Chapter 1

After returning from their trip to Hawaii, Brock and Reba struggle with the choices they must make, as well as the consequences for their actions. Read to discover how this will play out for themselves, as well as the family.

[R] Enjoy and read on!

I hope you're ready for another one of my stories :) This is the sequel to Beautiful Oblivion, so I advise you read that previous to this one. Thank you for being so patient, as this was a while coming. Feel free to review, they are always appreciated. I am providing a recap because this story picks up directly after the ending of the last. Enjoy love!

Recap:

Brock watched breathlessly as the plane ascended into the pink and orange sky. The large tail of the plane was flashing with different lights, preparing for the long flight ahead. He watched as that plane flew into the midst of the clouds, into the blinding sunrise. He watched as it took the only woman he had ever truly loved away.

The policeman rushed up behind Brock and took his wrists, bringing them behind his back and snapping the handcuffs on securely. Brock didn't fight it, his thoughts were too consumed with the redhead that had gotten away.

He would see her at home, but by then, she would have had two days to think and decide what she wanted, and who was he kidding? She wasn't going to choose him. He had screwed up, and there was no fixing it. It was too late, and her mind was made up. She left him and whatever feelings they shared here, in Hawaii. So he just watched, he watched as that plane disappeared where the ocean met the sea.

He watched as Reba faded into a beautiful oblivion.

Reba closed the door as she stepped inside. The click echoed throughout the empty house and she stood there, dazed by the commotion going on inside her head. She had slept with her ex-husband who was still married to her "best friend." God, she hated referring to Barbra Jean as her best friend, even if it was true. Over the many years they had known each other, the blonde bimbo had actually grown on her. And look what she had done to her.

Some friend you are, Reba said to herself. The irony was surreal. Any woman in her position would probably be happy with the revengeful situation she had gotten herself stuck in, but she wasn't. She wasn't happy in the slightest. Or was she?

Reba pressed her body against the door and slid down until she was balled up on the door mat, which was probably disgustingly dirty, but she didn't care. Tears welled up in her eyes and she pounded her fists against the floor in frustration. What had she gotten herself into? Yes, she knew the thought was always in the back of her mind that she still had feelings for Brock. They all became evident when Brock and Barbra Jean's former marriage counselor asked if they still loved one another. Neither of them could answer. Was that a sign? Or was she just speechless that that question was proposed to her? She didn't know, and honestly, she didn't want to go into too much depth thinking about it. It was hard enough to imagine having to tell her family what she and Brock had done during the vacation trip.

She remained in a ball like form, soaking herself in tears of guilt and regret. She sniffled back some tears as she pulled herself up into a sitting position. Her eyes lingered to the open kitchen door frame and slowly crept to the top cabinet where the liquor was stashed. It did seem rather tempting and quite plausible for the time being. She slowly pulled herself to her feet, using the door handle for support. She hadn't drank much since her and Brock's divorce, with the exception of a beer or two, or a glass of wine in the evening. She had long diminished her horrible binge drinking during the separation. But she needed something strong right now. She needed to forget. And she knew exactly what would do the trick.

Her feet dragged her through the living room and into the kitchen, where she paused in front of the cabinets. She bit her lip, contemplating whether she wanted to do this or not. As the pressure weighed down on her, she sunk her teeth deeper into her bottom lip, nearly drawing blood. "Dammit," she muttered as she slung the cabinet door open and pulled a bottle of wine down from the shelves and swung the refrigerator door open as well, retrieving two bottles of vodka from the very back, behind the milk carton and lemonade.

"What have you gotten yourself into?" Reba asked herself aloud as she allowed her body to collapse on the floor next to the couch in the living room. She couldn't risk spilling any on the upholstery, the family would probably smell it. Especially Barbra Jean, she was like a dog when it came to identifying aromas. Reba sighed as she untwisted the cap on one of the vodka bottles and took a long swig. She didn't even bother using glasses to drink out of. What was the point? She was going to clear these in no time. A glass would be unnecessary in her mind. She shrugged the thoughts away as she downed another mouth full, feeling the affects branch throughout her body.

xxx

"So what exactly were you trying to accomplish back there?" The security guard questioned a solemn Brock. When he got no response, he leaned in closer, trying to intimidate him more.

Brock rolled his eyes as he looked up from his chained wrists. The handcuffs were tight and imprinting his skin in harsh lines. "Isn't this a little extreme?" He picked his hands up off of the table and tried separating his wrists, only to result in more pain.

