by Ashley Munoz
Tennessee Truths
Ashley Munoz
Copyright © 2020
by Ashley Munoz & ZetaLife LLC
ISBN: 978-1-7337919-2-2
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this book whether in electronic form or physical book form, may be reproduced, copied, or sold or distributed in any way. That includes electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or any other form of information sharing, storage or retrieval system without the clear, lawful permission of the author. Except for limited, sharable quotes on social media, or for the sake of a review. There is absolutely no lawful permission permitted to upload a purchased electronic copy of this book to any free book sites. Screen shots of book text or kindle passages are not allowed to be shared on any public social media site without written permission from the author.
This book is a work of total and complete fiction. The story was thought up from the authors curious and thoughtful brain. Any names, places, characters, businesses, events, brands, media, situations or incidents are all made up. Anything resemblances to a real, similar, or duplicated persons or situations is purely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication or use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Cover Design: Jeanette Emerson with Net Hook & Line Design
Editing: C. Marie
Proofreading: Tiffany Hernandez
Formatting: Ashley Munoz
Created with Vellum
Contents
Prologue
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
Epilogue
Because it never gets addressed
Also By Ashley Munoz
Acknowledgments
About the Author
To every girl who’s had her heart broken, who’s ever wanted solace in someone’s arms.
For the one’s who lost themselves along the way.
This one is for you.
Prologue
Faith
Age 14
There was something dangerously exhilarating about keeping secrets.
While I only had two tucked away inside my heart, they were enough to make me feel special in a way nothing else ever had.
And as a fourteen-year-old girl, stuck in the throes of middle school, I desperately wanted to feel special. Maybe it was because I felt pathetically ordinary, although more honestly it was probably because I captured the unnerving attention of my school’s golden boy.
There was nothing actually golden about him, though; he was all dark colors with angry strokes and desperate dabs…he also happened to be my first secret.
The bell rang, sending a jolt of adrenaline through my system, the ear-splitting sound like a blaring alarm repeating one word over and over:
Move. Move. Move.
I darted for my locker as fast as I could without breaking into a run while catching a quick glimpse of the clock hanging on the far wall.
7:35.
I let out a silent breath, wrapping my fingers around the black dial, spinning it forcefully to the left. Hearing a few laughs and titters from down the hall, I wrangled my backpack off and moved swiftly to put my things away.
The yellow sticky note crumpled at the bottom of my locker stalled me, just like it did every time. My second secret. Grinning from ear to ear, I shoved the scrap into the front pocket of my jeans before anyone saw me.
Then, as if the air in the hallway shifted, I knew my time was up. His arrival always felt like the beginning of a hurricane, the few seconds I had to prepare myself like standing in the center, peaceful and calm.
Quick as lightning, I was tugging my books free and situating my English essay. The last thing I wanted to do was ruin my homework before classes even started. I was nearly ready when I heard someone down the hall call out, “Seeds!”
I forced my eyes shut, shoving the nerves down like I did every day.
I didn’t have to look to know people were following him. Guys were offering their palms for high fives as girls smiled and vied for his attention. Jace divided the throng like a wave, like nothing and no one was of any consequence, at least not enough to stop him or snag his attention.
Except me.
I was the stone he crashed upon with force and destruction.
“Seeds.” His Southern lilt drew my eyes up. Striking blue orbs assessed me from under dark, drawn brows.
“Jace.” I exhaled, hoping he couldn’t hear the heavy thud in my chest at his presence. I hated him. I prayed he would get swept away in the Mississippi River on a regular basis…but more reverently, more secretly, I also wrote out the spelling of his last name in a thousand different fonts, testing to see how it would look attached to my first.
“If it isn’t my favorite Bible story,” he joked, slapping his palm to the locker above me.
I blushed, hating that he always did this. Everyone giggled and laughed at his loud declaration. Jace and I attended Sunday school together. Thankfully he didn’t do any of this fanfare there, but as soon as we were back in school, he was merciless with the jokes. In fact, it had been after a handful of Sundays that he’d chosen my nickname.
Seeds, as in faith the size of a mustard seed.
So lame.
“Seeds, did you have a good weekend? Do any reading?” He leaned in, brushing a lock of hair off my shoulder.
He knew I had because he’d seen me at the library on Saturday. He had ignored me, laughing with his two buddies, except for when he tossed a crumpled-up paper toward my empty study table.
