The Eleventh Hour Read online

  The Eleventh

  Hour

  APRIL MARIE LIBS

  Dedication:

  For

  my daughter, Lexie,

  a brilliant shining star in

  my life.

  The Eleventh Hour

  Copyright © 2017 April Marie Libs

  All right reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information retrieval and storage system without permission by the publisher.

  Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination, or are used in a fictitious situations. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, incidents, or persons- living or dead- are coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.

  Acknowledgements

  I’d like to thank my editing team, as always. They are the spokes in the sphere of my writing wheel. I couldn’t do it without you guys! Rita Schueler, Shelly Pearson, Dawn Durbin, and Shelly Haworth, and also my content cronies, Tracy Loi and Jill Finnegan. Thanks for letting me pick your brains 24/7. Lisa Kaelin deserves an extra special shout out for being such a valued and appreciated editor, but more importantly the best friend a girl could ask for.

  Contents

  APRIL MARIE LIBS i

  Dedication: ii

  The Eleventh Hour iii

  Acknowledgements iv

  Prologue 1

  Hour one 5

  Hour two 15

  Hour Three 47

  Hour Four 77

  Hour Five 96

  Hour Six 118

  Hour Seven 138

  Hour Eight 157

  Hour Nine 184

  Hour Ten 229

  Hour Eleven 240

  Hour Twelve 247

  Epilogue 254

  Meet Me in Heaven 257

  Prologue

  SHE NEVER INTENDED on becoming the other woman. In fact, Addison loathed the backstabbing adulteress that ripped a marriage to shreds, tore the once faithful man from the clutches of his one true love, watched their well-intended vows crumble to the ground, with no hope of ever being resurrected.

  The thought of someone that vile, that despicable, to stoop so low to steal another woman’s loved one made Addison’s stomach clench with nauseating disgust and her skin crawl with infuriating revulsion, but yet here she was on the brink of making that very decision -- to leap over that moral threshold into adultery-hood, a land that sucked you into its cavernous, black hole; one that you could never, ever escape, no matter how high you scaled, or how hard you tried to scratch your way back to the surface.

  Once you made that decision to become the other woman -- no matter how long the relationship lasted -- you would from that point forward, for the rest of your life, be “The Adulteress.” There was no going back. Once you slept with a married man, you couldn’t wipe the act clean from your slate. You couldn’t erase the moment from your timeline. You were forever marked with the dreaded scarlet letter. You could hide it with shady lies and manipulative half-truths, push it so far into the back of your brain that it collected cobwebs and mountains of dust, but you, and you alone, would forever know the truth. The decision would be etched into your soul for eternity.

  Was Addison willing to mar her inner being to slide into the shadows with a man, whom she’d only met weeks before, knowing full well he had a beautiful, unsuspecting wife waiting in the wings to welcome him home when they parted?

  Was she capable of the contemptible act, knowing she could potentially ruin the sanctity of a marriage and cause erectable damage to another human being that did absolutely nothing to her whatsoever?

  Was he worth throwing away her moral compass, her elevated standards, every ethical value her parents took years upon years to instill?

  When Addison viewed the situation with only her cerebrum, the resounding thought that immediately popped into the confines of her brain, which reverberated like a hammer being slammed into a steel drum was, Absolutely not!

  But then when he was in the same room with her, her straight-and-narrow judgement that manifested itself into her trusted moral compass that had guided her thus far throughout her twenty-four years always lost direction, the magnetic needle wavering, making the line between right and wrong lose its boundaries. It was as if the world slipped off its axis in his presence, the motion of the sphere slowing in a counterproductive pattern, causing her to look at everything that she had thought and felt for her entire life differently.

  He seemed to have some type of bewitching power over her that she couldn’t refuse. The jaunty charm, his bright smile, those adorable dimples flanking his wide lips, the way he made her giggle like an adolescent school girl. He never failed to make her heart skip a beat and her palms bud in sticky moisture whenever he stepped into the room.

  This had never happened before -- this loss of breath, the palpitating heart, the warmth gathering in the center of her core -- over a man.

  Does this fact make the decision that she was about to make any less deceitful and incriminating?

  Or maybe, just maybe, this whole debacle wasn’t Addison’s fault at all. Maybe Fate made a horrendous mistake and accidently paired the wrong two people together.

  Maybe something, or someone, altered Addison’s course of life and she wasn’t where she was supposed to be at the exact moment when divine intervention happened, lightening sparking, making the ground under her feet quake. Maybe the real victim in their scenario was Addy because some other woman was living out the life that she was supposed to be living.

  This was the thought swirling through Addison’s mind as she perched in her car, for the umpteenth billionth time, while stuffing Pringles into her mouth as she watched Dawson arrive home from work in his shiny silver Infinity, swinging open his car door, unfurling his long, lean legs, his dark brown hair curling at his starched white collar as his wife greeting him at the door in a sunny-yellow ruffled blouse, a huge thank God you’re home smile slung across her face as she ushered him inside, quietly clicking the door shut in his wake.