The guard took a small step back, straightening his back out to look taller. "No, it's not extreme, what's extreme is running out on the landing strip as a plane is getting ready to take off. Now, I'll ask you again, what were you doing?" He crossed his arms and stared intently into Brock's eyes.

Brock shifted uncomfortably in his seat and looked down at his lap. He needed to think of something to say to get him out of this, and fast! What's something even a policeman would take into consideration? "My kid!" He looked up suddenly, as he spoke his thoughts aloud.

The guard raised an eyebrow and snapped his gum between his teeth. "Your kid?" He asked, as if not sure that was what Brock really said.

Brock nodded his head annoyed at his obnoxious gum chewing. "Yeah...uh, my little girl! She got on the wrong plane and went to Houston, Texas. I was trying to stop the plane. She'll be alone at the airport with no way home and who knows who will try to take her!?" He shouted, waving his cuffed hands in the air. "I have to get on the next flight asap, please; you have to understand!"

The security guard scratched his head, thinking for a moment. "I'm going to need some sort of proof. Do you have a picture of some sort?" He walked a little closer as Brock nodded his head. Hesitantly, the guard placed the little key inside the handcuffs and twisted it, until there was a click. He released Brock's wrists from the imprisonment and placed the hand cuffs back into the pocket of his police waist belt.

Brock rubbed his red, sore wrists tenderly before continuing to retrieve his wallet from one of his bathing suit trunk pockets. He inhaled a deep breath before opening it and rummaging through some of the pictures before finding the one of Elizabeth. "Here she is," he mentioned as he pulled it out of it's special spot and handing it to the security guard. He smiled smugly as the guard nodded and stepped out of the entry way, handing Brock back the wallet size picture. Brock mumbled a thanks, before heading out of the room and back into the airport waiting lines.

Deciding it was best to notify Barbra Jean of what was happening, he pulled out his cellphone and dialed her number quickly. It rang and rang, but no answer. Brock felt terrible about leaving without getting ahold of someone, but he didn't have much time. The voice mail tone rang in his ear and he cleared his throat before speaking into the phone, "BJ, hey, it's me. I just wanted to let you know that Reba caught a flight back to Houston about an hour and a half ago. I'm going to go home and make sure everything is alright. You stay here with the kids, that way they won't worry. I'll talk to you later, bye." He pressed the end button and slipped it back into his pocket before joining the line for the next flight to Houston.

xxx

Brock glanced at his watch as he approached Reba's front door. The little arrows pointed to a quarter past six. He wondered what she would be doing right now. Maybe fixing dinner, or reading a book. Something to calm herself. He took one last step and he was face-to-face with the closed door. The barrier between him and Reba. Cautiously, he rose his weak balled up fist to the stain glass window and, very gently, knocked twice.

Nothing. Not a peep. He leaned in close and pressed his ear against the wood. If there was any sound to be heard, it must have been too quiet to hear through the thick door. Trusting his instinct that Reba never locked the door, and that she possibly might consider not killing him if he barged in at a time like this, he pressed down the door handle. It was unlocked. After inhaling a shaky breath, he pushed the door open. He stood dumbfounded at what he saw before him.

There must have been five or six bottles total of alcohol beverages surrounding Reba. Her reaction was delayed as she looked up at him from her spot on the floor.

His image was distorted and blurry, but she managed to identify his golden hair and orange skin. "Brock! What're...what're you doing here?" She slurred as she shifted her weight and failed at an attempt to stand up. Anger filled her bloodshot eyes and she jerked her head away from him, avoiding eye contact. "Leave me alone. I-I never want to shee you again." She used the couch's armrest for support as she lifted her body from the ground. She teetered back and forth for a minute before maintaining a straight position. Still clearly fuming, she turned to leave the room.

Brock said nothing and left the front door wide open, as he marched over to her. His breath was heavy and he approached her quickly. Just as she was getting to the kitchen door, he gripped her tiny wrist, gently mind you, and spun her around to face him. Her body was easy to turn, given she was already swaying like a sailboat in a hurricane and her wide, petrified eyes locked with his. Brock wasted no time as he pulled her forward and pressed his desperate lips against her's.

