Izzy Moffit's Road to Wonderland (Road to Wonderland Series Book 1)

  Leaning down to kiss her temple, I whisper a goodbye and tell her I’ll be back sometime tomorrow.

  “Izzy?” she asks through tired, barely moving lips as her eyes remain closed.

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t let them crush the bike.”

  “Okay,” I agree, frowning in slight confusion as I pull away and reach for my jacket.

  “It’s a part of me, you know?”

  “I do.”

  “He’s taken my dignity, he’s taken my years, and he’s even taken a chunk of my spirit. I won’t let him take away the one thing that reminds me of my dad.”

  Even in her sleepy state, the fact that she’s thinking about her father and clinging onto his memory forces a smile onto my lips and causes my heart to thump harder in my chest. Watching her head fall to the side as she slouches further down into her bed sheets, I take a moment just to look at her and really see her for what she is. Daggs may have stripped her of who she was all those years ago, but no matter how much physical and emotional damage he put her through, some people’s fires will never be extinguished. The one thing he won’t ever be able to get to again is her heart. I won’t let him.

  Seeing the curve of her smile form right before her face falls flat and she loses herself in sleep, I strain to wrap my coat around my body and make my way to the door. Allowing myself one last glance over my shoulder, I reach up to turn the light off in her room and whisper, “You’re going to be alright, Paris. We’re both going to be alright.”

  Thirty-Six

  August 1st 2010

  I’m so excited to get home and tell her the news, I practically tumble out of my car and sprint to the front of Casa, bouncing up and down on the spot as I slide inside the house and slam the door shut behind me. Throwing my arms up in the air and letting my head fall back between my shoulders so my long, blonde hair tickles the gap between my top and the waistband of my jeans, I shout out enthusiastically, “I’m freeeeeeeeeeee…”

  It doesn’t take long for her to come sashaying down the hallway in just a long t-shirt, some fluffy slipper socks and her underwear.

  In the year since both our attacks, a hell of a lot has happened in our lives. The process of fixing her up started all over again. She has never once gone back to the drugs, but the dark days of her Daggs-induced depression rocked us both to the core. There’s nothing quite like living in constant fear to bring someone to their knees.

  We spent more time at the police station, giving evidence, in the space of several months than I ever imagined us needing to. At one point, it looked likely that he would be getting away with everything he’d ever done to the pair of us and to goodness knows how many other innocent people out there. We were so close to giving up on the whole thing, packing our bags and running away, until one Saturday morning, when we opened the paper to find that he’d been arrested on a separate charge, as well as ours, for attacking a police officer with a knife while intoxicated with his own supply of acid. I'd never been more thankful for a dumb bastard being a dumb bastard.

  I’ve seen Paris cry a lot during her life, yet I’ve never seen so many long overdue tears of happiness and relief fall from her eyes as they did that morning. We held each other for a long, long time, not quite believing that the possibility of him being gone for a long time was actually real. He is now in prison. He is no longer capable of turning up on our doorstep.

  For now, life can go on.

  Prancing around on the spot, my arms pumping up and down as I skip in a circle, I hear her quiet laughter float down the hallway. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “I. Am. Celebrating,” I cry out enthusiastically, before jumping across and landing in front of her. Nodding my head once, my smile breaks free and my eyes light up. “I no longer work as a receptionist, taking shitty phone calls from snooty toffs who think they are better than me simply because they know how to draw straighter lines than I do.”

  “Congratulations,” she giggles, resting her shoulder on the wall next to us and folding her arms.

  “I’m just glad Lauren called and pointed me in the direction of some work. Since the recession ended, it’s all picking up again. People are reading, magazines are getting bought, yada, yada, yada.” My head bops from side to side as I give my friend the best jazz hands performance I can muster.

  “You really are excited, aren’t you?”

  Releasing a weighted, yet happy, sigh, I grip her shoulders and bend my knees so our eyes are level. “Remember how you felt when you got your bike back? That’s how I feel now I know I can write again. It’s just in me. My fingers are desperate to go dance on some keys.”

  Her returning smile is light and full of calm. The strain that used to be hidden away there has gone completely. “Won’t you miss Max? I know you guys have become close.”

  Since that disastrous date, over eighteen months ago, Max has become a great part of my life. Despite me thinking he would want to stay as far away from me as he possibly could after almost killing him, I was surprised to learn that he found the whole thing hilarious and wanted to do it again – only this time as friends. While he is a great guy and about as good looking as a young, rich boy can get, the only chemistry we have is our love of all things goofy and inappropriate. I don’t fancy him and I’m almost certain he doesn’t fancy me. He’s quickly become like the brother I never had. It seems some people, no matter how they get there, are meant to be in our lives whether we expect them to be or not.

  Shrugging slightly, I let her go and start to make my way into the kitchen. I can’t stop dancing around the house. The happiness and freedom I feel at getting some semblance of my old working life back is overwhelming.

