Breaking the Habit

  Breaking the Habit

  By Anne Berkeley

  Copyright by Anne Berkeley

  Kindle Edition

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Note from Author

  Other Books by Anne Berkeley

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  It wasn’t my proudest of moments. I knew it. I can admit it. Tears streaked down my face and fell to the floor. While everyone congratulated my closest friend, Coop, and her husband, Tate, on their twin pregnancy, I slipped away to the back of the tour bus where I could gain a measure of privacy. I didn’t need anyone to bear witness to my dramatics.

  I’d met Coop after attending a domestic abuse counseling meeting with her parents. She had escaped an abusive relationship, though her ex had begun stalking her. She had withdrawn, refused her parents’ help. They knew it wouldn’t be long until she ran. Not knowing where to turn, they came looking for help. The group of us had done just that. Marshall, Garrison, Billy, Molly and I became her guardians, in a sense. We became her protectors. We looked after her.

  Her boss, Molly, provided her with a stable job, and Garrison, a roof over her head. I offered her a sympathetic ear to whom she could vent her troubles. I was her friend and life counselor. Marshall? He had anointed himself as her protector and part time comic relief. He was a bouncer at The Loft where she waited tables. Now, he was her personal bodyguard. Billy, owner of The Loft—he gave her the most important gift of all. He gave her back the chance at a music career. He gave her back her dreams and aspirations. He put her on stage.

  Coop could sing, really sing. She had honest to God talent. It was only a matter of time before some talent scout stumbled across her and snatched her up. Not six short months ago, Tate Watkins did just that. Front man for the world famous rock band, Hautboy, he had the means to offer her wealth and fame. He offered her more. He married her.

  It wasn’t an easy feat. Coop was skittish, rightfully so. She had gone through hell and back at the hands of her ex, and she had a son to protect. Tate had had his work cut out for him, but he manned up and met the challenge head on.

  Unfortunately, Tate’s fame placed Coop in the spotlight and ultimately in danger by exposing her to the public eye. Her past had come back to haunt her. The past few months had sent her into a spiral of death threats and murder attempts. Ironically, she had survived an attack by Grant, only to fall into the focus of one of Tate’s own psychotic groupies. Coop barely survived the attack. Hence the reason for the tour bus. Tate wanted to make a big hoorah out of her release from the hospital. He brought the party to her.

  In the end, Coop scored the man of her dreams. She couldn’t have found a better match. The two were meant for one another. She deserved this moment of joy. Don’t get me wrong, I was happy for her. Hell, I was ecstatic, but the news was bittersweet. It was an unwanted reminder of the children I could never have. Tommy, my ex, had taken that God-given right from me. You see, Cooper wasn’t the only one running from her past.

  I had been at those counseling meetings for a reason.

  Tommy could’ve taken my looks. He could’ve beaten me until I was scarred and unrecognizable. But no, he liked my face. He wanted me pretty. I was his trophy. I was a possession, just like his fancy watch or his shiny new car. He liked his things flawless and pristine. Six months pregnant, he found my figure disgraceful.

  He’d come home drunk, as usual. From experience, I learned that alcohol enhanced one’s innate disposition. Well, Tommy was an arrogant, condescending asshole with a god complex. Naturally, he became a tyrant when inebriated.

  When he wasn’t home by ten, I knew it was going to be bad night. I’d paced the house, watching the windows, and when he pulled in the driveway, I’d jumped into bed and pretended to be asleep. Normally, it worked. That night, well, luck wasn’t in my favor.

  He staggered into the room and stopped beside the bed. For several minutes, he stood staring at me. Then it started, the insults, slurred over a tongue thick with alcohol. I could smell it on his breath from where he stood, while cursing my burgeoning figure. I was fat. I was going to get stretch marks. I’d gotten pregnant on purpose. I ruined everything. All I ever thought of was myself, and so on and so on. As always, things escalated. They turned physical. He killed our baby that night, and nearly me along with her.

  Deep inside, I wished he’d succeeded.

  Behind me, the door opened, rescuing me from my self-torture. Shane, the band’s drummer, stepped into the bedroom, my unrelenting shadow. “Hey.”

  Wiping my eyes, I tried to hide the evidence of my tears, as if the redness and swelling wouldn’t give me away.

  Starting three weeks ago, Shane began making passes at me, refusing to take no for an answer until I told him he had no chance in hell. Even then, no wasn’t an option.

  “What do I have to do to get you to see me?” he had asked. He had me trapped in the pantry, my head resting between a jar of pickles and a bottle of balsamic vinegar. I saw him all right, all six foot seven inches of him, steel gray eyes that would stare a hole through me, glossy black hair longer than my own.

  The hair had to go. His. Not mine.

  “I do see you. It’s hard not to when you’re crowding my space.”

  “That’s not what I mean.” Ducking his head, he endeavored to meet my gaze. “Let me take you out.”

  I turned my head, blew out a fractious sigh. “Not interested.”

  “What have I done to earn the cold shower?”