  Seeing Dawson’s wife with her beautifully-wild, kinky red hair, spattering of freckles, and tiny frame, always caught Addison right in the gut with a mind-blowingly hard sucker-punch right to the ribs. It made her gasp for air as she wondered what in the heck was she doing here, her moral conscious stomping her feet, screaming at the top of her lungs, You haven’t stepped over that line yet….Leave now while you still can!

  But sometimes you don’t have a full depiction of the entire circumstance, and until you do, your conscious allows you to proceed forward, but reminds you to advance with extreme caution as the thought lingers in the back of your mind like a malevolent premonition, If you play with fire, you will get burned.

  Hour one

  ADDISON MAYNIRD SLUFFED her carry-on bag further up her shoulder as she yanked her rolling luggage along the blue, matted carpet of Southwest Regional airport in North Bend, Oregon, then glanced down at her wrist for the time, realizing she had a full two hours before her flight embarked for Las Vegas.

  Luckily, she asked her business partner, Emily, to drop her off at the airport early, assuming the security line would be atrocious on a Friday afternoon, and she was right. It had already looped around ten different turnstiles, with twenty feet of forward momentum in between. Thankfully, she cushioned her arrival by the additional hour so she could stand in line without worry.

  She considered stopping for a jolt of caffeine before she stood in line, but nixed that idea, not wanting to have to use the restroom on the flight. Instead, she followed the deluge of travelers herding toward the security check point and took her spot behind a middle aged cou
ple at the back, who seemed to be bickering quietly amongst themselves. Wanting to give them some semblance of privacy, Addison took a few steps back, yanked the cell out of her jean pocket, tucked a chunk of milk chocolate hair behind her ear, and buried her nose in her Facebook app, but she couldn’t help overhearing the couple bark agitatedly in harsh whispers.

  “No, you’re the one with the attitude problem, not me.”

  “Me?” the man shot back. “You’re the one that’s been snapping at me since five a.m. this morning.”

  The woman fell back a step then bent at the waist to inch closer, sneering, “That’s because you’re constantly an ass.”

  “I’d rather be an ass,” he huffed, “than constantly having a resting bitch face, like you.”

  Addison couldn’t help it but she chuckled out loud, then bit down on her bottom lip, chagrined at her outburst. She peeked up at the line winding in the opposite direction to see if anyone else caught the conversation. Sure enough, a tall, dark-headed man grinned at her, his eyes slicing to the couple arguing, then enlarging, as if to say, Can you believe this? his crystal blue eyes dancing in mirth.

  In reply, Addison pulled up her shoulders and shook her head, replying back silently, Unbelievable.

  As the line shuffled forward, the couple continued with their argument, which had now become more than malicious whispers, inching over to loud, angry insult slinging between the two. When Addison caught the tall stranger’s eye for a second time while shuffling through the turnstiles, she had to laugh when she saw him hold up a pair of ear buds before stuffing them in his ears, then pointed at her to do the same.

  Not a bad idea.

  Addison released her wheeling luggage and dug around in her imitation Coach handbag for her ear pieces. Once she found them hiding among her wadded up receipts and empty candy wrappers, she situated them in her ears, before scrolling through her Pandora stations for a calming, yet alternative, mix. Once the melody floated into her canal, she immediately felt her tightened levator muscles unhinge and her anxious knots unfurling. She closed her eyes for an instant, pulling in a deep breath, letting the tangle of multi-sized bodies swarming her on all sides melt away.

  When she reopened her eyes, she found the stranger watching her intently. When he saw her notice him, he gave her the thumbs up signal with a tilt of his head.

  She flattened her lips and nodded, conveying that she most definitely felt better after blocking out the negative banter. In reply, he winked at her, and then concentrated on the task at hand, stepping out of his shoes, lifting the black leather satchel over his head, and unbuckling his belt, placing all items into the grey plastic tub to be pushed onto the conveyor.

  This was when Addison had the time to fully take him in. His wavy dark hair looked to be at that odd length while growing out -- not too short, but not yet to his shoulders, either -- that curled around his ears and at the nape of his neck. There was no distinctive style to it, other than disheveled, probably due to him raking his fingers through it -- which he was doing right at that very second. He wore pale pink hipster pants that molded to his hips and hit right at the ankle, and a black t-shirt, bolding sporting the phrase, Real men wear pink across the chest. His eyes could only be described as crystal-clear, cobalt blue, his complexion a natural olive with a warm caramel glow. There seemed to be no lines around the eyes or mouth, giving him a youthful appearance, maybe in his early twenties.

  And he had no gold or platinum band adorning his left ring finger. Addison knew because she checked -- twice.

  Addison slipped off her sandals and dropped them into a scuff-marked bin, stuffing her purse on top. After heaving up her rolling bag to nestle behind it, she eased them both onto the conveyor belt simultaneously. Once she felt the belt catch, she released her items and stepped in front of the scanner, waiting for the attendant to wave her through.

