Brad, p.1
Brad, page 1
Dixon Brothers Book 1
by
Published by
Olivia Kimbrell Press™
Brad Copyright Notice
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
Personal Note from Hallee Bridgeman
Readers Guide Readers Guide Discussion Questions
Readers Guide Recipes
Excerpt from Jon: The Dixon Brothers book 2
More Books by Hallee Bridgeman
The Dixon Brothers Series
The Jewel Series
The Song of Suspense Series
About Author Hallee Bridgeman
Hallee Online
Newsletter
COPYRIGHT NOTICE
Brad by Hallee Bridgeman
Brad by Hallee Bridgeman, Copyright © 2024. Origianlly published as Valerie's Verdict Copyright © 2019 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or recording—without express written permission by the author and publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed or broadcasted articles and reviews.
Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or intended to be used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, organizations, places, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental and beyond the intention of either the author or the publisher. The characters are products of the authors’ imaginations and used fictitiously.
PUBLISHED BY: Olivia Kimbrell Press™*, P.O. Box 4452, Winchester, KY 40392. The Olivia Kimbrell Press™ colophon and open book logo are trademarks of Olivia Kimbrell Press™.
*Olivia Kimbrell Press™ is a publisher offering true to life, meaningful fiction from a Christian worldview intended to uplift the heart and engage the mind.
Some scripture quotations courtesy of the King James Version of the Holy Bible.
Some scripture quotations courtesy of the New King James Version of the Holy Bible, Copyright © 1979, 1980, 1982 by Thomas-Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
Original Cover Art by Amanda Gail Smith (amandagailstudio.com).
Library Cataloging Data
Names: Bridgeman, Hallee (Bridgeman Hallee) 1972-
Title: Brad; The Dixon Brothers Series book 1 / Hallee Bridgeman
400 p. 5 in. × 8 in. (12.70 cm × 20.32 cm)
Description: Olivia Kimbrell Press™ digital eBook edition | Olivia Kimbrell Press™ Trade paperback edition | Kentucky: Olivia Kimbrell Press™, 2019.
Summary: Broken and battered, Valerie comes home and finds a lifetime of love waiting for her.
Identifiers: ePCN: 2019952627 | ISBN-13: 978-1-68190-256-2 (ebk.) | 978-1-68190-160-2 (POD) | 978-1-68190-160-2 (trade) | 978-1-68190-161-9 (hardcover)
1. clean romance love story 2. women's inspirational 3. interracial relationships 4. Christian living 5. identity theft debt 6. forgiveness redemption 7. secrets and lies
This book is dedicated to every abused spouse who had the courage to get out and make a new life for yourself. God bless you.
If you are in the United States and suffer from domestic violence, the domestic violence hotline is 1-800-799-7233. I urge you to seek help.
Bradford Dixon stood on the little stone bridge that spanned the koi pond in his parents’ back yard, which his father often referred to as the ward or the bailey. The stone bridge perfectly matched the crenellated parapets, turrets, and ramparts connected by the unbroken allure, or wall walk, that all looked more like they should tower above some ancient Celtic plain. Instead, his castle home took up several acres in an Atlanta suburb. His classmates probably considered his home eccentric, though Brad had only ever known life inside these stone walls. His father had promised to build the keep for his mother long before he and his two brothers were even born.
Brad’s bare feet gripped the stone as he punched forward, pivoted on the ball of his foot, and kicked high in the air with his left foot. With his leg still raised, he angled his body, turned his foot, and kicked two more times, ending the sequence with a loud, “Hi-ya!”
The white cotton material of his dobok, his uniform, nearly clapped with the force of his kicks. His red and black cloth dhee, his belt, moved along with him as if accentuating the ironic grace of his powerful motions. Then, as he did a half-turn, he fumbled and paused, his face flooding with heat when he spotted Valerie Flynn sitting on the ledge of the gazebo, watching him with a silent smile that simultaneously teased and warmed him.
