When Rivals Lose

by Beck, J. L.

  Copyright © 2019 by J.L. Beck C. Hallman

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Editing by Kelly Allenby

  Cover Design by T.E. Black

  Contents

  Blurb

  Prologue

  1. Harlow

  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

  Also by the Authors

  The Secret

  The Vow

  Untitled

  Blurb

  HARLOW

  Darkness surrounds me. Who am I? I don’t remember anything. Every memory of my life gone. I wake in a hospital not knowing my own name. I don’t know these people who claim to be my parents, but they take care of me, they show me pictures… and introduce me to my fiancé?

  I guess I was living a perfect life before my accident. I had it all, so I try to remember. I try to keep living my life, but I can’t shake the feeling that something is off. I’m noticing things are not adding up. I’m catching people around me lying and I know something is terribly wrong.

  It seems like my memory is not the only thing missing…

  SULLIVAN

  How could I have been so stupid? How could I have let them play me like this? This is all my fault. I hurt her, I let this happen, and now she is in her parents clutches again. Even worse, she doesn’t remember anything… she doesn’t remember us.

  I hate my parents for playing their part in this and my brothers hate me for playing mine. I need to fix this. I need to make my brothers forgive me so we can save her, we need to make her remember what kind of people her parents really are… before it’s too late.

  The only question is, if she remembers… will she ever forgive me?

  Prologue

  Sullivan

  I spend all night letting yesterday's events run through my mind. Fuck, how could I have been so stupid? The moment I saw the red smudges on the insides of her thighs, my heart fell into my stomach, and I knew she wasn’t lying. I still don’t understand how I didn’t see it before. How could I have been so blind? What we had was real and I used her. I broke her.

  I could see it in her beautiful blue eyes, the moment her heart cracked and shattered into a million pieces. The light inside them dimmed and all because of me. Fuck, my gut hurts just thinking about it. I wish I could forget, but I won’t.

  We could have been happy, but it doesn’t matter now, it’s too late. Nothing I say will undo what’s already been done. The only thing left to do now is figure out why our parents would have told us these lies about Harlow.

  After hiding out in my room for most of the day, I walk downstairs to get something to eat, hoping Oliver and Banks are gone. I don’t know if I can handle more of their hate right now. We agreed on not going through with our plan and I did it anyway. They believed her and I didn’t. They were right and I was wrong, so terribly wrong. I let everyone down, because I believed lies, so many fucking lies.

  When I walk into the kitchen, I almost turn around. They are both there, sitting at the kitchen table, talking about getting a new car.

  They stop talking when I enter. I’m immediately met with hardened glares. I open the fridge to grab some sandwich meat and a pack of cheese. Turning around, I find both Oliver and Banks looking down at their phones, apparently, they’re ignoring me now. I have half a mind to start telling them I'm sorry again, but I don’t, it won't do me any good anyway.

  Instead, I continue putting my sandwich together as quickly as I can to escape the suffocating tension in the room. I need to get back to my room so I can wallow in my own misery. With my sandwich made I start to put everything back into the fridge, the buzzing of my cell in my pocket interrupting me.

  I fish it out, hoping the entire time that maybe, just maybe, it’s Harlow. My clammy hands nearly have me dropping it as I swipe the screen to unlock it, disappointment striking me through the heart like an arrow.

  Tension coils in my gut. It’s just Marc, one of the guys from school.

  I’m about to shove the device back in my pocket without looking at the message when Oliver turns to me, his face a mask of horror, “Oh, my God, did you get Marc’s message?” The tone of Oliver’s voice tells me instantly that whatever Marc sent him is serious, so I do the only thing I can. I open the message.

  Inside the message is a link, which I click on, which leads me to a newspaper article from the Bayshore newspaper. First, I’m confused, but then I start to read the headline and my heart sinks into my stomach.

  Bayshore student left in critical condition after hit and run.

  I don’t know why, or how, but I know without a doubt the student they’re talking about is Harlow. Call it a gut feeling or whatever you will, but I know. Still I continue reading, my eyes unable to move fast enough.

  A young woman, who reportedly is attending Bayshore University, was struck by a car downtown, near the art gallery, witnesses say. The car then fled the scene and the woman was rushed to the hospital. The incident is still under investigation…

  Unable to read another word, I turn off my phone and place it down on the marble counter, before sagging against it.

  I did this… this is all my fault.

  “It’s her, I know it’s her,” I say, more to myself than to my brothers. When I look up, Oliver is staring at me, there’s a feral look in his eyes, one that I’ve never seen directed at me before and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hate myself in that moment.

  “If she dies, then you might as well be dead too.” The anger and hurt in his voice chills me to the bone.

  “You know I didn’t intend for any of this to happen.”

