Reckless Abandon

by Jeannine Colette

  Reckless Abandon Copyright © 2015 by Jeannine Colette.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations, www.okaycreations.com

  Interior Design by Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2015

  www.JeannineColette.com

  For Bryan

  Prologue

  Part I

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Part II

  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

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  I open the car door, begging entrance into a world of speed and carelessness. I’ve always done things by the book. Tonight, I want to be reckless.

  It could be the liquor talking, but I don’t care.

  “Where are we going next?” Luke turns up the stereo. All the way up to the point your eardrums try to close in protection of the onslaught of erratic beats and heavy metal.

  “Anywhere you want, baby bro! Tonight I feel like flying!” I bang my head on the doorframe as my butt falls hard onto the passenger seat of his Mustang. I raise my hand to the spot that should hurt but surprisingly doesn’t.

  Luke shakes his head and laughs. “You’re gonna feel that in the morning. You’re numb drunk.”

  I twist my face and think about how drunk I possibly am.

  Do I know where I am? Yes. I am in Luke’s car.

  Where did we just come from? The bar? Yes. The bar.

  I’m not too sure how many drinks I had. My guess is three, four, seven . . . wait.

  My mouth pulls in and my throat clenches as I release a warm air belch. The quiet kind that leaves a liquor aftertaste in your mouth.

  Positive assessment: I am drunk. Just enough to feel really fucking good, but not enough to drive. That is why my baby brother is bringing my ass home.

  “Drive.” I order.

  “Yes, Ma’am!” Luke salutes me and puts the car in gear.

  When you live in a rural town, driving at night can be dangerous. With dark winding back roads and the only light coming from your own vehicle, you have to proceed with caution.

  Not tonight.

  “Let’s run the night!”

  Luke changes gears and we zip down the roads he knows like the back of his hand.

  “I like drunk Emma!” he shouts over the music, and I just close my eyes and smile.

  I like drunk Emma too.

  Sober Emma does everything right. Practices every day. Follows the rules. Dates the right boys.

  Boys. Fucking boys.

  I almost forgot about the douche who broke my goddamn heart. I spent the entire day torn up over him. I wasted years of my life being there for him.

  And then he left me.

  Just. Like. That.

  “Faster!” I hear the words pour out of my mouth but don’t actually feel my mouth move.

  “Really?” Luke asks.

  I open my eyes and look over at him. My eyebrows scrunch close together and give my best stare down. “Faster!”

  With a lead foot, Luke drives. Rapid, thoughtless, and uninhibited.

  The heavy bass shouting through the sound system makes the car vibrate and my pulse race. I hear Luke sing along. My mind is a rush of adrenaline and my fingertips rise above my head and then out the open window. The passing wind makes me feel alive and wild.

  Luke takes a turn and the tires of the car screech, my body slightly rises from the seat. I have to grab the door to get my bearings. He straightens out with precision and my heart pounds.

  That felt so fucking good.

  With his hand on the gear he shifts with each sharp turn, losing ground over hills. The wooded confines become a blur in the black night. The fast passing gravel ahead is all I see.

  The world around me starts to move. Fixing my eyes on the dash, I try to ground myself but it’s not working. The wild movements make my head feel dizzy. My stomach rolls up and away from itself. I think I’m going to puke. We should stop.

  We should . . .

  The tires squeal. A loud bang comes from Luke’s side of the car and the force of the impact slams me into my door.

  Spinning.

  We’re spinning.

  Luke’s hands are grabbing violently at the steering wheel. He’s out of control.

  It’s happening too fast.

  My head smacks against the door and then toward the windshield. Like a rag doll, my body is shifted. I have to grab hold of something but I can’t reach anything.

  The glass implodes. I raise my hands to cover my face from the shattering shards. My arms are covering my eyes. I can’t see anything but I feel the weightlessness of antigravity.

  I start to pray but the words can’t get out of my mouth fast enough.

  The car crashes hard into the ground with a force so powerful . . . so fierce . . . so . . .

  Silent.

  “How much further to the top?” Leah whines, clenching onto her roller suitcase. The casters make a thumping sound, banging against each step as she pulls it up the mountain of stairs.

  “We could have taken the bus.” My voice is an I-told-you-so singsong, slightly wincing, as I try to tame the ache shooting up my left arm. It’s my less-dominant one and not made for lifting a suitcase vertically up a hill.

  We’re both a little snippy from our long day of travel. It has been an episode of planes, trains, and automobiles to get us here. Yesterday morning, we woke up in Columbus and boarded a plane to New York, only to transfer to another flight to Dublin. After a serious layover and a few pints of Guinness, we boarded our third and final flight to Naples, Italy. With seventeen hours of travel behind us, we were elated to board a hydrofoil to take us to the island of Capri.

