Giving In to You

by L. M. Carr

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  CHapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2015 by L.M.Carr. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.

  Interior Formatting By Cassy Roop of Pink Ink Designs

  Acknowledgments

  Anyone who knows me knows how much I loathe roller coasters. I hate anything that makes my stomach flip and turn. This book, however, has been the ultimate roller coaster ride, and I’ve loved every minute of it. When I started writing, I never expected to enjoy the thrill of the ride so much. From the first day when I wrote my character’s names down on a piece of paper, it has been an incredible journey filled with highs and lows, twists and turns, laughter and tears.

  None of this would have been possible if I didn’t have the endless and unconditional love and support of my husband, Damian. I can’t thank the love of my life enough for listening when an idea popped into my head or when he helped me figure out the little details. You are my everything.

  To my kids, Michael, Julia and Emily. Thank you for listening about these fictional characters and putting up with me when I talked about Adam and Mia like they were part of our family. I can’t count the number of times they waited for me while I lost myself in the story, assuring them that I only needed a “few more minutes.” I love you guys more than you’ll ever know.

  To my sidekick and partner in crime, Mary, you encouraged me from the very first time I told you what I wanted to do. You’ve been my confidante, beta reader, researcher and “unofficial” editor. Thank you so much!

  To the girls who read my story, encouraged me and always offered “brutal honesty.” You have my love and thanks!

  A great big thank you to my editor, Missy Borucki, for making this story flow beautifully. To Romantic Book Affairs Design, thank you for the cover and for your patience. Back cover photo credit: Emily Caruso and Ivette Medina.

  VIOLENT SCREAMS ERUPTED deep from within me, tears flowed down and stained my face as I blinked trying desperately to see the snow covered road that twisted and turned ahead of me. I barely noticed the passenger who was pleading for me to slow down, spewing lies and insincere words of apologies that they never meant for this to happen, they never meant to hurt me. This couldn’t be happening to me. Meaningless words infiltrated my ears as my head pounded through the sobs until I heard nothing at all except the sound of my own ragged breathing. Days later when my eyes slowly fluttered open, he was gone. I was left alone and empty.

  AFTER SUPPRESSING A small case of road rage while following behind a vehicle in which the driver is either Miss Daisy or is having a heart attack at one of our town’s few traffic lights, the black SUV finally starts to pull away, creeping slowly through the intersection towards the center of town.

  “Ugh! Green light means go! C’mon, you moron!” I yell, banging my palm against the steering wheel. Brady looks at me, tilting his large head in confusion. I offer a smile and pat his head, letting him know my annoyance is not his fault.

  I turn left and park haphazardly in my driveway, racing to get out and stretch my body to release the tension and stiffness after the long drive. The 1,900 mile trek home from Texas kicked my ass.

  Even through the delirium and exhaustion that threaten to overtake me, I open the back door and take a deep breath as my eyes roam the dark kitchen. I smile at the thought of being home.

  Toeing off my black Converse, I collapse onto my bed, fully clothed. My pillow is balled up beneath my cheek. Brady jumps up, curling beside me. Within mere minutes, I’m pulled into a dreamless state of slumber. I am home. Finally.

  ***

  “MIA!” ARMED WITH a beautiful wide smile and a warm hug, Shelby’s lean, tanned arms wrap around my back and squeeze tightly. A huge grin spreads across my face as I tighten my arms around her petite body and we wobble from side to side.

  “Hi, Shelby. Miss me much?” I tease, tugging on her long blonde ponytail. It’s only been about a month and a half since we’ve seen each other, but God knows I’ve missed this girl! Brady clumsily comes barreling past the butcher block island into my small, cozy kitchen, almost knocking us over with his large, black body. His loud yelping, long tail wagging, and jumping around like a lunatic makes me think he’s missed Shelby, too.

  “Holy shit, girl! Did you lose weight or what? You’re a skinny bitch!” Rolling my eyes and shaking my head, I snort my response telling her that she’s just as crazy as ever and quickly remind her that she’s the one who’s still the same size as when she was sixteen.

  When she finally releases me, Shelby squints her pretty green eyes, steps back to eyeball me from head to toe, and asks with watery eyes, “How are you? You good?” Am I good? That’s a great question. After what happened last spring, I think I am good, not great, but good enough so I simply nod and offer a tight smile.

  Pushing the screen door open in the kitchen, we walk out to the backyard. I’ve already got the fire pit going and have a large pitcher of margaritas sitting on the worn side table. I’m looking forward to spending the last few days of summer with Shelby before we begin our new school year. It feels so good, like old times before the pressure and drama of last spring. I won’t make the same mistake twice. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

  As we sit back and relax in old, repainted Adirondack chairs, sipping margaritas from salt rimmed glasses, our conversation flows as if we hadn’t spent the summer apart. Even though we’ve sent texts a few times over the summer, I give her a detailed account of my summer adventures while visiting my brother in Texas.