I hadn’t even looked to see if something was written on it, because I knew whatever it was would hurt my feelings or make me blush.
I flicked my gaze to the far wall ahead of us. 7:40.
RING.
The bell announced that school was officially starting, forcing everyone to scatter. I would have let out a sigh of relief, but I knew too well that Jace wasn’t done.
He smirked, bending lower and inhaling a deep breath of…me.
Butterflies swarmed my chest as he closed his eyes, towering over me. His lips were so close.
It sent tiny shivers down my arms, like jagged arrowheads being shoved under my skin. Unpleasant fire burned in my lower belly at his nearness, the confusion of how my body reacted to him always made me emotional. I didn’t want to like him. I had someone…someone secret, but either way, Jace wasn’t him.
“I need to leave.” I shoved at his arm, and he moved but quickly fell in step behind me.
“Do you have any plans after school today, Seeds?” he asked as I stormed toward homeroom. Why does he care?
“I’m going to the library, if you must know.” I inwardly slapped myself. Why did I tell him that?
“Right after school? Have a hot date?” He picked up my ponytail, pinching the end between his thumb and pointer finger.
I stopped, forcing him to nearly crash into me. “No. I don’t have a hot date, but even if I did, it wouldn’t be any of your business.”
He smirked. “That’s where you’re wrong.” Rolling my eyes, I started to turn, but he stopped me. “What kind of guy would you date anyway?”
It sounded like he meant no one would want to date me, so naturally, hurt slipped in through my rib cage, attacking that useless thing in my chest.
“You know…the standard is pretty low. As long as he wasn’t you, he would have a shot.” I smirked, turning away from him. I stormed toward homeroom, where he couldn’t follow.
Thankfully.
Finally letting out a relieved sigh, I tugged the paper free from the pocket of my jeans and read what was written. In messy, sharp letters were the words: Science fiction - The Count of Monte Cristo - Chapter 12. I smiled, because secrets were what kept me going when Jace was a jerk to me. Secrets were what made this entire day worth it.
I counted down every second of the school day until I could walk two streets over to our public library. Throwing open the thick glass doors, I quietly padded in and toward the back.
My face was blotchy from the last run-in of the day with Jace. Like usual, he had found some way to run into me. He’d always lock eyes with me, like a missile seeking its target. I always tried to ignore him, but he’d just head in my direction with more vigor. Then, right as he got close enough, he would find a way to slam into me, and as always, it would send my books flying.
Most days I didn’t mind, because I had gotten used to it. However, today was important because I had a mock interview and my fake resume required perfection. It was the last class of the day, and I had managed to protect it all day.
That is, until that last class transition when my books fell and my crisp resume landed under the boot of Clay Anderson, who had just walked through a puddle. For one single moment I wanted to cry, maybe punch Jace in the face, because I needed an A on that project, not a B or anything lower. I had to get an A.
Mr. Brooks coldly told me I’d receive a B minus and that he was being generous. So now, as I sauntered through the library, I was trying to pull on the only happiness I had found in the entire day.
My secret.
The notes left in my locker would always provide a random location and the text of choice hidden somewhere in the mix. Obviously, The Count of Monte Cristo was no science fiction novel, but the thrill of it being tossed in and so out of place added to the excitement.
I ran my finger along the spines of different science fiction titles until the brown, cracked back with golden script caught my eye. The Count of Monte Cristo.
My stomach somersaulted as I tugged it free. As always, I looked around, wondering if my secret sharer was near, if for once I could get a glimpse of who it was that had been playing this game with me for the past year.
As usual, there was no one.
Unwilling to allow disappointment to sneak in, I anchored the book to my chest and walked toward the young adult section. Plopping down into a neon orange bean bag, I gently thumbed through the pages until I found chapter twelve.
A purple wildflower lay snugly in the center of the book, marking my route for reading. He’d already told me which chapter, so the flower wasn’t required, but heat rose up my neck as I carefully pulled it free. I loved that he always added a flower.
There, written in the margin, was his note.
Dear Pip,
While your take on the existence of jackelopes was fascinating,
I thought we could move past urban legends…
To something a little more…personal.
Tell me, since we both go to the same school…
Who do you like?
Who is it that’s in your head and has maybe captured your heart?
