It was a part of me.
It branded me with a love willingly given. Bled from an unwavering, secretive heart.
Elian.
My earliest memories were of blood.
I smiled.
The blood was all I saw.
“Here are your seasoned fries and ranch dressing. Is there anything else I can get ya?”
I looked up from the newspaper spread out in front of me and gave the waitress a smile.
“Some more iced tea would be great,” I said before picking up a French fry and dunking it in dressing.
I smoothed my hand down the page laid out on the table. A smiling face and dancing green eyes stared back at me. At least I knew they were green. The black and white photograph did nothing to dim the brilliance that had once been there. As they had been, in the beginning.
Police are still looking for any information in relation to the disappearance of twenty-eight year old Elian Beyer. Mr. Beyer was last seen six months ago. Sheriff Johnson of Brecken Forest, Virginia is asking for help from the community as the search continues.
New stories that were only mine.
Only ever mine.
They belonged to me. Not to my father. Not this time.
I never wanted to share Elian.
Some things were too special.
I folded the newspaper over and put it on the seat beside me, feeling nothing. The numbness had resumed its place inside of me.
I slowly chewed the fry and watched people as they walked in and out of the Denny’s that sat in the middle of Mole Valley, Indiana.
Watching strangers provided the same enjoyment it always did. Imagining their stories made me feel closer to the man who used to tell me tales of the stars.
A man, who had knowingly molded me into his image.
I pulled the tattered copy of Swann’s Way from my pocket and opened to the page I had dog-eared.
The sound of laughter a few feet away caught my attention. I recognized the man who sat in the booth across from me. The one with the blond hair and smiling brown eyes. He was grinning at an older woman I believed to be a co-worker. There was clearly no familial relationship, nor were they romantically involved. Their body language made that obvious.
I wondered what they were talking about?
The weather? Love or life and death?
Or something inconsequential?
The man with the smiling brown eyes put a handful of potato chips in his mouth. He crunched them nosily.
I liked the sound of his laugher. It wasn’t deep and low but was instead high and delighted. His cheeks flushed red as he smiled.
I had been coming into this Denny’s since moving to Mole Valley three months ago. Every single day. No matter the weather.
Just like always.
Smiling Brown Eyes and the older woman came in twice a week. I had come to recognize the sound of his high-pitched laugh. I listened for it. Knowing his was the laugh I had been looking for.
He was random. But my actions weren’t.
He wasn’t special. The man with the smiling brown eyes. They didn’t dance. And they weren’t green.
This one was…unimportant.
I continued to eat my fries. One at a time. Dipping them in the ranch dressing before popping them in my mouth.
Smiling Brown Eyes was paying their bill. I knew they were about to leave. He always paid for lunch, never letting the older woman get out her wallet.
They’d argue good-naturedly but Smiling Brown Eyes always won and the woman would grumble but grin all the same.
He was a nice guy. It was obvious. The kind that would pay for his co-worker’s lunch each and every time.
The kind that couldn’t help but notice the beautiful woman with coal black eyes that sat in the booth opposite him every week.
“Hi,” Smiling Brown Eyes said as he passed by my table. I looked up at him, our gazes meeting and clinging.
I felt a buzzing.
Buzz…
“Hi,” I said quietly, giving him a small smile. He stood there, beside my table, staring down at me, and I knew he liked what he saw. I could see the pulse in his neck thudding just under the skin. His pupils dilated just a fraction.
“Whatcha reading?” he asked. His voice was clear and clean. I liked the sound of it. I felt it in my gut.
I slowly pushed the bruised and battered copy of Swann’s Way toward him. His hand came down to pick it up, fingers brushing mine ever so slightly. He flushed.
I didn’t.
He thumbed through the pages. “I’ve never read it. Is it good?” he asked.
I nodded. I didn’t give him the words even though I knew he wanted them.
I never would.
This time would be no different.
“Come on, Josh,” the older woman called from the front of the restaurant.
Josh with the smiling brown eyes blinked as though waking. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you around?” He posed the statement as a question. They all did.
