Hear Me Roar
Hear Me Roar
Chick Lit
Text copyright © 2018 by Katie Cross
This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, events, or incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity or resemblance to events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover designed by Jenny Zemanek with Seedlings Online
E-book production by Kella Campbell with E-books Done Right
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the author. For information regarding permission, send a query to the author at kcrosswriting@gmail.com
Published by THHS Publishing.
KOBO EDITION • ISBN 978-1-946508-14-0 • VERSION 1.1
Visit the author at katiecrosschicklit.com to learn more about The Health and Happiness Society.
For Claire.
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Rights and Disclaimers
Dedication
Table of Contents
Hear Me Roar
1 • My Girls
2 • Collapse
3 • The Goddess
4 • Uncertain
5 • Losing Control
6 • Slippery Foothold
7 • Under Control
8 • Self-Care Time
9 • The Hard Thing
10 • Difficult Glory
11 • No More
12 • Responsibility
13 • The Mermaid’s Whisper
14 • My Father
15 • The Monster
16 • My Kind of Woman
What’s Next?
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Chapter 1
My Girls
The shouts of boxing master Gillian Jones always spurred me into overdrive during a workout. I followed her every command as if she were a prophet and I her disciple.
“Two more sets,” she called, dancing in place with toned, lean legs. “Two! More! Sets! You are not weak. You are strong.”
I am not weak, I told myself as my sweat dripped onto the carpet. I am strong.
Panting, I pushed through the pain of burning muscles and threw my body into another sixty seconds of burpees. My ribs ached. A stitch burrowed into my side like a pipe snake. Although black dots intruded on my vision and my stomach roiled, I didn’t stop.
I ate a muffin for breakfast and one too many enchiladas for lunch. Work through it. Work, Bitsy. Feel. The. Burn.
Which meant I’d had three enchiladas, which wasn’t really that many but felt like it now that they sat like cement in my belly.
“Get it!” Gillian yelled. “Change. Your. Life.”
With one last bellow, I added an extra burpee at the end of the time. My arms collapsed, squishing my nose into the rough fibers of the carpet. I groaned, wondering whether the salt from my pouring sweat would flake once it dried.
Slowly, my muscles relaxed. My thighs sank farther into the ground. On the television, Gillian walked in place, taking slow, steady breaths.
“Cool down,” she cooed. “Don’t skip this.”
I should have immediately stretched. I knew that. But I’d thrown the last of my reserves into that DVD—twice. Once in the morning. Once now in the evening. Gillian screaming at me when the girls were with their father kept the unnerving quiet at bay. My nose wrinkled. I smelled like death.
Ugh.
With a moan, I pushed off the carpet, forcing my limp body through the cool-down motions. The elongation nudged my thoughts back onto the right track. I reveled in the afterburn. My workout capris stuck to the back of my legs. My oversized t-shirt hung to my mid-thigh. I’d never felt so exhausted in my life.
“Right,” I said, straightening. The TV flickered to a sea of darkness when I popped it off as I walked by. “Time to get busy.”
A list of chores sat on my table—the only adornment in the kitchen.
Clean toilet.
Scrub shower grout with a toothbrush.
Avoid the pantry—no more eating tonight!
Re-clean mirror. There’s a streak on the left.
Wipe dried toothpaste from tube opening.
Just when I reached for my bucket of home cleaning supplies—not to be confused with my stash of work supplies for my maid business—a car door slammed outside. I paused. The girls weren’t supposed to return until eight.
My eyes darted to the clock, then widened. 7:59.
“Oh.”
The high-pitched giggling of two familiar voices rang through my front door seconds later. Cursing my poor timing skills—I shouldn’t have redone the first workout sequence twice—I unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open. Now Daniel would see me looking like an unmitigated, sweaty disaster.
Nothing says, look what you gave up, quite like a flushed face and greasy hair.
“Mom!”
“Moooooooom!”
Two beautiful little bodies rushed at me, throwing their arms around my knees. Pink tulle skirts, yellow ballerina slippers, and camo pants immediately crowded the house again, infusing life back into the old walls and shaggy carpet. The empty strangeness of the house vanished with their blissful cries. I wrapped my arms around them—they were all arms and legs these days—and squeezed as hard as I could.
“Welcome home, hunny bears! I missed you.”
They chattered a million miles an hour, even though they’d only left this morning, and shuffled into the kitchen, fighting to be first to touch the fridge door. My immaculate fridge—carefully organized and cleaned while they were gone—would soon be a disaster again. Who cared?
They were worth it.
Looming in the doorway, hands tucked in his pockets, stood Daniel. I spun around, forgetting the sweat stains that ringed my armpits, and faced him.
“You’re right on time,” I said.
“I always try.”
I let that slide even though he’d been an hour late to pick them up yesterday and this morning. He’d been late for our wedding as well, so I never held my breath.
“They behaved well?” I asked.
