Page 3 of Forbidden Dreams
I slide into bed beside Wyatt since I didn’t even make a dent in unpacking my stuff for the other room. Putting my head down on the pillow, I look out the window at the darkened sky. I set my alarm for 3:00 a.m. before turning and falling fast asleep.
I don’t know if I’ve been sleeping for five minutes or five hours when I hear a car door slam shut. My eyes flutter open as I look around and take in the room before my eyes go to Wyatt, and I see him on his stomach, the cover off him. I listen as I hear footsteps, and I close my eyes, taking in a deep breath and hoping I’m just hearing things.
But the steps seem to come closer and closer, and I hitch my breath at the same time the pounding starts. “Get your sorry ass down here.” He pounds on the door, and I toss the covers off me as Wyatt stirs beside me. “I know you’re in there.”
“Mom,” he mumbles as he gets up on his elbows.
“It’s okay, buddy,” I assure him, “go back to sleep.” I shake my head as he places his on the pillow.
I walk down the steps to the front door, holding my breath, and wondering if I should even answer it. “You hear me, you fucking cunt? Get your ass out here.”
CHAPTER 3
Brady
I get home, the lights on from the street illuminating the path to my house. All the houses either have their porch lights on or nothing at all. My eyes go to the house next door to mine. I see there isn’t one light on in it, but a car is parked right in front of the circular driveway. I pull up in my own, getting out of the truck and walking to my front door, when I see headlights coming down the street. Pressing the side button of my phone, it shows me that it’s just after one in the morning. Not something that happens on this street since the owners are all in their mid-sixties to early seventies. I step up on the last step, putting my hand on the white banister when I see the car turn into the driveway next door.
The car comes to a stop, but the driver doesn’t turn off the car nor the lights before the driver’s door opens, and I see it’s a man. I close my eyes as I see him stumble once before his hand holds on to the side of the car as he walks up the steps to the front door. The headlights from his car shine directly on the front door like a spotlight. His hand comes up and goes into a fist before he slams it on the door. “Get your sorry ass down here.” He pounds on the door, and I shake my head. “I know you’re in there.” Winston Cartwright is hands down the biggest piece of shit I’ve ever met in my life. He always was, and trust me, I know since I’ve known him all of my life. Both of us were in the same class since kindergarten. He was a piece of shit even back then, and as the years went by, he became an even bigger piece of shit. Case in point, pounding on his estranged wife’s front door after midnight with his kid sleeping inside. “You hear me, you fucking cunt? Get your ass out here.”
Go inside, my head tells me at the same time as my feet start walking toward the other front door. I walk through my perfectly manicured lawn over to the other yard. Half of it is cut, the other half still growing out. I knew something was up when they got someone in there three days ago to clean the house and cut the grass. Some was cut short when the lawn mower quit on them, and instead of fixing it, they just left it there.
I’m making my way toward the pounding when he starts again. “I know you’re in there, you bitch.” The door opens, and she stands there holding on to the door with his hand still up. I have to hope to fuck he doesn’t hit her, or else I’m going to take lots of pleasure in putting my fist in his face.
“Winston,” she says, her voice tight, “are you insane? You’re going to wake the whole neighborhood up.”
“I don’t give a shit,” he hisses. His hand comes down, so the muscles in my neck relax a bit, but only for a split second. “I want to see my son.” I almost snort out laughing.
“You had a chance to see your son on Sunday and didn’t show up,” she states, and I nod. Yup, piece of shit. “We waited in that park for two hours.”
“Liar.” His face advances into hers, and she winces back. “I want to see him.”
“It’s the middle of the fucking night, Winston,” she seethes, trying to keep her voice down. “You’ll have to wait until next Sunday.”
“Don’t make me get angry,” he warns. I get within distance where he would be able to hear me without me shouting at the top of my lungs.
“I’m getting fucking angry,” I snap, and both sets of eyes come to me as I enter the conversation, knowing I shouldn’t.
“Who the fuck are you?” Winston looks over his shoulder at me. “We are having a private conversation.”
“Does a private conversation have you showing up here in the middle of the night and waking up the dead?” I ask, and he turns to face me. “You want to have a private conversation, do it privately and not shouting, making sure everyone can hear your business.”
“Big fucking deal,” Winston hisses at me. “What’s it to you?”
“Me?” I point at myself. “I don’t give a shit. But them”—I point over to the houses that are around us—“they might not be so happy to be woken up in the middle of the night because a grown-ass man is having a tantrum.” I shrug. “We can always find out.” I put my hands on my hips. “Who knows, maybe one of them will call the sheriff in, and he can see that you are not only blitzed but you drove here.”
“Why don’t you go back to wherever it is you came from and mind your fucking business.” He shakes his head. “Chump.”
I laugh. “That’s the best you got? Should have perhaps paid more attention in school and grown your vocabulary. Instead of riding the coattails of your sorry excuse for a father.” He takes a step forward. I know I’m poking the bear, but I’ve had a long fucking day. I’m tired as fuck, and the last thing I want is this drama unfolding in my front yard. “Why don’t you go back to Daddy so he can pet your head and tell you what a good boy you are?”
He takes a step down, and now Harmony has stepped out of her house. “Winston,” she warns him, “don’t you do?—”
“Shut up, bitch, this is all your fault.”
“Of course it is.” I shake my head. “Never a Cartwright’s fault. Always someone else’s.”
He walks down the remainder of the steps, and I wait for it, wait for him to take that first swing so I can defend myself, but instead, he stops in front of me, toe to toe. “If it wasn’t for your sister…”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, because your brother being drunk behind a wheel and killing four people was my sister’s doing. You’re pathetic.” I stare at him. “Now, are you going to get the fuck out of here, or am I going to have to call the sheriff myself?” He takes a second, and I only give him one before I pull the phone from my back pocket.