t do that. You’re off and only a few blocks away from the hospital. If we need you, we’ll call you. Besides, I owe you for covering for me two weekends in a row.

I’m not doing anything, so it’s fine.

Nonsense. Rest woman! Save some dinner for me. I’ll swing by in the morning to pick it up.

Okay, I’ll make sure my phone is close in case you guys need me.

All right, see you later.

See you later.

Hey. He blurts before I could end the call.

Yes?

I’m really happy we started hanging out. I know you don’t want to label this as anything, but I plan on being around for a while.

Eric’s confession catches me off guard but I know I need to respond. I’m glad we are too. I say after a deep breath. Maybe saying it out loud I’ll start to believe it myself.

When I arrived in Duluth a year ago, Eric was the first person to befriend me. After all I’d been through, I was skeptical in the beginning, but he was nice and he was there. He helped me get my bearings in this new town and since we both worked at the hospital, we naturally spent a lot of time together. Two months ago, I caved and invited him over for a bit of mature fun. He wanted more and has made that very clear from the start, but sex is all I’m willing to offer. So far, it’s been great. We hang out like old friends, laughing and having a good time and he’s damn good in the bedroom. But, I can’t give him more than this. I’m sure as time moves on, I’ll one day be prepared to love again, but I’ve poured all my love into an empty vessel, leaving none behind for anyone else.

The call ends and I toss the device on the couch before heading back into my kitchen. Though Eric won’t be here to eat it with me, he will be hungry in the morning. I take out two steaks, a bushel of fresh broccoli from the fridge and set them on the counter before grabbing the rice from the cupboard. I’m no chef, but I do make a mean steak and can’t wait to dig in.

I lean against the counter, sipping from a glass of water while I wait for my food to finish. My gaze trails around the room in search of nothing in particular, landing on my table where the box still sits. Looking at it causes my heart to race. Just when I thought things were starting to level out, when I felt like myself again, I’m reminded of my past with my ex and it’s haunting me. I look down at my glass and realize I need something a lot stronger than water. So I down the drink and pour vodka, and a splash of cranberry juice in it’s place. The stiff liquid hits the back of my throat instantly helping to curve my nerves. But even with its aid, I can’t keep from glaring at the pile of memorabilia in front of me.

The timer goes off on my steamer, distracting me from my thoughts. I fluff the rice before adding in butter and some seasoning to the broccoli. Next, I check the steak, flipping them on both sides to be sure they’re prepared to my liking— medium rare. I plate my meal and sit down to enjoy, right next to this fucking box. With each bite, I stare at the cardboard enclosure, going through a mixture of emotions. But now... now I’m pissed. Pissed that after a year, he still has this effect on me. It’s probably good that Eric can’t make it tonight, I’d be no fun. There’s also the fact I never told him about Dylan or why I moved to Duluth in the first place.

My anger gets the best of me, causing me to lose my appetite. I drop the fork, its metal clinking against the ceramic dish before I jolt to my feet. A part of me wants to finish going through the pile to see what else is in there, but it’ll only upset me more. I place my half eaten dinner in the microwave, being sure to cover it with a paper towel before making myself another drink. It doesn’t even have the opportunity to cool off because I down it in one gulp.

Fuck it. I say while yanking open the cabinet beneath my sink and pulling out a large trash bag. I peel it open and wave it to fill it with air then dump the contents of the box and seal the bag close to be thrown out with the garbage. I sit it near the door along with the other trash from my bin.

The loud buzzing from my apartment intercom blares, stopping me from returning to my place on the sofa. I frown, confused at who it might be. Eric’s already canceled our plans and aside from him, I never have visitors. Whoever it is, pushes the button again, this time holding it for several seconds. Annoyed, I rush over and press the intercom.

Hello, I bark. When I release the button, a faint ruffle pours back at me. I call out again, this time being met with a few heavy breaths.

Mr. Berkeley, did you forget your key again? I ask and hit the open button.

In the short year I’ve lived in this building I’ve made one friend— the old man on the first floor. He’s sweet and gentle, but never remembers his key when he goes out for a stroll or a quick trip to the convenience store on the corner. I smile and let him in before taking my seat, making a note to check on him in the morning before I head out.

I surf the TV guide for something else to watch. I settle on a movie and toss my legs up on the couch. There’s a nip in the air and I shiver before wrapping myself with the plush throw cover I have draped over the top of my sofa. Just as I’m nestled under the fabric, there’s a knock at my door. Eric is at work, and Mr. Berkeley never comes upstairs, so I decide to ignore it. Whoever it is, has the wrong apartment and will soon realize that. I lift the cover to my neck and lay my head back on the arm of the sofa.

They bang again, harder this time, refusing to give up. I guess I’m not moving fast enough, because this prick continues their assault on my door, rattling its frame.

Boom... Boom… Boom…

I yank the cover off and push myself up, annoyed at their persistence. It’s my day off and all I’d like to do is watch a fucking movie in peace. After the emotional beating I took today, whoever this is, is about to get a piece of my mind.

I jerk the door open, and my heart immediate slams back into my chest. The remote I’m holding falls from my grip, making a swooshing sound when it lands on the garbage bag full of memories. My body buckles and my eyes pop out of their sockets. I’m stuck, frozen in disbelief and unable to form words or catch my breath. This can’t be happening. I must be dreaming. That’s it! This is all some horrible fucking nightmare, one that I hope to never