by True, Holli
R E C K L E S S
Holli True
RECKLESS
Copyright © 2014 by Holli True
Cover Design, Layout Design & Photography: Holli True
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means including photocopying, recording, or information storage and retrieval without permission in writing from the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, and locations are fictitious and/or pulled from the author’s imagination. Any similarity to locations, actual events or real persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.
True, Holli, 1981 —
Reckless : a novel / by Holli True — 1st ed.
Summary: When Hailey met Jonah, falling for him was the very last thing on her mind. But the indescribable pull she felt to him made it impossible for her to walk away. For Jonah, what started as a game of curiosity quickly turned into an overwhelming need to exist in a world he didn’t belong in, with Hailey at the center of it all.
Holli True Author Website
HolliTrueAuthor.com
Email: [email protected]
Printed in U.S.A
For my hubby, Jeff.
You are my soulmate, my best friend,
my everything.
H+J
TABLE OF CONTENTS
COPYRIGHT
DEDICATION
PROLOGUE
1. WAYS TO GO
2. BREATHING
3. HEARTS LIKE OURS
4. MYSTIFIED
5. SAY ANYTHING
6. PULL ME DOWN
7. FOR YOU
8. BEAUTIFUL WAR
9. YOU DON’T KNOW
10. LET HER GO
11. FAR FROM YESTERDAY
12. IN MY VEINS
13. EDGE OF DESIRE
14. ALIVE AGAIN
15. HUMAN
16. TELL HER YOU LOVE HER
17. KISS ME
18. LET’S BE STILL
19. ONLY YOU’RE THE ONE
20. RUNNING UP THAT HILL
21. NO REST FOR THE WICKED
22. NO WAY OUT
BREATHLESS PREVIEW
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
TO MY READERS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PROLOGUE
HAILEY
Life would never be the same. Never. I wasn’t old enough to comprehend the reality of the truth, only the weight of it- because I felt it in my heart. Even at the tender age of ten, I knew.
I pressed my lips together to keep the sob in my throat from escaping. I bit down on them, my teeth digging into the soft skin so hard, I could almost taste blood. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Be strong for mom, she needs you, I thought to myself as I peered up at her. Be strong for her. That’s what dad would want.
“We’re so sorry for your loss, Christy.” Dad’s boss looked grim as he reached out and hugged my mom. The tears instantly flooded mom’s eyes.
“Come on, Hailey,” Aunt Nikki said, leaning down to meet my eyes. The jade green shade and shape of them mirrored mine, just as they did my mom’s. “Let’s get you some food, you must be starving.” She took me by the hand and led me away from my mom, toward a sitting area in the next room.
“I’m not hungry,” I protested as she guided me to a chair near a row of windows. I sat down anyway, eyeing the other people who were seated nearby, holding plates of untouched food. They stared back at me with sympathetic eyes and grief-stricken faces.
Aunt Nikki quickly adjusted the bow she’d put in my hair earlier that morning and then patted the top of my head. She was trying to act so grown up, it was annoying me. She was only ten years older than me, why was she treating me like a baby?
“Wait here,” she instructed me, “I’ll be back.”
I sighed heavily, avoiding eye contact with the people around me. They made me feel uncomfortable. All I wanted to do was hide from everyone in the room. Hide from this day. Hide from the new normal that would never, ever feel right. My family was now broken, something I never dreamed possible. My mom was now a single parent and my dad was gone. Forever.
The tears started in, I couldn’t stop them this time. And I didn’t want to. It felt better to cry than it did to keep it in anymore. I missed my dad so much and it hurt, more than anything. More than the time I’d broken my arm- and that had hurt really bad. This was way, way worse.
“I’m really sorry about your dad,” an unfamiliar voice said. “I know you must miss him a lot.”
I didn’t bother to wipe my tears away, looking up to see a guy sitting across from me. Nodding in his direction, I whispered, “So much.”
“I recently lost someone very close to me, too.” He paused for a moment and then smiled softly at me, his expression was kind. “Your dad was a good man and he loved you. Even though he can’t be here with you anymore, he’s always with you. Never forget that.”
- 1 -
ways to go
HAILEY
My dad preferred his coffee black. No cream or sugar, nothing fancy or complicated. Simple and straight to the point. The stronger the brew, the better.
It wasn’t until I started working at Fresh Press that I remembered that about him. But whenever a customer ordered black coffee, it always made me think about my dad. It’s strange what our minds choose to hold onto so we can remember the ones we love. How ordinary things, like coffee, can trigger memories.
I guess you could say that working there made me feel like I could still be close to him or something. It sounded crazy, but it was true. That’s how it made me feel. After eight years of feeling worlds apart from him, I wouldn’t have traded it for anything.
“Americano,” I called out, placing the oversized porcelain cup on the wooden counter.