  Oliver shakes his head, before getting up, the sound of his chair scraping across the floor. Banks doesn’t even look at me, obviously, disgusted beyond belief. Oliver walks over stopping on the other side of the island. His hands are clenched into tight fists at his sides and I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to slug me right now.

  It’s not like I don’t deserve it.

  “It doesn’t matter if you intended for it to happen, it did, and the consequences are resting on your shoulders now. I just want you to know that if she dies, it will be partially your fault. If you would have believed her, she would be with us right now… safe. She didn’t deserve what you did to her.” His voice trembles, his gaze hardening, and I nod acknowledging his words, because like always, he’s right.

  He was right when he said we shouldn’t do it. He was right when he said Harlow was more important than any family rivalry.

  I should’ve listened to him. I should’ve followed my heart, but I didn’t, and now the one person who shouldn’t have paid the price, has. But I’m a Bishop, and above all, a man, so I’ll do what I need to do to make things right.

  Harlow Lockwood will be ours again, and this family rivalry ends now.

  1

  Harlow

  One Month Later

  Staring down at the pale blue comforter, I try and piece the jigsaw puzzle called my life back together again, but every time I start to think about it, about anything, nothing pops up. It’s been three days since I was released from the hospital. I’ve been living in this huge house that is supposed to be my home… but
it just doesn’t feel like it.

  There are no memories; happy or sad, there is nothing—a dark, endless sea of blank space. It’s so strange to think that one day you are whole, your life full and vibrant, and the next you’re merely a shell of what you used to be. A soft knock sounds against my bedroom door, and I look up, knowing it’s the woman that calls herself my mother.

  “I know this is a lot for you to take in and all, but your father wanted me to let you know that Matt, your fiancé will be stopping by tomorrow. Your appearance while he is here is very much appreciated.”

  I will my mouth to work, for words to come out, but they just won’t. Every day since I got home, either my mother or my father have been with me, trying to make me remember a life they say I enjoyed. Though deep down in my gut, none of it feels right; this huge house, the expensive dresses, and maids to do whatever I want. It doesn’t seem like something I would’ve liked, let alone enjoyed.

  In fact, this place feels like a prison, but I don’t understand why. I’m sure any girl my age would enjoy having the world at her fingertips, which clearly, I had, and still do, so why does it feel like none of those things mattered to me.

  “Harlow!” my mother barks, and I blink from the blank space in my mind.

  “Yes. I’ll be here.” I tell her softly, unsure of how I should respond, how I would’ve responded before. Am I being myself? I don’t know. It occurs to me then, where else would I be? I have nowhere to go, no friends, besides Shelby, who came to visit a few times, but was of no help. A fiancé that I don’t remember, and haven’t met, because he’s not been in the country until now.

  My mother’s icy gaze softens, “You’ve been in your room almost all day, maybe you could come downstairs and have dinner with us? I had Margaret make your favorite; baked spaghetti.” Baked spaghetti? Hmm, it wouldn’t hurt to see if eating this so-called favorite meal of mine jarred a memory.

  “Sure, I would like that,” I tell her, as I climb off the four-poster bed, and pad across the floor. She smiles at me, but the smile doesn’t reach her eyes and looks forced, awkward even, as if it’s not something she often does.

  Silently we walk down the hall, and then down the grand staircase before entering the dining room. There’s a chandelier that hangs above the table, giving the room an elegant feel. My father is already sitting at the table and gives us a tense smile when we enter.

  “It’s very nice of you to join us for dinner, Harlow. Have any of your memories returned?” he asks, almost in a robotic way. I pull out the chair next to him, and sag down into the seat, though I would much rather have taken a seat at the far end of the table.

  Margaret, as well as another maid, brings out dinner, placing plates down in front of us like it’s a restaurant, and we’re not capable of making our own plates.

  “So, what did I do for fun? Did I go anywhere? Hangout with anyone?” I blurt out, causing both of my parents to look up at me like I just asked them to solve a math problem. “The doctor said I’m supposed to do things I did before to jog my memory, but I don’t exactly know what that was, and I’ve been kind of bored. So, what did I do?”

  Dad places his silverware back down on the table, glancing over at my mother before turning back to me, “Ah well… you liked to go shopping, and hang out with Shelby. You and Matt used to go out on dates, but once he went to France to run the French branch of his father’s company, you talked on the phone a lot.”

  I stare at him, dumbfounded, “That… that sounds great. Anything else? Bike riding? Hiking? Did I like to do homework, or did I hate it? Was Shelby my only friend or were there others?” His face seems to grow tenser with each question, a vein in his forehead bulging under, the pressure.

  Why is this so hard for them to talk about?

  “That’s really it, you spent most of your time with Shelby or Matt after you graduated high school. Like we already told you, you wanted to take a year off before thinking about college,” he finally answers, seeming angry, but how would I know, maybe this is his normal behavior.

