When Love Goes Bad Read online

  Other books in this collection:

  Falling In Love. . . Again

  The timeless love stories from

  True Romance and True Love live on.

  Edited by Barbara Weller,

  Cynthia Cleveland and Nancy Cushing-Jones

  A BROADLIT BOOK

  BroadLit

  January 2012

  Published by

  BroadLit ®

  14011 Ventura Blvd.

  Suite 206 E

  Sherman Oaks, CA 91423

  Copyright © 2001-2002, 2005-2006, 2012 BroadLit, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

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

  ISBN 978-0-578-09849-4

  Produced in the United States of America.

  Visit us online at www.TruLOVEstories.com

  This collection is dedicated to all of you who are

  looking for true love or have already found it.

  THE PERFECT MAN

  Is he too good to be true?

  ENGAGED TO MY FIANCÉ… AND HIS MOTHER!

  She’ll leave us alone eventually… right?

  JUST LIKE JANE

  He wanted me to fill someone else’s shoes!

  This member of the jury finds you…

  GUILTY AS CHARGED!

  Something Blue

  I WON’T WEAR A BLACK EYE ON MY WEDDING DAY!

  That’s why I may have to walk away from the only man I’ve ever loved!

  Silicone and Scalpels Destroy A Marriage

  AFTER THE EXTREME MAKEOVER!

  “I want my wife back!”

  Money Can’t Buy Happiness

  SAVAGE THRUSTS

  My husband treats me like a whore!

  THE CRUISE SHIP CON JOB EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW ABOUT

  He’s tall, dark, handsome–and a freeloader!

  I Feel Like I Don’t Stand A Chance Against–

  ALCOHOL–MY MARRIAGE’S WORST ENEMY

  SO LONG, EARL

  My cowboy rode off into the sunset–good riddance to bad rubbish!

  IS THIS JUST A SHIP BOARD ROMANCE?

  I learned my lesson the hard way

  MY HUSBAND IS A BUM

  He let it be known on national television!

  The Perfect Man

  Is he too good to be true?

  It was during my first trip to Britain over five years ago that my path initially collided with Gavin’s.

  My grandmother, my sister and I were three silly American women lugging suitcases around England, which contained the entire weight of each of our chest of drawers. The suitcases were like anvils tying us down to each railroad track at every station. We struggled just to move our luggage an inch, so it was always some faceless Englishman or Scot who became our hero, freeing us from the tracks. They would swoop by, attempt to pick up our luggage, struggle with the weight of it for a moment, and then drag it down to the taxi lanes. They would wander out of our lives as quickly as they had wandered in. We never had to ask and they never even looked back for a thank-you. It seemed to be their duty as polite British men to help out women in need.

  None of us had ever really traveled abroad before. Well, what I really mean is that none of us had ever had to do the jumping from train-to-train and city-to-city thing before, so it was pretty obvious that we didn’t know what it meant to backpack around Europe. Even so, this first trip confirmed one thing for me: I longed to travel. I wanted to experience everything, meet everybody, and learn every culture.

  As I stepped off the train at each station, I would let out a deep breath, imagining myself cleansing away all preconceived notions I might have about a place. I would then open my mind to absorbing the thoughts of the people around me. I wanted to eat and drink where they did; I wanted to love and respect the same things they did; I wanted to enjoy all the things that they enjoyed. But in order to do this fully, I needed to have a sense of freedom from my own life in the States. I needed to be able to go from place to place without having luggage tie me down—or anything else, for that matter.

  Then the answer came to me. A group of backpackers walked onto our train, and three stops later they jumped off. It was that simple. Any questions I had about how my trip around the world would be completed were gone at that instant. From then on I secretly admired the travelers who carried only backpacks. I was amazed at how they moved independently with ease, and that they could just jump off of a train at will and have everything they needed to survive.

  Not only did I think that a backpack was the answer to quenching my wanderlust, but Gavin was another milestone in my life during that first trip to Britain. I saw him as a way for me to quickly lose dependence on my old life and make an easy transition into a new life. He would guide me into a whole new world of experiences. It was easy for me to imagine this, because the first time I met him he put me under a sort of spell. The people, the circumstances, and the atmosphere that surrounded me had overloaded my senses and completely hypnotized me with their brilliance.

  I really wasn’t even supposed to have met Gavin my first night in Edinburgh. My sister Gillian kept trying to talk me into going out, but all I wanted to do was lie down since my head was still pounding and swaying with the motion of the train.

  But she finally convinced me to go check out the town. Of course we went straight to the pubs—which is what I knew “check out the town” really meant in her vocabulary. There was a whole strip of them on a cobblestone promenade of sorts.

  She and I dropped into a few pubs before finally walking up to a nightclub called “The Underground.” There was a sign on the door that read, YOU MUST BE EIGHTEEN TO ENTER, and there was a man standing by the door who seemed to serve as the exclamation point.