A short blonde with a pixie cut sprinted up and smiled her thanks at me. I smiled back, pushing all thoughts of my dad out of my mind. Now was not the time to get sentimental.
“Have a good day,” I said out of habit, my hands already busy rinsing the shot glasses I had just used.
“Doing anything exciting tonight, Hailey?”
I shrugged my shoulders before turning to look at my friend and co-worker, Rebecca Foster. “Shayne’s dragging me to some party. It’s off campus at my friend’s frat house. I can’t exactly say I’m excited about going, but I’m trying hard to be optimistic.” I finished rinsing the shot glasses, setting them aside.
“Yeah, you sound thrilled,” she said, the sarcasm heavy in her tone.
“I can hardly control my excitement,” I said blandly. “But I promised her I’d go. She said she’s afraid I’m going to spontaneously combust from lack of fun. Except, her idea of fun is pretty much the opposite of mine.”
Rebecca’s eyes met mine, a sympathetic smile on her bright red lips. “Well, at least you’re doing something. It beats hanging out at the library on a Friday night, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, but parties aren’t really my thing.” Not that I preferred spending every waking minute in the library, either. It was just an easy alternative to the cramped dorm room I shared with Shayne.
“It’s just one night, Hailey.”
I didn’t respond.
She looked down at her hands, examining the polish on her nails, looking frustrated by what she was seeing. “This place is murdering my hands. Two chipped nails already,” she grumbled.
I peered down at my own nails. A manicure would serve them well. Not that it was something I would ever do, which was probably why my deprived hands needed it so badly. I crossed my arms in front of me, tucking my hands out of Rebecca’s sight.
She always looked so stylish and posh
, even while at work. It was an effortless gift that she seemed to have mastered, one I wished I could glean from her. She looked like she had just stepped out of the pages of a Banana Republic catalog, dressed in black skinny jeans, a green silk shirt and ankle boots. Needless to say, it was a far cry from the flannel shirt, faded jeans and broken-in Converse I was wearing.
Rebecca gave up on her hands, tucking them behind her back, leaning against them on the back counter. She turned and looked at me, a small smile spreading across her face. “Did I tell you I met a guy last night?”
I shook my head, returning the smile. “Give me all the details,” I encouraged her.
“His name is Dean. He lives in my building. We’ve crossed paths a few times on the elevator, but last night was the first time we actually talked. As luck would have it, he received some of my mail and he kindly returned it to me.”
“Sounds like fate to me,” I encouraged her.
“Right?” she said, her brown eyes sparkling. “You should see him. Practically a Greek God. Though, come to think of it, I think he might actually be Italian, but I’m not sure.”
I laughed under my breath, “I’m guessing tall, dark and handsome?”
“Always.”
“Naturally.” I hadn’t known Rebecca long, but she had made her preference in men very clear. She was positive she was destined to have olive-skinned babies with jet black hair, though her own skin was a pale shade of alabaster and her waist length hair was bronze.
“What about you?” she asked.
“What about me?” I was being evasive on purpose because I knew exactly what she was asking me. She had made it a point to ask me every shift we’d worked together since I’d started working at Fresh Press six weeks before.
“Meet any hot guys yet?”
I shook my head, shrugging with one shoulder. “Not really.” Of course, I had met plenty of guys, the University of Oregon’s campus was crawling with them. But would I consider dating any of them? No. None of them really seemed like dating material.
“I wish my brother was going to school here,” she said, pursing her lips. “You two would be adorable together.”
I laughed, “You keep saying that.”
She shrugged. “Well, I’m sure Dean has a single friend I can hook you up with or something. How fun would that be?” she asked with excitement.
I hesitated for a moment before responding. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt Rebecca’s feelings, but her taste in men wasn’t exactly compatible with mine. I had met her previous boyfriend, Robert, who was not only in his thirties, he was also the polar opposite of the type of guys I had dated back home. He had stopped in a few times to see Rebecca, each time wearing a different Gucci suit, flashing his white gold Rolex watch and million dollar smile for all the world to see. Although I had never met Dean, I couldn’t imagine that he would be that different from Robert, otherwise Rebecca wouldn’t be interested in him.
I shook my head at her. “I appreciate the gesture and everything and I’m sure Dean is a great guy. But, I think I’ll stick to the University boys and frat parties,” I hoped she wouldn’t be offended.
“Boys is right,” she retorted, rolling her eyes to the ceiling.
“Well, we’re not all looking for husband material right now,” I reminded her.
She exhaled heavily, “Anything less is a waste of time. One day you’ll learn.”
“Maybe when I’m twenty-two,” I teased.
“One can only hope.”
. . .
The room was stifling. The combination of multiple smoke machines and a packed dance floor were to blame. There were so many bodies in the small space that it felt more like a mosh pit. After an hour on the floor, I was burning up, I had to get some air. I stopped moving to the music and scanned the crowded space, looking for an exit route.