  We are tired, we want showers, and a glass of Prosecco wouldn’t hurt either.

  I raise my gaze to the incredible surroundings. When the boat pulled up to the Grande Marina of Capri, I had to blink to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. The sight so surreal, Schubert’s Ninth Symphony played in my head as a virtual theme song.

  Capri is a massive rock, shooting out from the Tyrrhenian Sea. Rocky caves around the island can be made out as the water crashes at the base. Up top, a cloud hides the peak of the mountain, making it se
em as if heaven is just beyond the fog. Cascading down the slope is fresh green, hugging the landscape like a blanket.

  As you get closer to the island, the definition and vibrant colors of homes and hotels peering up from the greenery becomes clearer. Shades of gold, red, and orange reflect off the rooftops. At the foreground, vendors and shops are bustling with activity. Tourists are buying souvenirs or trying to get a glimpse of Mt. Vesuvius, while others are walking to the various restaurants that line the marina.

  Stepping off the boat, Leah and I had rolled our suitcases along the stone path of the dock and over to where my map said we could hail a taxi or take a bus to our hotel. Leah being Leah, hell bent on living life to the fullest, decided we should walk to our hotel, taking the narrow stairway paths that cut through the island. She said it would be “exciting” and would help us “stretch our legs.” She had no idea how many hundreds of stairs we would have to climb.

  “Buses are for tourists. We are here to enjoy this magnificent island and the only way to do it is on foot!” Leah gives a loud huff at the end of her sentence, as she wraps two hands around the lever of her large suitcase and hoists it up.

  “Switch bags with me,” I say. My bag is much smaller and easier to maneuver. I pack light. We’re spending a week in the exotic Mediterranean. How many pieces of clothing could you need?

  Apparently for Leah, it’s a lot.

  I extend my arm, then quickly pull it back, realizing the one I was offering wouldn’t be of any use.

  “No, Emma, your hand.” She stops her progression and looks down at me. “You must be having enough trouble lifting your own. I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t—”

  “It’s fine.” I cut her off, stretching out my right hand, a constant reminder of the worst year of my life and all the dreams that faded in one awful weekend.

  A heart-wrenching breakup with the man I thought I was going to marry?

  Check.

  The devastating loss of a family member that left my soul aching so hard I found it hard to breathe?

  Check. Check.

  An accident that crushed my desires and everything I’d worked my entire life for, leaving me virtually numb?

  Triple check.

  Yes, it has been the worst year of my life and we’re only halfway through it. I’ve been so anesthetized and empty that my family pushed their own grieving aside to make sure I’m okay. All they want to do is talk, when it’s the last thing I need. That, and have them worry about me. They worry too much.

  I shake off the thought and brush away Leah’s concerns. “It’s fine. I’m using my left hand. Keep going. This should be the last set of stairs and then our hotel is on the left.”

  With a nod, Leah continues up, me following, until we reach a road. Sure enough, our hotel is just to the left. I have never been more excited to see a hotel in my life.

  I love vacations, don’t get me wrong. But for the amount of travel and manual labor it just took to get us here, this better be the best vacation of my life. At least I hope it is. Leah gave up a lot for us to experience this together.

  We enter the sliding glass doors of the Villa Marina Capri and a lovely receptionist who speaks perfect English greets us. She takes our passports to make copies, as per Italian custom, and when she returns them she escorts us to an outdoor waiting area while our room is readied.

  I’m a bit unsure about leaving my bag. Ever since my luggage was stolen on a college trip to Cancún, I refuse to let other people handle my belongings. After Leah assures me this five-star resort is a far cry from that rum-soaked Mexican hotel, I concede, but only after making sure my purse, along with my money and valuables, is with me.

  Leah just laughs at my one OCD trait and heads outside with me.

  “Oh my God.” The words escape my mouth.

  “Oh my God is right.” Leah repeats, sliding her sunglasses up her perfect button nose.

  The two of us stand in awe, gawking over the incredible sight before us. If I thought the view coming into port was phenomenal, I was mistaken. This is the most incredible view I have ever seen in my life.

  Standing about a third up the mountain, the island below us, and the sea beyond it, is the true answer of why God created the earth. So we can marvel at its beauty.

  The afternoon sun is shining bright. The sky is a perfect shade of blue with a few stray clouds. The whiteness of them only illuminates the color of the sky. The rooftops below are a gorgeous copper color and the sea is all but breathtaking.

  With a slight breeze in the air, Leah’s hair blows away from her cheek. Looking over at her, I see a look of melancholy on her face. A look so un-Leah, it makes my stomach drop.

  “I knew this was a bad idea. I shouldn’t be here. Adam . . .” The words choke in my throat.

