Dirty Dancing: The Happy Endings Resort Series, Book 14 Read online

  Dirty Dancing

  The Happy Endings Resort Series, Book 14

  Brandy Lynn

  Contents

  1. Chance

  2. Callie

  3. Chance

  4. Callie

  5. Chance

  6. Callie

  7. Chance

  8. Callie

  9. Chance

  10. Callie

  11. Chance

  12. Callie

  13. Chance

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Other Books by Brandy Lynn

  The Art of Letting Go

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  The Happy Endings Resort Series

  All rights reserved. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any form without prior written permission of the publisher, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution, circulation or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

  Copyright © 2017 Brandy Lynn

  Dirty Dancing is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and events portrayed in this book either are from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, establishments, events, or location is purely coincidental and not intended by the author. Please do not take offense to the content, as it is FICTION.

  Trademarks: This book identifies product names and services known to be trademarks, registered trademarks, or service marks of their respective holders, The authors acknowledges the trademarked status in this work of fiction. The publication and use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  To Joshua-

  Always chase your dreams. Never doubt yourself. And, know that anything is possible so long as you believe it. I love you more than words can express.

  xoxo,

  Mom

  Chapter 1

  Chance

  “Inmate 4719816 let’s go, time’s up,” the burly prison guard barks at me. I quickly sit up, careful not to piss him off, and make my way toward the steel door of my six-by-eight-foot concrete wall cell. This cell has been my parking spot for the past three years. Three. Long. Fucking. Years. I look around, careful to make sure I don’t leave anything worth keeping. There’s nothing here that I want, though. No letters. No books. Nothing of substance, at least. Just an old ratty ass four-inch-thick cot, cold-as-ice steel toilet, toddler-size sink, and a few other personal hygiene items that they allow me to have.

  I shake my head at everything I’ve missed out on being behind bars since days after my eighteenth birthday—graduation, college, and most of all, a one-way ticket out of that god-forsaken piece-of-shit town my father has under his thumb. And all because he was a jealous fuck who wanted what I had. Well, I hope he’s fucking happy with his life and that no-good bitch, Alyssa.

  “Hands,” the guard requests. I stick my hands through the small slot in the door, thankful this is the last time I’ll feel the sharp sting of the metal handcuffs slicing into my wrists. Once he’s confident I’m secure, he barks out another order for me to, “Back up,” which I quickly do. Like I would actually try something shady now as I’m being escorted to the gate. I’m finally getting out of this shithole.

  I’ve been a model prisoner for the past three years. There are no reports on file. No ticks on my record. I was determined to get the fuck out of here as fast as possible. I stayed to myself and did my time, even if I didn’t deserve it. I know what you’re thinking. Everyone says that. No one admits they fucked up. Here’s the thing. I didn’t. My no-good ass sorry excuse for a father framed me after I found him balls deep in my girlfriend, Alyssa. My stomach roils at the thought of that image on repeat for the last three years, and I want to spew the mystery meat they fed us at lunch all over these scuffed, dirty concrete floors.

  I nod my head at my cellmate, Aaron, as I’m being escorted out. “Lucky bastard.” I hear him mumble as the door closes behind me. I know he’s envious. Hell, I would be too. I’ve been waiting for this day for one thousand, one hundred, and eighty-two days, but who’s counting, right? You see, Aaron has a lifetime in the here. He was drunk at a party and got pissed off at his girlfriend. Snatched his keys and took off going the wrong way down the freeway. That night, he killed a family of four when he hit their minivan head-on, racing nearly eighty miles per hour. You can’t rightfully take someone else’s life and not have to pay the price. Everything in life has a price. Every choice has a consequence. And Aaron? He will pay for his choices with a prison sentence that spans his lifetime. He won’t ever step foot outside of these gates for as long as he lives.

  I follow alongside the guard, whose silver plated name tag reads Talley, as he leads me through each long, narrow corridor. With each slam of the automatic gates, I flinch involuntarily. I can’t wait to get out of here. The moans, screams, and deadly fights are enough to scare grown men straight. I never want to see another prison for the rest of my life.

  I’m herded like an animal into a small room where another officer reviews the discharge paperwork Talley handed to him. The warden comes out to do a final inspection, and without another word, he orders them to remove my cuffs. I’m handed a brown paper bag that has my possessions, along with a manila envelope. “Good luck, son,” is all the warden says before he turns and heads back down the hallway he came from. I want to tell him that I’m not his fucking son. I’m no one’s son. Not anymore. Instead, I hold my tongue. I’m sure he thinks I’ll be back soon. I won’t.

  I’m not even sure I can still wear these clothes in the bag. I don’t really have a fucking choice, though, unless I want to wear this orange jumpsuit out of here, and I’m sure as shit not going to do that. I clench the bag to my chest that holds the only personal belongings I have left as I’m pointed in the direction of a small room. Once inside, Talley, the guard who escorted me from my cell, begins to speak. “You can change in here. Once you’re done, lay your garments that belong to Mecklenburg County Prison on the bench and knock twice. I’ll escort you to the gate once you’re finished.” He looks at me with no emotion like he’s said this same speech a thousand times. I can see him silently judging me. He thinks I’m a dealer. They all do. That I’ll be right back on the streets cutting lines of coke.

