Reformation: A Salvation Society Novel Read online

  Reformation

  Chelle Sloan

  Contents

  Letter to the Reader

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Epilogue

  The Salvation Society

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  This book was inspired by the Salvation Series written by Corinne Michaels. It is an original work that is published through The Salvation Society.

  Copyright © 2020 Chelle Sloan

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and events are fictitious events in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  Cover Design:

  Chelle Sloan

  Editing:

  Elaine York, Allusion Graphics

  Line editing:

  Marla Selkow Esposito, Proofing with Style

  Proofreading:

  Michele Ficht

  To Corinne. Thank you for taking a chance on me.

  Letter to the Reader

  Dear reader,

  First and foremost, hello, and thank you for taking a chance on me. I always dreamed one day of writing a romance novel. If you would have told me even last year that my first book would be in the Corinne Michaels’ Salvation Society World, I would have laughed in your face. But here I am, writing in this amazing world created by one of my unicorn authors. Right here is proof that dreams come true.

  If you’re a fan of “Defenseless,” Corinne’s Salvation book about Mark Dixon and Charlie Erickson, then you might remember Garrett—Mark’s brother who found his way to Virginia after a nasty divorce. Also, do you remember Mark and Charlie praying for the day that kindergarten would start for their son, Cullen? Their prayers are answered with the sweet, yet fierce, Paige Blackstone. This is their story, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. There are plenty of Mark and Charlie cameos, and if you think Mark Dixon was a handful, just wait until you get a load of his son.

  I hope you enjoy this book as much as I enjoyed writing it. Mark and Charlie were my favorites in the Salvation World, and I hope I did them, and their family, justice.

  XOXO,

  Chelle

  Chapter One

  Garrett

  Fake smile? Check.

  Line of bullshit prepared for the donor and his wife approaching me? Check.

  Big gulp of scotch? Check.

  “It’s good to see you, Jack. And Evelyn, aren’t you as lovely as ever.”

  One would think after two hours of fake pleasantries and half-ass handshakes I’d be out of bullshit and mindless banter to dish out, but unfortunately, there is plenty more left in the well. They don’t tell you in medical school that kissing asses of donors and letting their handsy wives not-so-subtly feel you up was a required part of the deal.

  I lean down to plant a lackluster kiss on the cheek of a woman I’m pretty proud that I actually remembered her name. I wish I could chalk it up to my fantastic memory. It’s not that. Unfortunately, you never forget the face, or name, of a woman who is twice your age and tries to grab your junk every time she sees you. As I lean away from Evelyn’s cheek, and the stench of her powerful perfume, I notice Jack give me a wink. Does he realize that I’m doing all I can to keep my balls away from his wife’s hand?

  “Garrett, the practice is performing wonderfully. Every time I talk to someone around the club they are singing your praises. I knew you were a wise investment.”

  “Thanks, Jack. I appreciate your continued support. It’s grown in ways we never thought imaginable and that most definitely wouldn’t have been possible without you.”

  Ass-Kissing? Double check.

  When I moved to Virginia after my first marriage blew up in epic fashion, I had nothing. I didn’t have a job, a place to stay, or even a penny to my name, thanks to my ex-wife taking me for every dime that I had. She said it was her payback for me fucking every nurse who walked. I begged to differ and told her so. I honestly think it’s because she’s a gold-digging bitch.

  She was right, though. I do have a thing for nurses.

  Slowly but surely, and with the help of my brother Mark, I was able to get back on my feet. I had a roommate for a while, a very brief while—he ended up being a psychopath who tried to kill my sister-in-law before killing himself—but hey, while we were roomies, he was stellar and paid his rent on time and stayed out of my way. Sharing the household expenses also allowed me to not worry as much over my financial situation and gave me an opportunity to figure out the lay of the land in Virginia Beach. I was able to make contacts in the medical community and find a running buddy, which is how I met my business partner, Trevor.

  He and I were, and still are, a lot alike. Though I practice osteopathic medicine and his focus is general med, we are cut from the same cloth. We both were at the top of our classes in medical school. We both love running on the beach and regularly meet up for early-morning runs. Oh, and we both have a weakness for fucking nurses in break rooms. See, our partnership was kismet.

  It was like I had found my brother from another mother.

  Both of us were slogging away in our careers, trying to grow our individual practices, when one day we had an idea during a run—what if we combined forces? So many times each of us were trying to get referrals from other doctors. What if we joined forces, found a few other specialists, and made one large medical practice? A one-stop-shop if you will.

