Hidden Secrets

By Deborah Lynne

Where did she go wrong? Nicki Petrelli's once-perfect marriage has become a living nightmare as her husband Tristan grows increasingly abusive. Nicki stays, believing that her love and faith can get through to Tristan and make things right again.

But she doesn't know how much longer she can survive the mental torture and increasingly severe physical abuse. Or how long she can hide her shame from her coworkers. Should she stay true to her vows or leave her husband and her marriage behind to save herself?

Her brother's best friend, Dave Franklin, tries to rescue her from her prison. He has always regretted not helping his sister before it was too late but he hadn't known about her troubles in time. He sees the bruises on Nicki's face and the distress in her eyes and he's determined he won't fail this woman whom he has loved since they were teenagers.

His attempt to help Nicki gives her the strength to push back, but at what cost? Is escape worth dying for...or killing for? Either way, will she ever be free to live her life again?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sand & Sea Publishing
• Release date: May 25, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386191865

Book preview

Chapter 1

A chill gripped Nicki’s heart. It matched the nip in the air from the central air-conditioner.

Fall was on the doorsteps of New Orleans, but in the south cooler weather never seemed to come in on time. Temperatures held steady in the mid 70’s to upper 80’s with humidity making it feel like 80 to 90 degree weather. Southerners kept thermostats set on 70...72 or 73 for people who wanted to lower the cost of their electric bill. These were things with which Nicki never worried. Tristan managed their finances. In fact her husband handled everything, including keeping the home the perfect temperature throughout the year. Her job was simply to keep her husband happy. She tried desperately, but lately she never seemed to get it right.

Loneliness spread throughout her core. She loved her husband, but in the latter years of their marriage, things have changed...at least Tristan had changed. Nicki never knew what the night would hold any more.

Both hands on the clock stood straight up. Midnight—long past her bedtime...and it was time to wake Tristan. Pinching her lips together, she knew she wasn’t ready to face the nightly ritual. A rush of air pressed from her lungs. Trying to delay the inevitable, she turned one more page in the book she was reading hoping it would grab her interest and delay what lay ahead. A new chapter revealed itself. This was an opportunity to stop even in a very good read. It was the second sign that duty called and time to give in to her fate.

Quietly she closed the book and set it aside. It had been a long day and fatigue ravaged her being, so it was in her best interest to move it along and follow proper decorum.

As much as she needed to go to bed and get some rest, she loathed the thought of what she must do prior to making that happen. She closed her eyes and quivered from head to toe as she balled her fingers and tapped her fists on the arms of her chair. Oh how she dreaded this time of night...the time to wake him up...time for bed.

She sighed. No need putting it off any longer.

Mixed feelings tugged at her heart. Nicki hated that most of all. The man she married no longer existed. Tristan had withdrawn from her, from their life. Instead, her husband walked through the motions of living, leaving out all the good and tender emotions he once shared with her. Now, instead of wanting this man and desiring to be with him, Nicki feared him...feared his touch...feared his proximity. That was no way a woman should feel about her husband, and she hated herself for it.

Her heart hammered in her chest. How had things turned so ugly in her life?

Tristan, a good man in the light of day, worked long hours sharing laughter with his co-workers and friends. Unfortunately, all civility he left back at the office.

In the evening, he came home to a hot meal, which he shared with his wife, along with stifled conversation. As soon as he swallowed his last bite, he rose and marched off to his ‘man cave.’

After dinner Tristan immersed himself with television along with liquid courage in his own private den. Periodically he added other means of altering one’s state of mind. This, Nicki tried not to think about.

Drugs and pills had never been a part of their lives before, but somewhere along the way they crept into Tristan’s life. By the end of each day Nicki never knew who the man coming to share her bed would be—if he came to bed at all. Sometimes, that was for the best, at least in her mind.

Regrettably, he made it her job to wake him each night and keep him from sleeping in his chair. She was to check on him and if he were sleeping, she was to shake him and encourage him to go to bed.

