The Roots of Us
Page 1
C O N T E N T S
Introduction
Stay Notified
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
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Afterword
Acknowledgments
Titles by Candace Knoebel
About the Author
T H E R O O T S
O F U S
The first time I saw Hudson Jameson, he was saving someone’s life.
The second time, he was ruining mine.
It was only supposed to be a vacation. A chance to let the Florida sun burn away the residue left behind from my failed relationships. I wasn’t searching for love. I was on a hiatus from men, especially ones with secrets.
Except Hudson had the gaze of a man drowning in his own miseries, and I was a sucker for the damaged souls. How could I deny him? How could I resist when his lips claimed mine?
I knew I couldn’t stay.
He told me he couldn’t bear to leave.
But some roots intertwine and refuse to let go, no matter how far you run.
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This book is a work of fiction. Any reference to historical events, real people-living or dead, real locales is entirely coincidental and used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
The Roots of Us. Copyright © 2018 by Candace Knoebel
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes. If you are reading this book and you have not purchased it or won it in an author/publisher contest, this book has been pirated. Please delete and support the author by purchasing the ebook from one of its many distributors.
Cover design © Sofie Hartley of Hart & Bailey Design Co.
Interior book design by Candace Knoebel.
Edited by Cynthia Shepp.
First Edition
Published by Candace Knoebel
“You can’t stop the future,
You can’t rewind the past.
The only way to learn the secret
…is to press play.”
― Jay Asher, Thirteen Reasons Why
AUGUST 15, 2015
THE FIRST TIME I SAW him, he was saving someone’s life.
It was on a hot, sticky afternoon, the kind where clothes clung like a second skin. Even the breeze seemed lethargic, slugging by as the sun beat down on the crowded shore. My mom would complain. She hated heat. But I didn’t care. I was one hundred miles away from a bad breakup, soaking up every last ray the sun had to offer. Burning out the dark ugly he’d left behind.
Some would call it running.
I’d call it taking a leave of absence from reality.
I reached into my bag for the suntan oil the clerk at the drugstore had suggested. “With skin like that, you can’t be too careful. One second, you’re fine; the next, you’re a lobster,” he’d said, referring to my porcelain tone. He had a bad case of acne and Dorito breath, but he’d been nice.
Florida was nice.
An hour had gone by before the sun disappeared behind the clouds rolling in, hiding from Mother Nature’s wrath. I tilted my head back. Drops of water fell hesitantly from the sky, as if the clouds weren’t sure if they were ready to release. I decided then the weather was bipolar. Sunny one moment. Raining the next. And then sunny again shortly after. Afternoon showers, the weather man said on the news earlier that morning. Twenty percent chance.
Judging by the big fat cloud pummeling this way, I’d say the weather man needed to check his radar.
The random few around me gathered up their belongings when the lifeguard blew his whistle. The weekend thrill was over, dampened by the onslaught of a brewing storm. To my left, a woman and her toddler were the first to go. Everything was packed neatly into the appropriate bags, and then stacked on top of the cooler that had wheels.
Fancy.
The girls on my right snapped a few more images of their feet in a circle, and then drew their names in the sand before they left.
Basic.
With a small grin, I began packing the book I was reading and the few snacks I brought to munch on into my bag. I couldn’t help but think about that time when my mom nearly had a heart attack because her umbrella wouldn’t open. The scream that erupted from her at those first drops of water were so piercing my eardrums rattled. She hated rain.
Rain made me feel alive. It had since I was a child running down my parents’ driveway while wearing a makeshift cape made from a sheet, head tilted back, tasting the water as it fell from the sky. Rain took me back to that feeling.
I needed more of that feeling.
A woman in front of me yelled something in Spanish at a young girl still swimming before storming off past the lifeguard, who was arguing with a drunk further down the beach. The drunk wanted to stay. Said a little rain wouldn’t hurt nobody. Yes. He’d actually said nobody. He took a considerable sip from a large yellow cup topped with an umbrella, most likely purchased from the small diner on the pier. I wondered if it was a bloody Mary. Or even better… a margarita.
I was suddenly thirsty for something more than the water I brought.
After I stood, I dusted off the sand stuck to my thighs, trying to decide what I wanted for dinner. I was in a new city, a new state to be exact, specifically not thinking about the breakup because that was how I rolled. I didn’t dwell. I simply moved on. One thought to the next. One town to the next.