  Josh, my older brother by three years, is in the United States Air Force. A few years earlier, when he was stationed in Germany, he met a fellow Airman named Araceli, a beautiful Mexican-American woman with dark skin and flowing black hair. They fell in love and married six months later, eventually moving stateside to San Antonio. They now live in a cozy Spanish-styled home in a quiet suburb outside of the base like many other military families. I can’t imagine being in the military, having to moving around every few years.

  Thankfully, my family has lived right here in this sleepy little town where “everyone knows everyone.’’ Where e
ven the butcher at the market knows your favorite cut of meat and the locals know that attending football games on Friday night is almost as important as filling the pews at church on Sunday. But growing up in a small town can have its disadvantages, too. Like I said, everyone knows everyone.

  ***

  DRIVING HALF WAY across the U.S. in my Jeep Wrangler with only a dog as my companion was nothing compared to the scorching heat of San Antonio in July. I found every opportunity to be outside, running or hiking, enjoying the beauty of Texas as much as possible. Although some days I really wanted to lay in the hammock under a palm tree, relaxing with my Kindle and a glass of lemonade or, in my case, a big-ass margarita, but I couldn’t sit around for too long doing nothing. Too much time on my hands made my mind drift, thinking about things that I shouldn’t. Thoughts about things that I once had, but now don’t, always tried to creep up. Thoughts about things I want, but won’t allow myself to have, surfaced to the forefront dragging me down to a place I never wanted to be again. Ever.

  “You’re awfully quiet over there,” Shelby says with raised brows, placing her phone down on the side table. “You thinking about that summer hottie?” she asks, waggling her perfectly arched eyebrows.

  I close my eyes and scrunch up my sunburned nose. “Oh, yeah. That’s it. You totally caught me!” I scan the tall trees and the little path that leads down to the water as I debate whether or not I want to tell my best friend that I actually did meet someone…and had sex with him. Instead I raise my glass to toast, “To the end of some things and the beginning of others.”

  I should tell her about Max, my brother’s Air Force buddy, because she’d be pissed if she knew I was holding back. Since it was my last night in Texas and Max was going back to Germany, we decided that shot after shot of Patron Silver sounded like a really good idea. Letting my inhibitions go, I accepted his challenge and lost, finding myself in the back seat of his white Land Rover with nothing but my cowboy boots on. It’s a good thing I’m never going to see him again; I don’t think my brother would like the idea of his little sister screwing his best friend. What was I thinking?

  Guilt consumes me for keeping Max a secret so I throw her a bone about another guy.

  “You know Luis, Araceli’s brother?”

  “Yeah, he’s a priest or something, right?”

  “He’s pastor with a little church in Mexico.”

  Shelby looks at me with one eyebrow arched up, questioning me. “Okay…” she drags the word out. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “He asked me out. I guess he’s liked me for years and finally had to nerve to say something,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant.

  Shelby’s eyes widen with curiosity. “Did you go out with him?”

  “Uh…no! He’s like 5’1 and he’s a holy roller. He doesn’t drink or swear. I don’t think he’s ever even had sex.” I laugh. “We’d never get along.”

  “True story. You do have a potty mouth.”

  “Fuck you, I do not!” We break into a fit of drunken giggles.

  After making another pitcher of margaritas, Shelby, a newlywed as of May, shares details of her honeymoon on the Caribbean islands of Turks and Caicos with its sandy beaches, turquoise water and endless sun. Shelby, the little slut, doesn’t hold anything back. I admit to getting a little embarrassed, a red flush spreading over my cheeks when she reveals almost every erotic detail, even telling me about all the places sand found its way into and how flexible her husband is.

  “Wanna see some pictures?” She jiggles her eyebrows as she grabs her phone from the side table and unlocks it.

  “You have pictures? Oh my God! Mike would kill you!” I screech, leaning over to have a look at these pictures.

  I always wonder why it’s considered rude when guys kiss and tell—women are the worst!

  With the tequila flowing freely through my veins, I look up at the moonless sky with its infinite stars and try to find the constellations. Shelby has sex on the brain because she swears that she sees a penis one.

  “Look!” She points to the dark sky. “There’s a shooting star. Hurry, make a wish, Mia.”

  I grin and indulge her playfulness. My eyes close, and I silently wish for one small thing. I wish for the one day, the absolute moment in time that I know I am exactly where I am supposed to be. My life will be what it should be.

  “Whatever you wished for, it’ll come true. I just know it.” I love this girl; she’s a hopelessly romantic drunk. “You’ll find him.”

  My eyes roll dramatically. “Why do you think my wish involves a ‘him’?”

  “Because it does!” Her eyes widen and her mouth opens as she gives me a “duh” look.