  The thing is … I’ve never so much as touched that shit, but they’ll never believe me. Why? Because my scumbag father, the pristine mayor of this shitty town, is the one who turned his only son in after planting several eight balls of coke, a scale, and baggies in my room for the authorities to conveniently find. Deke, my one and only friend, told me that when I got locked up, people were bringing my shocked father and my oblivious girlfriend fucking casseroles and shit. Can you believe that? While they were laughing it up at my expense and chowing down on casserole dishes, I was having my entire life ripped from me.

  To them, this town, I’m nothing but a no-good delinquent. The scum on the soles of their shoes. A bottom feeder. But they don’t know me. Not. One. Fucking. Thing. About. Me. If they did, they would know I’m not a dealer. Not even close. I’ve never touched anything other than the occasional joint and a beer here and again. Yet someone like my chameleon father, the one who can literally turn into anyone, sets me up,
and suddenly, I’m the villain. And everyone, I mean everyone, believed his filthy fucking lies.

  All because of pussy. The same pussy that made me weak. That convinced me to take the deal I was offered because there was no way I was getting out of here. The one who I thought loved me. Who I dreamed of marrying and carrying my babies. Now? I wouldn’t piss on that bitch if she was on fire. Harsh? Maybe. But I’d watch her crash and burn without a second thought and not feel an ounce of guilt. Did she feel any guilt for fucking my father? For helping to frame me? For letting me sit in a cold-ass cell when she knew I wasn’t guilty? Nope. I don’t think she’s capable of feeling anything. Come to think of it, if my father’s money ever runs out, I’m sure she’ll bolt just as fast as her size six shoes will carry her.

  I snap out of my memories when Talley bangs against the door, letting me know to hurry the hell up. I quickly dump the contents of the brown paper bag out and strip out of these obnoxious paper thin cotton scrubs. I grab my white t-shirt and pull it over my head, noticing that it does fit. It’s a little snug, but it’ll work. I slide my jeans on next, appreciating the way the denim feels against my skin. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt it, and damn, I’ve missed it. It’s crazy the little shit you miss when you’re locked up. Being able to walk outside, shave when you want to, take a shit in peace, drive a car, grab a burger, or hell, just feel like a normal human being. In here, you’re treated like an animal. And while I’m sure many of these motherfuckers deserve that treatment, some of us are only guilty of trusting the wrong people.

  Once I’m done, I knock twice, signaling to Talley that I’m ready. I grab the manila envelope and take out the contents—four hundred and sixty-two measly dollars, some loose change, my wallet, and an old-ass second-generation iPhone. I toss the phone in the trash since I plan to get a new one as soon as I’m out and stuff my wallet, money, and spare change in my pockets. When I look up, Talley is impatiently tapping his foot, waiting for me. “Let’s go, Walker. You want to get out of here or what? You’d think you want to stay for as long as it’s taking you.” He quirks an eyebrow, challenging me.

  “Fuck no, I don’t want to stay in this hellhole. I’m ready. You can stop busting my balls, Talley.” I move past him toward the last door. Just on the other side is my freedom. I’m itching with anticipation as I hear him tell the guard behind the glass to unlock the door. The door buzzes, clicks twice, and finally, after three long-ass years, I’m free.

  Chapter 2

  Callie

  “Oh honey, you have got to put him away for good this time,” Patty, my soon-to-be stepmom says as she pours peroxide on the gauze before cautiously bringing the gauze up to wipe the gash on my cheekbone.

  “Ouch.” I cringe as she tenderly starts to clean it up. “Is it bad?” I ask even though I know by the pain from the cleaning that it must be deep. I’ve been through this before. This isn’t my first rodeo with Derrick, that’s for sure, but this is the first time he’s taken it this far.

  “Well …” Patty trails off in her sweet Southern voice. “I’m not going to lie to you, Callie. It could probably use a stitch or two,” she says quietly like she’s scared admitting that will make me freak out. Maybe it would have a year ago but not now. Like I said, this isn’t the first time Derrick has put his hands on me, but it will be the last. “But I can probably get away with a butterfly stitch, so you don’t have to go down to the emergency room. It’s up to you, Callie.”

  I let out a sigh I didn’t even realize I was holding. “If you could, Patty, I would appreciate it. You know how I feel about hospitals,” I mumble softly, staring at the bruises forming on my arms and legs. Just the thought of heading to the ER makes my pulse skyrocket, and my breathing becomes labored. White coat syndrome is a real bitch. It makes going to the hospital nearly impossible. I can count on my fingers the number of times I’ve been to the hospital in my lifetime, and most times, I only went because I was forced to go. Hospitals represent death to me, and I’ve had enough death in my short nineteen years to last a lifetime. They couldn’t save my mother, so I have very little faith in their ability to save me.