My stomach growled. Should I have tacos? Fried chicken? He liked fried chick— No. I didn’t want chicken. I wanted the opposite of chicken. I wanted…
I almost didn’t hear the small cry as I lifted my towel, trying to figure out what the opposite of chicken was. At first, I thought the cry was a seagull and didn’t give it another thought, shaking out my towel before folding it and placing it in my bag. But then I heard it again, a small piercing sound that didn’t belong among the whipping winds picking up by the second.
Cocking my head, I scanned the beach and water, stopping when I spotted a small head bobbing up and down like a fishing lure amongst the crashing waves, hands flailing for help.
It was the young girl.
“Help!”
The word was clear then, cut off by another roiling wave. Dropping everything, I took off in a sprint, sand flying from my feet as I ran for the shore.
That was when I sa
w him… a large bear of a man, tall and muscular, somehow seeming scarier than the storm breaking across the horizon. He was already knee-deep in the water, traipsing through the waves, the water seeming to part for him as if he were a sea god returning home.
When I reached the tide, I stopped and waited, watching in a mixture of awe and fear as his arms sliced through the water, carrying him closer and closer to the child who had somehow drifted further and further away from shore.
Fear whispered a chilling breath down my spine. Slid cold fingers over my shoulders, shaking me awake. I pivoted on my heels to search behind me. My stomach did a small dip when I realized her parents hadn’t returned for her. Surely they hadn’t left her there.
When I turned back, I realized the child was no longer flailing, head disappearing beneath the boiling surface. My hand shot up to my mouth as the man dove under, tailed by the lifeguard swimming out to them. The seconds ticked away like millenniums as I waited for them to resurface, my stomach twisting in knots.
“Come on,” I said. My knees began to shake, and my heart thundered in my chest. The rain fell like bullets, cold and prickly against my skin. Waves rose beyond the shore like an alligator’s mouth, then snapped shut, again and again.
A moment later, the child’s head emerged. Bear Man soon followed. He had the kid on his back, and he was paddling with a fury I’d never seen before just as the lifeguard made it out to them.
I couldn’t take my eyes off him as he pulled her back to shore, his muscles outlined beneath the soaked fabric of his clothes. Not dressed for a swim, he wore khaki slacks and a white button down. He was brawny and solid, his every movement precise as he scooped her up and carried her the last few feet, clutching her close to his chest.
By the time they reached the sand, I had my towel out, intending to wrap the small girl up as the sky continued to dump buckets of rain on us. She was shivering from head to toe, eyes wide like a doe’s, but she was alive and conscious.
“You’re all right. You gave us quite a scare,” Bear Man said as he sat her down so I could wrap her. Though the towel was already soaked from the rain, it was better than nothing. A sort of comfort to ease the ache of missing her mother.
His voice was deep and warm, the kind of sound that felt like being held tightly by sturdy hands. She stared up at him, nodding and shivering as I tried to rub the chill from her bones.
The girl had to be no older than eight or nine, her chubby fingers clinging to the edges of the towel. Dark hair was matted to the sides of her rounded face. Big, chocolate-colored eyes brimmed with fear.
“I want my mom.”
“Is she here?” I asked, glancing behind me. Dune grass bowed with every demanding gust of wind. The wooden walkway was lifeless aside from the sand blowing like waves across it. The closest person was yards away on the beach, packing up like everyone else.
“She said she was coming right back,” the little girl said, her teeth chattering. Fat tears welled in her eyes.
“Here.” I pulled out the sheet I brought, and then spread it open for her. “Sit here.”
“Is she okay?” the lifeguard asked. He stopped in front of her and dropped to his knees, peering into her eyes while he checked her pulse. The rain was relentless, crowding our eyes, filling our mouths.
As I gave a shaken and stilted explanation of the situation, he assessed the girl, making sure she was okay. There were so many questions being asked that I felt for her, wanting to pull her close and hold her tight. She was so young and scared. Where the hell was her mother?
Bear Man had apparently noticed her fear as well, catching my eye. “Can you stay with her? I’m going to try to find her mom.”
I peered up through drenched lashes, locking eyes with the man who had the gaze of a bottomless ocean. With a quick nod, I turned and smiled at the child, trying to calm her even though my insides were so wound up I felt I could pop at any moment.
“I’m going to grab a thermal blanket from my station,” the lifeguard said, taking off right after. That was the thing about towels and rain… once they were soaked, it was impossible to get rid of the chill until dry again.
“What’s your name?” I asked. I rubbed my hands up and down her arms, since she had to be freezing. I was freezing. Had I said Florida was nice? I took it back.
“Estella,” she muttered, her lips slightly blue. She was beautiful. Dark curly hair. The kind of curls that had to be taken care of. Long thick lashes still dripped her nightmare.