  Him. I need to change the subject of me and a “him.” Not such a good combination for me. Let’s just say I’ve not been so lucky in love and was a little more than turned off when, last spring, I walked into the restroom of a local bar to find him, the guy I was sort of dating, balls deep in someone else. I should’ve grabbed her hair and smashed her face against the sink that she held onto or punched him in the face, but I didn’t; I simply ended things right then and there. There was no need for explanations or further humiliation as I felt my heart seal shut. I wish I could say that I’ve never been more mortified in my life, but that would be a lie.

  That night in the bar was when I decided that I wouldn’t date anymore. I don’t need a man. After all, tucked away on the top shelf of my closet is a shoe box full of BOBs and plenty of batteries. That works just fine for me. Whoever said dating should be a time of fun, drama-free sex before you settle down, clearly hasn’t “dated.”

  Unable to keep her eyes completely open, Shelby tries to wiggle her eyebrows. Her words slur, “C’mon, Mia. You know he’s out there. You just gotta get back out there.” She tips back the rest of her drink and sets it down. “Play the game. Get back in the saddle.” Her arm whips over her head, circling awkwardly like she’s trying to lasso a young calf. “Woo hoo! Take another chance.”

  “You’re drunk.” I chuckle at her “philosophy” even though I don’t really find it funny or even necessarily agree with it. There was a time in my life when I believed in love. I was that young, naïve girl who thought that just because a boy said he loved you that he meant it. I thought when a boy told you that he wanted to marry you, he meant it. I thought giving him everything was enough.

  Shelby and Mike are the exception because at sixteen years old, Mike meant every word he said about loving her. Not everybody is so lucky. Reality slapped me in the face so damn hard, it made my head spin like Reagan’s in The Exorcist. My eyes fill with tears and I blink furiously before they fall heavily down my suntanned cheek.

  Reaching over to place my glass down on the table, I look over at my drunk best friend who’s looking into her empty glass asking where her drink is and wonder to myself how at twenty seven years old, I’m alone. Maybe somewhere deep down I do want the happily ever after. Maybe I really do want the white picket fence, 2.5 kids, and a sexy husband who is insanely in love with me and adores everything about me. Maybe I do want love. Or maybe I just need to shut the fuck up and refill my drink.

  With that thought, I struggle to sit up, lean over and smile a drunken grin. Reaching over to grab Shelby’s hand I say, “You know what, Shel? I...I…fucking love you. You, Shelby Warren, oops…I mean…Matthews,” I giggle and continue, “…are my best fucking friend.” Her heavy eyelids look up at me, an even bigger drunken grin on her face. “I…I…fl-flove you, too.”

  THE FAMILIAR AND usually welcoming sound of Brady’s deep bark wakes me up. I open one eye, moan, and immediately close it, groaning when the pounding in my head gets louder. “Shhh, give me a minute, boy, will ya.” I pull the hood of my sweatshirt down low over my aching head.

  My mouth is dry. It feels like I’ve swallowed a bag of cotton balls and all I taste is dirt. Not that I’ve ever tasted dirt, but I imagine this is what dirt would taste like. As I lie there promising myself to never, ever drink
that much again, I think about last night.

  I vaguely remember Mike standing over me while I slept uncomfortably in the Adirondack chair long after the fire went out. I think he tried to wake me and help me inside, but I couldn’t walk so he carried me to the couch. I remember running my hand through his closely shaved head, giggling at the feel of fuzz at the nape of his neck before lacing my fingers behind his thick neck and telling him that I loved him. I think I even may have kissed his smooth cheek. Good God! I can only imagine the look on his ruggedly handsome face and the sense of relief when I told him that I loved him for loving my best friend. Mike driving over here in his police cruiser to get Shelby after she didn’t answer his calls or texts proves that he’s one of the good guys.

  Slowly raising my head off the couch, reluctantly opening my eyes, I find Brady pacing frantically near the kitchen door. I sit up slowly, hoping and praying that the contents of last night don’t make an unpleasant appearance. With dirty, bare feet, I shuffle through the kitchen to let him outside. I palm my head, trying to smooth away the pain. Damn, I feel horrible. I pop a dark roast K-cup into the Keurig to get my blood flowing and I lean forward against the island, waiting with my head bowed. Thoughts of last night come rushing into my mind. Oh, God. What drunken confession did I make this time?

  I grab my ball cap from the hook by the door, pulling the brim low to shield my eyes from the sun as I push the squeaky screen door to sit outside with my coffee in hand. It’s a gorgeous, bright and sunny late August morning. Brady bounds towards me with a tennis ball wanting to play fetch. Sure, it’s a little early and I think I’m going to vomit and the trees are spinning around me, but I indulge him. I still feel a bit guilty that he was cooped up for so long as we traveled home from Texas two days ago.

  The realization hits hard that I’m only going to have a few more mornings like this before I head back to work, so I lounge in the Adirondack that Shelby sat in last night, sip my coffee and look through the trees at the quiet lake. My body slouches into the chair and I pull the cap lower onto my face, hoping the strong coffee settles my stomach. I am never drinking that much again. Ever.