Intertwined, p.1
Intertwined, page 1
Intertwined
Also by Jennifer Slattery
Beyond I Do
When Dawn Breaks
Intertwined
A CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE NOVEL
JENNIFER SLATTERY
New Hope® Publishers
PO Box 12065
Birmingham, AL 35202-2065
NewHopePublishers.com
New Hope Publishers is a division of WMU®.
© 2015 by Jennifer Slattery
All rights reserved. First printing 2015.
Printed in the United States of America.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher.
New Hope Publishers serves its authors as they express their views, which may not express the views of the publisher.
This novel is a work of fiction, and all storylines, plot threads, and characters arose solely from the author’s imagination. Any similarities between events, people, and places are purely coincidental. Though the author gleaned information from numerous medical and mental health professionals while researching and writing this novel, she is responsible for any errors within.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Slattery, Jennifer, 1974-
Intertwined : a contemporary romance novel / Jennifer Slattery.
pages cm
ISBN 978-1-59669-443-9 (sc)
1. Christian fiction. 2. Love stories. I. Title.
PS3619.L3755I58 2015
813›.6--dc23
2015024858
All scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com The “NIV” and “New International Version” are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.™
ISBN-10: 1-59669-443-2
ISBN-13: 978-1-59669-443-9
N154121 • 1015 • 2M1
Dedicated to my Savior, who brings life from death, and to my warrior, Steve Slattery, who continually shows me what it means to love sacrificially.
Acknowledgements
First to my sweet, faithful husband, who I’ve affectionately called “Warrior” ever since he donated his kidney to a teenager he had never met (until the week before surgery): you inspire me. Thank you for always supporting my dreams and continually pointing me to Christ. I love doing life and serving Christ with you.
To all the professionals who shared their immense knowledge with me: Ami Carr Koelliker, thank you so much for helping me understand the medical processes and procedures involved in organ donation, for reviewing various plot threads for accuracy, and for combing through this story numerous times in order to ensure the utmost authenticity. This novel would not exist if not for you! Thank you also to Francine Buda-Dardon, MSLP, from Acuity Counseling Professionals in Papillion, Nebraska, for taking the time to review this story for accuracy in regard to all mental health issues touched on within. To insurance agent Leon Van Burkam, thank you for helping me understand all the ins and outs of insurance claims and payouts.
I especially want to thank my amazing, wise, and godly editor Joyce Dinkins for her continual guidance, support, prayers, and encouragement. You are such a blessing—major understatement! Thank you so much for all you do, and to your brilliant team as well. As always, thank you to everyone at New Hope® Publishers for allowing me to be part of the New Hope family. Your commitment to Christ, the gospel, and His mission inspires me, and I pray God richly blesses your ministry and continues to expand your reach.
And finally, a big shout out to all my faithful critique partners who had the courage to tell me like it is and the patience to brainstorm new ideas and threads with me, even if that meant you’d have to sift through the manuscript yet another time. Kathleen Freeman, Laura Hodges Pool, and Tanya Eavenson, thank you for standing by me from first draft to twelfth—or maybe that’s the twenty-seventh!
Chapter 1
Tammy pulled into her garage and stared at the entrance door to her home with a heavy sigh. Most likely, her husband Brody was asleep. Or zoned out watching television.
Completely oblivious to their rapidly decaying marriage.
She paused to read the verse taped to her dashboard:
“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy . . . it is not easily angered . . .”
A similar verse was tacked to the door leading into the house, and another one stuck to her bathroom mirror.
They weren’t helping. Nothing was. No matter how hard she tried, how fervently she prayed.
With a heavy heart, she glanced back at her two sleeping kids. Tylan’s chest rose and fell, his small lips slightly ajar. Beside him, Becky’s strawberry-blonde head leaned against the window, her bangs splayed across her forehead. Such precious little angels.
She reached back and squeezed her daughter’s knee. “Hey, sweet girl, we’re home.”
Becky stirred before opening droopy eyes. She glanced around, yawned, and then got out, shuffling forward in a semialert state.
Tammy moved to the rear passenger side of the car to retrieve her sleeping son. The buzz of cicadas filled the thick Missouri air, ushering forth memories of lazy summer evenings. Back when she and Brody were still in love. Was it too late to rekindle their romance? To begin again?
As if to answer, the door to the kitchen creaked open, and Brody appeared.
“Hey, Dad.” Becky stopped in front of him as if waiting for a response.
“Hey.” Brody stepped aside to let her pass.
No, How was your day or hello hug? When had he become so cold, so uncaring? Swallowing past an unsettled stomach, Tammy offered him what she hoped to be a welcoming smile. “Hi.”
He nodded, stepping into the garage and continuing to the car. “I’ve got Tylan.”
She studied his face. The normal edge was replaced by dull eyes and a slackened mouth. “Rough day?”
He held her gaze for a moment, causing the knot in her gut to twist tighter. “We’ll talk later.”
Nothing good ever followed those words, but whatever it was, they’d get through it.
