by Rue, Rebekah
The wolf in Prince Charming’s clothing befriended me for one purpose. He never expected what grew between us. I don’t hate him. His kisses weren’t meaningless. His words weren’t untrue. In fact, I treasure every twist and turn he took me on. If it weren’t for him, I might never have found what I didn’t know I was truly looking for.
Myself.
I had to lose everything, meet rock bottom. For so long I believed I needed someone: Maggie, a boyfriend, whoever, when in reality all I needed was myself.
The cell is mostly cleared out when my name is called again. “Knight, you’re free!” My feet take me out of there so fast, to the front desk where Maggie is waiting.
“Thank God.” I run into her arms.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t get you out earlier. I tried but they wouldn’t release you until your charges were cleared.”
“What charges?”
“Wreckless driving, disorderly conduct.”
“What?”
“Yeah, evidently you were arrested by the super trooper of the force. Talon’s brother Hutch said this guy slaps as many charges on anyone he arrests. In his eyes, they’re all criminals. What a way to screw someone’s life up. Thanks to Hutch, he got them all dropped.”
With the top down, the wind blowing through my hair makes Talon’s necklace jump across my neck. The movement only makes me hyperaware of the person I do not want to be. “Will you stop by the post office?”
Maggie peers over at me for a moment, trying to read my thoughts, and continues driving. “Okay.”
I buy a small envelope and scribble out a note on a random scrap of paper, asking Talon not to call me anymore, to respect me and give me some time. Gently, I unclip the necklace, place it in the envelope, and lick the flap closed. I walk to the outgoing mail chute and drop the envelope down the black hole.
Calls and texts filter in immediately once Talon discovers I’ve been released. He tries to come to see me, but Maggie stops him. I avoid him at all costs, still needing time to think about how to handle us. Our relationship has grown toxic.
A couple of mornings after the necklace was mailed, all communication stops.
Days turn into weeks, so when I find out Talon is no longer taking those pills, I know it has to be done. As difficult as it is, I’ve made my mind up. I’m meeting up with him at a park; much needs to be said. I spot him from afar and watch him approach. He looks good—clean cut and healthy—the perfect man . . . for another woman. His eyes don’t hold the specter of an empty soul. “Mind if I sit?” he asks.
I pat the bench next to me. What his eyes do hold are swirling thoughts of blame, except he isn’t all to blame.
“I’m sorry.” He talks towards the ground, stretching out a pause. “We can do this. We can work it out.”
“No!” I set my hand on his leg, making him halt. “There isn’t a single person to blame for this. It isn’t meant to be. I love you, but I bring out something in you that makes you crazy, and that something only drives me crazy.”
His face falls again, and he doesn’t move for several hard beats. “I’m not going to sit here and deny the strong feelings I have for you, but I’m seeing so many things clearly now. You belong to him. Towards the end, I could tell you were with me but never truly with me.”
Call me guilty because I am for wanting another man when I already own one. I experience the tightness in my gut, the heart ache, and the feeling of being dirty. Selfishly, I think of only my happiness. I can’t even congratulate myself on finding love because in the end I lost it. “Talon, I never wanted to hurt you. I’m sorry.”
Talon rubs the center of his chest. “Fuck, it hurts. I’m not gonna lie.” He blows out a quick breath and looks up at me. “But you’ve helped me in more ways than I can express, and I cherish that. I respect you.” He’s doing his best to keep his emotions in check. “I know now that love can exist and I’m capable of it, so thank you.”
His sweet words make me smile, bringing a tear to my eye. For all the rights and wrongs, we’ve both come out better people, not damaged. My soul lost its mate in the process. I need to forget what I want and take what I deserve.
To be alone.
I’m probably better off this way.
I didn’t respect Heath or his time. He tried to make every second count, tried waving the fog from my eyes. I simply took him for granted, and this is what I chose. I’m sure he’s moved on and hates me. I’d have walked away too. He’s better without me.
