Dreams
of
Us
By:
Brooke St. James
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the author.
Copyright © 2016
Brooke St. James
All rights reserved.
Table of Contents
Prologue
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
Epilogue
Other titles available from Brooke St. James:
Another Shot:
A Modern-Day Ruth and Boaz Story
When Lightning Strikes
Something of a Storm (All in Good Time #1)
Someone Someday (All in Good Time #2)
Finally My Forever (Meant for Me #1)
Finally My Heart's Desire (Meant for Me #2)
Finally My Happy Ending (Meant for Me #3)
Shot by Cupid's Arrow
Prologue
Lord, may my words be your words. Use me. Help me to be a vessel. Use my work to speak to someone's heart. Help me be open to the story you want to tell. Don't let me or my ideas interfere. Speak to my heart, Lord. Tell me what you want me to write.
And so went the prayer of Isabel Holiday before she went to bed that night.
Her ensuing sleep was anything but restful. She woke up several times, sweating, feeling nauseous, and having a hard time going back to sleep. Her dreams were vivid, and she tossed and turned, trying in vain to find a comfortable position.
Sometime, during the midst of all that, whether it was a dream or during delirious wakefulness, the Lord spoke to Isabel's heart about what she needed to write. The remainder of her evening was spent wrestling with God about it. She had the distinct feeling that she had wrestled, not only because she fought mentally with herself about whether or not God could possibly be saying what she thought He was, but also because she physically tossed and turned, fidgeting with her pillows as she tried to find rest.
She woke up the following morning, feeling that the book was already written—like the story had already been told, and it was simply up to her to record it. It felt almost as if she refused to write it, then God would give someone else the privilege.
Privilege?
Could that be the right word for something she didn't even really think was a good idea?
But hadn't that been what she wrestled with all night?
She sighed, unable to believe that she'd heard God right. She lay in bed, listening to the sounds of her husband making breakfast for their children, reluctant to make herself get up.
"I write contemporary Christian romance," she whispered to God as she lay there.
"It's a romance," that still, small voice said.
"Yeah, but, it's not typical," she thought. "Bailey's not typical. Readers want to identify with their heroine. How many people are going to be able to identify with Bailey?"
"Why is it so hard for you to trust what I'm asking you to do?" the silent voice said to her heart. "Aren't you the one who said you didn't want to get in the way?"
She stayed there for at least a half an hour, trying to wrap her head around the fact that God wanted her to tell Bailey Black's story. It was not at all what she expected when she asked God to speak to her heart about the characters in her next book. It crossed her mind that maybe God would minister to one single person through it, and decided that it would be worth it.
"I'm leaving for work in a few minutes," her husband said as he pushed open the door. He switched on the lamp once he saw she was awake. "The kids are fed," he said.
"I know; I could smell it. Thanks."
"Did you sleep good?" he asked, staring at her from the opposite side of the bed.
"No, actually."
"What's wrong?"
"I was asking God about what I should write next, and I was up thinking about it most of the night."
"Do you have some ideas?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"Well, that's a good thing."
"Not really."
"What do you mean?"
"I think I have to tell Bailey's story."
There was a pause, during which time Isabel's husband, Robert, looked at her with a confused expression.
"Bailey from church?" he asked, finally.
She was staring at the ceiling, and she nodded without looking at him.
"Really?" he asked, sounding as confused as she was.
She let out a humorless laugh.
"You mean the part where she meets Jordan?" he asked.
"Well, obviously that," she said.
"You're not gonna write about…" he trailed off. "Are you?"
She nodded. "That's her story. I can't tell Bailey's story and leave that part out."
"Yes you can," he said.
This statement caused Isabel to look at Robert with a serious expression that he took to mean she wasn't planning on leaving anything out.
"How do you think that's gonna go over?" he asked, still looking confused.
Robert Holiday was the epitome of a supportive husband. He had stood by Isabel at times when few others had. But writing was her career, and she could tell as she looked at him that he was taken aback by her idea.
"I don't really know how it's gonna go over," she said. "I honestly can't believe I'm even telling you any of this. I thought I'd pray and God would help me get to know my next set of characters. I never dreamed it'd be Bailey. Well, actually I did dream it, I think. And then I was up and down the rest of the night, thinking I couldn’t possibly have it right." She stared at her husband, who was still standing on the other side of the bed. "But I think God's telling me to tell her story."
He was quiet for several long seconds before he shrugged. "Who am I to tell you not to do it if you're hearing from God?"
She sighed. "I can't believe it either. I've been lying here like doubting Moses saying, 'are you sure, God, I don't think I'm the right girl for this job,' and things like that."
"It's doubting Thomas," Robert said. "No one ever called Moses 'doubting Moses'."
