by Debra Doxer
Like Candy
The Candy Series, Book 1
Copyright © 2015 by Debra Doxer
All Rights Reserved
Edited by Pam Berehulke
Cover Design by ©Sarah Hansen at Okay Creations
Formatted by JT Formatting
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Debra Doxer.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. 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/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author
ISBN: 978-1311336187
Title Page
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
Connect with Me
Author's Note
Acknowledgments
“You’re ruining my life!”
Kristen’s face was screwed up tight, shiny beads of sweat dotting her brow. She was going to give herself a heart attack. Did seventeen-year-olds have heart attacks?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, turning around before I did something stupid like laugh in my cousin’s face. I continued folding my clothes and placed them neatly inside my suitcase.
When her hand connected with my back, shoving me hard and nearly making me lose my balance, I wanted to lash out. But she was looking for a fight, and I had no intention of giving her anything she wanted. Instead, I slowly turned to face her.
“I’m not trying to do anything other than leave. I would think you’d be happy about that.”
Kristen’s cheeks tinged scarlet as her eyes began to swim. “At least tell my mother the truth. Don’t you get it? I could go to jail.”
She was seriously crying? The girl with a black hole for a soul? “I get it. It’s not that complicated.”
She pulled on her hair, her frustration palpable. “I know I was a bitch to you, but what you’re doing is crazy.”
I zipped my suitcase closed and lifted it to the floor. It was the kind with wheels and a pop-up handle, easy to walk with. “Why don’t you tell your mother the truth,” I suggested.
Her hands fisted as her crocodile tears dried up.
“Oh, that’s right,” I mused. “You can’t say anything because you’re not completely innocent. Are you?”
She looked down at my suitcase and an evil smile darkened her face. “Where do you think you’re going, anyway? Home to your father? Do you think he actually wants you? He doesn’t want you and neither do we. No one wants you, Candy, and no one ever will.”
Kristen grinned smugly, sure she’d hit a nerve. She was partly right. No one here wanted me, but my father did. He always had. She didn’t know the whole story.
“Well,” I said, looking down my nose at her, “soon all the inmates at the correctional facility will be wanting you. I hear the girls there are really friendly. Besides, orange is the new black, right?”
I doubted she’d ever go to prison, but I liked that she thought it was a possibility.
She glared at me, wound tight like a coil as I brushed past her, pulling my bag behind me. I braced for a blow, noticing her fists, but it never came. Kristen let me walk right by. Was she giving up so easily, or did she simply want me out of her sight?
Either way, there would be no big good-byes or going-away parties. I’d told my aunt and uncle I was leaving last night, and they’d distractedly replied, “No, you’re not.”
They hadn’t believed me. I’d said I was leaving many times since they first brought me to Ryberg to live with them six years ago. I’d said it to anyone who would listen, and I never went anywhere. But I hadn’t meant right away. I meant eventually, and eventually was today.
With my purse strap slung over my shoulder and my roller bag trailing behind me, I stepped through the front door, ready to walk the two miles to the bus station. I shouldn’t have been surprised to see my ex-boyfriend’s car coming down the street, but somehow I was.
To me, he no longer existed. Brandon Bishop. That name would never touch my lips again, but when I caught sight of him through the windshield of his beloved vehicle, I could understand why he looked like he wanted to kill me.
Bringing the car to a stop, he was halfway out the door when he started yelling. “You’re going to pay for the damage you caused, Candy!”
Just seeing him made my stomach roll. I could hardly look at his scowling lips, lips I’d kissed, knowing all the lies that had fallen from them. But I wouldn’t let him see how much he’d hurt me. Instead, I arched my eyebrows curiously and let my mouth form an O of surprise.
“Don’t even try acting like Little Miss Innocent.” He loomed over me, his face nearly as red as Kristen’s had been, and I wondered if she was watching this spectacle from her window. If so, she was probably enjoying it, making me wish I’d progressed farther down the street before my ex found me.
“What damage?” I asked, glancing at the obviously damaged car. The driver’s side was facing me with the door handle missing and the paint around it scratched and dented. Had he taken a crowbar to it? I wasn’t sure how else he could have gotten the door open.
“Oh my, that doesn’t look good,” I cooed as though I were looking at a child’s skinned knee.
Roughly, he grabbed my arm. “You’ve gone too far this time.”
I glared at him. “Really? I thought the problem was I wouldn’t go far enough.” Then I kneed him in the groin with every ounce of anger I had boiling inside me.
With a howl, he released me, falling to his knees and spitting out curses.
