Furious Jeffrey Higgins (english love story books TXT) 📖

to know what she had done to make Brad’s parents accept her, but I let it go. One problem at a time.

“Two months after our wedding he came home drunk, and we got into a fight. He told me he was having a cocktail with some colleagues, but when I pressed him, he admitted he had been alone with one of his nurses. I was jealous and overreacted, and when I accused him of cheating, he slapped me across the face. He—”

“Oh, my God,” I said.

“Yeah, it was bad. I saw stars. My cheek swelled the next day, and I had a purple bruise under my eye.”

I did not know what to say. “What did he do?”

“Oh, he apologized and blamed it on the booze, stress at work, that kind of thing—”

“That’s awful.”

“He hit me again two months later.”

I clutched my stomach. Brad had a history of abuse. I was afraid to ask anything else, and I did not think she enjoyed reopening old wounds. Static hissed over the line between us—two women abused by the same man.

Finally, she broke the silence. “I left him after that. I assume you went through the trouble of finding me because of similar behavior.”

“Brad grabbed me when I was pregnant. He hasn’t done it again, but his temper is getting worse.” I had not told anybody that, not even Jessica, but this woman knew what I was going through. Only she could understand.

“My advice is to leave while you still can. The Coolidge temper is infamous. He can be violent.”

I thanked her and hung up.

I leaned backward in the navigator’s chair and listened to Brad snore. He had an uncontrollable temper, a dark side, and it had always been there beneath a shiny surface.

Had he done something to Emma? I pushed the thought from my mind, hating myself for having it.

Brad’s snoring stopped.

I held my breath.

He choked, smacked his lips, and snored with ragged breaths full of mucous.

I exhaled and tried to relax, but I kept my eyes on the stateroom door.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Halfway to the Andaman Sea, I swiveled in the navigation chair and plotted our position in the strait between Sumatra and Malaysia. In two days, we would turn to west into the Bay of Bengal and begin our long sail to the Maldives. It would be blue-water sailing, with no land within hundreds of miles. We would be on our own.

Unable to relax, I stood and climbed the stairs into the cockpit.

Brad manned the helm wearing white shorts and a white polo shirt. He was thirty-seven, and his first gray hair had recently appeared around his temples, which annoyed me, because instead of aging him, it made him hotter. Why did men age better than women? They had it so easy. With his dirty blonde hair, broad cheekbones, and arctic blue eyes, he bore a striking resemblance to Brad Pitt. Lanky and strong, he had defined muscles and six-pack abs.

“See any ships?” I asked.

“Not since yesterday.”

I examined the sea. Nothing but curved blue horizon in all directions.

Brad closed his eyes and tilted his face to the sun. The wind ruffled his hair.

I had to admit Brad’s rugged good looks had played a significant role in my decision to date him. And his dogged persistence. He had flirted relentlessly after he arrived at New England General Hospital, and when I left, the flowers and calls did not stop. His behavior had bordered on harassment, but I had been focused on my career, and with no social life, his attention had flattered me.

Men found me attractive, but I had not been searching and had no immediate options. I had only dated four men during my five-year residency at New England General Hospital and none of those relationships had lasted more than a few months. Men had trouble being second priority in a woman’s life. I liked men, enjoyed sex, and had wanted to get married, but I had been on a mission. I had worked for years to become a pediatric surgeon, and I was close to achieving my dreams.

Eventually, my hormones had taken control, and I relented. Brad met me at the hospital with two dozen long-stemmed roses and the whitest smile I had ever seen. As a fellow surgeon, I had thought he would understand me better than the others. I had doubted the relationship would lead anywhere, but I needed the intimate touch of a man, the physical release after my long hours and intense surgeries. Brad had given me that. We were not soul mates, but he had satisfied my carnal appetite.

I sat on the bench and watched Brad at the helm. His appearance was his best feature—his defining quality—but what lay beneath troubled me. I had seen behind the curtain.

“Why can’t we spot land?” I asked. “On the chart, the Strait of Malacca seems narrow.”

“At some points, the strait is over one hundred and fifty miles wide, and we’re only twelve feet above the surface, which means we can see less than four miles under perfect conditions.”

I watched the swells roll past us. Miles and miles of seawater. “What marine life is out here?”

“There’s another world below us. The Indian Ocean is over twelve thousand feet deep and conceals a mountain landscape like the Himalayas. They discover new species all the time.”

“Anything dangerous,” I asked.

“There are lots of dangerous animals out here—tiger sharks, bull sharks, white tips—but the most dangerous animal is man. We need to avoid the big ships out here.”

“Don’t forget the pirates.”

“They’re a threat, especially off the African coast, but we shouldn’t have any problems between here and the Maldives.”

“Why?”

“We’ll be in the open ocean. Pirates target shipping lanes near choke points, like the Suez Canal. Our greatest danger will be our isolation. We will be alone.”

“When did you become an expert on the Indian Ocean?” I asked.

“I’ve sailed my entire life, mostly in the Atlantic, but I’ve always wanted to sail Asian waters. I’ve read about it for years. If you