"Yeah, but I'm relating more to Moses right now," she said. "Or maybe Jacob with the wrestling thing."
Robert shot her a confused expression, but didn't ask what she meant by that. "Maybe you should sleep on it for a night or two," he said.
She shook her head. "If I'm not willing to tell it, He'll let someone else do it."
Robert breathed a little laugh.
She knew him well enough to know what he was thinking, and she could appreciate that he saw the humor in thinking of telling Bailey's story as a privilege. She stared at the ceiling again, still unable to believe what she'd decided.
"Well, it is a romance," he said.
"Yep."
"And they'll love the part with Jordan."
"I know. I just hope I can make them love Bailey."
"You love Bailey," he said.
"Yeah, but I know her. I'm afraid they'll judge her before they get a chance to know her."
"Maybe you should give them a little credit."
She chuckled. "That's what God said."
"You heard from God?"
"Not out loud or anything. It was mostly just my thoughts and feelings, but I knew they were from Him. It was weird, though. I knew in my bones I had to tell Bailey's story."
A few long seconds of silence passed between them, after which he sighed.
"You gotta do wh
at you gotta do, babe."
***
Three days later, Isabel met Bailey Black for coffee at a small café. Their relationship could better be described as them being acquaintances rather than close friends, but Bailey was gracious about the random invitation for coffee.
Isabel watched through the window as Bailey approached, smiling to herself about what a beautiful leading lady she was. She was tall for a girl, and had a lean, athletic build. Her long, sandy blonde hair was tied back into a ponytail with a headband strategically placed around her crown. She had on athletic looking apparel that suited her perfectly.
Isabel watched her approach. Her movements were graceful, and she smiled even though she had no idea anyone was looking at her. There was a woman pushing a stroller near the entrance, and Isabel grinned as Bailey rushed forward to get the door for them. She and the stroller-pushing-lady exchanged a few brief words before walking inside. Bailey smiled the whole time, and Isabel caught herself feeling relieved about how likable Bailey was. She hoped she could describe her adequately.
Isabel waved as soon as Bailey looked into the dining room of the café, and Bailey made her way over to her table without hesitation.
"How's it going?" Bailey asked, reaching out for a sideways hug before she pulled out her chair.
"I'm great. Thanks for meeting me."
"I've been meaning to try this place anyway," Bailey said, looking around as she settled across from Isabel. "I read that book you gave me," she said with a smile. "It was so good, I could barely put it down."
"Oh, that's sweet, thank you. I'm glad you enjoyed it."
"I usually get books on my iPad, but there's something cool about holding a paperback."
"I'll bring you the second one in that series if you want."
"I'd love it," Bailey said.
"That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about," Isabel said.
"Paperbacks?"
"Books in general."
Bailey smiled and nodded, waiting for Isabel to continue.
"I wanted to ask if you'd be okay with me telling your story."
"My story?" Bailey asked, holding a hand to her chest and looking a bit taken aback.
Isabel nodded.
"You mean how I met Jordan?"
"I mean your whole story."
Bailey's eyes widened. "Are you talking about when I was in college?"
Isabel nodded again. "Why couldn’t you just skip that part and pick up where I met Jordan?"
"Do you think it would make you or Jordan uncomfortable to have your whole story told?" Before Bailey could answer, Isabel continued. "I wouldn't go into detail or anything. I'd just give a brief background in the first couple of chapters. I just think it's important to include that. Without that, it would just be a normal romance—a good one, but not the one I feel like I need to tell."
Bailey thought for a few seconds, and Isabel wondered what she'd say.
"Isn't it sort of a gamble? Do other Christian authors write about girls like me?"
Isabel smiled, thinking about the mental struggle she'd been having with the same questions. "Not that I know of, but I have to trust that there's someone out there who could benefit from your story."
Bailey stared at the table, contemplating.
"I don't want you to feel pressure to make a decision right now," Isabel said. "I'd include details about your life that would make it obvious who the book is about—at least to the people who know you. Maybe you could take a few days and talk to Jordan about it."
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Isabel was hoping Bailey would decide not to let her tell the story. Then, she could blame her inability to follow through on someone else's unwillingness.
"I'd be honored," Bailey said, nearly causing Isabel to choke on her coffee.
She coughed a few times and had to clear her throat before speaking again. "You would? Are you sure you don't want to take some time to think about it?"
Bailey shook her head casually, which made Isabel think she hadn't been totally clear.
"I'm gonna write it like it's a fictional love story, but all the details will be yours—I'll probably even use your real names."
Bailey continued to smile as she nodded, indicating that she understood.
"I'll probably need to meet with you a few times during the process, you know, for interviews."