  “Come on, Gillian,” I said to her, glancing wearily at the door. “I don’t even look eighteen. I’m not going to be allowed in there, especially not in jeans and a tee shirt.”

  I felt really young and really American, which was probably due to the fact that my long blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail, I had no makeup on, and my feet were clad in the typical Keds and white bobby socks of a high school cheerleader.

  But Gillian simply answered, “Yes, you will. Just act confident.” Looking as graceful and elegant as she always did, she strode up to the door with her curly auburn hair falling seductively into her face. I followed, hoping that the doorman wouldn’t pay any attention to me after seeing her. It seemed to work, because we both walked right in.

  The nightclub was dark and there were dance lights flashing everywhere. My eyes took a moment to adjust, but then the first thing I saw was Gavin. My breath caught in my throat and everything around me suddenly became so clear. It was like the world had come into focus and had swallowed me up in all of its glorious detail.

  He was standing with a group of guys around a table, looking right back at me with the same fascination. He was wearing a silver button-down shirt and his black slacks had a crease down the front, which showed he had actually taken the time to carefully iron them. The black shiny shoes he wore matched the leather belt that was neatly fitted a
round his slim waist. His short, clean-cut hair was slicked back with gel, making it darker than it already was, and also making his smooth baby-face stand out even more.

  I couldn’t move. No, I didn’t want to move. I wanted to be drenched in my surroundings. I wanted to be wrapped up in them, to savor their taste.

  I had always believed in love at first sight, and I had hoped it would happen to me one day, but I never expected it, especially with someone like Gavin. I had always imagined myself with the “All-American Boy,” the type with sun-bleached hair, sun-kissed skin and blue eyes that could still shine through all that sun. So I couldn’t believe the state of shock the sight of Gavin had put me in.

  Shortly after my sister had managed to sit me down at a table, a Viking (yes, he was a Viking) also sat down at our table. He was seven feet tall and had long blonde hair. I was searching for his little metal hat with horns on it and was staring at him like, Who the hell are you?

  The Viking started right off with, “I am . . . uh . . . what’s the word . . . uh . . . missing home?”

  “Homesick?” I asked, annoyed and distracted.

  “Yes, that’s it. Homesick.” He proceeded to talk about how he was on some boat, and had been traveling from place to place for work, blah, blah, blah, and then almost in the same breath he threw in, “So, you will go back to my hotel with me?”

  If I had a drink, I would have spat it across the table. I quickly turned to my sister for help, and as if to surprise me even more, she was gone. Great, I thought, just great. I looked over at Gavin and the other men by the door, and there she was, talking to them. I couldn’t believe it. I gave her a look that meant “SOS,” and she quickly motioned for me to come over.

  “Uh. . .” was all I could think of to say to the Viking. Finally, I managed, “Thanks, but I can’t.” I stood up to walk over to my sister, but I was quickly sitting once again. The Viking had grabbed my arm and placed me back in my seat.

  “Excuse you,” I said as I pulled my arm away from him. I stood up again to show him that I wouldn’t sit down just because he had made me. So he also stood up, and I found myself suddenly staring at his belly button, which quickly swayed me into telling him that I would just wander over and ask my sister if I could go with him.

  This obviously didn’t matter much because he yanked me by my arm and started forcing me out of the bar. I was a bit surprised he didn’t grab me by my hair.

  Gavin and his friends immediately blocked the door, and Gavin surprised me by saying “F--- off” in Norwegian, which I supposed was just a wild guess as to the language the Viking spoke. Needless to say, it was a good guess, because it really managed to piss him off, and he lunged toward Gavin. Luckily, the Viking’s pals happened to stop him just in time. They held the Viking back, said something to him, he yelled a few words in response, and he pushed past them out the door.

  I was saved, and it didn’t take long for my attention to be diverted back to where it had originally been focused. Gavin and I spoke for a while that evening, and I learned that he was staying in the Edinburgh Castle. Thoughts of royalty flashed through my head, but I soon found out that he was really a member of the Royal Military Police. He and his friends talked Gillian and me into taking a look around the castle that night.

  As we walked toward the castle, I felt like I was drifting into a dream. I had only seen places like it in the books my parents used to read to me as a child. I never thought that any place like it actually existed. The castle majestically overlooked the city. A hill lined with lights from buildings along the Royal Mile sloped down from one side of it, and a cliff dramatically dropped off from the other. At the base of the cliff was a park that sank below the level of the city. Fog had settled into the park, creating the illusion that the castle was floating up above the clouds, and I easily identified with it.

  I noticed that there was not a single tourist to be found at the castle, only a few military people passing by every now and then. The guys told us that tourists weren’t allowed up to the castle after a certain time. I guess they were hoping to make us feel lucky that we got this opportunity, but it actually made me nervous, and I began to think that they had an ulterior motive for bringing us up there.