She had skin the color of rich milk chocolate, light brown eyes that reminded him of buttery caramel, and a face he dreamed of at night. That beautiful face. Tonight, she wore denim shorts that made her legs look impossibly long and a white T-shirt with a glittery flying unicorn on it. She’d kicked her sandals off and they lay on the grass next to her. She had painted her toenails the same rich glossy burgundy as her fingernails.
Losing his form, unable to concentrate, Brad stopped working and padded toward her on his bare feet.
“Black belt test tonight?” she asked, her smile growing wider.
“Yeah. We have to leave in a few minutes.” He would normally sit next to her—he really wanted any excuse to get closer to her—but he didn’t want to risk getting his gleaming white Tae Kwon Do uniform dirty. He stood just a few feet away and caught her eyes.
“You’ll get it. I have faith in you.” The sweltering Georgia summer sun beat down on their heads, making her black hair shine as if lit by a halo.
“I said I’d get it before high school. Kind of have to since school starts tomorrow.” He shrugged and tried his best to look confident and self-assured. “Besides, since Ken and Jon got theirs last time we tested, I kinda have to get it this time.” Being the middle son of three identical triplet fourteen-year-old brothers born minutes apart led to some serious competition in his family.
“It’s not your fault you had the flu. You’d have your black belt if you hadn’t gotten sick.” She ran her painted bare toe over a loose rock on the path leading to the gazebo. “Anyway, don’t talk about school starting tomorrow. I don’t even want to think about it.”
Brad knew her apprehension had nothing to do with the imminent first day of ninth grade, and everything to do with the fact that, just as soon as her Uncle Buddy got home from work tonight, she’d leave the Dixon home forever. Valerie and Buddy had lived in the little cottage on the property for the past eleven years, ever since her parents had been taken from this world far too soon. Brad’s mom had insisted on helping her husband’s best friend raise his orphaned niece. Buddy had determined that after this summer, Valerie didn’t need the “babysitting” anymore, and had bought his own house in another part of Atlanta miles from here.
They’d spent the last week moving the two of them. Brad and his brothers had hauled boxes, furniture, and suitcases. With every load, Brad felt his heart break a little more.
When Brad returned from his black belt test tonight, Valerie would not greet him and congratulate him. Tomorrow morning, Valerie would not join the family at the breakfast table. They would not make their way to school together. Brad knew these facts shouldn’t make him angry or sad, or make him feel some unexplained longing, so he tried not to think too much about his emotions.
Valerie stood and pulled a small metal box from her pocket. “Did you bring it?” When Valerie stood, her eyes were level with his chin. He had to incline his gaze to stare down into her caramel brown eyes. He did gaze, wondering what she would do if he leaned closer and kissed her right on those amazing lips. As he gazed into her eyes, he noticed once again the fascinating gold flecks in her eyes that sparkled whenever she giggled. “Brad? Hello? Did you bring it?”
“Yes.” Trying to play it cool, he casually broke his gaze, licked his dry lips, and walked over to the gazebo where he picked up the sealed envelope from the bench.
“Your brothers gave me each of theirs at the house.” She opened the box, and Brad saw three envelopes inside. Valerie had written her name on the top one. He handed her his envelope. “This box contains our hopes and dreams.” She smiled up at him, and her large mischievous eyes shone with excitement. “Where should we hide it?”
He looked up at the rafters of the gazebo. “Give it here.” Putting the box between his lips, flinching a little at the feel of the cold metal against his tongue, he stood on the bench and, using a beam for support, climbed to the top of the back of the bench. His bare toes gripped the wood of the bench like little fists and stabilized him. He could just barely brush the top of the beam with his fingertips, so he aimed, flexed, jumped, and grabbed the beam with both hands. Executing an easy pull-up, he held himself aloft at the top and investigated the area until he saw a spot tucked away at one of the corners of the roof, where the roof and a wall beam came together nea r one of the gables. After slipping the box onto the little shelf there, he lowered himself back down, dropping the last few feet to the bench.