Did you let them loose in your hotel room again? Did Lana call room service eight times like last time?
He scoffed. “They’re always angels.”
I snorted. Fat chance of that. The next question had just come to my lips when he interrupted, speaking so fast I had to pause and puzzle out the words at first.
“Elizabeth, I have some news.”
My teeth ground together. I hated it when he used my full name. With a deep breath for patience, I tilted my head to the left. Would it be too much to hope that he would move back to Hawaii, where he’d fled after his lawyer delivered the divorce papers to me? Having him an ocean away in the years after the divorce had spoiled me; the last two years—even though he was across the country in California—of thrice-annual visits with the girls had intruded on my perfect setup. We’d been just fine without him.
Although he did pay child support regularly.
I’d give him that.
“News?” I asked.
He leaned back a little, swallowing. “I … uh …” He blew out a sharp breath, driving a hand through his hair. The sculpted angles of his cheeks and silky chestnut hair still looked as attractive now as they had years before. When I had desperately loved him instead of loathed him.
In a more innocent time.
“Don’t quite know how to say this, but, ah…”
The sound of crashing in the kitchen
interrupted his stammer. I glanced over my shoulder. The girls immediately hushed into whispers. There go the leftovers. That’ll tweak the groceries for this week.
“Just say it,” I muttered. “Those little angels are destroying my kitchen, and I don’t have the money to replace cookware.”
“I’m moving.”
My heart skipped a beat. That would solve all of my problems.
I brightened. “Oh? Back to Hawaii?”
“Here. I’m moving here.”
His lips pursed after he spewed out the poisonous words. His emerald eyes regarded me, wide, as if braced for impact. I could only stare as the truth sank deep, deep, deep into my stomach. A thousand pins darted through my body, poking the underside of my skin.
“What?”
“Yep.” He snapped his fingers with a winning smile. “Getting closer to our girls!”
“My girls.”
“Elizabeth, come on.”
“My name is Bitsy!”
He closed his eyes, his jaw clenched. “Right. I forgot you changed it after the divorce.”
“I didn’t change it,” I muttered. “I just … reverted back to my childhood nickname, thank you very much.”
Any previous hesitation dissipated, giving way to his usual annoyance. Suddenly, the old story started in my head again. His indignation. My temper. The lack of real communication. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t suppress the pain that erupted every time I saw him.
Even years later.
“Fine,” he said. “Bitsy.” Another elaborate pause. His eyebrows lifted. “I bought a house in the next neighborhood over. Fox Habitat? Something like that. I’m tired of flying out three times a year and trying to entertain them in a hotel room. I want to be here and, you know … do this better than my father did.”
“Fox Acres?” I asked quietly.
The rich neighborhood only a few blocks away from ours—with houses that could fit mine in the front entryway. Rich hardly described it. Lavish. Opulent.
The people who paid my rent every month when I scrubbed their toilets.
“Yeah!” He pointed at me with a widening grin. “You got it. I’ve already put down an offer on a hot little number not far from the front, near the pool house. Signing papers tomorrow. Killin’ two birds with one stone while I’m here.”
I could only stare at him in horror. Words stuck in my throat, bobbing up and down.
You cannot live here.
You cannot live here.
You cannot live here.
Only Daniel could betray me twice. Could hurt me this deep, with knives plunging like frozen, chilly icicles in my heart. Once with his secretary. Again with his presence.
My response came out as a strangled word. “When?”
He shrugged. “Not sure yet, but soon. Probably within two weeks. The house I’m buying is empty, so I can move in as soon as it’s official.”
“I see.”
His eyes narrowed in a look that was more discomfort than curiosity. “Do you? I knew you wouldn’t be happy, but I feel it’s best for the girls.”
I clenched my hands into fists, prepared to help him see the stinging side of my palm, but cooled my temper. What right did he have to move next door? If he wanted to see the girls so much, he should never have cheated. Or, at the very least, moved to the other side of town. Fox Acres was less than ten minutes away. Why could he move forward with a beautiful house when I could barely make the next rent payment? Never mind making enough to save for a down payment and own my house.
“Bitsy, I know this is a big deal, and it’s pretty clear you’re mad. But don’t you think it’s time I take over a little? You’ve had these girls for over ten years, six of those alone.”
“Lizzy is nine,” I snapped. “And we divorced seven years ago.”
He shook his head. “Right, but still—”
“Those details are important! You don’t even know your oldest daughter’s age.”
“That’s not … I’m doing it, Eliz—Bitsy. I’m signing the papers tomorrow. You don’t own the girls. I’m their father and at the very least get visitation. For now.”
The hackles on the back of my neck calmed down. Visitation didn’t mean control. It didn’t mean total influence.
With Daniel, it didn’t mean anything, really. Surely it wouldn’t take long for reality to hit. For him to miss weekends. To stay late at the office. To go on long trips. The way he had when we were married.
If I played this right, he might show his true colors early and destroy his own chances of having a relationship with the girls.
