When the Heart Lies (3 page)

Chapter 2

Nick lay flat, eyes to the ceiling and naked, on the rumpled designer sheets of the king-size bed in the guestroom of his and Kinsley’s home. He’d spent most of his nights in that room since she left town. It’d been over six months since they were together. Catching sight of the picture of them on the bedside table, his face fell flat. The empty bottle of scotch that lay beside it dripped the remaining amber liquid onto the cream-colored carpet.

With dull melancholy eyes, he lightly swatted the picture down and returned his attention to the big breasted someone or other he hooked up with the previous night. She rode his fully impaled member with a smile. He grabbed her hips and ground himself into her hard a few times, finishing.

“Yeah, yeah baby, that feels so good.” Her voice sounded like a squealing pig. She leaned down to kiss him, and he gave her his neck. “You’re something else, handsome. Tell me your name.” She ran her fingers through his shiny black curls and tousled them playfully.

From age fourteen, he was far too handsome for his own good. Women both older and younger were captivated by his tall, athletic appearance and dark Greek characteristics descending from his mother’s side of the family. Sadly, if not for the admiration of the women who desired him and the men who were envious, it’d be questionable if he’d see himself as a man of value at all.

He slapped the woman on the ass and pushed her aside. As he sat up, he braced his arms on the side of the bed. His face screwed up in the same way it would if he’d accidentally swallowed a big gulp of sour milk from the carton. The booze was getting to him. On her knees, the woman crawled from where he’d dumped her and wrapped her arms around him. They hung from his neck, and her huge breasts pushed against his back as she babbled on.

“I’ve got to get ready for work. Just see yourself out.” After removing her arms from his neck and tossing the used condom into the trash, he stood, snatching her clothes from the floor and tossing them to her. He fished his wallet from his pants lying beside the bed and handed her three hundred dollars.

Her mouth dropped open, and her face contorted. “Hey asshole, I’m no whore.”

His eyes narrowed as he assessed her. Lifting his chin, he delivered a flippant dismissal. “Of course not.”

She looked at the money, gave him the finger, and left. She kept it. They always kept it. And it cleared his conscience.

When the resonating slam of the front door subsided, he sat hunched over on the side of the bed. He held the photograph of him and Kinsley in his hand and stared intently as he tapped it repeatedly into his open palm. The blare of the alarm clock broke the monotony, and he returned the picture to the table. His fingers outlined the edges with a delicate caress. With his next breath, he swatted the thing down again and left the room.

Once showered, he dressed and went downstairs for some breakfast: Wheaties, the preferred Breakfast of Champions and lonely, ditched men. Noticing a blinking voicemail alert, he picked up the phone. There was always the possibility it could be Kinsley. It was his mother.

“I drove by on my way to the hairdressers this morning. I noticed your car in the driveway. Your father and I are having dinner with the Ericson’s tonight at the club. Come by if you like. Drinks at seven-thirty, dinner’s at eight. Love you.”

He sifted through the pile of mail on the counter and ran his fingers over the umpteenth letter he’d written to Kinsley that had been stamped ‘Return to Sender.’ After putting the letter upstairs with the others, he set out for the office.

Before the second chirp that disarmed his car security system, he spotted Xavier’s limo as it slowly rolled to a stop in front of the driveway, effectively blocking his car in. He looked in the opposite direction, then turned back to face the limo and stood waiting. The tinted window on the driver’s side edged down as slowly as the car rolled up. The driver jerked his head directing him to get in. He set his briefcase on the hood of his Mercedes Z Series Roadster and got into the limo. He didn’t say anything and settled comfortably into the leather seat across from Xavier.

“We should talk Nick,” Xavier said.

“About?”

“Kinsley.”

“Kinsley? My marriage. My business. I’ll handle things my way.”