In the still of the night she swiveled slightly in her chair and snapped off the lamp. Rising, sliding her hands down her thighs, she smoothed the length of her baby blue satin gown around her hips, shaking the skirt free to fall down around her ankles. Then she wrapped the matching robe around her waist and retied the sash.

Lifting her head, she admitted she had avoided her next move long enough. She needed to do what was expected of her now or suffer the consequences later.

Darkness consumed the living room as worry filled every fiber in her being. Chewing her bottom lip, she drew a deep breath and stepped away from her chair. Would she have a quiet night alone in her bedroom, or would he join her? And then what?

Her fists tightened more and more with each step that brought her closer to the hallway.

If Tristan did come to bed, would he be emotionally consumed with the injustice of his life and the job that he felt he gave so much to, or would his thoughts be warped into another man, a man filled with a hungry thirst that truly could no longer be called love? Better still, would this be the night his body suffered such weariness that only sleep consumed him, giving her a night of peaceful bliss? She never knew which to expect but prepared for it all.

As she moved through the house closing the vast distance between living room and den, from the front of the large two-story mansion to the back corner where his man cave sat, she heard murmuring voices. The sound came from Tristan’s television with the New Orleans weatherman announcing the clear September skies and the promise of a beautiful day ahead.

Most likely Tristan had given it up and fallen asleep. Why else would he be hearing the weather report at this time of night? The TV had to be set on the repeat news channel that replayed over and over again.

Tristan had to be sleeping. If so, her job in his mind was to wake him and help him to bed, assuring he had a comfortable position for sleeping the night through once he fell back to sleep. What she suffered before that happened, that was part of being a good wife.

She had to attempt waking him or suffer the penalties later.

The hidden bruises he left in just the right places, the internal aches and pains that tortured her body the next day triggered the turmoil in her mind agonizing over the proper thing to do. Wake him and suffer right away on into the next day or so...or leave him sleeping and suffer when he reacted the next morning for being left to sleep all night in his chair.

Nicki wanted to be the good wife, but sometimes, real life didn’t make it easy.

Snaking toward the sound of the voices, she padded across the hardwood floors softly, careful not to stub her toe in the dark, not to make unnecessary noises—noises that might wake him before she made the modest attempt that had to be done. She prayed he would sleep through it all.

There go the mixed emotions again. Lord, lead me. Help me be the decent wife. One day Tristan will stop these torments, I’m sure. He always apologizes later. He doesn’t mean to hurt me. Help him stop now, Lord. Please don’t let this go on.

As she neared the doorway to the den, the moon streamed shafts of a soft glow through the wall of windows across the back of the lair spotlighting her way into his domain. Nicki crossed the threshold and the den itself was brighter thanks to the television’s flickering light. She trod a few more short steps and stood leaning over Tristan’s crouched body curled in his favorite recliner. His snoring sounded slow and steady as drool dribbled down his chin from the corner of his mouth.

Tristan, wake up. She shook his shoulder briskly as she spoke. The attempt to wake him had to be made. It’s time to go to bed. Wake up. Her words were loud enough to be heard and wake someone from a light sleep. The attempt to wake him was genuine, but she still prayed he wouldn’t wake too soon. Sometimes if she managed to go to bed and fall asleep before he came to bed, she was blessed with a quiet night. Of course he still made sure she paid for it the next day. Bruises she could hide, but lack of sleep wasn’t as easy to disguise.

Sad to say, she’d become accustomed to the markings left on her body and learned well how to hide them through a dab of make-up, a higher collar, or a longer sleeve. There were ways; she just had to use them without drawing attention to the concealing accessories.

In her job, however, she needed to be refreshed—ready to make smart decisions and stay sharp with the numbers. Banking allowed for no mistakes. Mark a decimal in the wrong place and the mistake could cost thousands of dollars, that neither she nor the bank could afford.