Bailey smiled sweetly. "I think it's a great idea, and you never know who could benefit from hearing my story."
Isabel cringed inwardly, praying that she could do an adequate job of explaining what a beautiful soul this girl was.
"I'm not gonna mince words about your college years," Isabel reiterated. The warning was as much directed toward herself as it was toward Bailey. She still had trouble believing that she was thinking about writing this story.
Bailey had a slightly regretful look on her face when she shrugged. "I guess there's no way of getting around that if you're going to tell my whole story. It is what it is."
Isabel nodded and put her hand out to cover Bailey's, which was resting on the table. "It's a beautiful story of God's love and redemption… and Jordan's obviously swoon-worthy. They'll love him."
Bailey laughed. "He is really hot, isn't he?"
Chapter 1
I didn't plan to have my life turn out the way it did; it just happened that way. Things happened and opportunities arose, and my life just sort of took shape the way all lives do, I guess.
I'll try to back up far enough to let you in on a few key things that will hopefully give you some insight. Please note that I'm a funny, happy-go-lucky person, but it may take a while for you to see that side of me.
Here goes.
I was a natural born athlete. My mom and dad say I came out of the womb with a ball and glove. I wouldn't necessarily give myself the label tomboy because I had my fair share of Barbies and hair ribbons, but I most assuredly felt at home on a baseball diamond or a basketball court—even from a very young age. My big sister wanted to be a cheerleader, and I wanted to be out on the field playing ball—that's just how it was.
My parents fostered my love for sports, and put in a lot of time helping me practice and improve. My dad was big on work ethic, and I practiced fielding and hitting a softball like a child prodigy would practice piano. I spent all of my middle school years improving, and by the time I got to high school, I was a standout among my peers. I played softball and basketball, but softball was my main sport.
I played starting shortstop even as a freshman, and by the time I was a senior I led my team to a state championship. It was in high school that I had my first real boyfriend. I was popular in school, and lots of guys had asked me out, but I kept so busy with practice and schoolwork that I didn't really see the point of trying to fit a relationship into the mix. I figured I'd get to that once I was old enough to actually get married.
Finally, I got enough slack from my friends at school that I agreed to go out with Justin Miller. He was handsome and a multisport athlete like myself, so going out with him made the most sense.
I remember the night I broke up with him like it was yesterday. There was a party at our friend Kayla's house, and Justin and I planned to meet up there. It was the first time we had officially gone out as a couple, and I remember feeling anxious and excited about it. He had already been drinking by the time I arrived. Maybe it was that, or maybe he was just a little overzealous, but either way, he was all over me like white on rice.
It was as if me agreeing to go out with him had given him the green light to put his hands all over my body. It felt like I was being attacked by an octopus. I remembered feeling shocked, but as I looked around I could see that people were smiling at us like they thought we were cute and sweet together, and that was what couples on their first date were supposed to do.
His behavior only got worse as the evening went on. I won't go into all the details, but he was so forward that there was no doubt in my mind he thought we were having sex that night. I tried to n
avigate around it as graciously as possible, but he got more and more aggressive as the night went on, and that was the end of Bailey and Justin.
I tried again my senior year with a guy named Cameron, but it ended the same way. He and I dated for a couple of weeks before he pushed himself on me, but it was otherwise an exact repeat of Justin.
Call me old-fashioned, but I was appalled at the idea that they assumed just because we were going out meant we'd automatically have sex. I asked Cameron as much, and he had the nerve to tell me he was okay not having sex as long as we 'messed around'.
I gave up on boyfriends after that. I figured I'd find someone when the time was right, and until then, I wasn't really worried about it. My mom said I'd meet someone in college, and I thought that was as good a plan as any.
I got several college scholarship offers, but ended up accepting one in Chicago since it was only an hour away from my hometown. I would play softball on a full scholarship and study graphic design, which was another passion of mine.
Life was good. College was incredible. It felt great to be independent after so many years of my dad breathing down my neck about practice and homework. Truth was, I spent about the same amount of time practicing and studying, but at least it was me breathing down my own neck and not my dad.
I bonded with my teammates immediately. There is something to be said for the camaraderie of athletes. We formed instant friendships, and I fell into an easy rhythm of college life.
Call me naïve, but it never even occurred to me that some of the girls on the team had a more than friends relationship with each other until my roommate came out and told me that my freshman year.
"Don't tell me you didn't know that half the girls on that team are gay," she said, when it was apparent that I didn't have a clue.
She was obviously not an athlete, or she would never have said something like that.
"I'm pretty sure that's not true," I said, defensively.
I remember her laughing at the fact that I had no idea.
It was the following year that it happened.
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