by KD Robichaux
Contents
Published by
Copyright
Dedication
Author's Note
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
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Published by © KD Robichaux
Wished For You
Copyright © 2015 KD Robichaux
All rights reserved
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Edited by: Becky Johnson with Hot Tree Editing
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Cover Photography by: Mike Fox Photography
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Cover Design © Sommer Stein
with Perfect Pear Creative Covers
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Formatted by: Author JC Cliff
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Chapter Headings Designed by: Author Danielle Jamie
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COPYRIGHT
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the author/publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold 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. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Wished for You is based on a true story. I have tried to recreate events, locales, and conversations from my memories of them. In order to maintain their anonymity, in some instances, I have changed the names of individuals and places. I may have changed some identifying characteristics and details such as physical properties, occupations, and places of residence.
FBI Anti-Piracy Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
Except for the original material written by the author, all songs, song titles, lyrics, book titles, movie titles, and excerpts mentioned in this novel are the property of the respective songwriters, authors, and copyright holders.
For my Granny, who I undoubtably inherited my lack of filter from. No giving anyone a "ride on your foot" or pulling out the shotgun if they don't care for your baby's book. They're entitled to their opinion, even if it's not the same as yours, which is ALWAYS right.
And for Momma, aka Mrs. Robichaux, I don't know how you would've felt about me putting all this out there for the world to read, but I know you would've been proud of me for all my hard work getting here, and for setting a good example for our girls. Miss you.
The Blogger Diaries Trilogy
The Blogger Diaries Trilogy is the true story of how I met, fell for, lost, and got a second chance at love with my soul mate. The names of everyone EXCEPT me, Jason, my family, and my best friend have been changed to protect their identities. Full of youthful stupidity, leading to bad decisions and lots of angst, it is a real life story, where inevitably things are messy.
No one can look back at their late teens and early twenties and not think of moments that make them ask, What the hell was I thinking? Every second of this trilogy is true, exactly as it happened.
The first book, ‘Wished For You’, is a tale of finding ‘the one’ too early, and then having to let them go.
PLEASE NOTE: This is a true trilogy, meaning the first two books END ON CLIFFHANGERS. But if you take the journey with me, in the end, I promise you a happily ever after you will never forget.
I know I won’t.
Kayla’s Chick Rant & Book Blog
Blog Post 1/23/2007
I'm a happy person, damn it! I'm happy sober; I'm a happy drunk, and I smile until my cheeks hurt. I'm so freakin' perky all the time. I always get invited to everyone's parties; I never get scrolled over when people are looking through their phones to see what's going on. Everyone loves for me to be around because I bring no drama. I'm shameless, and will make a fool of myself to make everyone laugh. I don't say these things to be conceited; I say it to show you how unlike me it is when I tell you...
I cried myself to sleep again last night. I cradled my swollen belly in my hands and rocked myself back and forth praying in a whisper, "Please, God, make him love me. I know you put us here to be together. Just make him realize it. Please!" The last word came out on a sob. I swear I'm not a horrible person, as I laid there crying over another man while I'm six months pregnant with my husband's baby.
I will never say what happened was a mistake. I believe everything happens for a reason. I also believe in soul mates. But what if one person finds their soulmate and the other one just refuses to acknowledge it? Can you be happy with anyone else? Or if once your soul finds its other half, are you doomed to long for them?
These are all questions I've asked myself since I left Texas a year and a half ago, since I left the man I know I'm supposed to share my life with. No, I didn't leave him. He told me to go. He told me there was no reason for me to stay since my semester of school ended. That's when happy, perky, shameless Kayla snapped.
January 7, 2005
I’m in my 2002 Chevy Malibu, with its cherry-patterned seats, steering wheel cover, and CD holder hooked to the visor. My big brother Mark is in the driver’s seat while I sit next to him with my turtle's 10 gallon aquarium at my feet and my lovebird’s giant-ass, castle-shaped cage in the backseat. The rest of the car is stuffed to the gills with my TV, clothes, and books. Couldn't leave home without every last one of my Sherrilyn Kenyon’s, Julie Kenner’s, and the rest of my paranormal romances.
I'm a book blogger, you see. I use my AOL profile website as a sort of scrapbook to keep all my reviews and notes about my favorite authors. It’s not just for books though. It’s kind of like a diary too. That’s why I named it Kayla’s Chick Rant & Book Blog. My mom thinks I put too much of myself on the internet, but I tell her, “I’m not the only one thinking this stuff. I just may be the only one with the balls to say it aloud.” I'm from a small town in North Carolina called Fayetteville. Affectionately nicknamed Fayettenam since it's right next door to Ft. Bragg Army Base. I'm on 95 South about to jump on I-10 West, moving to Texas for a semester of school.