While he was down, I was tempted to kick him. Fury coursed through my veins—at him, at my cousins, and at a place that had felt like purgatory for far too long. I didn’t belong here. I never had, and I was finally leaving.
Taking a deep breath, I controlled the fire inside me, banking it as I sidestepped my ex and continued down the sidewalk, but not without looking over my shoulder one last time. He was still doubled over in pain. Seeing his misery lessened some of my own, but it didn’t completely erase it.
Too bad, I thou
ght as I turned and headed toward the bus stop. At least I’d gone out with a bang.
***
I’d only been to my house half a dozen times in the six years since my mother died and my aunt served my father with the papers that ripped me from my home. I’d wanted to move back ever since, but it was out of my control until I turned eighteen last week and bought myself a bus ticket.
Vibrating with nervous energy, I tried to stay calm when my father opened the door, not seeming at all surprised to find me standing there on the doorstep. His thick black hair was neatly combed, and his button-down shirt was perfectly pressed, tucked into gray dress pants. Sebastian Seaborne was always impeccably put together. It calmed me to see that never changed.
“I’m home,” I announced, holding my head high as I pinned my gaze to his, daring him to send me away. When his expression didn’t change, I added, “For good.”
“I see,” he replied evenly, taking in my suitcase. After a pause, he asked, “Do we need to get you registered for school?”
“Yes. High school, senior year.”
He laughed softly. “I know you’re a senior, Candy.”
The slight smile stayed on his lips as he stepped aside to allow me in. We weren’t an affectionate family, but I knew he was happy to have me back. His smiles were rare and his laughs were nearly extinct, but the subtle light that brightened his dark blue eyes when he saw me didn’t go unnoticed.
Pumpkin, my orange tabby cat, came trotting slowly toward the door. He was an old man now, the youthful bounce gone from his step. When I picked him up, he purred softly against me. I couldn’t take him with me when I left, but I knew leaving him behind meant my father wouldn’t be alone.
We were two of a kind, my father and me. A six-year separation filled with only the briefest of visits couldn’t break our connection. When my mother died, my father could have fought to keep me, but that would have meant going to court and possibly revealing more about himself than he wanted. My aunt knew that, and she used it to her advantage.
For a time, I wondered if my father would retaliate against her, but deep down I knew it was too risky. Our time would come, and I had to wait. “Be patient, Candy,” my father used to say. “Patience is your advantage. Patience is what brings balance.” It basically translated to karma, which I didn’t believe in. For me, waiting was too hard and uncertain. I liked to restore the balance myself. I thought of Kristen and my ex, knowing what I’d done to them was far more satisfying than waiting around for karma to kick in.
My father stood by, watching as I walked through the familiar living room and brought my suitcase into my bedroom. My whole body seemed to sigh at the smell of the place, the feel of being here, of finally being home.
My room was exactly the same. The only change I’d made on previous visits was to put away dolls and stuffed animals I’d outgrown. But other than that, nothing had changed. The pink carnation bedspread and matching pillow set my mother and I had picked out together were still on my bed, and the white drapes tied in bow sashes still adorned my windows. My mother’s touch was everywhere, and even though the room still looked like a little girl slept here, I didn’t intend to change a thing.
Once I finished unpacking, I went into the kitchen. Using a form I found on the counter, I called in a grocery order, gave them my father’s account number, and had the ingredients I needed delivered.
Now that I was home, I intended to cook dinner every night. My mother always insisted on family dinners, and I wanted to renew that tradition. One of my favorite things used to be helping my mother prepare meals, fetching ingredients for her and watching food cook in the oven through the rectangular window in the door. Most of my good memories included the three of us sitting in this small yellow kitchen, eating and talking about our days.
My mother’s recipe book, with her hand-scribbled notes and the food stains dotting many of the pages, was my most valued possession. It came with me when I left home and made the return journey too. This tattered book filled with reminders of her was something I looked at nearly every day whether I cooked or not, tracing the indentations her pen made in the paper, feeling close to her each time I handled it or prepared one of her recipes.
I’d tried nearly all of the recipes over the years, perfecting them while living in my aunt’s house, not that any of my aunt’s family ever complimented my cooking. Their empty plates did all their talking.
Being back here again, I wanted to give my father and myself a reason to come together each night, and preparing a delicious meal seemed like a good way to do it. That first night, he wasn’t surprised to find dinner waiting when he emerged from his office. I usually cooked for him when I came to visit. What he didn’t know was that this was going to be a regular thing.
“This is delicious, Candy. Thank you.” He chewed quietly and ate swiftly. If he recognized the dish as one of my mother’s, he didn’t mention it. He never did. My father hardly talked about her at all; it was too difficult for him.