  “Okay, maybe I can go shopping tomorrow morning before Matt comes over?” I ask because honestly, I’m not sure if I have to or not. I’m an adult, yes, but feel more like a child right now. A lost child.

  “Sure, why not. I can come with you…”

  “You don’t have to,” I cut my mother off before she can finish. “I can go by myself. I don’t want to burden you guys any more than I already have.”

  “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.” Dad’s voice cuts through the air, and I glance over at him, shocked.

  What does that mean?

  That I can’t leave on my own? As if he can hear my thoughts, he clears his throat, and says, “What I meant was, you don’t know this area yet, you need to get familiar with everything again before going out into the city by yourself. It’s not safe.”

  Right, that makes sense.

  “I’ll be happy to come with you, dear,” Mom chimes in. “We are long overdue for a mother-daughter shopping trip.”

  “Perfect, let’s go together then,” I say, forcing a smile because I’m not sure how to genuinely smile yet.

  * * *

  The next morning is spent going from one high-end boutique to the next. My mother has already bought a fortune worth of clothes while I only hold one measly bag with some pajamas. I picked them out at the last place to keep her happy. This is clearly her element since it seems she’s thoroughly enjoying herself; smiling, laughing, and trying on clothes like she’s a doll. I, on the other hand, am bored out of my mind and have been annoyed since store number two. I can’t imagine ever enjoying this. Tossing money around like it’s nothing.

  I’d have more fun watching paint dry.

  “Okay, last stop is Macy’s, and then we’ll go have lunch at the little Italian place across the street,” Mom says, utterly oblivious to my lack of enjoyment. I cringe at the thought of enduring another three hours of shopping this afternoon.

  We climb into the car that’s pulled up in front of the boutique, and the driver takes us to the large department store, which is a couple blocks away, dropping us off at the main entrance, like we are too good to walk across the parking lot or something. All I can think is, this isn’t me, no way. It doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t seem like me. I might not know who I am, or have any memories of who I once was, but in my gut, I know this person isn’t me.

  Once inside, Mom heads straight for the shoes, dragging me behind her. With my hands hanging down at my sides, I watch her try on about twenty different pairs before we head to the dresses section of the store.

  As if she finally notices that I’m with her, her gaze sweeps over my empty hands, “You haven’t bought anything yet, you need to buy something here. Something nice to wear this afternoon when Matt comes by. How about this?” she suggests, handing me a strapless summer dress with cherries on it.

  “Maybe,” I tell her while inspecting the dress. It’s not terrible, maybe a little shorter than I like, but still wearable.

  “Well, go on, go to the dressing rooms and see if it fits,” she orders, her eyes not even meeting mine but roaming over the racks. “Oh, look at this one over here...” she trails off and walks away, acting like a child distracted by a shiny new toy.

  Standing there, I stare at her for a long moment, with the dress in my hands, before deciding to try it on. Getting a stall without any hassle, I place the dress down on the hanger and start to pull off my shirt. The fabric barely passes over my head when the door suddenly bursts open. A scream lodges itself in my throat, and before it can pass my lips, the man who has invaded the small space uses his hand to cover my mouth. Peering up into his blue eyes, I feel this strange wave of deja vu overtake me.

  “Shh, Harlow, don’t scream, please. I’ve been trying to get to you for weeks. You have to hear me out,” the strange, but very attractive man pleads. Shaking my head, I feel anything but fear for the person in front of me, which makes zero sense, it’s almost like�
�� I know him.

  “Please, Harlow, just one minute and then I’ll be gone, I promise I’m not here to hurt you.” My brow furrows in confusion. He sounds sincere and honestly kind of desperate, and I don’t know what to do. If I should scream and push him away or let him explain himself.

  “I’m going to pull my hand away, please don’t scream.” Those eyes, those big piercing blue eyes hold mine, and something compels me to nod my head. Letting the stranger know that I won’t scream, even though I know I should.

  Slowly, he pulls his hand away, and I suck in a ragged breath of fresh oxygen, letting it filter into my lungs. With it comes his intoxicating scent; raindrops, and sandalwood, like the forest after a storm. A kaleidoscope of butterflies seems to take flight in my stomach right at that moment. Whoever this man is, I knew him, and so did my body.

  “Harlow, you don’t belong here, I know that probably doesn’t make sense, but you have to believe me, your parents are lying to you. You weren’t happy here. It’s all a lie. Do you understand me?”

  I stare up at him, listening to every word that passes his lips, trying to make sense of each one. Who is this guy, and why is he saying all of these things to me? How does he know my parents? How does he know that I wasn’t happy here? I have so many questions, but there are no answers, at least not within sight.