Xavier’s fist tensed against his thigh, and his jaw set tight leaving his words forced and pressured. “Your way is avoiding, which doesn’t work in business or in life. I gave you her post office box number. Finding her physical address would be simple.” He waited for a response. There was none. “It would make sense for a husband who loves his wife to do that. To fight to get her back.”

Nick stared at Xavier intently and then laughed. “I don’t fight for any woman. That’s where we differ. You have your persona. I have mine. You’re the rich iconic business mogul, the relatively faithful family man. I’m the playboy heir. Anything else and I’m Xavier Wentworth’s semi-successful son. I much prefer people to think of me as that lucky bastard who can bang any woman he pleases and has a beautiful wife and family to boot. The envy of men, the desire of women. Thanks to all your hard work, it’s been easy.”

“Your wife is gone.”

Nick grasped the door handle. “She’ll be back.”

Before he opened the door, Xavier reached over and rested his hand on top of his. “I’m not so sure she will be back, Nick. She needs to know you love her. A woman needs that from her husband. Money can’t compare to a woman knowing she’s loved.” Xavier lifted his hand, and Nick headed back to his car without responding.

~ ~ ~

Kinsley approached Dr. Pierce’s office with shoulders back and a poised smile, but continued to rest her hand on her queasy stomach. Doctors always made her feel uneasy. She knocked lightly on the opened door and stood there, trying to appear confident.

“Come in, come in.” Without looking up, the doctor continued to shuffle papers on the large mahogany desk. “Well, who do we have here? Mrs. Kinsley Wentworth.”

She took a few steps in and stood waiting.

Dr. Pierce looked up sharply and shook his head. “Well?—Sit down.” He motioned toward the two red leather chairs across from his desk and sat muttering, taking a moment to look over her chart.

Reluctantly, she walked around the first chair and sat down. While the doctor remained occupied, she drifted—thinking over her options. There weren’t many. She stared through the window beyond him at the small lake, which reflected the morning sun in the distance. Leaving Wayde would be her first priority. After that, she’d get Max back to New York to be closer to his father. If she could patch their family back together, all the better. Her plan sounded very rational and orderly, but in recent months, she had gradually traded hope for despair.

“You came in by ambulance?”

Startled from her thoughts, she returned her attention to the present, hoping she hadn’t appeared far away.

He continued to look at the chart. “Your blood pressure was extremely low. You fainted. Also, your husband thought you might be depressed. He said this incident began with an argument with his niece?” After a measured nod, he puckered his lips as if the story was clear to him.

“Wayde isn’t my husband, and I fainted because I was dehydrated.” She’d spoken too fast, sounding rushed and defensive. Her eyes closed briefly as she drew in a steady breath, she needed to slow down. “The heat index was one hundred and ten degrees, and I hadn’t eaten.”

With an authoritative expression, he peered above his black rimmed glasses, took them off, and slicked his oiled black hair to the side. His appearance was reminiscent of the 1950’s. “Well, who is he?”

This time, she was the one to lower her eyes because explaining things would be difficult. After all, if she thought her decisions were foolish and reckless, what would a doctor think? “I’m separated from my husband, Nick. I live with Wayde. Things haven’t worked out. I’m planning on returning home to New York. I won’t be here much longer.”

“Says here, his young niece, Savannah, also lives with you?”

“Woman. Savannah is a woman.”
Savannah is a stripper, a belligerent slob, and a drunkard whose sole purpose in life is to provoke me.
Kinsley refrained with difficulty from displaying her disgust, stopping just short of an eye roll and a jerk of her head. The picture of Savannah, upside down with her shoulders and bleached blond hair hanging over the edge of the sofa seat, crossed her mind. The red stilettos she wore pointed to the ceiling, and her legs made scissoring movements as her shoulders undulated making the tassels spin. Savannah laughed as Max giggled and pointed.
How could anyone act that way in front of a child?

“And your three year-old son lives with you also?” He leaned back in his chair and stared at her.

It was unsettling.

“Yes, that’s right.” Not knowing what he wanted her to say next, she stared back at him.

