If Only (19 page)

A knowing smile spread across his handsome face as he released a shaky breath and then proceeded to tell his wife exactly what was in his heart.

“Please forgive me for being a selfish ass. I know I overreacted, and I let my temper get the best of me. It’s just you are the most important person in the world to me, and if I were to ever lose you, I would never be the same man again.”

His head was bowed so he couldn’t see her response. He could feel her fingers running through his hair. Fleetingly, he wondered if she was leading up to smacking him in the back of the head.

His wife stifling a laugh was not what he had expected.

Scott looked up when he heard her clear her throat. The breathtakingly beautiful smile on Bree’s face made his heart swell with love.

He followed her gaze, which landed once again on the sprig of mistletoe dangling right above their heads.

“I am still waiting for that kiss,” she complained with a soft smile.

“Not for long,” he promised as he scrambled to his feet.

The next thing she knew, Scott dipped her dramatically and kissed her. When she had fully recovered and was once again standing upright, she raced across the room to where the Christmas tree was standing.

Impulsively, she grabbed a medium-sized, flat present wrapped in bright red metallic wrapping paper and sporting a carefully-tied green ribbon. It was so beautifully wrapped that at first glance, it would easily be assumed it had been decorated by a professional, by one of those wrapping places at a mall or store.

But Scott knew better. His wife had worked at a department store as a teenager during the Christmas season, wrapping presents for harried shoppers in the local mall. When they were dating, he would sit on a stool in the store, watching her wrap presents for hours. Looking more carefully, he noticed she had even coiled the ribbon into delicate little curls.

Snatching the present with one hand and reaching for his wife with the other, he gently guided her over to the tree. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, he leaned over for a small, extravagantly-wrapped gold foil box with matching gold ribbons. Handing it to Bree, he began unwrapping his present.

He was like a little kid at Christmas. He was just a little older than most.

As he finished, his hands stilled as he realized what he was holding. He turned the object over gently in his large hands, his face lighting up with pleasure.

“Do you like it?” Bree questioned, uncertainty lacing her voice.

Scott’s eyes widened as he gazed over at her. “Who wouldn’t?” he asked, his voice husky with emotion.

He was looking at what was, without a doubt, the best Christmas present he had ever been given.

How she had managed to keep it a secret from him, he would never know. He hadn’t even known his wife had these.

What Scott was staring at so intently was a framed photograph on a wooden plaque. But not just any photograph. He was looking at a framed picture of Bree’s first ultrasound. It had been enlarged to an 8x10 exposure and bordered in a redwood frame. And in a small corner, Bree had the baby’s due date and the date of the ultrasound engraved, along with a simple inscription:
Merry Christmas to the best daddy in the world. With love from Bree and your son or daughter.

He could barely hear Bree as she slowly and meticulously opened her own present, folding the wrapping paper delicately. He didn’t acknowledge her gasp of surprise as she revealed the intricate emerald and diamond drop necklace with matching earrings.

Her arms wrapping around his neck hugging him brought him back to Earth. Her squeal of feminine pleasure made him smile.

“They are absolutely perfect!” she exclaimed as she immediately fastened the chain around the delicate column of her throat.

“Just like you,” he murmured as his lips came down to taste hers.

Her hands tangled into the dark tresses of his hair. Scott’s hands cupped her by the back of her neck, his fingers touching the silver clasp of her new necklace.

Bree groaned with pleasure as his masterful hands stroked her womanly curves. He covered her with his body, pressing her against the plush carpet. His callused hands slid up underneath her shirt, moving upward to trace a path along her spine. Reaching for the hem of her red sweater, he proceeded to remove it slowly, deliberately taking his time to prolong the simple action.

She moaned into his mouth as her pullover found its way onto the floor. She swiftly removed his cable-knit sweater, relishing the feeling of his naked chest against her bare skin. The colored twinkle strands guided them into the light and into each other’s loving arms.

Chapter 15

It was almost a relief to walk in to work two days later. Christmas Day had been a difficult day for everyone, even though it had also been their second wedding anniversary.

First thing on Christmas Day, they had gotten up early to finish opening their presents to each other. Bree and Scott had started their own tradition the first year they had been married. They only opened one present on Christmas Eve and then opened the rest on Christmas morning.

Then later in the morning, they bundled themselves up in their coats, scarves, and gloves to make the twenty minute trek to Scott’s mother’s house, where the rest of the family was already gathered. They all had breakfast together and then opened their presents from the entire family.

The traditional Weston family breakfast consisted of Lucy’s incredible chocolate chip pancakes with sausage links and hot coffee that could double as motor oil. Lucy was a remarkable cook, she always had been, but making coffee was not one of her many talents. If by some miracle someone else made it out of bed and to the kitchen first, they would relieve her of the task and make the morning’s coffee. But the woman was up practically at the crack of dawn, so therefore, the motor oil coffee.

That was when his mother had made the announcement Scott was expecting. Gathered around the breakfast table after everybody had eaten, she had told her children she had roughly six months to live.

Opening presents followed her confession, and by the time it was over, every single member of the family had been moved to tears at least once.

To Scott’s amazement, Bree had given his mother almost the same exact present he had received. She had thoughtfully framed his mother an identical picture of her ultrasound, followed by a personalized inscription.
Merry Christmas to the best grandmother in the world. With love from Scott, Bree, and your grandson or granddaughter.
For the first time in a long time, he had seen his mother literally moved to tears. No more presents had been allowed to be opened until her plaque was hanging proudly on the wall above the fireplace.

His mother had given Bree a beautiful gold locket with room inside for two pictures, and she had presented him with a new CD player for his SUV. Apparently, his mother and his wife were in cahoots because earlier that same morning, he had unwrapped a new set of floor mats and a steering wheel cover from Bree.