  I drag my eyes away from the small jagged scar on my cheekbone and stare back at my reflection. My sleek long dark hair, curled at the ends, flows halfway down my back, and my bright almond-shaped emerald eyes stare back at my tanned reflection as I analyze myself. I look good. Healthy. I’ve put on a few pounds this last year; my once hollow cheeks are full and glowing since Derrick has been noticeably absent from my life. I’ve come so far since last year. I finally finished cosmetology school, reconnected with my dad, made some close friends, and I am more comfortable with this new me. “You can do this,” I whisper to myself before splashing some cold water on my face. I know today is going to be tough. Facing Derrick after a year has my stomach in knots and not in a good way. I want this bastard to suffer for what he did to me. Any man who puts his hands on a woman is a worthless piece of shit, if you ask me. He stripped me of so many things—my dignity and self-worth being the most important. I won’t give him any power ever again. I want him to pay. He’s crazy. And to be honest, if they let him out, I’m not sure what he’ll do next. Probably kill me. I’m not joking. He’s unstable. In the worst ways. Just last week, I had to change my phone number because he wouldn’t stop harassing me. And before you ask … yes, I filed charges for that too. I just hope they stick. Occasionally, I receive threatening letters from him, showing just how dangerous his thoughts are. I brought the letters with me today just in case the judge asks for them. I can’t believe it took me this long to get away from him. I should have left the first time he put his hands on me. Should’ve. Would’ve. Could’ve. But nooooooo … I kept giving him chance after chance. He would promise me he would get help. Get better. You want to know the sad part? I believed him. All his bullshit. And did he? Of course, not. It only got worse. I mean he burned our trailer down with all my belongings, he hit me on multiple occasions, isolated me, intimidated me, and the last straw was when he abducted me. I mean what kind of person stalks someone and then kidnaps them? A psycho, that’s who. I’ve been through a lot of shit in these last two years with Derrick. I’m ready to put him away and finally close that chapter in my life.

  I leave the bathroom and head toward courtroom number four. Judge Pence is prompt and fair from what I’ve heard so far in the case. I was told I wouldn’t have to testify during Derrick’s trial. They had enough evidence against Derrick with my statement, but I wanted to testify for the district attorney. I needed to do it. Facing Derrick and letting him know that he didn’t break me was a form of closure for me. I want to hear his sentencing today. It’s important. I need to know he can’t hurt me again or anyone else. I’ve been waiting for this moment since they found him guilty of his crimes forty-seven days ago.

  Pulling the door open, I immediately zoom in on Derrick. Staying focused ahead, I maneuver through the rows of the courtroom until I find my seat on the opposite side of the room from him and his family. I won’t let him intimidate me. Not anymore. I stare him down, knowing it’s killing him that he can’t hurt me. His blind rage is evident in his posture. His shoulders are squared, fists clenching on top of the table, brows furrowed, and his eyes are popping white hot with anger. It’s such a shame that Derrick is such a douche. His good looks are what attracted me to him. Too bad that was his only redeemable quality. Now, though? The sight of him makes the bile rise in my throat. Looking at him is nauseating. Everything about him disgusts me. All I can see is the ugliness that runs through him now.

  “All rise ... this court is now in session. The honorable Judge Maribelle Pence presiding,” the bailiff announces in a bored monotone. Standing in unison, the audience watches as the judge enters through the door behind her bench. Her body language doesn’t give anything away about her decision on his sentencing. Once she sits, the bailiff orders, “You may now be seated.” Sitting back down, I nervously chew on my lip as I wait for her to speak.

&n
bsp; “Mr. Conner, please stand and address the court.” I watch as Derrick and his attorney stand, facing the judge. “Is there anything you would like to say before I hand down your sentence for your crimes?” Judge Pence asks.

  “No, ma’am.” Derrick shakes his head, looking past the judge toward a blank spot on the wall. So disrespectful. At least, he said ma’am. I didn’t even know that was in his vocabulary. I think I had held out hope he would say something. I’m sorry. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have done that. I need help. Fuck you, Callie. Anything. But instead, it was radio silence on his end.

  “Very well then. Derrick Lee Conner, I hereby sentence you to the maximum allowed by South Carolina state laws of twenty-nine years for aggravated assault, kidnapping, and arson. I hope you take this as a lesson that your actions have consequences. From this day forward, you will not have any contact with Miss Callie Rose Thomas. If you contact her, you will receive additional charges with more time imposed. Is that understood, Mr. Conner?” Judge Pence pushes.

  “Understood,” is all that comes out of Derrick’s mouth. I can hear his mother, Cecile, sobbing uncontrollably from across the room, and it honestly breaks my heart. She’s a sweet lady. It’s not her fault her son is a psychotic, controlling bastard who likes to beat on women. His sister, Annie, is shooting daggers in my direction as she rubs her mom’s back to console her. I hate this is hurting them, but Derrick is unstable, and he needs help. I mouth, “I’m sorry,” in their direction, hoping they can see I didn’t want things to end like this. I loved him, but Derrick doesn’t know how to love. His love is sick, painful, and twisted. Cecile stands. As they get ready to escort Derrick back to his cell, she wraps her arms around her son and clenches his body to hers. As he embraces her, he’s looking at me with so much hate that I shiver from the intensity. Who knows what he would do to me given the chance. I’m so thankful he’s being put away for a long time.