There’s just one more thing I need to tell Talon. “I’ve decided to move back to Texas. I’ve come to the realization that this is not my home. I’ve tried, yet everything feels unnatural, so I’m moving back.”
“You really think that’s the best idea?”
“Yes, I do.”
Talon pauses, slowly bobbing his head. “Okay, then, I support you.”
“Thanks.”
“What are friends for?” He pins me with a charming smile, the same one he threw at me the night of his party around the bonfire. “You’re still my best friend, and don’t you dare try getting out of it.”
I giggle. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” After that, we sit shoulder to shoulder, people watching.
“What do you think about that guy?” He points at a gentleman passing.
Shoving his shoulder, I laugh. “Boy, you never stop.”
“I’m going to miss you.”
I look over into a seriously sad face. Hearing that makes me sad too. “I’ll miss you too.” Before I start crying, I stand up, Talon follows, and I give him the biggest hug. What we had is gone. No magic can save this. There’s nothing else to do but say good-bye.
Leaning back, I take a good look at him. “I guess this is good-bye?”
“Fuck no. Let’s just say I’ll see you later. Good-byes are too permanent.” I smile to that. One more hug and kiss to my cheek, and Talon and I are done.
Talon
God, I’m going to miss that ass!
Chapter 28
Four months later
Lo
The move back goes pretty smoothly except for Maggie’s attempt to sneak Diddy in one of my boxes. I couldn’t miss the box with all the holes poked in it.
Maggie and I cry and cry, saying good-bye. We agree to FaceTime and text as much as possible. She’s no longer my human crutch. In fact, a whole bunch of little changes are taking place. For starters, I get my own apartment, alone, and put my parents’ ranch house on the market.
Between school and work, I quickly develop a tight-knit circle of friends. Mia, my boss, I especially grow fond of. She’s twenty years my senior and has me looking up to her like a mom; her word is like scripture. She has a kind heart but the fury of killer shark when need be. She’s a graphic designer and owns a successful group with four other designers, who work on everything from book and magazine covers to advertisements and exhibits. The job I was hired for is a receptionist, but Mia recognized something more in me, so she says, and asked me to be her personal assistant.
Mia’s head pops out of her office. “Lo darling, would you mind running up to the deli to pick up the sub platter I ordered. I have a very important client coming in for a meeting, and I need it quickly. Just pull money from petty cash.”
Zipping downtown, I dash into the deli. The order line is stacked up five deep, but as luck would have it, the pickup counter is empty. Platter in hand, I grab several containers of fruit and jump in one of the checkout lanes. I’m next, when a woman in her fifties behind me taps on my shoulder. “Excuse me.”
I blink, studying her face, trying to place her. “We’ve never met, but I know who you are. He asked me to give this to you if I ever see you about.”
On one side it’s a navy-blue business card. Before I can turn it over, I’m distracted with a call from Mia. “Are you close?”
Shoving the card in my purse, I pay for lunch and rush back to the office, not giving the older lady a second thought. “On my way.”
Three of my
girlfriends and I are going down to this new honky-tonk bar for my twenty-first birthday. Drinking isn’t my thing, but they insist it’s a rite of passage for any twenty-one-year-old. From the second my cowboy boots touch maple floors, my legs can’t keep still. The music is loud and the whoops and the hollers are even louder. The place is pure country and packed wall-to-wall with people drinking and line dancing. With her hand in mine, Gigi pulls me straight to the bar. “Listen up, folks,” she yells. “This here is my girl’s twenty-first birthday today. Show her some hospitality and let’s get her sloshed!” A crowd-raising roar lifts as well as every beer in hand. Shots galore come my way, one after another after another. This place is crawling with handsome men who can dance. My weakness.
