The Long Way Home by Tara Brown Page A

got
caught—in a fucking cape, no less. You aren’t sorry you fucked the hell
out of that child on my sheets and bed in my shoes!" Anger and rage were
fueling my hatred.
    He winced, "I'm getting counseling. I have a sickness.
Please, come home."
    I looked at him like he had three heads, "Are you high
right now? Because you have to be, to think I would go anywhere with you."
    He handed me a bag, "I replaced your shoes."
    I snatched the bag. Fuck him, I loved those shoes. The
elevator landed and I stepped off. I walked to the door with him at my heels.
    I slid the key in, stepped inside the room and slammed the
door in his face, but he caught it. He stepped in and closed it.
    "I know I screwed up, but I love you. Please, give me a
second chance."
    I tossed the shoe bag onto the bed I had slept in with France
and crossed my arms, "I want you gone. I'm going to call security."
    "Your father is here with me."
    I felt a sickening twist inside of me. My eyes almost watered
because I knew what it meant. “How could you? How could you involve him? Did
you tell him what you did?”
    He looked down, shaking his head slowly, "He just wants you to come home with us on the jet. He wants you
downstairs and ready to leave in half an hour."
    I looked at him, "I'm here with someone."
    He nodded, "I know about Mike. I always have." He
fought something when he said it.
    I shook my head, "I have never
done a thing with him, not since you and I got engaged. I never cheated on you,
not once."
    "But you loved him from the minute I met you. You think
it was easy knowing I was always second to him?"
    I felt the rage building, "So you eased your pain with
the pussy of a young girl? Did you get her V-card, Phil?"
    He stood taller, meeting my rage, "We are leaving in
half an hour, pack your shit, J.D." He stepped into my face, towering over
me, "You think your family will let you marry someone like him? Not a
chance. Your father has worked too hard to prove himself to the elite families.
He isn’t going to let you throw away all that hard work." He spit on me as
he spoke, "People like him, they're the ones we have affairs with in seedy
hotels. You just try to be more elegant about it. I am willing to concede you
will never love me, but I refuse to be left for a hockey player. Why not a
janitor or a bartender? You think I didn’t know about that young man giving you
his number the other day. You think I missed that?"
    I shoved him back, "While you were balls deep in
Eleanor? Yeah, I do think you missed that."
    He slapped me hard. It caught me off guard. I fell back onto
the bed. He stopped himself from attacking; I watched the flinch in his body.
His chest was rising and falling like he was about to scream. I gripped my face
as my lower lip started to tremble. I had never been hit before. Tears of hate
and anger filled my eyes, "Fuck you, Phil." I
pointed at the door , "Get out."
    He shook his head, "You think you can humiliate me with
a man like that and not expect me to retaliate?"
    My whole body was trembling with fear and hatred, and even a
little shame. Somehow, he made me feel it. I sniffed, hating that he had made
me cry. I hated crying for him. He grabbed my arm and dragged me to the door. I
put my feet down, fighting him but he won out. He threw me over his shoulder
and opened the door. I pounded on his back but he walked as if I were a child
having a fit.
    He pressed the elevator. I was kicking and screaming but no
one was on that floor, the presidential suite was the only room on the floor.
    As the door opened, I didn’t see what happened but I flew
back off his shoulder, slamming into the wall. I cried out as Phil landed on
me. I tried to crawl away as tears were streaming my face and sobs were ripping
from me. I heaved and crawled. Someone grabbed my arm, dragging me into the
room. I caught a glimpse of Phil on the ground moaning as the door was shut. I
collapsed onto the floor as France wrapped around me. I could feel him
breathing as