Lucy’s idea of preserving memories was to have shoeboxes and shoeboxes of pictures. Every picture she had and every picture she had ever taken had been tossed aside to be taken care of another day. So unbeknownst to their mother, Susan had swiped the photographs and had assembled them into three separate photo albums, one for each of Lucy’s children. Bree and Susan had had a blast going through each and every picture, making fun of Scott at every opportunity. But the end results had been beautiful, with images of chubby-cheeked babies, clumsy toddlers, and awkward teenagers. Scott, Susan, and Luke had all chipped in for the albums, and that was their Christmas present to their mother.

After presents, they had spent the remainder of the morning reminiscing about previous Christmases, and everyone shared their favorite Christmas memories. Susan told the story of when their father had fallen off the roof while pretending to be Santa Claus for them when they were children, and spending that Christmas in the emergency room. Luke shared a memory of the Christmas when he had been sick with the chicken pox, and Scott recalled making Christmas cookies with his mother when he was barely tall enough to reach the kitchen counter. Lucy talked about how beautiful Scott and Bree’s wedding had been and remembered her own wedding day almost four decades ago.

It had been difficult to leave, knowing this Christmas would be his mother’s last.

Scott held his wife’s hand as they walked through the glass front doors of Sexton Books. They reached for their identification badges and then signed in at the podium in the center of the lobby. Three of the security team were making their rounds around the perimeter of the lobby, wearing matching blue suits with their badges worn on their belts.

At the podium, three guards were busy monitoring the live feed. Cameras were hidden discreetly on the walls, the lobby ceilings high enough to prevent anyone from reaching them. One of the security guards watched as Bree and Scott signed their names and then compared their faces to the images on their identification badges.

After they had both passed inspection, they crossed the lobby and headed toward the elevator. Bree adjusted the collar on her long-sleeved blazer as the elevator doors closed behind them.

Just another day at the office, she thought to herself.

* * * *

Just another day at the office.

Tyrone White was an intimidating person in his own right. He was a menacing figure of a man, weighing over three hundred pounds and towering over most people at almost seven feet tall. He kept himself in excellent physical condition by doing yoga daily, and he was an expert at martial arts.

His skin was the color of dark mahogany, and he was already bald, despite his youthful appearance. It was a trait he had inherited from his father, balding before he reached the age of forty. Once a girlfriend had compared him to the bald man on the floor cleaner. She had thought it was funny, but he hadn’t agreed. Could be one of the reasons why she was now an ex.

Tyrone walked into his office on the sixth floor of the Sexton Publishing building.
First things first.
He blatantly ignored the work that had already begun piling up on his desk and headed straight for the coffeemaker and proceeded to prepare himself his second cup of coffee for the day.

He couldn’t help but think about what a contradiction that was. Here he was in top physical form, exercising daily and eating nothing but healthy foods, limiting his meat intake and having the recommended daily servings of fruits and vegetables, but he drank nearly his weight in coffee. He might as well just have an IV feeding the caffeine directly into his bloodstream.

Under normal circumstances, he was unable to function normally without at least three cups of coffee in his system. He was not and had never been a morning person.

Which was why it was a strange twist of fate for him to be the head of security for a company that had a normal nine-to-five work schedule. He didn’t love his job; in fact, there were times when he almost hated it. But he had worked his way up, beginning as a security guard and eventually getting promoted to head of security.

Not that he could really complain. He oversaw fifteen men and women, and instead of reporting to that manipulative shit of a son, Tyrone reported directly to Donald Sexton himself. He had his own luxurious office and unlimited access to the building. He could pretty much set his own hours as long as it was approved by Donald in advance, which explained why the hours he worked changed almost from day-to-day.

Nursing a cup of coffee, he headed to the back portion of his office. His dark stare focused intently on the wall of monitors, watching the security footage from a couple of days before. Following the movement on the monitors, he had just brought his hot mug of coffee to his lips when he saw something disturbing.

“What the hell?”

Focusing on a single monitor, he raised his eyebrows, and his jaw went slack. After several minutes, he rewound the footage and played it again. He spilled his cup of coffee as he reached for the phone, cursing beneath his breath as the almost-full cup of coffee landed in his lap.

Dialing the extension that was to be used only in emergency situations, he sighed as he waited, tapping his fingernails anxiously against his thigh, a nervous habit prompted by the slightest period of inactivity. Tyrone couldn’t stand to sit still—he was always working, always moving. Whether it was from all the coffee or just a personal flaw, he didn’t know.

Subconsciously, he straightened as he heard the dominating voice on the other end of the line give a clipped and abrupt response.

“Donald, this is Tyrone White on the sixth floor. We have a situation, sir, which needs to be handled immediately. Are you available now for a consultation?”

Nodding at his superior’s answer, he looked at the wristwatch adorning his left wrist as he stood up and then remembered the damp stain on his slacks and the fact he had an extra uniform stashed in his locker.

“Ten minutes it is, sir. On my way.”

Chapter 16

He vaguely remembered clenching his hands into fists.

He could hear the sound of bones breaking.

He realized blood was spurting out of someone’s nose, and he heard a pained groan.

He could feel a throbbing in his knuckles and heard a roaring in his ears.

But his vision was obstructed by a red haze. Anger and hatred raged through him, consuming him to the point where he would have done something he never could have taken back. He wanted to wound; he wanted to kill. And that had never been in his nature.

He wasn’t that kind of a man; he had never been that kind of man. He had never been prone to acts of violence. He hadn’t been raised that way.

The graphic images continued to flash through his mind, repeating themselves with explicit detail, torturing him, tormenting him almost to the brink of madness.

Bryan Sexton seizing his wife by the shoulders and slamming her body roughly against the wall and then laughing cruelly as she fell to the floor.