If I were in a different place in my life, I would entertain some of the come-ons, but that part is still wounded. I haven’t dated at all; it seems so meaningless. Anyone can tell you you’re pretty; I need much more than that. The whole night I play with a heavy, unsettling sense of being watched, but gradually that numbs when my blood turns to alcohol. My crystal twenty-first-birthday tiara and jelly legs give people reason enough to watch me make a fool of myself.
I have no idea how I got home. The last thing I remember is being carried. By whom, I don’t know. All of us girls were equally tiny and wasted. The next morning I wash off the twenty-one red lipstick kisses running up my arm and go about straightening the house. I don’t notice it until much later in the day.
I couldn’t.
Staring at the Post-it, I flip it over and over in my hand, wanting more. This can only be one person. But he couldn’t? Couldn’t what?
Stay?
Talk to me?
Resist helping?
I don’t know. That’s when I remember the navy-blue card. Dumping the contents of my purse out onto my bed, I find it, all beat up. This may be a mistake, but I have to know if it’s him.
Nervously dialing the number on my cell phone, I wait. After two rings, someone picks up. “Hello, Olivia speaking.” Quickly, I push end.
My heart throbs with crippling pain, making it hard to breathe. A lone tear puddles on the screen, and my shaky hands drop the phone to the bed. I guess that’s it. He’s moved on. All I can do is breathe and accept what I’d already suspected. Her voice though makes it very real.
This is pure masochism, but I sit on my bed and scroll through every photo of him and his work he ever sent me and bawl. When no more tears fall, I select that whole folder and delete every single image. It’s my way of cleansing my soul, releasing him.
If only I had known our last kiss would be to my temple.
I would have turned my head.
A sneak peek into Heath’s book
Stroked
Two and a half years later
I want her to handle it directly. She has the power and skills to. It needs to be done right, and the graphic design company she works for is the best around. Usually, my manager would do all the contacting, but I have other motives, so I place the bait and wait for her to bite.
We bounce emails back and forth, working every tiny detail out. The more we communicate, the wittier she gets. Throw in some flirting and I think of any reason to write an email, change details then change them back. I crave more time, more of her attention. I miss her. I tried dating, a few girls even made me smile, but every touch was blank and had me wishing it was her.
Mom mentioned over dinner once that she bumped into Lo at the deli a couple of years ago. She passed along my card, but nothing ever came of it. Sad really. Our love was temporary madness. Her back-and-forth antics drove me insane, but I refused to be her second choice. Pure curiosity drives me to know why she’s back. She hasn’t reached out to me, but something tells me things with lover boy in Florida must have gone sour. Not my problem.
After all this time, I’ve got to know. Why him in that moment? Maybe that’s what’s keeping me from letting go and moving on. I’ll give her a chance. I won’t make her feel like shit, but I damn sure need closure. It’s the only way for me to move on.
Watch your back. Ms. Knight. I’m coming for you.
As if I haven’t said enough
I mean after over 96,000 words I think the title is fitting.
A huge thank-you to all you readers! Open up the confetti cannons and sound the choir of children because we Indies thrive from you. A thousand potent thank-you’s!
If you want more of Lo, Talon, and Heath, go to my author Pinterest page at: www.pinterest.com/rebekahrue/
If you enjoyed reading this book, please take a moment and write a review on Amazon or Goodreads or your favorite retailer. Even better, copy and paste to both. It doesn’t have to be long. A review for an indie author is HUGE, and without you guys, it’s quite difficult to get the word out. Word of mouth is powerful, and telling just one person can make or break me. Let’s not do any breaking. You would be doing me a huge favor, so please and thank you. With your good words, maybe my husband will continue to let me write another book for you guys. J
Check out my website: RebekahRue.com
Currently, I’m working on the second installment of Beaten entitled Stroked, and then Maggie has been yelling at me to give her and Bain a story of their own. So lots in the works. Stay tuned and keep the reviews coming! Love all you book whores!
Keep reading. The first little flutters you get in the beginning of a book are one of the best feelings to live for.
Writing+ reading=sanity.