Mark flew in to Raleigh and is driving me to his house in Houston, where I'm going to see what it's like to "live outside that shithole vortex" as he put it. I love my big brother. He's the oldest out of the three I've got. I'm the baby and the only girl. Our relationship is different from most siblings, I suppose, because he was 17 when I was born. Yep, I was an accident. I was born the year Daddy retired from the Navy. But Momma finally got her girl!
I think Mark feels like it was up to him to get me out of Fayetteville. Everyone there seems to either
marry a soldier and live the military life, or work at a dead-end job. There's nothing in Fayetteville, really, except for restaurants and stores. A shit-ton of them, mind you, but still.
I’m moving in with Mark and his wife, Kim. She’s seriously the most hilarious chick you could possibly imagine. I couldn’t have picked a better woman for my brother. Kim and I share a love of paranormal romances, so we’ll call each other up and talk for an hour about what’s going on in some of our favorite series. I’m looking forward to having her around. In a couple of days, I'll be registering at Kingwood College to work toward my degree in English. I want to be a writer, but until then, I took it upon myself to pimp out the authors I'm addicted to, spreading their stories so everyone else can enjoy the escape they bring.
It’s not a bad deal. As I sit here, wearing my “Authors Are My Rockstars” t-shirt, you can tell I absolutely love what I do, because a lot of my wardrobe is book-themed. I even have a nightshirt that says “I Sleep with a Different Book Boyfriend Every Night”. I get to talk daily with people I adore, like others would their favorite singer. Or even like I used to over Brian Littrell of the Backstreet Boys in the 6th grade. Only it’s even better because instead of loving them from afar, knowing you’ll never actually get to tell them how much you love them (and marry them in my case with Brian…sigh), I actually hold conversations with them! Any time I want, I can email my favorite author just to see how their day is going, how their next book is coming along, and with a select few, I’ve really gotten close to, check on how that argument with their hubby worked out. I’ll never have to worry about one of my authors not knowing how much I appreciate them…unlike Brian. I was so upset when he got married when I was in the 7th grade that my mom let me stay home from school…true story.
Turtle’s cage is taking up the entire floor on my side of the car, so my feet are up on the dashboard, swinging back and forth to the “Disturbed” song playing on the radio. Turtle never got a real name because when I got him in Myrtle Beach, the guy on The Strip told me they only usually live for a couple of months. He was about the size of a fifty-cent coin at the time. Well, five years later and that asshole is still kicking and is about the size of a baseball. Not that I wanted my pet to keel over, but I didn’t sign up for this! But when Daddy suggested I just let Turtle free into our lake behind our house, all I could imagine was one of the giant snapping turtles making a midday snack out of the little guy. I just couldn’t do it.
So now I get to ride over 1600 miles with nowhere to put my long-ass legs. I’m 5’6, pretty tall for a chick I think, going by the fact I was always one of the tallest girls at my school. All my big brothers are over six-feet tall, one’s even 6’5. I have super dark brown hair that hits the middle of my back, and the only green eyes in my family, everyone else has blue. My mom told me that her dad and sister had green eyes, but they both passed away before I was born. I glance over at Mark as he reaches for his fourth Diet Mountain Dew of the day, “Liquid Gold” he calls it. “You know that stuff is just as bad, if not worse than regular Mountain Dew, right?” I ask him.
“Yeah, but it helps me keep my girlish figure, Wench.” I don’t remember exactly why he started calling me Wench; he’s done it since I can remember. But it probably has something to do with all my big brothers bribing me with hide-and-seek to go fetch them drinks and sandwiches while they played video games when I was little.
“You getting tired, Marky? You want me to take over for a while?” I ask.
“Hell no! I didn’t fly all the way out to NC to get your ass to just ride all the way back to Texas. You coulda driven yourself if that was the case. Plus, Mom would kill me if I let you drive and something happened. It’s up to me to keep the princess safe.” He smirks at me. He loves to tease me about being the only girl in the family. “Not to mention, I’m more than a little afraid that your turtle would jump up and bite my legs. You don’t look comfortable at all.”
“I’m fine. All those years of dance class made me pretty bendy. I’ll make sure to walk around next time you stop for gas,” I say as I poke him in the ribs when he takes another swig of his Liquid Gold. “You’re gonna have to pee soon anyways the way you’re sucking those things down.”
January 10, 2005
I’m finishing up putting my clothes on hangers in my new room in Mark’s house when my cell phone rings. I find it buried under a box of paperbacks on my bed just in time to answer. “What’s up, hooker?!” I ask excitedly.