  “Shoulder?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “You said shower, cold shower. Maybe you should go take one.” Pinching my lips together, I bit back a smirk. The humor faded from Shane’s eyes.

  “Why, Emily?”

  I lifted my shoulder, shrugging. “I don’t do the drugs and alcohol thing.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  The humor faded from my eyes. “No.”

  “I’ve seen you drunk. Twice now. And I’ve gotten you high myself.”

  “That’s me. I’m allowed.”

  “But I’m not.”

  “Correct.”

  “That’s a double standard.”

  “No, it’s self-preservation.” Caught off guard, he faltered. I took the opportunity to escape the confines of his arms, ducking under them.

  “I’m not addicted or anything,” he said, following me from the pantry, as if the delineation between addiction and recreation made a difference.

  “Then it should be easier to quit.”

  “So if I were clean—”

  “Sorry, but I won’t be around that long,” I assured. “I’m only staying until Coop’s out of the hospital.”

  Marshall, who was sitting
at the counter preparing a carb-fueled breakfast, looked up upon my emergence. His brow arched curiously when Shane appeared behind me. I gave him a look that told him to mind his own business, but Marshall wasn’t one to be dissuaded where Coop and I were concerned. It didn’t matter that I was older than he was or that I could defend myself. You see, he had lost his own sister to abuse. It had become his personal mission to look after us.

  “You’re not actually thinking about going back, are you?” he asked.

  “I do have a job. They’ll only hold it for so long.” Unscrewing the lid from the mammoth jar of peanut butter, I spread some onto a slice of whole wheat bread. Peanut butter and banana was Levy’s favorite. “Here you go, kiddo.”

  “Nanna.” Lifting the sandwich, he took a large bite. “Nummy.” His mouth was full, his tongue impeded by a glob of peanut butter. “Fank yew.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “So quit,” Marshall scoffed. “You can stay with me.”

  “You’re living in Tate’s pool house.”

  “Guardhouse.”

  “Same difference.”

  “I’m getting a place of my own, soon enough. Even then, I’ll be taking shifts here with the others, so I’ll only be home half the time.” Tossing a handful of almonds into his mouth, he crushed them between his teeth.

  “Tate’s already looking for a nanny,” Tate’s father, Nolan, chimed in from behind his mug of coffee. “You’d save him a lot of time on interviews if you stayed.”

  “It’s an opportunity you can’t pass up,” Marshall pressed. “You could make a fresh start. You wouldn’t have to worry about running into your ex.”

  When I looked up from screwing the lid back onto the peanut butter jar, Shane was staring from across the table, those steely eyes glittering with triumph. Little did he know that I had other reasons for remaining in Pennsylvania, reasons even Marshall didn’t know.

  Closing the door behind him, Shane sealed off the sounds of celebration. He leaned against the doorjamb, staring in his own quiet way. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine.”

  “You don’t look it.”

  “Thanks for that observation.”

  “Shit. That’s not what I meant. Sometimes things don’t come out right. I’m not the best with words.” Dropping his head, he shoved a hand through his hair, pushing it from his face. “They don’t look like tears of joy.”

  “No, I’m happy for Coop. I am. Really.”

  “But…”

  “But I’d rather not talk about it.” For several minutes, we stood in silence before he realized I wasn’t going to back down.

  “Ok. I get it.” Turning, he slid the door open and stepped out. Before he closed it again, my conscience got the best of me.

  “Shane.” Looking up, he met my gaze. “Thank you for asking.”

  “If you ever change your mind, I might not be great with words, but I’m a good listener.” As he slid the door closed, I sank onto the bed and began rooting through my purse for my compact. With any luck, I could slip back into the room before Coop noticed I was gone. I was blotting a fresh dusting of pressed powder around my eyes when Coop’s mom, Diane, walked in.

  “You’re as bad as Cooper,” she scolded, “never accepting help. Now come here and let me do what moms are made to do.”

  “I didn’t want to ruin Cooper’s announcement,” I said as she embraced me. “She’s been through so much. She deserves to be happy.”

  “That doesn’t mean you have to suffer alone.”

  “I’m fine, Diane.”

  “No, you’re not.” Diane would know. She’d lost her second child and, because of complications, couldn’t have another. She would’ve had a son. “There’s no point in lying to me. I’ve been there.”

  To this day, Diane was the only one who knew I’d lost a child, though I’d never actually told her, either. She had recognized something in my eyes and, after one of our counseling sessions one evening, she followed me into the bathroom. While slicking a fresh coat of gloss over her lips and fluffing her hair, she told me of her loss. She’d said it all so nonchalantly, as if she were talking about losing something trifling, like tonsils or wisdom teeth and not a child. When she was finished, she turned to me and promised it would get easier. My wounds would never fully heal, but the pain would fade.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Oh please, I’m forty-four. I don’t want children anymore. I think I’d shoot myself if I got pregnant at my age.”

  I laughed and pulled from her embrace, swiping away a fresh set of tears. “Forty-four,” I teased, “how do you still get around?” Forty-four was young. She’d had Coop at twenty-two. Diane and Jack had started young. They’d wanted a large family.