Xxxooxxx
-Rebekah Rue
Acknowledgments
Now for my thank-yous,
I bow down to my husband, Chris, for being the most understanding, patient, and loving Mr. Mom I could ask for. You supported me and took care of many meltdowns while I was locked away in my office, writing. God sent you down that paper towel aisle for a reason. No other man would have stuck by this kind of crazy, and for that, I love you endlessly. You are my strength and deserve your own special version of a thank-you. One day we’ll get an adult-only swim. I love you! J
To my two amazing children, I’m sorry my answer was always, huh? or shhh, Mommy’s thinking right now. I missed many sunny days in the pool and can’t wait to cannon-ball in to play. I love you guys to pieces and am dying for tons of make-up kisses.
Whitty, thank you for listening endlessly to my plot changes, helping me name my characters (how many different Lo’s did I have. Ha!), and cheering me on overall. You’ve become an amazing friend and the perfect person to bounce stuff off of. I owe you.
Michelle, you opened my eyes to all the little details that the story needed to thrive. You picked me up and straightened me out when I thought about not publishing this book because of an editor’s critiques. That editor was right, and I’m so much happier I changed what she recommended—after I cried my eyes out first. Now you’re actually living the story.
Jennifer Roberts-Hall, can I just say you are an amazing woman. I’ve said it once and I’ll tell everybody again that you were like my golden ticket and your knowledge was untouchable. You didn’t turn me away when I clobbered you with endless questions on a daily basis. You basically taught me the ropes, and in a process that was overwhelming and scary, you made it simple.
B.L. Berry, I can’t thank Jennifer enough for introducing us. I had questions, and, girl, you had answers and motivation to go with it. You made me feel like I was handed the key to a secret society, telling me all the secrets. You are the best.
Here’s a shout-out to all the bloggers who took the time and pimped Beaten with love. I appreciate all of you and wish everyone the best.
To my betas, Deana W., DeAnna P., Michelle P., and Kaitie R, the patience a beta reader has to have to read a book full of grammatical errors and missing storyline is extreme. Thank you for taking time out of your busy lives to help build Beaten. I could never repay each one of you for your strong words and helpful ideas. You ROCK!!!
Kaitie, Kaitie, Kaitie, you’re one of the most beautiful people I know. I
can’t thank BL enough for introducing us. Thank you for all your crazy, sweet words and helpful thoughts. You make me feel like I’m the most important author ever. Blogging is in your blood. One day you and I will have a REAL frappe together, no more virtual ones.
Sarah Hansen from Okay Creations, thank you for the cover.
Thank you Roser Portella Florit and Deviant Art and cover model Amber Ornelas. The photo is truly breathtaking.
Theresa Wegand, my spicy, take-charge, no-nonsense editor. Love you, girl! I place you on a pedestal for your skills to take an average sentence and make it sparkle. You clearly are the queen of what you do. Thank you for being so professional and making this experience exciting. Can’t wait to work with you again.
A small thanks to Coca-Cola, which powered my characters along with the workout video Insanity. After I did them, I was superhuman in the writing department. They were my muses.
And to my longtime work family at the surgery center, thank you, thank you, thank you for the many hours of comedy that brought out many book ideas.
About the Author
Rebekah Rue was born in Dolton, Illinois, but now lives in Florida. She attended Polk State College where she graduated with a license as a Registered Nurse and works in an eye surgical center. She writes when she can, which according to her husband is every blinking second.
Of course she loves to read. She reads about as much love, angst, cocky alpha males, and love triangles she can get her hands on.
She is a severe chocoholic (she swears it's what keeps her skinny). She never grew out of loving Disney. She is incredibly thankful for her husband Chris (her high school sweetheart she was lucky enough to marry), and her two kids. After waiting a year for Rebekah to finish writing Beaten, they didn’t die of starvation. Who knew?
Hang out with Rebekah on Facebook or Instagram for great new teasers, upcoming info, and other fun stuff.