The Right One - Felice Stevens Page 0,2
two best friends, Chris and Sean, who as an attorney, took Morgan’s case and handled everything from the separation through the divorce.
The past months had been filled with fear and tons of therapy, but Morgan was ready to take the next step and move out. Jeffrey had shown up several times at Chris and Sean’s apartment, enabling Morgan to get a criminal order of protection, and it fueled Morgan’s conviction to get his own apartment. He refused to put his friends’ lives at risk over his mistake. His problems had to remain just that. His own.
That was how he ended up at this less-than-fashionable address in a part of Brooklyn he’d neither heard of nor knew existed before he started looking for a new place to live. He followed Mike Harmon, the portly real-estate agent, into the apartment, only half listening to him extol the virtues of the sad studio masquerading as a junior one-bedroom, with an alcove barely big enough to squeeze in a queen-sized bed touted as the bedroom. Longingly, he thought of the king-sized bed with the fluffy white comforter back home—no. No longer his home.
Wandering around the purported five-hundred-square-foot space, Morgan touched the dingy Formica kitchen countertop, the discolored spots reminiscent of former tenants, and recalled the beautiful white quartz waterfall island in the Chelsea apartment. He used to love coming home after school and cooking dinner for Jeffrey and himself. Morgan’s favorite part of the day had been when Jeffrey came home. They’d have drinks, and Jeffrey would tell him about his day.
Jeffrey never asked about his job or the kids he taught, but Morgan hadn’t minded. His job wasn’t as important; he didn’t earn a quarter of what Jeffrey did. At least that was what Jeffrey told him.
Damn, you were a fool, but not anymore.
The window overlooking Ocean Parkway had a crack running through it from top to bottom, and Morgan guessed it hadn’t been cleaned since Justin Timberlake and Britney Spears dated. He pressed his forehead to the dirty glass, gazing down at the barren lawn. No one cared enough to plant flowers, to try and bring some beauty to the barren ugliness of soil and scattered evergreens. It wasn’t a place that spoke of hopes and dreams.
He shouldn’t be here, in this no-name part of Brooklyn, looking at crappy apartments when he’d once had a beautiful two-bedroom in Chelsea. He shouldn’t still be panicking every time his phone buzzed, thinking it might be Jeffrey, even though the sympathetic salesman at the Verizon store had assured him Jeffrey couldn’t trace his new number.
New life. New Morgan Cantrell.
He rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. It had taken a literal punch to his gut to wake him up. Jeffrey was a monster, and he’d had to escape. He deserved a life filled with love, and love didn’t mean pain and abuse. He couldn’t afford to live in the city on his teacher’s salary, and certainly not in a luxury building. This studio would be enough. It wasn’t a walk-up, although the creaky elevator didn’t seem too safe, especially when it jumped several times on its rise to the fifth floor. But he didn’t think Jeffrey would look for him here. He never came to Brooklyn. By this time, no doubt, Jeffrey had moved on and forgotten all about him. Besides, Sean had assured him the restraining order would work, and Jeffrey would never bother him again.
“I’ll take it,” he said to Mike. “First and last month’s rent?”
Mike’s eyes lit up, and the buttons of his shirt strained over his rounded stomach. “Yes. You made the right choice, Morgan. It’s a great deal even if it is outside the hot spots. There’s laundry in the basement, and the super lives on-site in case there’s a problem with the unit.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine. When can I move in?”
“The landlord will have to paint and clean it for you first. It’s part of the lease agreement. In the meantime, we’ll do the credit check and verification, and all the incidental paperwork, and it’ll be the first of the month before you know it.”
“All right. I’m just anxious to get settled. I’ve been living with my friends, and I’m sure they want me out of their hair as soon as possible.”
Not true. Chris and Sean said he could stay as long as he wanted, but almost a whole year was long enough. Independence Day had finally come.
“Only ten more days. I’m sure they can