“There you go.”
Valerie clapped her hands. “It is going to be so much fun to open them!”
“Fifteen years from now.”
“We should have made the pact for fifty years.”
“Fifteen years from now, we’ll be thirty. That’s pretty old. Fifty years would be too long to wait. I don’t think I’d want to wait that long.” Thinking about what he’d written down on his note card, he prayed it would come true. If it did, the next fifty years would go by like a dream. “Did you talk to Buddy last night about you switching schools?”
Valerie shrugged and leaned over to pluck at a piece of grass. When she stood again, the movement of her body and limbs looked just as lithe and supple as any intentional movement a prima ballerina might perform on some grand stage. Every time she moved, she exhibited this natural economy of motion, poise, and grace. She even walked as if she were gliding from place to place, hovering above the earth upon which these heavy mortals trod.
“He wants me in a high school that’s more ‘diverse.’” She said the word like it tasted bad in her mouth and accented it with air quotes.
“I guess.” He looked down at his bare foot next to hers and wished he didn’t have such stark white skin in comparison. Maybe then Buddy wouldn’t have an objection and they could just stay. “Doesn’t seem right, though.”
“Doesn’t seem right because it’s not right.” A sharp whistle sounded from the house. Without hesitation, the two of them started walking in that direction. Brad slowed his long, loping strides to match Valerie’s easy, feminine footfalls. “But it’s the world we live in. So, I’ll do what he wants and miss you guys every day. With the three of you, I always had at least one of you guys in class with me. Now, I’ll be all alone.”
He grit his teeth and his lips tightened. Even at fourteen, Brad recognized that Valerie always lumped him together with his brothers. He’d spent the last two years wishing and praying that she would see him as an individual, an eligible man, a man who cared more for her than any other man could, and not just an even third of some nebulous triplet whole.
Right before they stepped out from the tree line, he impulsively reached out and took her hand. “Valerie…”
What should he say? Was it too late to kiss her? How could he possibly convey his thoughts and feelings when he didn’t know how to satisfactorily categorize them for his own understanding? He cleared his throat as she looked up at him with those clover honey eyes. “I… if you ever need anything, ever, anything at all, call me. I’ll be there.”
Her smile vanished, and she nodded exactly once. Right before she turned and dashed toward the house, he could have sworn he saw her eyes fill with tears.
Slowly, wanting to delay his departure for as long as possible, he walked the same direction she ran, watching her grow smaller and smaller in the distance.
Ten Years Later
Moving just as fast as she could, Valerie Flynn raced into the walk-in closet and pulled the suitcase off the top shelf. Opening it right there on the floor, she grabbed clothes and tossed them into it without bothering to fold a single thing. A few skirts, some blouses, a couple pair of pants. Check. Now, shoes.
She wore a navy skirt with matching heels and a white silk blouse. Her outfit would go with most of what she’d thrown into the suitcase and make a few more outfits.
She looked at her shoe rack, at the dozens of pairs there. The idea of leaving them hurt some feminine part of her. No choice, though. If she wanted to get out, she had mere minutes left to do it. Grabbing a pair of black flats and a pair of tan heels, she tossed them on top of the clothes. She’d already gotten cash out of the bank. She could buy a toothbrush and new underwear when she got to Atlanta. As she snapped the suitcase shut, she heard the front door slam.
Feeling her stomach turn to water, she quietly turned off the closet light and pulled the door closed. Maybe he’d leave. She fisted her hand and held it to her mouth, realizing how cold her fingers felt. Eyes closed, holding her breath, wishing the floor would dissolve under her feet and envelope her, she waited, listening to him tear through the apartment looking for her. She tried very hard not to make a single sound.
“I know you’re here!” he bellowed, storming into the bedroom.