  I thought my age and my inexperience would soon show through, so I was relieved that by the time my sister and I were on our way back to the bed and breakfast Gavin still hadn’t tried anything with me. He hadn’t even tried to hold my hand when we walked around the castle without the others. He just talked about the castle’s history and shared a few stories about old spirits who periodically wandered the castle’s corridors late at night.

  My sister and I made plans to see the guys the next night as well. They were taking us to this big military show called the “Military Tattoo” at the castle. I was so excited to see Gavin again that I couldn’t help stopping by the castle earlier in the day just to see him at work. Looking back, it was these short moments with Gavin that meant the most, when I got to see how he was in his day to day life. He had told me the night before exactly where he would be working, so I walked around to the door and peeked my head through.

  There he sat at the front desk looking as bored as ever, leaning his chin on his hands, but he also looked as cute as ever in his green uniform with a red MP band wrapped around his arm. The minute I walked in the door, he jumped up out of his seat and began to fumble over his words as he attempted to explain how busy he had been until then. He showed me some files to prove to me that he had been doing something, and then quickly pulled them away, saying, “Oh, I forgot, that’s confidential.”

  His nervousness was making me laugh, and after a few seconds things really did start to get busy for him. His phone rang, his superior walked in, people were asking him questions left and right, and he was so flustered that he couldn’t come up with a straight answer for anyone. I quickly told him I would see him later that evening so as not to be a distraction anymore, and snuck back out the door.

  The first thing Gavin did when we met up that night was to hold my hand. I was amazed at how peaceful and complete my soul felt. It was the first time I knew that my soul wasn’t naturally this way. All the nervousness that I had previously had was washed away. I realized that there was no need for it. Later, as we walked out the castle entrance and headed down the Royal Mile, three military women came up and pinched Gavin’s cheeks and talked about how adorable he was. They finally realized I was standing next to him and apologized.

  “You must be the one he was rambling on about late last night in the Officer’s Club,” one of them said. “You can’t leave Edinburgh. He’ll be so sad if you go.”

  His face turned bright red and he self-consciously touched his neck as he looked away.

  “Oh, we’re sorry, Gavin. Did we ruin your secret?” They looked at me. “We swear, he was drinking himself silly on orange juice last night. All of the lads were laughing at him, but we were all drowning him in pity.”

  When he took me back to our bed and breakfast that evening, he finally kissed me. We stood outside by the gate kissing for about half an hour before my sister came back out to drag me inside. He quickly scribbled his address down on a piece of scrap paper, and also gave me the red MP band that he had wrapped around his arm earlier that day and told me not to forget him. Then he jumped into a taxi, and I didn’t see him again for three years.

  I look at that piece of scrap paper even now—an old piece of an envelope I’d had on hand at the time—and it’s hard for me to imagine that this was really my only link to him. I used this piece of paper to write him letters each month. I kept his armband in my diary so that I could look at it when I opened it each day. His cologne had imprinted itself on my clothes that night, and I didn’t wash my shirt for months after I came back to the U.S. because it smelled like him.

  One day, about two years after I had met him, I was walking through the airport in Seattle when the smell of his cologne drifted past me. I stopped in my tracks and turned around and around
to see if Gavin was anywhere to be found. I finally laughed at myself and how stupid I must look, and woke up to the fact that there was no way he could be in Washington.

  The day I returned home from this first trip to England, there was already a letter waiting from Gavin. Each time I received a letter from him I would hide in my room, and I would read it over and over again until I had squeezed out every drop of meaning from every word. He would tell me how beautiful I was, and especially my eyes.

  He told me about all of his plans for when I came back to England, such as going out for “a night on the tiles,” which I later found out means “a night on the dance floor.” He sent me baby pictures, military pictures, and pictures of himself with his mates. He would close each letter with All my love, always and forever, and sometimes he would even add in an extra And ever. To me, he was perfect. He seemed totally and completely enraptured with me, and I was totally and completely taken with his words. I created a new life for myself through these letters, and I thought about how I would make Middlesbrough new and exciting for him as well.

  I put together the next trip to England merely for my own benefit. I wanted to see Gavin once again. I had devised this great plan of working abroad in England for the summer, and then I talked my sister into going as well. I merely thought that if I was going to go all the way to England, I might as well spend a bit of time there, and before I knew it, I was off once again, but this time, it was for an entire summer. I sat on the plane to England selfishly making plans for all the time I would spend with Gavin under the guise that they were all plans my sister and I would enjoy together—little did I know, this is actually what would happen.

  All summer long I worked, went out with my sister, and wrote letters to Gavin, but to my surprise, no response ever came. Finally, I was so fed up with it all that I called my mom and begged her to buy me a ticket home. As luck would have it, the next day, after my mom confirmed that she had bought me a ticket back to the States, a letter arrived from Gavin.