Truth Meets Love Read online

  ISBN: 9781483521923

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter 1 - If It Is Meant To Be, It Is Up To Me

  Chapter 2 - Working Girl

  Chapter 3 - Hotel California

  Chapter 4 - Changing My Stars

  Chapter 5 - My Landlord: The Stripper

  Chapter 6 - How About Another Time?

  Chapter 7 - Keep Calm and Dream On

  Chapter 8 - Oh Loosey

  Chapter 9 - We Made Out

  Chapter 10 - Move In Ready

  Chapter 11 - Visit To The Wellness Room

  Chapter 12 - It's My Destiny

  Chapter 13 - Big Merger

  Chapter 14 - Hurt That Won't Heal

  Chapter 15 - Pervert

  Chapter 16 - Til' Death Do Us Part

  Chapter 17 - I Just Found Him

  Chapter 18 - There Is So Much To Tell You

  Chapter 19 - All I Need

  Chapter 20 - Control Issues

  Chapter 21 - Say Uncle

  Chapter 22 - I Suck At Pulling Out

  Chapter 23 - Goatee Giveaway

  Chapter 24 - Might Have To Forfeit

  Chapter 25 - Time To Face The Music

  Chapter 26 - Died With The Angel

  Chapter 27 - You're On My Wing

  Prologue

  I am in the lobby absently rubbing my growing stomach as I wait for my turn in the "hot seat." I am supposed to attempt to dig into the bowels of my haunting memories and find the words to ask them the questions that still remain. This apparently will help release my resentment and anger; by seeking closure I can find peace, using my words to get them out of my system. This will hopefully diffuse the uncertainty that has rocked my existence for as long as I can remember. My formerly estranged mother Ally is already here and my newly-discovered father is present, as well.

  Dr. Kasay had given me their letters on my last visit and said this might also be a good way for me to express my feelings and get them off my chest, especially those that may be difficult for me to speak out loud. She said it may be a better way for me to unload a lot of the baggage without worrying about how they perceive it. She thinks I have mastered the art of delivery in my professional endeavors; however, I use it as a defense and a front for dealing with personal affairs. I let my words become my weapon of choice and a shield against the truth hidden and buried beneath. She wants me to try and separate the emotions from the true points of conflict so I can draw a line between matters of the heart and those of business preparedness. I see her point and I know she is right. I have also mastered the ability to let those looking see only what I want them to see. I have always been able to control my reactions--put on a poker face until I decided how to play my hand. It had been a long-standing survival mechanism so engrained it was instinct. I think it started when AJ would beat her and I was instructed to not react or ever try to help her. Later, it was more like a honed skill I used to hide insecurities and battle internal demons holding me back. I had to learn to kind of fake it till I could make it.

  It is not surprising that when tears flow, voices rise and sighs of frustration escape in a conversation or confrontation it distracts all parties from the ability to continue to receive and process the information coming back at them. Usually if my emotions are running high in a conversation, I am likely having a personal interaction and then sarcasm, trucker lingo and insults threaten to come in and close the door on any progress that could be made. Many times this made the situation worse because, based on assumptions I had already formulated, I usually had my arsenal of comebacks loaded and ready to fire when the moment presented itself. With my parents my goal would be to make them feel as bad as their perceived neglect and withholding of love had made me feel for so many years.

  I didn't know how I was going to put that in words because it wasn't what it had always seemed from the outside looking in. Reading their letters and seeing their side of my life story has brought out feelings that are tough to make sense of and that were so unexpected. This makes it difficult because everything you thought you wanted to say before doesn't appear to really apply anymore.

  In their letters to me, each of them outlined the sequence of events leading up to this point in our lives. They also try to explain their reasoning to help me understand how they justified their decisions that impacted my life so dramatically. In turn, they both took accountability for not being the kind of parents that I deserved. My dad said, "Despite all our failures where you were concerned, having you as our daughter was still our best accomplishment and dream come true in life. It wasn't the path any of us wanted to take to get there, but we are all here together now, better people than we were then. We've learned some hard lessons and we've paid some high prices. We have hurt the ones we've loved most. But our paths have crossed again and we have a chance to steer our course and lean on each other to chart our next adventure. A chance to right the wrongs make up for all we've missed accept accountability for our mistakes and let them go. We can plan our next phase and strategy for attaining the remaining goals left to meet on the route life has planned for us. I know for me, doing it together would make it a journey worth so much more."

  I have seen firsthand the effects of being on the receiving end of an unrealized dream come true. I am about three months or more of walking, living proof of it, although I am having a hard time comprehending the exact point in time that my hopes and dreams shifted in focus and priority. Some of the top ten list just faded out and new ones took up the spot on the speed dial. The #1 spot on my phone is currently displayed as Dad-Worthy on my contact list. I didn't even know he existed a few months ago--more proof that dreams have a crazy way of making their way to you and the best ones are not planned.

  I don't recall which morning it was when I woke up and realized that all the dreams I had set out to make happen and steered my course to knock out were pale in comparison to the ones I place the most value on now. I couldn't have dreamed for the blessings I have now in my life, because I didn't know the possibility of such things even existed. I hadn't seen it in the cards I had been dealt. It wasn't written in any stars that had come in the night. I had never had it. I had it now. I will hold on to it forever.