Sincerely,
The Fool
I smiled, tracing the letters in each shaded word. We only ever wrote in pencil because they were books and we weren’t monsters. I wondered how long we would play this game. He had told me enough about him for me to know I liked him, his hobbies and interests…but he had never suggested we meet one another.
How much longer would we leave each other these notes?
I was headed to high school at the beginning of fall—what would happen then?
Once I was back home in the safety of my room, I opened the book again and wrote my response.
Dear Fool,
If this is your way of asking if I have a boyfriend,
I don’t.
Now, why on earth would you be curious about who I like?
Sincerely,
Pip
I shut the book, smiling at the emptiness in my room as if it were a big, fat blob of invisible support.
I’d replace the book in the same place tomorrow for him to pick up. I hated that I didn’t have his locker number. I had no idea how he had learned where mine was, but it felt so unfair. I had asked him once for his, but he’d said that would make it too easy for me to figure out who he was.
Almost an entire year of writing these notes and I was no closer to knowing who it was. The rage I had felt earlier because of Jace surfaced, forcing me to open the book. I didn’t care anymore, and I was tired of not knowing. I wanted someone in my life who liked me, who didn’t think I was a joke. I wanted someone to want me. Revisiting my written note, I added a bit at the bottom.
P.S. I think I might be in love with you…and I think we need to meet, because I’m tired of not knowing who you are. If you agree, set up our next book, and when I go to retrieve it, meet me.
Slamming the book shut, I sagged in my bed and relished the visions of who it could be and what their face would look like when they saw my bold suggestion. I imagined him leaning against the shelf, back turned toward me until he heard me approach. I imagined us telling our kids this story, and someday our grandkids.
My mind was getting away from me, but that’s what I did. I imagined things, all the way down to the kind of house we would have. My mother called me boy crazy, but I wasn’t. I was, however, enamored with the idea of love—real, true, genuine love.
I wanted the reckless kind of love that made people crazy, the kind that kept people connected over years and years, like the stars…always a part of our past, always present in our future.
Two weeks later
Thunder echoed in the distance. A blip of white light stretched across the velvet sky, acting like a beacon of terror. The low rumble of caution wrapped around me, and as always, it dared me to stay and watch.
Arms flung wide, eyes closed tight, I tipped my head back and smiled. The smell of wet earth and fresh rain overwhelmed my senses, dislodging my judgment. Instead of running for the lowest ground, I prepared my spot at the top of the tallest structure in the park. A tempest like this couldn’t be merely watched; it had to be experienced.
And why not push the limits of my safety? It didn’t matter anyway.
It wasn’t like I wanted to end my life; I just wouldn’t risk missing this storm to protect it.
It was all going blissfully perfectly until the sound of a flapping tarp tore me from my reverie. Reluctantly, I turned to inspect my shabby shelter. I had planned to take refuge on the little space of floor by attaching the cover to one pole and stretching it to the other.
It wouldn’t protect the entire platform, but at least it would work to shield me from the rain—except the bungee cord I had wrapped around one corner of the tower wasn’t cooperating, which had forced the entire panel to cave in. Soon it would be soaked with rain if I didn’t work fast. My mind wandered for the briefest of moments to my pen pal…to the notes
we’d written in Moby Dick…to the one where he’d ended it.
I can’t do this with you anymore. I’m sorry.
Two weeks.
He had waited two weeks to reply to my confession.
When he had responded, he’d dumped me. It was far worse not even knowing what he looked like because I couldn’t put a face to my anger. I feared it would instead soak into the classics that held our secrets, which would ruin my love of books.
I moved, grabbing for the cord, holding it steady while another big gust of wind upended the other edge. The force had me careening backward toward the ladder. I gripped the railing, trying to get my bearings, but my feet faltered a few more steps. Panic seized me, frozen in my lungs as I registered how bad of an idea this was. Suddenly a warm hand covered my exposed arm, tugging me down.
I blinked, trying to process what had just happened. No one should have been out there. No one was ever out there except…
An angry boom cracked above me, followed by a raging voice yelling in my ear. “What the hell are you doing out here?”
Him.
Flashes of rueful smirks, angry taunts, and organized debauchery flashed through my mind. Him running into me, forcing my books to drop to the floor, my papers scattering across the hall. Him watching me…always watching. Him pulling Kristen Jones under his arm during lunch yesterday…while his gaze stayed glued to me.