  “I can get around just fine, but I certainly don’t have the patience that I used to,” Diane confessed. “And with everything Cooper’s been through. I don’t know if I could’ve handled the stress of another child.”

  “I would give anything to have the stress of one.”

  “I know, sweetheart, but if it’s any consolation, you’ll have the stress of three. I don’t think Cooper has any intention of letting you go home.”

  “Neither has Marshall.” The big lug.

  “What about the drummer?”

  “What about the drummer?” I countered. As if he somehow had become an integral factor on whether I stayed or left Seattle.

  “He obviously cares about you. He sent me in here.”

  “He’s not my type.” Lifting my compact, I went back to touching up my makeup. “Besides, I’ve sworn off men for good. I’m going to be a cat lady who bakes applesauce cupcakes and hands them out on Halloween.”

  “You don’t want to do that. The kids will throw them at your house. And don’t look at me like that. I’m not stupid enough to hand out baked goods on Halloween. I was a kid once.”

  “I’m shocked.”

  “I didn’t throw them, but there were kids who did.”

  “That’s terrible. That poor old woman waking to find the cupcakes she baked stuck to her brick siding…”

  “They had cat hair in them.”

  “Gross.”

  The smile faded from Diane’s face. She clasped my knee with a firm squeeze. “Don’t throw in the towel yet, Emily. Perhaps Garrison wasn’t the right one, but that doesn’t mean the right one doesn’t exist. In the meantime, indulge yourself with the drummer. It’ll bolster your spirits.”

  “He’s not my type.”

  “Well, you must be blind. Sexy is everyone’s type.”

  “He drinks, among other things.”

  “Not every man is a bad drunk. Jack is a lover. He’s all, ‘I love you, Diane. Have I told you lately how much I love you? You’re so beautiful. I’m so lucky to have you. I should marry you all over again. Diane…Diane, will you be my wife?’ We usually forgo the vows and skip right to the honeymooning.”

  Vibrating with laughter, I shook my head.

  “Don’t laugh. I’m forty-four, not senile.”

  “It’s not that; I just realized you’re Jack and Diane.”

  Mouth twisting into a wry smile, Diane stood. “Fate isn’t always subtle in her musings. I think she had a good laugh the day she made our match.”

  Dropping my compact back into my bag, I rose with her. “I guess I should get back before Coop realizes I’m gone.”

  “I think you’d have to pry her away from Tate first. They were lip locked when I left them. I thought Jack was going to blow a gasket until Shane distracted him. Now I think Jack’s just relieved she didn’t fall for the metal-head drummer.”

  “The one you think I should indulge myself with.”

  Diane stepped through the door and turned her head, looking over her shoulder. “If you’re not going to do him for yourself, do him for me.”

  “Do him?” I repeated, half-amused and half in shock. “Language, Diane! You’re a mother! You’re supposed to be the portrait of propriety.”

  “Bah
! I’m not his mother.”

  “My gosh, we’ve got a cougar in our midst.” Laughing under my breath, I followed her into the galley, where everyone stood sipping champagne. Cooper was nestled under Tate’s arm, smiling widely. She glowed like a neon sign, blinding me with exaltation.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Coop’s tablet droned. She fixed a disappointed expression to accompany it. ‘I’ve been looking for you.’

  While she was well enough to leave the hospital, she was on voice rest. She needed time for her vocal chords to heal. She now had a monotoned British accent.

  “Well, you’re not going to find me wrapped around Tate’s tonsils.” Leaning in, I grasped her in a firm hug, and then held her at arm’s length. “Congratulations. Again.”

  ‘You’re going to stay, right?’

  “Geez, Coop, don’t beat around the bush or anything.”

  ‘I don’t have time to barter contracts. Your flight is tomorrow.’

  “I’ve been tossing it around,” I admitted. “But I need to go home first. There’re some things I need to tie up, and I’d need to give notice at work.”

  ‘Don’t make me stay out here by myself,’ Coop begged. She flashed those baby blues at me, exaggerating the effect. ‘Who will I hang with?’

  “What am I, chopped liver?” Carter scoffed. He was the band’s sharp-tongued bass player. He had found a pack of Snowballs from God knows where. He was spitting fluorescent pink coconut everywhere. “I thought we were friends, Coop.”

  ‘Not the right, sex, Carter. You don’t count.’

  “I helped you into your wedding gown. Does that count for nothing?”

  ‘I can’t talk to you.’

  “What do you mean you can’t talk to me? I can talk just fine. I can do the bestie thing. Try me.”

  ‘Don’t be such a dork, Carter.’

  “I can do it,” he pressed, “try me.”

  Cooper sighed and began tapping away at her tablet. ‘What do you think of my new boots?’

  “They go great with your sweater, but you should be careful in the snow. They could get water stains if you haven’t treated them. Suede, you know…”

  “He’s good,” I admitted.

  Coop chewed her lip a moment and then grinned. ‘I just got my period.’