Right?
Her pulse quickened as she followed her husband, carrying a sleeping Tylan, down the hall and into his bedroom. Crossing the room in three long strides, he laid the child on his comforter, decorated with the Royals’ logo. He stirred, and his eyes fluttered open, before closing once again. A slight smile emerged as he rolled on his side.
Tammy unfolded a quilt on the foot of his bed and spread it over him, tucking the edge around his shoulder. She brushed a kiss against his temple. “Good night, sweet boy.”
Behind her, Brody’s footsteps receded.
She exited Tylan’s room and paused in the dimly lit hall to brace herself against an impeding argument. Brody’s words replayed through her brain. “We’ll talk later.”
Whatever he had to say, she would respond with love.
The floorboards creaked as she continued down the hall. She popped her head into Becky’s room to say goodnight before entering the dark living room. Brody sat with his back to her, in his favorite chair—one she and the kids bought him several Christmases ago.
Not wanting to see her husband’s loveless eyes, she kept the lights off.
She sank into the corner of the couch across from him, drawing up her knees and hugging them. Brody stared at his hands, twisted his wedding ring. Silence stretched between them.
She broke it first. “I’m sorry I’m late. Did you get my message?”
He raised his head, nodded.
“Look, if you’re mad about—”
“I’m leaving.”
Her breath caught. “What?”
He inhaled then let it out slowly. “I’m sorry. This isn’t working.”
“What do you mean it’s not working? Marriage isn’t a vacuum or blender you toss out when there’s a glitch. Listen, I know things have been—”
“Dead. Our marriage is dead, Tammy.”
She closed her eyes and massaged her forehead. “So let’s fix it. With God’s help—” Lord, give me strength.
“I’m in love with someone else. We’re getting a place.”
Tammy froze, bile seeping up her throat as a sharp pain seared her heart.
“I’m sorry.” His eyes softened. “I never meant for this to happen.”
“You’re sorry?” Hot blood coursed through her, turning her stomach. “You’re sorry? Don’t give me that garbage. You’re sorry for spilling soda or forgetting to pick up the clothes at the dry cleaners, not for . . . not for . . . How could you?”
He stood and raised his hand. “Calm down.”
“Don’t you dare.” The verse taped on her steering wheel flashed through her mind with little effect. “After twelve years! Twelve years of dirty underwear and socks thrown on the floor. Twelve years of packing your lunch, going to your work parties, wiping your whiskers out of the bathroom sink.” Tears pricked her eyes as she struggled to control her breathing. Lifting her chin, she leveled her gaze at her husband. “Think about what you’re doing. For the kids’ sake.”
“Mom? Dad?” Becky’s voice quivered as her big, blue eyes looked from one parent to the other.
“Oh, baby.” Tammy’s torso caved inward, a dull ache stabbing at her thr
Standing, she waited until Becky’s footfalls had faded then turned to her, her legs threatening to give way. “Don’t, Brody. Don’t throw it all away.”
He exhaled and shook his head. “It’s over, Tammy.”
Chapter 2
Three years later
Nick Zimmerman sat on the couch, a warm Mountain Dew in his hand. He looked from the clock to the television screen then back to the clock. His ex-wife was late—as usual—and the boys had school tomorrow, but at least he was actually getting his court-ordered visitation . . . for once. A full week and a half this time, which might prove long enough to undo the damage Marianne caused with how often she openly badmouthed him.
He’d filed for joint custody. It was going to cost him, lead to a long, bitter fight, but what else could he do? His boys needed a dad. Nick knew the sting of growing up without a father and refused to let his boys experience that same loss.
He fingered the military dog chain dangling from his neck, thinking of his dad—a man he’d never met, one who’d died a hero fighting for his country.
A vehicle approached and idled outside. Flicking off the television, Nick sucked in a calming breath and uncoiled his fists. Starting the visit with an argument wouldn’t help. He clenched his jaw to hold his angry words at bay and walked to the front door.
Outside, a vibrant sunset of reds and purples stretched across the Missouri skyline, promising a beautiful day tomorrow. The idea gave Nick hope, a hope he’d focus on during his conversation with Marianne, one that, based on history, could turn stormy in a flash.
Leaning against the doorframe, he waited while his boys spilled from the car and gathered their things.
Marianne’s boyfriend’s convertible was parked along the curb. The top was down, and the silver paint looked freshly waxed. Wade, who lived with Marianne and the kids, stood near the rear bumper, acting like a step-in dad.
Gear unloaded, Wade dragged their suitcase up the walk, Marianne at his side. The boys trudged behind like they were heading to detention.
There was a time, not so long ago, when they would run to greet Nick each day he returned from work. How quickly things changed.
This week, he planned to change things back.
“Marianne.” He gave a slight nod before turning to her boyfriend. “Wade.” Extending a hand, he tried not to smirk at Wade’s Miami playboy appearance, spiked hairdo and all. A deeply tanned Marianne stood beside him, thick, blond highlights streaked through her hair.