“Any history of anxiety?”

“No. I don’t know what Wayde said happened, but I need to get back to my son.” She may have sounded a little too desperate. Breaking eye contact, she stared at her thumbs as she began twirling them around one another. “I need to leave.” She blurted the statement out. Fearing it made her appear desperate, she clasped her restless hands and smiled, making eye contact again.

He sat, silent, with a questioning glare and jotted something down before he asked, “Mrs. Wentworth, do you have a history of depression?” He put his hands together and rested them against his lips. The way she’d learned to pray as a child.

“A long time ago … almost six years, I took some pills. So yes, at the time, I was depressed. Before the pills, but more so after, considering taking them was such a brainless move.” Unfortunately, she couldn’t avoid direct questions. She wanted him to discharge her.
Would it make a difference if I told him more than wanting to die, I wanted to shake some, any type, of reaction out of my drunken husband?

It was so vivid—Angela consoling her when she heard of Nick’s tryst with Stephanie. She explained that affairs came with the territory, especially when you’re married to a rich, handsome man. Angela said she was lucky because women like Stephanie were all purchased in some way. Wives, on the other hand, were loved and compensated. “Hold your head up. This will pass. If you fight the issue, you’ll destroy the love he has for you.”

Kinsley didn’t listen, and when she fought with Nick that fateful night, she told him what Angela said. When his drunken head lifted, he stared boldly into her eyes and said, “It’s sound advice.” It broke her. The minute she swallowed the sixty Xanax, she regretted it. When Nick casually got up, went to bed, and passed out without a word—she regretted the move even more.

Nick had had several affairs following the incident with Stephanie, and she’d swallowed every one of them, but when it came to Mia, his best friend, a family friend, it was devastating. The only connection she felt for him any longer was one based on her desire for Max to grow up in a traditional family. Nick loved them, as much as he knew how to love. Despite his drinking and other women, she believed that. She waited for Pierce’s response, deciding not to add more.

“Don’t you mean you attempted suicide? After the pills, you were in the hospital for three days, and more recently, this man Wayde says you’ve been depressed. Now anxiety attacks.” He leaned back in his chair looking satisfied as if he’d just finished a winning summation.

“Attack—one anxiety attack. Depressed? No. Although considering the circumstances, I’d have reason to be. Besides, that has nothing to do with this. The pills were years ago. I was young. Stupid.” Feeling she was being cross-examined, she broke from his unrelenting gaze.

“Let’s see how things look tomorrow.” He closed the folder on his desk. “Sign up for one activity daily. Other than that, rest or walk the grounds a bit. The rain’s cleared up nicely from the storm last night. Beautiful day. We’ll keep your blood pressure monitored. It’s been fine. And we’ve medicated you for the anxiety, but you need to push fluids.” His phone rang. He picked it up and nodded her away.

Before she took two steps out of his office, her mind began racing, and her stomach turned. Obviously, he was in no hurry to release her. If he did, the only place she could go was with Wayde. She didn’t intend to have that happen, and if it did, she wasn’t staying with him long. She headed toward the nurse’s station to make a phone call. Getting a hold of Nick would be the simplest way out. If he’d talk to her. He was so angry when she left New York with Max, it was anyone’s guess how he would respond to hearing from her after all this time. She put on her most pleasant face and approached the nurse’s desk.

“Hi. I’d like to make a call to my husband, Nick Wentworth.” What she’d say when she reached him was still a mystery.
Hello, this is your wife. Yes, the one who lives with another man.
“I’m not sure why, but there’s no phone in my room.”

The nurse spun the carousel holding the charts. “Lakeside is an ‘unplugged’ health and wellness center. No cells, internet, or phone generally. You came in last night? Kinsley Wentworth? Ah, here you are.” Her finger scanned the first page.

She noticed the nurse’s hesitation. “I don’t think you have his number.” On impulse, she spieled it off.