  “Adam is the most amazing man in the world.” She finishes my sentence for me. It’s not what I was going to say, but she’s right. Leah’s fiancé, Adam Reingold, is by far the most caring, understanding, and perfect man in the world. He is the kind of guy you want your sister to marry. It’s exactly why I feel awful being the one standing here with her and not him.

  Leah gives me this knowing look that she’s been giving me a lot lately, followed by a hug. “Stop it. We’re here and this is happening. This week is about you and me. We are going to have the most spectacular vacation of our lives and I don’t want you feeling bad for one second. You hear me?” She holds me tighter and I return her embrace.

  Sometimes it’s hard to accept she’s the little sister. Not that she’s younger by a lot. Hell, we’re born in the same year, she arriving the day before New Years Eve. Irish twins. Most days she’s the wacky, wild sister who dances on bars and runs into oncoming traffic to get across the street. She never returns things she borrows and loves to sing karaoke, even when the establishment doesn’t have karaoke. It can get quite embarrassing.

  Back in Cedar Ridge, Leah owns a bar called McConaughey’s. Yes, it’s named after the famed actor and has Matthew McConaughey paraphernalia all around. There’s no good explanation for why the bar exists, other than the fact she is a die-hard fan and the cliental love to get drunk and chant, “Alright, alright, alright.”

  Leah is usually the crazy one getting the crowd riled up.

  Yet there are times like this—like this entire year—when she shows more maturity and composure than you would expect from the wild child with the platinum blonde bob and sheared jeans. This year had to be hard on her as well, yet she gave up so much for me, for our family.

  Pulling back from her, I let out a large sigh and am relieved to see a waiter approach us with a platter of prosciutto and a bottle of Prosecco, compliments of the hotel. We clink glasses and salute the start of our sisters sabbatical.

  “Do you know how much sex can be had in a tub like this?”

  Leah is sitting, fully clothed in the empty bathtub in our hotel suite. The large porcelain tub is yet another reminder of the honeymoon this was supposed to be.

  “Too bad it will be sexless for the next week.” I say, putting my clothes away in the large wardrobe that sits opposite the massive king-size bed.

  “Just because I won’t be getting foamed up in here doesn’t mean you can’t.” She wiggles her eyebrows.

  “No.” I shoot her an evil glare.

  “What happens in Italy, stays in Italy.” Leah sings, resting her head on the back of the tub and kicking up her feet.

  I let out a laugh knowing that is not true. My sister has the biggest mouth in Cedar Ridge. The fact she is marrying a state trooper means Leah not only knows everyone’s business from the bar, but she also gets the lowdown on every speeding ticket and arrest in town. If I hook up with a random Italian on vacation, everyone within a ten-mile radius will know, and I don’t need my dad hearing about my rendezvous. My poor dad. He still has a hard time believing I’m twenty-five-years-old.

  “I didn’t travel five thousand miles for a random hookup.” Placing my sundresses delicately on each hanger, I
look over at Leah’s suitcase, open on the sofa, in the seating area by the door. I’m sure that’s exactly where it will stay.

  “I didn’t give up my honeymoon so you could wallow the entire trip.” Her head peeks up from the tub’s headrest, one eyebrow slanted up, her mouth in a lopsided smirk.

  She’s a conniving one. In one breath she tells me not to worry about hijacking her honeymoon and in the next she’s guilting me over it. Nice to see she hasn’t lost her sense of humor.

  I shake my head and grin. Leah catches my laugh and points it out. “You’re getting some action this week, lady. It’s your debt to me. If you don’t pick him, I will.”

  I turn around from my place at the closet, placing my hands on my hips. “Why are you so hell-bent on getting me laid?”

  “Because it pisses me off the last guy in your pants was that jerk Parker. He’s an asshole, he fucked with your head, and it’s been six months since you’ve been with anyone else.”

  I can’t argue with her there. Six months ago I thought I was in love with Parker Ryles. We met at Carnegie Mellon, where he was studying the flute, and I was on the violin. He was smart and sweet and made that instrument look super sexy.

  After four years of dating, I was practically picking out bridesmaid dresses. That is, until he dumped me because he wasn’t ready to settle down. That would have been fine and dandy if we hadn’t started having “the talk.” You know, the one where you discuss how many children you want and where you’ll live. We were on the same page, or at least I thought we were. Now I know there is no way I could have married someone so selfish. My life has been destroyed and I blame him every day for what happened.

  At least it’s easier to blame him than myself.

  And right now I’d really like to tell him what he could do with that flute.

  For some reason Leah feels it’s imperative that I meet someone new. As if going out on a date is going to make the pain go away. Well, it’s not. I’m broken and loving someone or something is just not worth it because when you lose it . . . when you lose them . . . the pain is too much to bear.

  Leah rises from the tub and stalks over to her suitcase. “Let’s put on our sexiest outfits and hit this town.”