Nick looked past her to offer his sons an encouraging smile. “Hi, boys.”
Payton scowled, his thirteen-year-old frame tense. Jeremy, Payton’s seven-year-old brother, frowned and stared at the ground. His thin shoulders slumped.
Wade deposited the boys’ suitcase near his feet. “How are things in the restaurant business?” He slid his arm behind Marianne’s back.
A tendon in Nick’s jaw twitched. “People keep eating.”
Marianne ushered the boys forward. “You two, tell your father hello.”
“Hey.” Payton shoved his hands in his pockets.
Jeremy rolled the toe of his shoe over a pebble. “Hi.”
“You two ready to work on your swinging arms?” Nick fistnudged Payton’s shoulder. The teen’s scowl deepened. “I was thinking maybe we could visit the batting cages sometime this week. Whatdya’ say?”
Payton shrugged, but Jeremy’s head bobbed up, eyes bright.
Nick’s heart warmed. A few hours of slow-pitch followed by generous scoops of ice cream, and the boys would be back to goofing off and playing pranks.
He faced Marianne. “You got numbers for me—in case you don’t have cell phone service, and I need to reach you?”
She nodded and rummaged through a gold bag nearly the size of the boys’ suitcase.
While she continued her lengthy search, Nick stepped aside and motioned the boys in. “There’s ice cream in the fridge.”
Both heads snapped up, Jeremy’s cheeky grin flashing missing teeth. Nick chuckled as his youngest bolted for the door.
“Wait a minute!” Marianne caught Jeremy by the wrist. “Aren’t you going to say good-bye to your momma?” Pulling him close, she kissed his cheek, leaving a splotch of maroon lipstick. “Remember, I’ll call you on Wednesday at seven.” She shot Nick a pointed glare. “You feed them way too much junk food.” She crossed her arms. “But hey, if you want them jumping off the walls right before bedtime, what do I care?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “The number, Marianne?”
“Right.” She plunged her arm back into her purse and pulled out a wad of folded documents. “Remember, we’ll be in the Caribbean. Roaming fees will be unreal.” She flipped through the pages sheet by sheet. “If there’s an emergency, and you can’t reach my cell . . .” She scrunched up her face and chewed on her bottom lip, as if deciphering hieroglyphics. “Well, one of these numbers will work. I’m sure you won’t need them anyway.” With a flick of her wrist, she handed over the papers.
Nick flipped through the documents. An itinerary, a map of a bunch of islands, a cruise brochure that provided more information on menu choices than who to call in a crisis. Real helpful, but like she said, he wouldn’t need them anyway.
She snapped her purse closed and smoothed a lock of hair from her face. “I’ll call on Wednesday and Saturday to check on the boys.” Her expression hardened. “Please have them close by.”
Right. Like she did when he tried to call? He got the answering machine every time. They probably wouldn’t be here now if not for her cruise and Marianne’s need for childcare. What he wouldn’t give to see things flipped. Except he was better than that. Besides, God would make things right, eventually. Had to.
Nick wouldn’t lose his boys.
Not without a fight.
Marianne spouted a few more warnings and instructions—like he’d never parented before. He let her rant. It was what she did. In ten minutes, she’d be on her merry way, unloading on Wade.
When she finished, Nick offered a stiff nod, wished them well on their trip, and slipped inside. He found the boys in the living room, halfway through their ice cream. Jeremy had a chocolate ring around his mouth. Payton had located the remote and was flipping through the channels.
Nick sat beside him. “So, what all do you want to do this week?”
Payton shrugged.
Nick grabbed a stack of museum brochures from the coffee table. He handed them over. “I picked these up yesterday. Thought maybe we could—”
“Lame.” Payton dropped them onto the seat cushions beside him.
“—visit the air and space museum in Greenwood.” Nick suppressed a sigh and leaned against the back of the couch.
Help me out, Lord. Show me how to reestablish our bonds.
Or at least help us get through this visit without a blowup.
He thought of the court case and the long custody battle that lay ahead.
Did the boys even want to live here? Because right now, it seemed they wanted nothing to do with him.
For the next three hours, he watched Payton play video games and Jeremy turn the living room into an army fort, waiting—praying—for an open door. Every time Nick attempted a conversation, Payton scowled, shrugged him off, or worse, ignored him completely. And poor Jeremy seemed torn between the two of them, his sad eyes looking from one face to the other before the boy lost himself in make-believe once again.
Darkness settled around the house, the steady hum of distant traffic growing lighter as other Oak Blossom residents settled in for the night. Whatever connection Nick had hoped for would have to wait until tomorrow.
“How can one boy make such a mess in such a short period of time?” Forcing a nervous chuckle, he flicked off the television and stood. Two sheets draped the coffee table while every book he owned—including phone books—formed an archway entrance.
He nudged Jeremy’s shoulder. “Time to clean up, champ.”
Jeremy moaned. “But I’m not even tired.” The red rims around his eyes said otherwise. “Ten more minutes?”