She tapped his shoulder, making another attempt. Tristan, it’s time for bed.

A loud grunt rose from the limp and twisted body. Leave me alone. He groaned some more and then growled as his hand slapped out at Nicki, pushing her away.

You know you don’t want to sleep in your chair. Wake up, honey, and come to bed, please, she pleaded never taking her eyes off of him as she spoke. He groaned and slapped the air again.

That was her cue. She picked up the remote control and pressed the off button leaving the room in dead silence, now lit only by the shards of moonlight seeping into the room. The snoring resumed. She was going to bed alone. If Tristan stayed passed out, slept all night, Nicki knew a peaceful six-hour slumber would be hers, and she would be well rested for work the next day.

In haste, she slipped up the back stairs of their large home and made her way to the bedroom they shared. No problem so far. Nicki dropped her robe on the back of the wing chair by the window and climbed into the big four-poster bed. She slipped between the satin sheets and pulled them up around her chin as her gaze slid around the moonlit room.

Beauty was everywhere she looked. It was what everyone else saw throughout their massive home, throughout their make-believe life. No one knew the violence that went on behind closed doors.

Nicki sighed. She still held hope that one day God would turn this all around. Maybe if they had been blessed with children it would have given them both more to think about.

She wished she knew what had turned Tristan so dark over the past few years. Had the death of his father two years ago been the trigger? It was very possible.

That was the first night he had slapped her, with many to follow. He’d been so inebriated when Nicki tried to help him up the stairs. Of course, the red handprint on her face barely showed the next day, make-up did the trick. Oh, he apologized profusely the next morning when he saw the evidence of what he had done. He seemed truly sorry. The next several months as a couple they appeared to be back to loving one another while no physical harm incurred. Only gentle loving emotions were shared between the two of them. Nevertheless, he had started drinking a little more each night as did a slap here and a shove there grow with each passing week.

Rubbing her temples, she thought that had been the beginning of their downhill spiral.

Closing her eyes, she prayed for wisdom and guidance through the rest of the days of her life.

*****

At six A.M. sharp, the alarm beeped a high tone repeatedly until Nicki reached over and pushed the button. A quick glance told her he never came to bed.

Climbing out of it, she wasted no time in dressing for work and then impulsively made her way to the kitchen. In minutes, the juice had been freshly squeezed and bacon was sizzling in the skillet on the stove. As she opened the refrigerator door, so she could grab the eggs to scramble, it came to a sudden halt.

A quick intake of air filled her chest as she froze.

Tristan cursed her as he yanked her arm back and slammed the door closed. Why didn’t you wake me? His blood-shot eyes stared down shooting flaming daggers into her eyes.

I...I tried! Truly I did, but you wouldn’t wake up. She backed away putting as much distance as possible between the two of them.

Tristan edged closer, trapping Nicki between him and the counter. I don’t think you tried hard enough.

He flanked her on every side; there was no place for her to escape him. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she dared to raise her eyes and stare directly into his green orbs. She prayed her fear was hidden from him. I...I...I did. I promise.

He grabbed her upper arms and squeezed tightly. I don’t appreciate sleeping in my chair all night. It puts a crick in my neck and you know it! He spat the words as he twisted her arms ever so slightly.

Almost mumbling, she said, If you wouldn’t drink so—

The back of his hand made swift contact with her cheek. An instant sting pricked her face. Reclaiming her upper arms, he jerked her backwards bumping her against the countertop. In clipped tones he said, My drinking has nothing to do with it! I was tired. That’s all. He applied more pressure as he practically twisted her arms out of their sockets.

Yow! That hurts! She tried to tug free. Please, let go of me Tristan.

His grip tightened. I work long hard hours so we can live like this. His words were filled with anger as his gaze swept the large kitchen filled with all the newest and most modern conveniences—any woman’s dream kitchen. I do this for us! Do you understand me?