I nodded again, my smile ever so slight. Just enough to give him what he wanted and what I knew would make him talk to me again.
“Okay then. I’ll see you later,” Josh said, his promise making me giddy.
I watched him leave.
Once upon a time there was a girl named Layna. Her smiles were rare but special. Her words were given only when they mattered.
She made sure to show you only what she wanted you to see.
She lured you in with her painful past and her even more complicated heart.
And when you loved her, you loved her with everything you had. Until you were broken and ruined. Nothing left.
Because that’s what she wanted.
All along.
She fought battles no one else could see. The dangerous kind. The kind that left marks and drew blood.
But Layna wasn’t sad. Long ago, she had forsaken shame. Trust. Guilt.
Love.
Now all that was left was a beautiful hunter. Soothing you with her coal black eyes and empty, empty soul.
Don’t be upset that you didn’t see how the tale would end. She wanted it that way.
Don’t feel betrayed because you thought she was different.
You were fooled by an illusion.
Because Layna was the girl who wrote the stories.
She was the girl who owned the stars…
I chewed the last of my seasoned fries and opened my book. My father’s writing catching my eye.
I turned the page and started…all over again.
The end was my new beginning.
“Time passes, and little by little everything that we have spoken in falsehood becomes true.”
-Swann’s Way-Marcel Proust
This book is something I’ve wanted to write for a very long time. It was me breaking out of the box. Going with my gut. And most importantly writing what I wanted to.
So first and foremost, thank you to the readers who gave this book a chance. You may hate it. You may love it. But most importantly I hope you felt it. Because at the end of the day, that’s all I really wanted.
Ian, super husband, brain storming partner, taker of all the bullshit. This idea was your brainchild. You sat with me and hammered out the details. And most importantly you told me to write it how I thought it should be written. No holding back. Taking this story by the proverbial balls. And that’s what I did. Thank you for supporting this and every story.
To my super, awesome sparkly daughter. You kept me company many days while I wrote. And you created your own amazing stories. These are all for you. And one day you can actually read them (not for many, many years yet though).
To my Bad Ass CPs-Amy, Tonya, Brittainy, Claire, Kelsie, and Stacey. You told me to write what I wanted. And when I said, “I want to kill them all” you said, “Hell yeah!” You are the best critique partners, friends, overall fabulous women, that I have ever had the privilege to know. Thank you for always being a sounding board.
Kristy-you fantastic lady
you- not only are you my PA (my right hand, the person I seriously couldn’t function without) but you are an amazing friend. You read this book and said “Holy F**K!” and that gave me all the warm fuzzies I needed to continue on.
Danielle-thanks for your patience and not screaming at me when I said, “you know what, I don’t want to market this book at all.” (Though I think I may have seen an Exorcist head spin from across the pond). Your support is awesome!
And to the bloggers, readers, and super awesome author friends, I wouldn’t be here without you. You make IT ALL worth it!
Finally, don’t be scared to go against the grain. Even though Layna and Elian’s story was messed up, it’s a journey I wanted to take. Thank you for taking it with me.
A.Meredith Walters is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of the Bad Rep, Find You in the Dark, and Reclaiming the Sand series. She has also written Lead Me Not and the upcoming Follow Me Back in the Twisted Love series for Gallery Books to be released in June, 2015. Her upcoming book, Butterfly Dreams, will be published with Loveswept and will be released in November, 2015.
Before becoming a full-time writer, she worked as a counselor for troubled and abused children and teens. The Virginia native currently lives in England with her husband and daughter.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without express permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarities to persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Trademarks: This book identifies product names and services known to be trademarks, registered trademarks, or service marks of their respective holders. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of all products referenced in this work of fiction.
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2015 by A. Meredith Walters
Cover design © Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations
Photography © Regina Wamba, Mae I Designs
Editing services by Tanya Keetch/The Word Maid
Interior designed and formatted by:
www.emtippettsbookdesigns.com
Table of Contents
Title Page
Other Books by A. Meredith Walters
Dedication
Quote
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
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright Notice
The Contradiction of Solitude Page 27