At first, Reba stayed stationary with shock, but she slowly accepted it and kissed back, perhaps more forcibly than he. Her tongue slowly moved for his unconsciously. Suddenly, they were twisting and pressing their tongues against one another. He could taste the strong alcohol on her breath and he pressed against her harder, the kiss seeming to intoxicate him alone. The realization of what she was doing weighed down on her and she tore her body away from his. She took a small step back and barely touched her bottom lip which was swollen and scarlet red. Her eyes glazed over and without warning, she reared her hand back and landed it harshly against Brock's cheek.

He squeezed his eyes shut on impact and was dazed for a moment. Slowly, he opened his eyes to look back at a teary eyed red head. "Reba-" he started. Reba shook her head. Her eyes shone red and puffy and she looked down, trying hard not to cry, but her hormones were uncontrollable when she was drunk stupid. "I'm sorry," she whispered as she looked back up to him.

A single tear tread down her soft thin cheek and Brock whisked it away with his calloused thumb. "Let's get you to bed, honey." He lifted her body from the ground and she would have fought him if she was in the right state of mind, but having not been, she allowed him to carry her all the way upstairs. She buried her face in his shoulder and he held her closer as her body shook with soft sobs. "Shh," he whispered in a barely audible voice. "It's okay." He approached her bedroom door and pushed it open with his foot. Upon entering the room, he was careful not to bump her head or feet in the process.

Her body was limp as he laid it down on her king size bed. She felt her body sink deep into the comforter and mattress, until Brock lifted her body a bit to pull the sheets out from under her. He removed her shoes and placed them on the floor next to him. Reba closed her eyes, wishing for sleep, but Brock clicked on the lamp that sat on her night stand, illuminating the room in a yellow lambency. She growled at the light in her face and covered her eyes with a throw pillow. Brock chuckled quietly as he retrieved a pajama shirt and pair of pants from her drawer. He placed them on the foot of the bed and shook her body gently. "Reba, change into these before you go to bed." He waited to see her nod, then made his way into her bathroom.

The tile floor was chilly under his feet as he shuffled his way to the counter. He turned on the water and watched it run for a second, the sound seeming to soothe him. He proceeded to splash some on his face, in hopes of rejuvenating himself. There were muffled sounds coming from outside and he opened the door to see Reba lying there with her pajama T-shirt on and pants midway on her legs. She had given up and fallen asleep. Brock laughed at the scene and grabbed the bottle of Advil and a glass of water before tiptoeing over to her. He placed the items on her nightstand and stared at her for a moment. Her face was contorted into the look she had whenever she was trying to figure something out. He smiled at the knowing look she had on her face before resuming to pull her pants up the rest of the way. He gripped the elastic waste and pulled it upward. It slipped easily over her thin thighs and hip bones. He smiled at how soundly she slept; it was truly beautiful. He knew she would have a massage hangover the next morning though.

He turned to leave, when a quiet sleepy voice asked "Brock?" His body turned sharply at the sound and he replied immediately. "Yes?" A few seconds passed between until finally Reba spoke up again, "don't leave." A small smile spread across his face and he sat down on a familiar chair by the window. "Alright angel."

Brock looked around the room, really taking in the scenery. It looked the same, yet different from the room they had built so many memories in. The maroon walls made the room feel warmer, more welcoming. He remembered how it took them forever to decide on a color to paint the room and as soon as Reba saw that shade, it was decided. She had changed the table arrangements and the only things on her dresser were perfume, makeup, and jewelry. Last time he saw it, it was invaded with men's cologne and deodorant. He didn't know what he expected the room to look like now. The exact same? Completely remodeled? Brock sighed and put his head in his hands. It had been so long since he was in this room. He missed it, but all the nostalgia it caused was overwhelming. There were a couple picture frames on the table next to him and picked each one up. They were all of the kids. He remembered when they were mostly family photos. He picked up the one of them on Thanksgiving playing football and smiled at the memory. When he set it back down, it shifted a bit inside the glass to reveal another picture. Raising an eyebrow, he picked the frame back up and removed the back to take out the pictures. He carefully placed the Thanksgiving picture aside and flipped the other one over to expose his and Reba's wedding picture. He stared at it for a moment, until he heard something shift from the bed. His eyes jerked up to see Reba had only moved a bit in her sleep. Sighing inwardly, he returned the pictures to their previous spots and placed the frame back on the table. He looked at Reba one last time before getting up, turning off the light, and making his way back downstairs to the living room.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 coming soon.