his legs finally gave way.
Carol worked her way over to the back of the chair and gently put her hands on his shoulders, as if by touch alone she could remove his pain. He could feel her turning her body in each direction still searching for her other son, the one she expected to help his brother now.
Darius could’ve told her Darren wasn’t there. Us. By now, both his brother and his fiancée were long gone. On the way to their new life…together.
Two months later…
Las Vegas, Nevada
Elizabeth Donovan sat on the window seat of the small hotel room watching the bright-red neon sign of the strip club across the street flash its invitation of topless women. She pulled her knees to her chest, folded her arms across them and finally surrendered to the tears she’d fought for too long. What a complete mess she’d made of her life.
Her comfortable world filled with the safe haven of family and friends seemed to have disappeared before her very eyes. Some mornings she woke believing the past two months had been nothing more than a nightmare. Then she would sit up in the bed, look around the shabby little hotel room and remember. It was real. All of it. Every horrific detail. And she had no one to blame but herself.
How had everything gone so wrong, so fast? It seemed like years since she’d stood before the full-length mirror being fitted for her wedding gown, when in fact it had only been a few months. She’d been so sure of everything then, including what to expect of her future. Now, she wasn’t sure of anything, not even her own mind.
Almost from the time they were children playing together, Liz had known and accepted that Darius North would always be a part of her life. Although he was five years older than she, her family had had no objections when they’d started dating four years ago. Even then Darius had a reputation as being an upstanding, dependable young man.
Over the years he’d proven to be everything it was assumed he would be. Respectful, generous-hearted, reliable. And the more he lived up to his stellar reputation, the more Liz accepted a secret truth in her heart that she would never admit aloud. For all his wonderful virtues, Darius nearly bored her to tears.
With Darius nothing was ever a surprise. Not even a surprise was a surprise. Every year on their anniversary when he handed her a gift-wrapped box Liz could guess what it was before opening it. Darius followed the traditional anniversary-gift guidelines as if it were gospel.
First year paper, second year cotton and so forth. In fact, Darius always followed the set guidelines. He never broke the rules, and she knew he never would.
At twenty-one, Liz already knew what her life would hold. She would marry Darius, the staid deli owner from Ohio, and they would probably have two, three children at the most. They would buy a small brick home in a Cincinnati suburb and continue to belong to their Methodist Church, Blessed Mary, where Darius would eventually become a deacon. Liz knew this because Darius had laid it all out to her some time ago. And Darius always did what he said he would. Always.
Using the back of her hand she carelessly wiped at her tear-filled eyes. What she wouldn’t give to have that predictable man back in her life. But that particular bridge had been burnt to ash. There was no going back. Ever. All because of one man—no, that wasn’t fair. It was as much her fault as it was Darren’s.
Liz leaned her head against the window and sighed at the feel of the cool glass against her heated face. She glanced down at the thin white plastic stick resting in her limp hand. Through her blur of tears she could barely make out the pink strip in the tiny opening. It didn’t matter. She’d already spent the past hour staring at it. No, there was no going back now.
Seeing a car pull up below she hastily wiped her eyes hoping it was someone dropping Darren off. She glanced at the clock and felt her heart sink a little more. It was just a little past midnight. Darren never made it back before dawn—on the mornings he bothered to come back at all.
The car door slammed shut and she was able to make out the Las Vegas Police Department symbol. For some reason she found herself focused on that symbol. It wasn’t unusual to see LVPD pulling up in front of the hotel that also served as a halfway house. But there was something about the way the neon sign across the street flashed over the car that cast the symbol in a strange light.
She watched as the two uniformed officers entered the building below, and glanced back at the stick in her hand. Forcing her exhausted body into motion she stood and went into the bathroom to toss out the stick. She grabbed some toilet tissue and wiped the tears from her eyes.
There was no more time for self-pity. There were decisions to be made. Important decisions. And this time she would think it through instead of acting on impulse as she’d done two months ago.
This time she would make the right choices, because now her decision wasn’t just for herself anymore. Just then, a knock came on the door.
Liz frowned as she headed to the door. She hesitated to answer, wondering who it could be. Darren was the only person who knew she was there and he had a key. She bit her bottom lip nervously wondering if one of the ex-convicts who occupied the building had been watching Darren come and go and knew she was there alone. She decided not to answer, until another knock came and with it a deep baritone voice announced, “Liz Donovan? Las Vegas police—we need to talk to you.”
Oh, God, what has Darren done? Liz slowly moved toward the door and, after glancing out the peephole, she opened it. “I’m Liz Donovan.”
Liz braced her body against the door to keep from falling down. She’d opened the door expecting to find two officers bent on doing their duty whatever that may be, and that’s exactly what she found. But the sympathy in their eyes spoke volumes regarding exactly what type of duty they were required to do that night. In that moment Liz knew Darren would not be coming back that morning…or any other morning for that matter.
Chapter 1
Present Day
Mid-January, Columbus, Ohio…
As the light white flakes fell steadily outside the window Liz studied the chessboard carefully, fully aware of the skill of her opponent. If she did not make the right move, he could easily have her queen in two. She glanced up at his serious face wondering what he was thinking. His thin, black brows crinkled in concentration. She knew he would show no mercy if she made a bad decision. She shifted her body, trying to get a look at the board from his direction, trying to think like him.
Her opponent released a heavy sigh of frustration.
She simply frowned at him, refusing to be pushed into the proverbial corner. She lifted her hand to move her pawn and thought better of it. She glanced at the king sitting on the side table by the hospital bed. He already had her king. She couldn’t let him get her queen, as well.
Lord knows, he’d never let me live it down.
“Sometime today would be good,” he grumbled.
“Don’t rush me,” she mumbled back. After a few seconds of consideration she slid her pawn one space to the left, and knew it was the wrong move as soon as a beautiful smile lit his face followed by the musical laughter she loved more than life.
“I can’t believe you fell for that, Mom.” He shifted his bishop to the right and swooped up her queen. What she thought he would do in two, he did in one. “Checkmate! I win—again.”
Nine-year-old