Yes. She flinched, afraid he was going to strike her again. In the back of her mind, she knew he wouldn’t, at least not where it showed. One slap to the face was usually his limit.

For safety’s sake, just in case he wasn’t counting, she pulled her head back slightly, snaking it away from his easy access. Another moan escaped her lips although she tried to remain silent.

He tossed his head slightly to his left, flipping his wavy dark brown hair away from his angry eyes, exposing the blazoned look he scorched into her. All the while he dug his fingers into her tender flesh. With brows furrowed he said, Remember that pain the next time you decide not to wake me before going to bed.

Nicki began to deny it again, reassure him she did try to wake him, but he didn’t give her the chance. He wouldn’t believe her anyway.

If there is a next time, you will regret it. Do I make myself clear? The sneer across his face sent ice through her veins.

A pain so severe shot through her arms and threatened to send tears to her eyes. No! She wouldn’t let that happen. She blinked them away, quickly clearing them out of sight. He could not see the fear his threats conjured or the pain his hands inflicted. Tristan just let me go, please, so I can finish making breakfast. It’s getting late.

Loosening his grip, he shoved her, causing her to bang her head on the cabinet door. She stifled another groan.

I don’t want anything to eat. Just fix me a cup of coffee. Now!

Her body jerked when he shouted his last word. She figured he wouldn’t eat. Nicki knew his habits. After a heavy night of drinking, he rarely ate a morning meal. Her hands automatically grabbed for a cup and commenced pouring the coffee. However, she also knew she must attempt making breakfast for him each morning no matter what. This, she had learned the hard way.

One night last year, after noticing he never ate the morning following one of his benders, she dared not fix anything. She’d asked herself, why bother? So that morning while rinsing her juice glass, he came up behind her.

Where’s breakfast? he bellowed.

She remembered telling him he normally didn’t eat after drinking so much. Instantly, he grabbed her by the neck and shoved her face down into the sink under the running water. Her head struck the porcelain sink with a bang as water poured over her head running into her ear and mouth as he held her at an awkward angle. She garbled and gasped as he grumbled, Don’t you ever assume I won’t eat! It is your job as my wife to make my breakfast every morning. Releasing her head he snatched up the juice glass and then shattered it against the sink. Shards went flying. She had pulled away just in time to avoid catching any airborne glass splinters with her face.

This morning, before grabbing the cup of coffee she prepared for him, he picked up the hot skillet where the bacon sizzled and flipped it over into the sink. Grease and the meat flew every which way. Another mess he created for her. With a sick twist to his lips, he snatched the hot cup from her hand and dashed out of the room.

Sure, he would be on time for work. What was it to him if she were late, staying behind cleaning up after him? Not a thing. In fact, it brought him pure satisfaction. He hated that she continued her job after he inherited so much money from his father’s estate. Even split three ways with his sisters, it was a massive amount.

Maybe that was the reason he treated her so badly. Maybe she should quit her job and be a stay at home wife—but that wouldn’t be the answer. It couldn’t be. Returning her focus to the mess around her, she started cleaning it up.

Making sure she stayed out of his way, Nicki took her sweet time cleaning the chaos left in his wake. The sounds in the air, water running, then shutting off, doors and drawers opening and closing, kept her current as to how close Tristan was to getting ready. When the last swipe on the kitchen counter was made, the back door slammed. Good. He was gone.

Nicki hurried back up the stairwell. She redid her hair and touched up her makeup. The backhand to her face was easy to hide. It was the opened hand slaps that left harder markings to mask these days. Her arms throbbed with every move. Sitting in front of her dressing table she removed her blouse. She needed to change it anyway, between the water dollops and grease splotches; she would be lucky if the top ever came clean again.

The flesh on her upper arms was red. No bruising yet, but it would come—High on the arms, so even elbow length-sleeved blouses would hide the markings. Over months of cruelty Tristan learned to leave his mementoes hidden from the world. Of course she didn’t have to conceal them, but she chose to, to cover for the lie they lived.