  As she was slipping back into her sandals on the opposite end of the conveyor belt, she noticed the stranger being patted down by a female officer, his stance wide, his long arms extended, while another security member tossed several small bottles into the oversized trash can to the left.

  Addison couldn’t help herself when she glanced over her shoulder while walking by, and unintentionally caught his attention. His full lips gingerly curved into a sly grin, revealing his straight white teeth, as well as a few laugh lines that materialized at the corner of his dancing blue eyes, which upped his potential age, while somehow making him even more appealing.

  She grinned back, hitching her thumb into the strap of her purse, swiveled to look straight ahead, and kept walking.

  As expected, the gate was packed with a mirage of travelers, some obvious business voyagers with their computers glowing on their laps, while others were headed to Vegas for an exhilarating weekend filled with free drinks, city lights, adrenalin-filled gambling, and whatever else Sin City was willing to offer.

  Too bad Addison wasn’t one of those passengers.

  This year it was her turn to attend the National Pastry Convention, and although Addison loved traveling, having to spend hours upon hours pounding the pathways of the convention hall sifting through venders wasn’t her idea of a good time. Especially having to do it solo to help conserve funding for her budding new bakery, specializing in cupcake pastries. Through hard work, determination and plenty of sweat equity, Addison and her business partner, Emily, have become the go-to bakery when wanting a unique, easily eaten, scrumptiously delicious cupcake sculpture. Since they had opened their doors eight months prior, they had been hired to design full-sized teddy bears, fantasy castles, life-sized puppies and everything else imaginable, all made of individual cupcakes that party goers could just pop off the display and eat with their hands. It was all the craze on the west coast, almost completely replacing the traditional pastries at birthday parties, bridal showers, and even weddings. And since Emily graduated from The Institute of Culinary Education, and Addison with a degree from The Art Institute, they were a pair made in pastry engineering heaven.

  Addison laced through the rows of occupied seats, coasting around bags, stepping over sprawled legs, and found an empty chair close to the terminal, facing the window toward the Boeing 717 jet liner perched on the tarmac. The sun’s rays bounced off the aircraft’s front window, reflecting back into the airport, making Addison want to cover her eyes from the scalding rays. Instead, she ducked her head and busied herself inside her purse, searching for a piece of gum or a mint of some sort.

  That’s when she heard the ruckus of men shouting behind her and swiveled in her seat to find the source. She turned to find the man from security sauntering up to the gate, a wide grin on his face as a troupe of men greeted him with excited shouts and boisterous whistles. He replied back by pumping both fists above his head in a victory stance, making the crowd go even wilder before they swarmed him, swallowing him up with smacks on the back, handshakes, and man hugs.

  Within five minutes, another man entered, getting the same warm vibrant welcome from the group of men. Obviously, a guy’s trip was about to ensue. No telling what kind of trouble those men were about to dive into.

  A flight attendant then announced over the crackling speaker that group A was to line up according to their boarding pass specified number. The gaggle of rowdy men headed to the front of the line and were close to the first passengers to board the aircraft. Addison, who was at the tail end of the A boarders, followed behind a large man with a shock of silver hair. Even from outside the aircraft, she could hear the loud banter, lots of laughter, jokes, and jabs being tossed between the men.

  As she entered the craft, she found the group a fourth of the way back, standing in front of their seats, bending over the back to converse with their friends behind them. Addison continued shuffling behind the congested line, but could see the man from security sitting in an aisle seat. As she neared, he disengaged himself from the conversation and locked eyes with her. She could feel her body tingle with electric charged energy, and kne
w her face had to be flushing. She dropped her chin, shielding herself with a wave of dark hair, hoping the line wouldn’t stop right beside his seat.

  As she passed, her eyes flitted back up as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, grinning at her impishly. She could feel his heated gaze follow her back as she chose a seat four rows down on the opposite side of the aircraft, and hoisted her carryon luggage over her head to jam into the top compartment. Buckling her safety harness, she kept her chin tucked as she reached into her purse for her Kindle e-reader, and then bent to shove her bag under the seat in front of her. When she straightened, she took a glimpse in his direction, but noticed he had turned back to his friends through the gaps of the oncoming passengers.

  Flirtation over.

  The handsome stranger would disembark and be long gone before Addison even retrieved her bag from the overhead compartment. Another beautiful man drifting out to sea without Addison having the guts to clutch onto his shirt and drag him back to shore. It was the story of her life. Men sent her signals all the time, but she never had the gumption to follow through with the flirtation. In a bar, when a man seemed interested and headed over in her direction, she would high tail it off to the restroom, tossing out random excuses, mortified with thoughts of what to say or how to act during initial contact. It wasn’t that she was shy, per say, she just didn’t like that first round of small talk that obviously had to ensue for a meeting to take place.

  And this situation was no different….she practically ran through the aisle when passing the cute stranger, so she wouldn’t have to communicate. She dug her head into the headrest, miffed at herself for not speaking to him. Obviously, she did fine while communicating nonverbally. Why couldn’t she just throw out a simple, Hi, to open the conversational door?