“Nothing much, ho. Just missing my best friend and wondering if the next six months are going to crawl by as slowly as the past three days have since you’ve been gone,” Anni pouts.
“Awwww. I miss you too, boo. I’m almost finished unpacking. Haven’t really done much else. I’m going to the school tomorrow to get all registered,” I tell her.
Anni’s been my best friend for two years now. Funny to think we didn’t like each other when we first met. I worked at my cousin’s car dealership as a receptionist when she was hired for the same job. She was from Florida and kind of a bitch, and apparently, thought my always happy and perky personality was annoying. But during a random conversation, she found out I had never ridden a horse, and from that moment on, we were inseparable. The following weekend, she had dragged me to the stables on Ft. Bragg and forced me to ride a damn horse. It was the scariest experience of my entire life. That fucking beast had seriously tried to amputate my leg by running me into a fence, and here I am now…living in Texas. Kind of ironic to be deathly afraid of horses and move to the Lone Star State, right?
“Well, I started the new job at Wiley’s last night,” she reminded me.
“Oh, yeah! How did it go?” I braced myself for her answer. She’d been having a pretty long streak of bad luck with jobs in the past few months since she quit working at the car dealership. The latest one though, Wiley’s, is a restaurant and bar inside of a hotel. With a steady flow of customers, there was no need to worry about it shutting down like the last one she worked at.
“I think I’m really going to like it. My manager, Mike, said that it’s different working at a restaurant inside a hotel because not only do you get ‘regulars’ like a normal restaurant does, you can also get the same people in every single night, sometimes for weeks straight. They’ll be staying at the hotel for a contract job or whatnot and come down for dinner or just a drink before bed.”
“Well, put on that Anni charm and hopefully you’ll get some of them to request you each time they come in. Hike up those giant tatas and rack up them tips, biotch!” I tease her. We chat for a few more minutes before we say our ‘I love yous’ and ‘goodbyes’ and I finish up with my clothes and look around my room. All I have left is to go buy a new bookcase to hold all my beloved books since I couldn’t fit one in my car.
The next day, Mark rides shotgun as I drive to Kingwood College. We’re meeting our brother Tony there since he only lives five minutes from the campus. Mark is making me drive because it makes me physically ill to think about driving to the school on my own. Houston is made up of a ton of freaking highways. We don’t have highways where I’m from. We just have our regular old streets, seeing how Fayetteville is maybe thirty minutes across, and that’s only because of the traffic lights. My hands are cramping from gripping the steering wheel so tightly. After exiting his neighborhood onto the feeder road, the road that runs along the highways that you exit onto to get to the buildings, I panic. “Marky, don’t make me get on the highway. I will freak the fuck out if you make me get up there with all those semis going a million miles an hour right next to each other across six lanes.”
“Ok, Wench. Just take the feeder the whole way there. You’ll have to leave a few minutes earlier than you would if you actually took 59, but if it scares you that much, just stay on here.” Like the great big brother he is, he knows when to tease me and when to be supportive. This is one of those times picking on me would have made the situation dangerous for his appendages.
We arrive fiftee
n minutes later and I can finally relax. I see my big brother, Tony, standing outside his truck in the parking lot when we pull in. I hop out of the car, take off running, and throw myself at him. I haven’t seen him in almost a year. He’s a commercial diver; from what I understand, he finds oil under the ocean and his team goes in, drills, and sucks it out. He’s gone for weeks at a time with short amounts of time in between trips so it’s hard to plan a vacation to come see him. Maybe now that I live here, I’ll get to see him more often.
“Hey, kid!” he grunts as he catches me. He’s 6’5 and built like a linebacker…or a hockey player I guess he’d prefer, since he’s a diehard Flyers fan. Even now he’s wearing his John LeClair jersey.
“I missed you, Nony!” Yep, I’m twenty years old and still call him the name I gave him when I was three. I’m told I wasn’t able to pronounce the letter T for a while, but even after I could, the nickname just stuck. I drop back down to the ground from where I hung from his neck and the three of us made our way to the administrative office. I’m a total Virgo, super anal, organized crazy person. Tony once took me to The Container Store on a visit to Houston a couple of years ago and I almost wept with joy. As we go through the bustling hallway and enter the office, I have my planner out and ready, and I’m registered for my classes with all my books bought within the hour.
“Shit, sis, that was a lot more painless than I thought it was going to be,” Mark says. “As hard as it was to get you to choose between your fifty purses to bring to Texas, I thought it’d take hours for you to pick out your school crap.”
I tilt my head down and hide my smirk behind my curtain of long, dark hair. Little does he know I didn’t leave behind a single one.