  On the last visit my therapist she had a suggestion. She expressed that in my condition, in a short few months I will no longer be able to comfortably dance with the rigor necessary to expel the energy required to restore calm to my nerves. She thought I should try to keep a journal--write poetry or maybe a book. At least until I can find the words.

  I thought about what Dr. Kasay had suggested. I have come to the conclusion that I have got some time on my hands until the baby comes. I decide to give it try. What could it hurt that won't heal?

  Chapter ONE

  If Is Meant To Be It Is Up To Me

  Hadley-

  I feel the pulse of the beat streaming through the speakers surrounding me. I stretch back, throwing my hands back over behind my head, and I feel the coolness of the metal pole as I clasp it tightly in both hands. The beat picks up and words spill through to my ears. The feel forces my mouth to part and breath to push through my lips. I lick my bottom lip as I feel the pull take residence in my chest… I thrust forward, still grasping the pole behind, and as the rhythmic sounds vibrate along with the words "this moment we own it… one chance", I pull up, spin and wrap around the pole. I watched the latest "Fast and Furious" last night as a tribute to the late Paul Walker. I am one of many women in the world that took that news hard.

  I let the feeling of the pole cool my skin from the sweat and burn in my muscles. This is what I need to take back control of my mind. It helps clear the insecurities that make me question if I am really capable of fulfilling the quest that I have dreamed of and pushed myself and
my personal limits to achieve. The answer comes to me as I flip down, slide to the floor and catch my own eyes in the mirrors. Hell YES, I am.

  I have sacrificed so much for this moment, and it finally feels like I've done it… all on my own. Well, that is not entirely true. I have many to thank for getting me to where I am today. I could thank my mother for teaching me to dance. She was a dancer before I came along and shattered her dreams. It was the only survival skill she engrained in me before she kicked me to the curb at 16. She was certain that with a face and body like mine, I would catch myself a rich husband who would take care of me, and I could be the perfect "trophy" for him to show off at important events.

  I did take some of her advice. I used the body God gave me. I will admit it, but it was on my own terms. It was a means to an end, and it wasn't to get the guy. I have busted my ass over the past 12 years to prove to the only judge and jury that matters anymore that I have value beyond my C-cups and pert backside! I am a ME I can now show some pride in, and it feels so good!

  I wipe myself down with my towel and head down the stairs from the loft studio I had transformed into my own personal battleground. In my bedroom I peel off my sweaty sports bra and boy shorts and sit to unwrap the protective tape around the balls of my feet. As I get up and walk into the bathroom and turn the spout on in the shower, waiting for it to warm, I turn to the vanity to grab a new razor from the drawer. I catch a glimpse of the scar that mars my olive-toned skin from under my ribs up to a point below my shoulder blade. It is a reminder of what it means to survive and take back your life… the life I owed myself.

  My eyes follow the line to the ink I had planted between my shoulder blades; flowers surround a scroll that sits behind my heart, reminding me of strength, truth, pain, love: "TO THINE OWN SELF BE TRUE." I shake off the chill that runs up my spine… I tell myself it is just the sweat and my cooling body that causes that reaction, but I know that is not true. Is it really a lie if it is just to yourself?

  My beloved Dez put the tattoo on me just before she died. She gave Tyler one, too, but he hasn't ever shown me his and I've never asked to see it.

  I push it out of mind and step into the shower. It is a big day for me and I embrace all of the hurt and challenges I've overcome to get here. If I had to rate it, I would say it is the biggest day in my 29 years of life! I dress in my black lace undergarments that remind me I am all woman, even if I am surrounded by egotistical male "professionals" in the conference rooms for the majority of my days, and I feel power oozing from my garter to my sheer toes. I step into my charcoal grey pencil skirt and tie off my deep slate blue wrap silk shirt. Although the blouse has a certain appeal from a visual standpoint, with a deep cut in the front, the silver lacy camisole peeking beneath ensures that I still leave plenty to the imagination. I step into my suede charcoal and black 3-inch heels. One of my "power sources" is shoes… and today I pulled out my faves.

  I have to grin and a slight giggle escapes as I think about that. It is not that I am a "girly girl", per se. My previous life endeavors required that I learn how to protect and defend myself and grow some rather thick skin. I have taught myself, with the help of Evan from the Home Depot DIY service team, to lay tile, build a headboard, and replace a faucet. On my off days, jeans and clever tee shirts are my standard attire. However, that is not what a SVP of Acquisitions and Mergers wears. It is just a proven fact that your appearance can influence your opinion of your self-worth and amazingly, have an even greater effect on how others perceive you… right down to your shoes! In my position I have to exude confidence, professionalism and poise. I need to ensure my prospective investors that I can close and manage multi-million dollar deals.

  I finish out my career-focused appearance by styling my auburn angled cut that falls just below my jaw. I line my hazel eyes in dark liner and finish my slight makeup, jewel-seeking regimen. I round the hallway toward the kitchen, where I can smell the aroma of strong coffee pulling me like a flower to the sun. There is a knock on the door.