“That’s a pretty name. I had a friend with the same name.” She wasn’t my friend. She was a mean girl who thought she was better than everyone else, but this Estella didn’t need to know that.
“I’m Hartley,” I added, moving a strand of hair from her face. “And that man is going to find your parents, okay?”
Estella nodded, staring down at her feet. I thought about offering her a snack from my bag, just to calm her, but decided against it. She could have allergies or something. I, on the other hand, really wanted those cookies poking out from my purse. I glanced over at them, wishing I could munch until this feeling went away.
It was a nervous habit.
A second later, a woman rushed toward us from the dock, screaming Estella’s name. It could have been a scene straight from a movie. Estella shot off the sheet and hurried toward her, dropping my towel in the process. The woman embraced her as the bearded, wave-slicing sea god came up behind them, stopping off to the side.
The mother dropped to eye level, and then barraged Estella with a string of rapid-fire Spanish while cupping her face. When Estella pointed to the man, the mother spun around to face him.
“Thank you, sir. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”
How about don’t leave your daughter in an ocean during a storm? I thought. Trying to keep my face blank, I picked up my towel, which was weighted with water and sand.
“I’m just glad I was here to help, ma’am,” her rescuer said. He bent to the child’s level and added, “You’re a very strong swimmer. Very brave, too, but next time try to stay closer to shore.”
Estella nodded before curling into her mother’s side. The pair headed up the wooden walkway, disappearing into a heavy sheet of rain.
Turning back to the ocean, I watched the waves crash against the shore, carrying the storm. My heart was still somewhere in my throat, my chest rising and falling like the sloshing waters. How something so beautiful could become deadly so quickly unsettled me. How one small choice could turn the world completely upside down. It was a scary thing, realizing how paper-thin life was.
I tried to be cautious with my choices, but life waited for those moments when it could shove people back onto their asses.
My presence in Florida was proof of that.
I felt him behind me before I heard him. I couldn’t explain it. His presence… it was expansive. Magnetic. Something familiar in the air around him that spoke to me.
“You did good.”
The husky notes of his voice registered deep in my gut, stirring an unfamiliar heat I felt all the way to my toes.
No, Hartley. No more romance for you. No more men. No.
My body wasn’t listening. It spun around.
His eyes, though shadowed by thick eyebrows, were unmistakably blue, the color of a clear river rimmed in gold, an odd clash against the frown that had sewn itself onto his mouth.
I blinked, and he was still staring. Assessing.
His lips were full and covered in burly whiskers extending a couple inches from his face. He was rugged and handsome in a wildish sort of way, but it was veiled by a lingering sadness. A man swimming in his own miseries.
I was dumbfounded. Utterly and completely.
My legs felt unsteady, but I didn’t think it was from coming down off the adrenaline rush. The way he gazed at me—it was as if he could see right through me to everything I hid from the world. As if he recognized it.
“You too,” I managed to say, my mind whizzing with a t
housand different words, none forming together in a pattern fit enough to leave my lips.
His lips parted and puckered, poised around unspoken words, but then he gave me a slight nod and started down the beach, disappearing within the sheets of rain.
Three words.
One exchange.
That was all it took to completely unravel the messy life I was actively trying to put back together.
I WAS JUST ABOUT TO step in the bathtub when my phone started ringing.
I didn’t have to look at the screen to know who it was. I could count on two hands how many people had my number, and the majority were too wrapped up in their own lives to call me… the runaway. The heartbreaker. The risk taker.
“Hey, Mom,” I said as soon as I answered, reaching for a towel. It was like she had a sixth sense that told her to call me at the most inopportune moments. It had been that way for as long as I could remember.
She let out a dramatic sigh before saying, “I thought you weren’t going to pick up. I was starting to worry.”
She said that every time. I was pretty sure it was her way of making up for the years when she checked out of life, leaving me to fend for myself. Those cold years coated in confusion and melancholy.
“It rang twice, Mom. And I was just about to get in the shower, so…”
“It’s a good thing I caught you then.”
Pulling the phone from my ear, I let my head fall back with a small groan. Of course she wanted to have a chat when I was trying to wash the day off my skin.
“I guess so,” I said. Resigned, I put the plug in the tub, and then turned the water on, knowing it would be a minute before I was able to get in. The knobs were finicky, both facing the same direction. I learned the hard way the hot only needed one good turn before it became scalding.
“Well… did you call him?” she asked when she couldn’t wait any longer.
Sitting on the toilet lid, I pinched my forehead between my fingers, silently cursing.