I sucked in a sharp breath and forced myself to calm.
“You’re right.”
He eyed me. “What?”
“You get visitation.”
And that’s it, buddy.
“Fine, whatever. Listen, I’ll let you know when I’m here to stay. My stuff will be sent out as soon as the papers finalize, I’m sure.”
There was so much I wanted to ask him. What about your dream job as CFO back in California? Don’t you have a girlfriend—or a harem—there? I choked them back. He didn’t need the gratification of my curiosity.
“Fine,” I said.
“Fine.”
An awkward silence swelled between us. I broke it reluctantly.
“Do the girls know?”
“Yeah. They’re stoked.”
Stoked. The very word grated on my nerves. Visions of young Daniel, once a California beach bum in his own right, flashed through my mind. Not for the first time, I wondered what demon had possessed me when I married him.
The desperate kind, my heart whispered.
“Good night, Daniel.”
“See you—”
His words faded behind the slam of the door. I closed my eyes, sucked in a sharp breath, and listened for his retreating footsteps.
The nerve of that man. First to call me Elizabeth and then to move here. I opened my fingers, forcing them out of a tight fist.
He could move here all he wanted, but come hell or high water, he’d never get my daughters on more than just visitation. He could be certain of that.
I grabbed my phone and tapped into my calorie-counting app. With a sense of glee, I entered in my workout numbers, watching the counter slide down. At least that felt good. Then I let out a long sigh and faced the kitchen.
Time to get back into Mom mode.
”Mom, why aren’t you married?”
The question dropped off Lana’s innocent six-year-old lips—pure as rosebuds—like she asked that kind of thing every day.
She snuggled deeper into her bed, a pair of fire engine pajamas hugging her wiry body, and wrapped her arms around a bear missing one eye and one ear. Across the room, nine-year-old Lizzy pulled her pink nightgown over her neck, mussing her golden hair. I motioned her over.
“C’mere, Lizzy. I’ll braid your hair so it’s crimped in the morning.” I turned to Lana while Lizzy settled at my feet.
“Mama doesn’t have time for a husband, Lana,” Lizzy said with a smug look. “She’s too busy. It’s not zen, anyway.”
My teeth dug into my bottom lip in an effort not to laugh. Lizzy took herself very seriously—a little too seriously. Lana stared at me while I worked my fingers through Lizzy’s hair, her eyes wide and cheeks sun-tinged pink. I reached down to toss a dirty pair of mermaid underwear into the laundry basket, grateful the soft lamplight hid my reluctance. Even at six, Lana saw everything.
“Because I haven’t found anyone I want to marry,” I said. “The pickings are slim.”
Her lips puckered. “There are lots of dads at the playground. Why not one of them?”
“They already have wives.”
“What about the checker at the grocery store?”
“He, uh … has different ideas about who he likes.”
“Daddy’s moving here.” Lana lifted her eyebrows. “Could you remarry him?”
Not if my life depended on it.
“No. It does
n’t work that way, sweetheart.” I paused, hand halfway through a French braid, then asked, “Are you excited for your dad to live here?”
“Oh yeah!” Lana cried, pumping a fist in the air. “I’ll get to play Rambo all the time. And, he said he’s going to have a swimming pool, and we can build a fort…”
“He’s going to buy us a huge princess castle for the backyard,” Lizzy said. “He took us by the house today to see it. I really like it.”
Parenting with an unlimited budget? What a luxury.
“What are you most excited about?” I asked.
“To see him more,” Lizzy said immediately.
Lana frowned. “I miss him when he’s gone. Dad is really fun. And, he lets us eat our Chinese food with chopsticks.”
“Or try to,” Lizzy said through a giggle. “Lana ends up stabbing her chicken.”
The two of them dissolved into laughter, nearly taking my heart with them. Unfortunately, they were right. Daniel was the fun parent. He came, spoiled them, then left before things like structure and discipline and budgets became an issue. Which was why this nightmare situation was creeping through my chest like a black cloud.
Visitation, I reminded myself.
“I spoke with your teacher this weekend,” I said, hoping they wouldn’t notice the change in topic. “After tryouts this week, I’ll be able to start working on your costumes for the school play. Mrs. Rasmussen is very excited.”
Lizzy groaned. “Mom! Can’t you just buy our costumes like every other kid in school?”
I pursed my lips. “I hardly think I’m the only parent who is going to make her kid’s costume. Buying them would cost more than our grocery budget for the entire month. I can sew them much cheaper. Then they’re personalized!”
“But what if I’m the mermaid?” she mumbled under her breath. “Then I’ll need two.”
“We’ll discuss that if you get the lead role.”
Unlikely, considering that Lizzy was in the fourth grade. Besides, I wasn’t sure I could afford a third costume without picking up more shifts. Then again, if Daniel was going to be around … I stuffed the dark thought aside.
No. I’d done this all by myself for years. I didn’t need him now.