“What’s wrong?” Shayne screamed in my ear, trying to compete with the deafening music. Her wavy blonde hair was starting to cling to her neck, proof of just how warm it was in the room.
“I’m going to pass out if I don’t get out of here!” I hollered back.
She nodded her understanding and gripped my hand, abruptly leading me out of the room we’d been dancing in. Shayne paused long enough to retrieve two red cups from a boy pumping beer from a keg and then led me out the front door of the frat house, onto the large porch. There were people positioned in various areas, though the stairs leading up to the porch were empty, so we sat there.
“Isn’t this awesome?” she exclaimed, holding out a cup for me.
“Yeah,” I replied, sounding indifferent.
Shayne rolled her eyes, taking a long drink. “Admit it, Hailey, you’re having fun,” she prodded me.
“I always have fun dancing,” I admitted, which was true. But the binge drinking and communal drugs being passed around the party, I could do without. Not to mention the number of times I had been groped on the dance floor, I could easily live without that, too.
“Well, at least you’re here,” she said into her cup.
I didn’t respond. There was no doubt in my mind that Shayne would forever use the excuse that I’d had fun as an argument to convince me to go to more parties with her in the future. I was already dreading it.
Shayne had come to Oregon from Las Vegas. According to her, living life in the fast lane was as natural as breathing, which I couldn’t even begin to wrap my head around. Getting to know her over the past weeks and hearing her wild stories about life in the city of sin had been a bit of culture shock for me. It made me appreciate the memories of my childhood even more. She had been exposed to things I didn’t even know existed, which was her shock. Needless to say, it hadn’t taken me long to discover that Shayne Sinclair’s life was one big, non-stop party. And she had every intention of maintaining her lifestyle in college.
Her Vegas life was nothing like the one I’d had growing up in Bend, which was just two and a half hours East of Eugene. While Shayne had spent her youth in a concrete jungle, I had grown up in the lush and beautiful, natural Northwest. Bend had been an incredible place to grow up and I had no doubt that I’d wind up raising my own family there one day.
“I was wondering where you’d disappeared to.”
I heard the voice and knew it belonged to Matt Holland, before I even saw his face. Shayne and I turned to see him approaching us. He didn’t wait for an invitation to sit, though he didn’t really need one, considering it was his frat house’s party and he had been the one to invite us. He plopped down between Shayne and I, looking as confident as ever.
“What happened to your hair?” I asked with a laugh, shocked by his appearance.
He ran a hand over his newly buzzed head and laughed. Saying nothing, he leaned back against the steps and pointed at his shirt, in bold letters were the initials SPBC. “All the new pledges were inducted to the Sigma Pi Boot Camp today. Complete with military hair cuts and...” he trailed off as he reached a hand down the collar of his shirt, revealing a set of dog tags around his neck. Only they were actual dog tags, in the shape of bones. His name was written in permanent marker across each tag.
“I have no words for that,” I muttered. It was all I could manage to say.
Matt and I had known each other since high school. He had dated a few of my friends over the years, though nothing serious. We had run in the same social circle, been on a few group camping trips together and a school coast weekend. The two of us had never really been close to one another, though we’d always been friendly.
On move-in day, we were pleasantly surprised to discover we’d been assigned to the same dorm hall, though we weren’t on the same floor. Because I was majoring in Journalism and his major was Architecture, we only shared one required science lecture together. However, in recent weeks, it seemed like we were always bumping into each other.
“I saw you tearing up the dance floor in there,” he said, smiling broadly at me. “Are you still dancing?”
“Not as much as
I used to,” I said, shaking my head. “I thought about majoring in dance, but it’s really hard to make a career out of that.”
“But you move so well,” he said with a lingering smile.
I shifted slightly. “Years and years of practice paid off, I guess.”
“I would say it more than paid off,” Shayne said, peering around Matt to look at me.
Dance had always been a huge part of my life, so letting go of it completely would never be an option. In many ways, dance had been my therapy. A coping mechanism, really. It was only a few weeks after my dad’s fatal heart attack that my fourth grade class took a field trip to see The Nutcracker. I had been absolutely captivated by the beautiful people on stage and their ability to move so gracefully. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to be one of those dancers. So, my mom enrolled me in a lyrical dance class and it awakened something inside of me- something good, at a time when I needed it most.
Expressing myself had never really been a struggle for me, except when it came to talking about my dad. I still couldn’t really talk about losing him. It was too painful. Too raw. But just because I couldn’t talk about it, didn’t mean I wasn’t feeling the devastation. I quickly learned that I could use dance as a way to release the emotions I had bottled up inside of me and express myself through movement, without having to say a word.
Since moving to Eugene and starting college, dance had been demoted to a secondary role in my life. After the countless number of hours, days, weeks, months and years I had spent devoted and disciplined to dance, not having it play such a central part in my world felt foreign. I was still adapting to the change in my routine.