  When I open the door and see the beautiful face that shines back at me, holding a bouquet of wildflowers just below her chin, my heart fills to levels of warmth that almost feel like pain. Macey is smiling up at me with her tongue pressed in the space where her two front teeth used to hold residence, and she thrusts the flowers up toward my chest as far as she can reach as she says, "Here Hadley, Daddy let me pick these for you, and Pugs helped me write the card."

  Pugs is standing behind, grinning down at the shimmering black locks of this little angel on earth. "This little ray of sunshine couldn't even settle herself long enough to eat one of my fresh-baked cinnamon rolls after her Daddy brought her over this morning before work. She had to get these flowers to you for your big day because she is convinced they will be a 'power-source' for you."

  Just then Macey lifts her fist and holds it up for me to bump as we chant in unison, "GIRL-POWER!" It is an inside pact between Macey and me that we girls stick together and draw strength from each other.

  Dez, her late mother, and I started the pact 10 years prior, after we met in the parking lot outside the campus library late one night. I was walking to my car after hours of studying for finals and conducting research for a project in one of my classes when I heard muffled hissing sounds and what I now understand was boots dragging on the ground. I searched the parking lot and sea of cars to identify what it might be and when nothing seemed out of the ordinary, I unlocked my car door and pulled it open. Just then I heard a loud, low grunt and then a woman's angry voice bellow, "OH NO, the fuck you don't! Get OFF ME! HELP!" It was coming from a few rows of cars away from where I was parked.

  I didn't think; I didn't have time to. I just threw all of my books and laptop bag across my front seat. Then I reached down and grabbed the tire iron from underneath the driver's seat. My heart was thundering in my chest. There was a loud roar humming through my head and out both my ears. I couldn't feel anything but my death grip on the cold metal in my hand. I rounded the backend of a pickup bed and saw a strewn line of personal items laying across the ground: a canvas bag with contents scattered everywhere, books, a phone, makeup. I followed the trail to a row of bushes lining the outside of the lot, where there were two long grooves cut out of the grass, and ducked behind a clearing in the bushes. I heard the low hiss and then a thud followed by a whimper and another thud. I pulled the LED light from my keychain in my sweatshirt pocket and shone the faint light out in front of me to locate the area that I heard the sounds coming from. I swung my line of sight around, and my light caught a mass to the left, just on the edge of the row of bushes.

  I pressed toward the figure, adrenaline pumping from every pore, tire iron held back, cocked and ready. As I closed in, the man straddling the woman on the ground heard my approach and swung around. I saw a shiny glint by his hand as I felt a sting and burn down my side just as the iron in my right hand connected with the side of his head. I stumbled back and felt warmth oozing down my side, but I brought the iron back up just as he recovered his balance. He reached for the girl beneath him and pulled her head up by the black mane of hair falling around her face. He roughly pulled her head back and plastered her back to his front. The blood-tinged knife blade was pressed up against the side of her neck, just below her jaw. He let her hair go and closed his grip around her upper arms and chest, squeezing her to him as he kept the knife pressed to her throat.

  It was the first time I could really focus and see her face. Dez was small and had a slight slant to her almond-shaped, huge black eyes. She had high cheekbones and a lot of long black hair. She was distressed but composed and alert. She didn't plead cry or scream, which I was thankful for, because it would have made the experience that much more terrifying and amped up the tension. She was focused and almost seemed to be deep in concentration.

  Just then her eyes met mine. They were black and determined. Dez planted her boots into the ground and her hands against his forearm holding her and then threw the back of her head int
o his face. I heard a crunch and then I swung the iron down on the arm still wielding the knife. It fell from his hands and she scrambled out of his grasp and reached for me.

  I pulled her to me, holding the tire iron ready to unleash another strike. We started to back up and held tightly to each other. The feel of warm thumping hearts beating against each other started to send a calm over me and restored my survival instincts. He started to get up from his knees and I saw a steady stream of dark liquid pouring from his nose. My coal-eyed appendage stiffened against me and pulled back from me slightly. Dez released one of my forearms she had been tightly gripping and swung her boot back and then connected under his jaw with the ferocity of a field goal kicker… two steps, lights out! I grabbed the knife from where it had fallen out of his hand. He fell hard to the ground, heaving with loud gurgling sounds reverberating around us, and we squeezed back together, iron bar raised, and started to back away.

  I am brought out from my dark thoughts as a warm, soft hand clutches my two fingers and pulls me into the kitchen to put the flowers on display and read me her card. Macey steers me to the chaise lounge flanking the breakfast bar and sits next to me, pulling the card from the bouquet and placing it across my lap. I grab Macey in a hug and hold her close as I feel her heart beating fast against me. I pull the card from the envelope and begin to read aloud, "Roses are red, violets are blue; no matter the color of flowers, they will never be as beautiful to me as you! Kick Some Tail Today! Love, Pugs, Tyler and Macey." My heart swells and triples its pace as these moments pass with the sweetest, most adorable child grinning up at me. She breaks my heart so completely and heals it with my next breath. She's beautiful with those soulful black eyes. She's Dez.