  That was the day Innovative Medical was born. And every day since then has been better than the last. We brought on an ENT, a psychiatrist, and a pediatrician to round out the group. Almost overnight we were sought after, successful, and never wanted for new patients. Take that, gold-digging ex-wife.

  Last year, we got the brilliant idea to open a nonprofit clinic. On the outside, it looked like we were doing a good deed by offering free services and were able to help patients we normally wouldn’t be able to see. On the inside, we get rich bastards like Jack Robinson here to give us tax-deductible money to buy high-end equipment we otherwise wouldn’t be able to afford. Equipment that we are able to use in all aspects of our business models… win-fucking-win.

  “I do need to make an appointment with you,” Evelyn chimes in, trying to give me a flirty look. “My hip
isn’t what it once was. I bet you can fix me right up.”

  “He absolutely can. He’s the best, after all.”

  The proud words come from my wife, Annika, who has returned from her own night of schmoozing to tuck herself back into my side. I never thought I would remarry, but Annika is the perfect doctor’s wife. She comes to the functions that I need her to attend and I keep her feet firmly planted in Jimmy Choos and Louboutins.

  “Don’t we know it,” Jack says, eyeing my wife just enough where it doesn’t fall under the category of indecent. “Annika. You look lovely, my dear, but Evelyn and I should be going. It was good seeing you both.”

  I shake Jack’s hand while Annika and Evelyn air kiss before they go to greet another couple. I don’t miss the way Evelyn eyes me up and down as she walks away. And I have to hand it to the old broad—she might be in her seventies, but I bet the real reason she needs her hip checked out isn’t because of her weekly tennis lessons. Or maybe it is, and she and her twenty-something-year-old instructor are doing more than perfecting her serve.

  Maybe in my younger days I would have fucked a rich patient to ensure a donation or secure the promise to get her to tell her other rich friends about my practice, but those days are long over. So are the days of break rooms and nurses.

  Not by choice.

  Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy women. And fucking. And if I could, I’d fuck a different one every day, whether I am married or not. But my wandering dick is the reason I ended up divorced and broke before I moved to Virginia. I learned my lesson the hard way. I also learned that prenups exist for a reason.

  “Where were you?” I ask Annika as we walk to the bar.

  “Oh, you know, here and there,” she says, taking a glass of champagne from the bar. “I was talking to a few ladies from my brunch group, and then I ran into Trevor.”

  I look around after I secure my glass of scotch and see my partner talking with a group of women—all married, and none of them giving a second thought to their nuptials or the multi-carat diamonds flanking their ring finger. All they see is a single, successful doctor who has looser sexual morals than I do. Or rather, I did.

  Damn, I miss having loose sexual morals. And sex. Fuck, do I miss sex.

  “I thought we went over this,” I say in a low tone to my wife, who is fake waving at a woman I’m pretty sure she detests. “When we are attending functions, you need to be with me. Not gallivanting around like it’s your first rodeo. We are here for a reason. I need my wife next to me.”

  Annika rolls her eyes, surely tired of hearing the same speech I gave her last week when we attended a charity event for homelessness or some other bullshit social emergency.

  “Yes, my darling husband. I know. We are here to be seen because it’s important for the practice, and our social standing, to be at every high-society event in town. Your job is to be the dashing doctor, and I, the devoted wife.”

  Her speech exudes sarcasm, and just for that, I bring her in a little closer, knowing she can barely stand being near me anymore, let alone being so close we are actually sharing the same air.

  And if she wants sarcasm, I’ll shoot it right back.

  “Why take that tone with me, my wife? Don’t you love attending these events with me? Once upon a time you did.”

  How I don’t get another eye roll is beyond me. Instead, she takes hold of the lapel of my jacket, bringing my ear down to her mouth. To anyone looking at us right now, we likely look like a couple in love, a wife whispering secrets or dirty promises of how the night will end into her husband’s ear.

  I know better.

  “The only thing I ever loved you for was your wallet. And the only reason I’m here is that I’m waiting for you to screw up. One of these days you’ll fuck Evelyn, or some bimbo nurse, and I’ll get my money. Until then, my darling husband, you are stuck with me. For better or worse.”

  She kisses me on the cheek for good measure, and it’s sad that I can’t even remember the last time her lips have come in contact with any part of me.

  But I can’t think about that. As soon as Annika’s lips part from my cheek, I’m getting a slap on the back from another person whose name I barely remember. I extend my hand, find a different line of bullshit and begin my ass-kissing.

