The Unexpected Series (Unexpected #1-3)

  Contents

  Unexpected

  Undone

  Undeniable

  Unexpected

  By

  Amy Marie

  Copyright © 2014 by Amy Marie

  Self publishing

  AuthorAmyMarie@yahoo.com

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without the written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes only.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Cover Design: Sara Eirew Photographer

  Editing by Kathy Krick

  & Elizabeth Froelich

  Formatting by Angel’s Indie Formatting

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my two best friends.

  To my husband Josh...You are my rock and there is not a day that goes by that I don’t know how blessed I am to have you in my life. I love you with all my heart.

  To my best friend Valerie...This book would not be in existence if it weren’t for your love, support, and pushiness. Thank you. I adore you...HARD. Real hard.

  “Miss Decker, I’m in the Pen 15 club now!” I hear over the chatter of my 6th grade students walking into my classroom. “See? All I had to do was let Aaron write it on my arm,” Jeffrey, one of the more naïve kids, says sticking out his left forearm to show me. Shaking my head, I am horrified to see the word “penis” prominently displayed there in permanent marker.

  “Ha! I can’t believe you fell for it, Jeff!” Aaron yells from the back of the classroom. “Pen 15 looks like penis! Jeff has penis on his arm!”

  I glare at him and point towards the door signaling him to go to the principal’s office. Aaron hangs his head as he makes his way out of the classroom. He has spent one too many afternoons in detention lately, and it seems he’s just earned himself another. As he exits, giggling erupts, and I turn my attention back to Jeffrey.

  “Alright, mister, let’s get this cleaned off your arm as best we can,” I say ruffling his sandy hair.

  Being a math teacher at Hudson Middle School has its good days and bad. I don’t really know why I chose that subject except I did well in my high school and college courses and figured it would be easy enough to teach. Little did I know that I would be shaping the young minds of prepubescent, hormone driven tweens. When they aren’t fighting, laughing, or talking, they are sleeping, in class no less. I wouldn’t change it for the world though. I really love my job. Well, I love it minus the parents, like Jeffrey’s, who will most likely blame me for this most recent incident even though I wasn’t present when it occurred.

  I love my life too. It’s taken me a long time to get where I am. At twenty seven, I have an established career, three months off during the summer, a great starter home that I share with my completely crazy best friend, Noelle, no credit card debt or student loans, a nice car, and Robert, the sweetest boyfriend who anyone could ask for. I’m not bragging. I fought hard to get here and I’m very proud to have done it by myself. My parents had three kids to worry about. After studying like crazy in high school, I earned a fifty percent scholarship to Northern Illinois University. The other half came from what little my parents could give me and from working my ass off at a restaurant on campus. I walked away with my degree and without a cent owed.

  The final bell brings me back to the present. Glancing at the clock I realize I’ve let most of the class pass while I daydreamed and allowed the kids to chit-chat the whole time. Out in the hallway chaos ensues. Papers are flying everywhere. Kids and teachers are high fiving each other. Yearbooks are quickly being signed, and I’m almost on my way to celebrate the end of another successful year of teaching, once I speak with Jeffery’s parents in the pickup line.

  I am NOT looking forward to this conversation. His mom and dad are the type of parents who never hold their kid responsible for his behavior. Was it Jeffrey’s fault? No, but he is twelve years old. He really should know better than to let someone write on him with a Sharpie, especially when it’s Aaron, a known troublemaker, whose parents are just as bad. I guess I just better get it over with.

  ~~

  Returning to my classroom thirty minutes later, I feel deflated. Not exactly the way I wanted to end the school year. I’m just going to do a quick clean up before I head out the door. I’m planning to come back tomorrow when it’s quiet and pack up the rest of my things. I’m locking up my classroom when I hear someone calling my name.

  “Erin! ... Erin, are you leaving so soon?” I finish locking my door and turn around to see Rosie, the other 6th grade math teacher, calling to me from her classroom directly across the hall. “Is your room already packed up?”

  “It’s not, Rose,” I reply. “But I’ll be back tomorrow to finish up. How about you? Excited to retire?” I’m silently hoping this conversation is short since I had to endure getting chewed out by Jeffery’s parents. I have a glass of wine, scratch that... a bottle calling my name.

  “I don’t have much left to do. But I wanted to give you a hug and tell you it’s been great being across the hall from you for the past four years. It was such a blessing to have a young person who brings some energy around this place.” She says wrapping her arms around me just a little too tightly.

  “Why, thank you.” Her vice grip loosens allowing my blood to flow freely again. “But it’s not like I won’t see you,” I continue. “We should get together for lunch. Just because we won’t be working together doesn’t mean we can’t still get together.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” Rosie says, with a smile.

  “Great! I’ll call you next week,” I say, giving her a quick squeeze on the arm as I turn to head out the door.

  As I’m running to my car, I keep my head down. I really don’t want anything else keeping me from getting home. I know I said I love my job but I love Pink Moscato just as much... if not more, and it IS the last day of the school year. I want to celebrate!