Sigh.

It was for the best. In the closet, she pulled out a navy and kelly green silk blouse, then covered most of it with the navy blazer she added to the look.

A glance in the mirror showed every blonde hair in place, suit impeccable, and ivory skin glowing. Yes, she was ready to face another day of hiding in plain sight. No one the wiser...at least that was her thought on the matter.

Chapter 2

Later that morning, Nicki embraced the secure feeling that enveloped her as she pushed on the glass of the turnstile door that allowed entry to the lobby of the bank where she worked.

No Tristan. No pressure. No threat. Just work greeted her there—a lot of it, but she liked that. She knew the unnecessary twisted knots in her neck and shoulders would soon slip away. Tension came with her job, but it was nothing compared to what she endured at home.

As a loan officer at The First National Bank, she occupied her hours with evaluating loan applications, confirming documentation, approving or rejecting loans and then explaining deficiencies to applicants when needed or asking for more information if it would help clear their loan.

She also answered questions of all kinds for people thinking of purchasing a new house, a car, or something else of value, and requesting the loan of the bank’s money to help them procure their dream.

Sometimes she even called on some delinquent accounts. Usually her secretary took care of these files until they lapsed more than two payments. Unfortunately, wording was an important factor when pursuing collections that were mounting higher and higher. There were ways to help a family or company that had slipped into arrears due to hard times, but the bank could only do so much to help, and then the borrower must be willing to stand behind what they agreed to do. Strict documentation went along with these phone calls in case the account had to be turned over to their legal department. Nicki didn’t care for this part of her job, but it came with the territory. 

Good morning, Mrs. Petrelli. A young, slim, dark haired girl, who sat at the desk right outside of Nicki’s office, welcomed her with a smile.

Good morning, Linda. Can you bring me the Johnson application? I’d like to finish it up before processing any new ones. The girl, wasting no time, jumped to her feet and stepped across the floor to the filing cabinet. Nicki reflected on her secretary’s instant obedience. She was blessed to have such an accomplished assistant.

Would you like me to get you a cup of coffee this morning?

I’ll pass right now, but thanks Linda. Nicki could wait on herself. She never wanted to take advantage of her hard working aide, always willing to go above and beyond the call of duty.

Nicki swept into her office, dropped her purse in a hidden compartment in a cabinet next to the desk, and then fell into her swivel chair. Spinning it somewhat, she slid her feet under her desk as she glanced around her safe haven, her office.

A sudden release of tension caressed her shoulders as the nerve-endings relaxed ever so slightly. She felt the faint drop of her shoulders, inhaled a deep breath, and then slowly released it. Protected. Sheltered. Secure. The mountain of anxieties she had carried from home now fell slowly away. Nicki placed her hands, palms down, on her desk, one over the other, as she breathed another sigh of release. Thank You, Lord.

Within no time, Linda dashed into the office, a file folder in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. Here you go, Mrs. Petrelli, she said her voice sounding almost like the sweet chirping of a bird, full of joy, full of melody. She laid both items on the desk in front of her boss. I know you said you’d pass on the coffee, but your face told me you could use a good strong dose of energy this morning. The corners of her mouth drew upward.

Thanks, Linda. Maybe Nicki hadn’t rested as well as she believed she had or her assistant is more observant than Nicki gave her credit.

If you need me, just buzz. Out the door Linda flew in an instant giving Nicki no time to respond.

After many phone calls tracing truths and answers, the Johnson file was processed and approved. No added information needed at this time. Nicki busied herself with the stack of mail Linda had opened and dropped into the in basket. By the time Nicki finished with the last piece of mail and the work that came with it, lunchtime had arrived. Through the dark tinted wall and the elongated slats of blinds that separated the two offices, she could see her secretary’s chair sat empty.