  This is the price I pay for success. Because success, and money, is all that matters at the end of the day.

  Chapter Two

  Garrett

  When Trevor and I decided to open the nonprofit clinic last year, neither of us really knew what we were getting ourselves into.

  The paperwork is endless. The money needed to keep one of these facilities open is an amount that is nearly unattainable if you don’t keep up on schmoozing, wining and dining for donations, as well as applying for grants. What that translates to is that after hours of seeing private patients, and a few of the ones from the clinic, I’m generally stuck behind my desk, signing every form that Rebecca, our nonprofit office manager, has prepared for me. Because even though the clinic was both of our ideas, Trevor never seems to be around when it’s time to tackle the paperwork. He’s amazing that way.

  “Why does it look like you’ve been run over by a bus?”

  I look up to see my brother, Mark, and my three-year-old niece, Makenna, standing at my office door.

  “Because paperwork is going to be the death of me. Why are you smiling like the damn Joker? And why the hell are you here?”

  He laughs, a shit-eating grin covering his face as he takes a seat across from me. My niece, who is the spitting image of him with blonde hair and green eyes, sits on his lap, not paying a lick of attention to me. Instead, her eyes are glued to whatever she is watching on his phone.

  “Because my wife kicked me out of the house because she needed, and I quote, ‘one-on-one time with her son before his first day of kindergarten.’ Even though she tells me on a daily basis that he’s ‘my son,’ and to take him away from her, she’s now realizing that she’s going to be without the little guy for hours of the day and she’s going to miss him. So, Makenna and I decided to have a daddy-daughter day. We went to lunch, went to the park, and we thought it would be fun to come see her favorite uncle.”

  “I’m guessing all of that is code for Charlie said you can’t come back yet?”

  Mark nods. “Yup. I’m kicked out of the house for another hour.”

  We share a laugh and sit for seconds in comfortable silence. Which is not something I’m quite used to yet when it comes to my brother.

  “Is Cullen ready for his big first day?” I ask.

  “When we asked him this morning if he was ready for kindergarten tomorrow, he told us, and I quote, ‘Fuck yeah!’”

  I laugh, knowing damn well that my nephew said those exact words. Since he was young, he has had a habit of repeating whatever comes from his parents’ mouths. Considering my brother is a former Navy SEAL and Charlie works for the CIA, swearing comes as second nature to both of them. We were shocked when Makenna’s first word wasn’t “shit.”

  While Makenna is the easiest-going toddler known to man, my brother and his wife have their hands full with my nephew. Don’t get me wrong, the kid is cute as hell—he obviously gets his looks from me—but he’s not been the easiest child to raise. He’s a stubborn little shit who can drop casual F-bombs into even the most mundane conversation like it’s completely normal. He’s also a big fan of hiding things that are vital parts of your day—like your car keys. I’d say he is the most difficult five-year-old I’ve ever met in my life. Then I remember who his father is.

  Mark and I weren’t exactly close growing up. We are only a few years apart and had a normal brother relationship, that is until one day he all but cut me out of his life before we even hit puberty. I came to find out just a few years ago it was because I told Mom about his stack of Playboys. Sonofabitch held on to that grudge for thirty years.

  So yeah, I can only imagine where Cullen gets his stubborn streak from. Hell, I’d have questioned his paternity
if he grew up as sweet as apple fucking pie, to be honest.

  “You know he’s going to start a kindergarten revolt tomorrow, right?”

  Mark shakes his head, squeezing Makenna a little tighter. “I know. I’m already preparing my apologies for the teacher and other parents. Headed out later to buy some ‘I’m sorry’ first day of school gifts. Don’t you wish you had ten just like him?”

  I shiver, cringing at the thought of having children.

  “Hell no. I’ll leave the procreating to you.”

  My brother looks down at whatever Makenna is watching on his phone, kisses the top of her head before looking back at me. His face now, though, isn’t joking, instead, more serious, which means I’m about to get one of his “heart-to-heart” conversations.

  Sometimes I liked it better when he was pissed about the Playboys.

  “You and Annika aren’t thinking about children? Don’t get me wrong, you can do whatever you want to do. I just figured… well, you’ve been married a few years now, and you aren’t getting any younger…”

  I choose to let the dig about my age go. A man in his forties can have a child if he damn well wants to. I also don’t bring up the fact that I’d have to have sex with my wife in order to get her pregnant. And considering that hasn’t happened in months, I’m not worrying about accidentally bringing another Dixon child into the world.