  The house is quiet when I get in. Noelle hasn’t returned home from work yet. Dropping my keys in the bowl on the counter, I throw my bags on the table while making a mental note to pick them up before she gets home. Noelle is very anal and if she saw my bags on the floor, she would shit...and then pick the shit up, shampoo the carpet, dry it, shampoo it again and curse my name without getting a speck on her. Neat freak is an understatement.

  Noelle and I met freshman year at NIU when we were assigned the same dorm room. I hated her at first. In the beginning of the year, I would come back from classes only to find my dresser, desk or even my closet rearranged. She was always reorganizing my space, and we fought over it constantly. I wanted to strangle her, but more than that, I wanted her to stay on her side of our room. After I realized how persistent she was, I gave in, letting her arrange my stuff. Once she had exercised her anal retentiveness over my belongings, we found out that we actually had a lot in common. We both grew up in the northwest suburbs of Chicago.

  I still remember the day I realized she had become my best friend. In the middle of finals week before winter break, one of the frat houses was having a Finals Finale party. Darren, a guy she was casually dating was a brother there, and she begged me to go. The minute we got to the party, I regretted it. Adrienne, Darren’s younger sister, thought I was trying to steal her boyfriend and was in my face. I wanted nothing to do with him, except finish the project we were assigned together. I tried to reason with her, but she was insecure and apparently livid about the amount of time I'd s
pent with him recently. Loudly calling me a slut in a room full of partygoers was the last straw. Fed up, I raised my fist, but before I had the chance to punch her in the face, Noelle stepped in and beat me to it. I tried to tell her I could have done that, but she insisted that was what friends were for. We were on our way out the door when Darren tried to get her to stay by grabbing her arm. He wouldn't let go, and he was holding her upper arm so tight that she couldn't get enough leverage to shove him off of her. Infuriated by his actions, and with my pent up anger towards Adrienne, I punched him in the face, knocking him back. He stumbled and actually fell to the ground. As we were both running back to our room laughing, Noelle used my line, saying she had it herself, but I repeated her earlier statement. That’s what friends were for. Cue corny 80s song.

  That is one thing best friends do; stand up and stand by you through your ups and downs, to make sure you come out breathing on the other side.

  Smiling at the memories of our early college days, I fill my wine glass to the brim with pink goodness and start a lavender bubble bath. I deserve it. The conversation with Jeff’s parents was tough. Even though it happened during lunch, it was, of course, my fault. What a way to end the year.

  As I slip into the warm bubbles my cell phone rings. I fumble to answer with wet hands. I put my mother on speakerphone and lay it down on the ceramic edge of the tub.

  “Hey, Mom, what’s going on?”

  “When are you going to get married to that handsome hunk of meat you have and give me some grandchildren?”

  Sigh. Meet my mother. Mrs. Decker was married at twenty two and had three kids by the time she was thirty. She thinks my eggs are drying up more and more every day. My older sister Nicole apparently has no TV because she’s had four kids (Hannah, Marie, Jack, and Nick). My younger brother Trent has little Jason, who just turned one. Ever since he was born, my mother has been on my ass to start popping them out. I am not in a rush. My nieces and nephews are amazing birth control.

  “I’m great! Thank you for asking,” I say, rolling my eyes and taking a sip from my glass.

  “Oh, Erin. I’m just messing around with you...don’t be so serious. But how is that Robert of yours?”

  She doesn’t even bother to ask about my last day or if it’s a bad time to call. I love my mother, but she drives me crazy when it comes to my future. She sometimes forgets how independent I am.

  “He’s good Ma; working late again tonight. I’m going to head over there after a bath and surprise him with dinner.”

  “That’s great, honey. Show him what a good wife you would make.” I can visualize the smirk that must have spread across her face. I can’t win.

  We hang up after a quick recap of the day, and I climb out of the bathtub since there is no way it will relax me now. Plus, the water is cold. My wine is warm, and I’m feeling cranky. I slip into my favorite pair of jean shorts and a new yellow tank top, before tying my short brown hair up into a ponytail, throwing on some light makeup and walking towards the door to head to Robert’s apartment. Spotting my bags still on the floor I run and throw them in my closet so Noelle doesn’t defecate on our new carpet.

  I stop at the grocery store to grab some ingredients I’ll need to make dinner. It takes about ten minutes to get to Robert’s place from the store. It’s 6:30 now, and since he said he works until 7:00 this evening, I have plenty of time to have the chicken Parmesan ready by the time he arrives home. My flip-flops clang on the metal steps as I dig through my purse trying to find his key. The door creaks softly as I open it, and instantly I become breathless.

  Candles and flower petals fill the entire living room and the sounds of Toni Braxton filter through the speakers. This was the first song we danced to at his fraternity’s welcome back mixer. We have been dating since my senior year in college, five years ago, and lately I’ve been dropping hints that I’d like to take the next logical step. Engagement.

  My eyes fill with tears as I realize tonight might be the night Robert will ask me to be his wife. My mother will shit herself.

  I place my purse and grocery bag on the kitchen table and look around with new perspective. The scent of the vanilla candles warms my insides, and I wipe the tears falling from my cheeks. Robert is nowhere in sight. My nerves are running rampant when the thought occurs that I may be too early. Stopping in my tracks I realize he couldn’t know I was coming over. He didn’t ask me to come.