“Are you looking forward to starting school?” he asked.
“Yes,” I replied, oddly ambivalent about the prospect, filled with excitement and dread.
I was going to be the new kid, but I wasn’t exactly new. I’d gone to school here from kindergarten through seventh grade, although I hadn’t kept in touch with anyone, and I wondered if they would remember me. Either way, I liked the idea of a fresh start, one that wouldn’t include my cousins trying to backstab me, or an ex-boyfriend hiding a parade of skanks right under my nose.
Here no one would be turned against me before I even arrived. But if anyone bothered me, I’d be ready for them. One thing was sure—if this school was a big snooze fest, I’d fix that soon enough.
That weekend, I slept like a baby in my old bedroom with Pumpkin curled beside me all fluffy and warm, and by the time my alarm went off on Monday morning, I was ready for the day to begin. I made myself whole-wheat toast for breakfast, and I used the single-cup brewer on the counter to make coffee. Then I carefully wiped everything clean. The house was spotless, and I wasn’t about to mess it up. I wanted to integrate as seamlessly as possible into my father’s life, giving him no reason to second-guess my presence here.
Right now, he was sleeping. His bedroom door was closed, and although I hadn’t heard him come in last night, I knew it was only a few hours ago. His schedule had changed since my mother passed away. When she was alive, he tried to keep regular business hours. Once she was gone, he didn’t want to spend his nights and weekends here. So unless he was on a special case, nights and weekends were when he worked, which meant I’d be on my own a lot living here. That suited me fine, since I’d felt alone in my aunt’s house no matter how many people were around.
For school today I dressed in skinny jeans, a blousy top, and ankle boots, and I’d left my thick wavy hair loose so I could flip it over my shoulder throughout the day. Instant attitude. Holding my phone out, I took a picture of myself and sent it to Theo. He was going to my old school today without me, and I was betting he missed me already.
Me: What do you think? First day of school outfit.
His reply came a few minutes later.
Theo: Go skimpier.
Me: This is for school, not hanging in da club.
Theo: s-k-i-m-p-i-e-r
Me: l-o-s-e-r
Theo: No need for name-calling. You used to show more skin. Your slutty look gold-plated my rep. Do you know how many girls wanted me when they thought I could get you?
Me: Too bad. I’m a good girl now. Did you miss the memo?
Theo: Right, Daddy’s girl again. Good luck with that.
Me: I’m not texting you anymore.
Theo: No problem. I’ll text you. You know you miss me.
Me: It’s true. How are you feeling?
Theo: Great. Now get your prissy little ass to school.
Sighing, I put my phone away. The fewer words Theo used for how he felt, the worse it usually was. But there was nothing I could do fr
om here, nothing I could do, period. Leave it to Theo to call me out about my clothes. I used to dress skimpier on occasion because I liked the attention it got me. I was freaking starving for a little admiration, but it was all for show. On the outside, I looked fast, but on the inside I was as slow as molasses to warm up. Just ask my ex, who told me he was okay with waiting. Yeah, right. Not so much.
But that was all in the past. The need to show skin wasn’t as strong anymore, and neither was the feeling of not belonging. I was home now, and I felt more like myself than I had in years. With my messenger bag strapped across my body, I set off for the local high school.
It was a sunny October day, unusually warm for upstate New York, temperate enough that I didn’t have to worry about my hands getting cold and trying to locate my gloves in the pile of junk I’d dumped in my closet.
It was a mile and a half to the three-story brick school building. When I arrived a short time later, students were congregating on the front lawn.
I paused to scan their faces. It wouldn’t surprise me if Parker Long were the queen bee here. She was a dominant force when I left in seventh grade, already building her kingdom of sycophants, hand choosing the cool kids by process of elimination. Her high standards required good looks and the ass-kissing skills of an Olympian.
I was never much of an ass kisser, and with my mother battling breast cancer, I mostly stayed on the sidelines. Her illness was common knowledge and once it a turn for the worse, no one knew how to act around me. I couldn’t blame them since I wasn’t much fun anymore. Watching my mother suffer, all I felt was helpless and angry. The person I used to be faded away as someone darker emerged. Before that I’d rivaled Parker for popularity. By middle school, I could have challenged Parker or joined her, and I wondered if I’d be faced with the same choice now—lead a cool-kids revolt or join the existing elite. With this being senior year and roles having been determined long ago, joining appeared to be the better option, but I’d keep my eyes open and make that call when the opportunity presented itself. Besides, I’d learned to appreciate my darkness, although not everyone felt the same way.