She gave a startled cry when he kicked the closet door open. Holding her hands up in front of her face, she tried to evade his grasp, but he managed to grab hold of her hair and pull her out of the closet. She moved her feet as fast as she could to keep up with him, trying to alleviate the pull on her scalp. Reflexive tears streamed down her face and she started talking.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she said over and over again.
He stopped in front of the full-length mirror next to the closet. “Look!” he screamed in her ear.
She hated it when he did this. But, years of conditioning had her opening her eyes. She saw her lip curl up in disgust as she stared at herself. Mascara had mixed with tears and ran in black streaks down her brown face. Her shirt had shifted and she could see bruising on her shoulder from two nights ago, the dark purpling barely showing against her chocolate skin.
Tyrone’s eyes had a frenzied look to them, and she could smell cheap blended whiskey on his breath. Her stomach turned at the smell. He was well beyond reasoning right now. If she just endured it, it would eventually end. He would eventually sleep it off. Then she’d leave, for good, with or without the suitcase.
“You see this?” he said, no longer screaming. He grabbed her chin from behind and squeezed hard enough to make her whimper. “This is mine. You think I’ll let you just leave?”
Without warning, he let go of her chin and smashed her forehead against the mirror. She felt the glass cut into her skin and screamed more in fear than pain.
“The only way you’ll leave me is in a coffin,” he declared, spinning her around to face him. As soon as he let go, she stepped backward, holding her hands up in front of her. She could feel the blood dripping down her face. “Do you understand me?” he screamed, spittle flying from his mouth, emphasizing each word.
“Yes, yes, yes,” she whispered over and over again. “I’m sorry. Yes. Please, just don’t hurt me.”
“Hurt you?” Hurling an obscenity at her, he reached back and punched her with his closed fist. She felt her knees buckle at the pain that exploded in her cheek. Stunned, she fell, clutching out to try to stop her fall. She couldn’t end up on the floor. He’d start kicking her if she fell. She had to stay on her feet.
Somehow, she managed to grab the edge of the dresser and pull herself up. Before she could step away, he had her by the neck. “I don’t think you’re really sorry,” he said.
As soon as she realized he had started to drag her to the glass doors, she started fighting him, screaming, clawing, scratching, kicking. But he was bigger, stronger, angry, and drunk. He threw the door open so hard she heard the glass shatter. With a roar, he pushed her up against the balcony and screamed at her. “You want it over? Then I’ll end it!”
Crying, clawing at the hands around her neck, she kicked out and managed to jam the heel of her shoe into the flesh of his thigh. He roared in pain and grabbed her shin.
She could feel the metal railing of the balcony digging into her shoulder blades seconds before he flipped her over it. Suddenly, Valerie felt nothing, nothing at all. She didn’t even feel the air rushing past her the entire way to the ground.
Then she felt everything for exactly as long as it took for her vision to flash red like lightning at sunset. She felt glass shattering all around her, and saw it fly up into her flesh like a thousand razor blades and all around her like a million glittering diamonds the instant before she felt unforgiving cement welcome her back to earth. She felt more pain than she had ever felt before in her life for less than one heartbeat before the world completely vanished in that bright red flash.
Bradford “Brad” Dixon closed his eyes and took a deep breath as the commercial jet completed its descent. It bumped up, then settled back down on the runway, the wheels chirping loudly as the rubber met the asphalt. Realizing that he gripped the arms of the seat so tightly in his hands that his fingertips had turned bone white, he intentionally relaxed his hands and let out the breath he had held, slowly trying to force his body to relax again. After hours and hours of flight, they had survived and landed back home in Atlanta. As much as he enjoyed the work on the mission field where he spent the last ten days building a medical clinic in rural Alaska, the flight home always made him think he’d never go again. Maybe next time, he would donate his vacation for a mission in Georgia. Surely, Atlanta could use a new medical clinic, or perhaps housing for the homeless.