  I sneak down the hall quietly, on instinct alone. He is obviously expecting me. My excitement gets the better of me, and my pace picks up until I get to his half opened bedroom door at the end of the hallway.

  “Oh God, yes!” A female voice calls out. What the hell was that? “Harder, Robby, harder!” The voice continues.

  Slap.

  “You like that baby, huh? I bet you love it.” I hear a muffled male voice that sounds eerily similar to my Robert.

  Peeking through the doorway, I feel my heart shatter into a million pieces. The last five years circling the drain like the frigid water of my earlier bath. Gone! If I could turn back the clock fifteen minutes, I would’ve never come into this apartment. No, I would have because if not, I would be blind to what is going on behind my back. My eyes focus on the betrayal. It’s like a car accident you can’t look away from even though it’s bloody and brutal. It doesn’t seem real, but it is.

  Robert, my Robert, is screwing his secretary, Anna, on the bed we picked out together at Sears. Their two bodies become one on the sheets we decided on because of the thread count. And he is not just screwing her, oh no. He is pounding it into her from behind with a firm grasp on her blonde ponytail while aggressively smacking her ass. A far cry from the sweet passionate lovemaking we had this morning before he left my house for work.

  “I’m coming!” Anna screams and rage consumes my body.

  “THE HELL YOU ARE!” I yell with a voice I don’t recognize and push the door all the way open, hitting the wall with the doorknob. “GET THE HELL OFF OF HER NOW, ROBERT!”

  They both jump at the sound of my shriek and she uses our 400 thread count sheets to cover up her fake breasts. Robert just stares at me expressionless and quiet. I’m hoping he has the worst blue balls imaginable.

  “Go home Anna,” he finally says. “Erin and I have to talk.”

  Awkwardly Anna gets up, never letting her eyes leave mine.

  “Yes, go HOME, Anna, to your husband and two kids, you whore!” I spit.

  Scowling at me, she scrambles to get her pencil skirt and button up blouse on and runs out of the room. I follow behind her, not yet able to stand looking at Robert or “Robby” as she calls him. She slams the door as she exits, leaving me alone in his living room. Seeing the candles and flowers that not five minutes ago gave me false hope of a future with him now leave me feeling alone and uncertain of what lies ahead. I know it’s over. There is no coming back from this, no second chances.

  “Baby. I didn’t mean for you to find out like that,” Robert says walking into the room.

  The music suddenly ceases, and my heart beats faster as I begin shaking with anger.

  “How did you MEAN for me to find out, Robert? Or were you hoping I wouldn’t?”

  The blood rushing to my face makes me dizzy, and I have to sit on his couch. I immediately jump back up when I think of them screwing there too. Disgusting!

  “I didn’t want to hurt you, Erin. We’ve been drifting apart for a long time and I feel like I’m...I’m getting bored. I know you think marriage is our next step but I’m just not ready for that. I want to experience other things, other people, and other...positions.” He sits down running his hands through his shaggy black hair in frustration.

  “What are you saying?” I ask. “That I’m not adventurous enough in bed? I lost my virginity to you, Robert! I loved you and I thought you loved me...and now you are telling me that because I haven't role played with you or let you fuck me from behind that the last five years meant NOTHING to you?” My hands shake as I pick up my purse and thr
ow it over my shoulder.

  I pull open his door and whip back around towards him again, saying my last words to the man who will probably be the reason I won’t ever be able to trust another. “I’m glad I caught you, you dirty bastard. At least my last image of you matches what you are. A DOG!”

  “ERIN!” He starts towards me as I slam the door and run down the stairs.

  As I near the bottom my traitor flip-flop catches on the step and I stumble across the sidewalk scraping my left leg. As blood arrives at the surface of my skin, I feel Robert’s hand wrap around my arm gently, trying to help me up.

  “Are you okay?” He asks.

  “No! I’m not ok. Don’t touch me!” I yell trying to yank my arm away. “Just stay away from me. Don’t call me, text me, or email me. Just lose my number and forget you ever knew me, or that you ever loved me. That’s what I plan to do.” I glare into his soft brown eyes that I used to trust, hoping to make my point clear. “I. Hate. You.”

  The hurt in his eyes tells me I hit my target.

  Good.

  His hand releases its hold and I pick myself up and stomp off to my car. Once in my seat, I drop my head onto the steering wheel. The pain throbbing through my leg is a stark reminder of the pain in my heart. As my tears begin to overflow, my vision blurs. Why would he do this to me?

  Getting myself together before I have a complete breakdown, I search in my bag for my phone. I text Noelle knowing she will see these three words and drop everything for me.

  Me: I need you.

  “That son of a BITCH!” Noelle yells as she plops down on the leather couch. “After all the two of you have been through how could he do that to you?”

  I am shaking uncontrollably and can’t stop replaying the events of the past hour over and over again in my head. After Noelle responded to my text, I can’t remember anything else. I am lucky to have made it home. She was already here when I arrived, with a bottle of tequila opened and waiting. She knows me so well!