  “He’s barely in the office as it is. It’s not like we’re going to stop being friends, we just won’t be able to spend our days plotting ways to piss his dad off anymore. I’m sure we’ll find a new hobby between us. Besides, he’s so busy with his career, these days.”

  “He’s hot!” Paris smirks as she follows me in and slides onto a stool around the breakfast bar.

  Reaching into the fridge, I pull out two bottles of water and slide one over to her before unscrewing the cap off mine and raising a brow. “I’m too close to him to see it that way anymore.”

  “I’m just saying… I probably would.” Taking a drink, I watch as she shuffles her shoulders and shimmies her body around like she’s a cat rolling around on the floor.

  “Paris, you probably would with a lot of people. You’re rotating men faster than Elizabeth Taylor. I swear, you’re going to be married twelve times before you’re eighty. Your last husband will be younger than your great grandson.” I duck quickly as the cap of her drink flies at my head and we both burst out into fits of laughter.

  “Don’t hate the player, Mav. Hate the game.”

  “I hate that fucking game.” I chuckle, straightening up and pushing my bottle to my lips.

  “Some of us have it, some of us don’t.”

  “I know. You’re the beauty queen, I’m the clown. I ain’t hating.” Hopping up onto the stool opposite her, I plant my drink down on the counter and huddle closer towards her. “Want me to set you up with Max?” I ask playfully, wiggling my eyebrows.

  “Hell. No. No setting up. No blind dates. Nuh huh. If I can’t bag them myself, I’m not interested.”

  My arm reaches out to flick her nose. “You’re such a hard arse.”

  “And you,” she says through a strained voice as she reaches across to give me a taste of my own medicine, her finger making contact with my forehead a little too harshly and causing me to wince quietly, “need to get laid.”

  “I’m fine as I am,” I huff, trying to keep the light in my eyes whilst ignoring the ache in the very depths of my stomach, when she states the obvious. It’s been such a long time since I felt anything that came close to love. Jack was the last person to invade the cage that protects my heart. Even thinking about him for a split second causes a memory of the pain I felt when he wal
ked away to rip through me. Every time he pops into my head, I know I only have half a second to straighten myself out before she notices that something is wrong. Despite wanting to tell her over the years, the opportunity has just never arisen and now… well, too much time has passed for it to come out at all. Some secrets are meant to stay exactly that. I know she has hers, too. We all do.

  “Of course you are.”

  “I am!” I lie.

  “Izzy, you have so much love to give. You just need to find someone who is worthy of it.”

  Grabbing the bottle in both hands, I avoid eye contact with her and start to peel the edges of the label around it, simply for something to do other than have this conversation. “Maybe one day.” I smile flatly.

  “We’re only twenty-eight years old. We still have time.” Her fingers reach out to touch mine. I don’t expect her tenderness in this moment, not when we’ve been joking around and really, I actually feel quite happy, but she gives it anyway. She gives it freely in the moments I least realise I need it.

  Lifting my head, I tilt it to one side and look up into her eyes. “Twenty-eight, huh? How did that happen?”

  “Don’t ask me. Last time I checked, we were fifteen and sneaking booze into tree houses while shoving tissue down our training bras.”

  Huffing out a laugh, I shake my head. “Life is a crazy old ride, Goose. We have such a lot to be thankful for, too, though.”

  “For sure,” she agrees, pulling herself away and smiling brightly. “You have me, we have this place, we’re both working, we’re healthy, we’re relatively happy…”

  “And you’re getting laid most nights.”

  “Amen, sister!” She laughs, gripping the edges of the stool and spinning it around in a circle. “You should join me sometime. There’s a lot to be said for a stranger’s hand groping your arse then not having to cook them breakfast in the morning.”

  Sliding my arms out flat so my upper body is sprawled across the counter, I roll my head up to look at her and flash a winning smile. “I’ll think about it. You make it sound so easy, but I know what I’m like. I’d want more. I always want more.”

  “So become a mistress or something. Date a married guy and have the commitment without the pretty little wifey apron.”

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” I laugh for what feels like the hundredth time today.

  Flinging herself off the stool and making her way over to the door, she turns back to point at me, raising both her brows and dipping her head to try and look serious. “I’m giving you until you’re thirty and then that’s it. You have two years to have some fun, loosen up a little, spread your… umm… oats and shit.” Her grin gets wider as she tries not to break into hysterics at her own, badly, untold joke. “Two years and then that’s it. If you’re not hooked up with someone, I’m taking charge of your love life.”

  “Two years?”

  “Two years.” She nods.

  “Fine, but the same goes for you. You’ve got two years to get it out of your system and then I get to decide your fate.” The last thing I expect her to do is agree to this deal. I, more than anyone, know how much she loves to be the master of her own destiny when it comes to all things love and lust, so when she raises both arms above her head and gives me two thumbs up, I can’t stop my mouth from falling open in shock.

  “You got yourself a deal.”

  “For real?”

  “For real.” She chuckles, turning on her heel and shouting over her shoulder as her voice disappears down the hallway. “You better make those two years count, Mav. It’s all or nothing. Time we had some fucking fun.”

  And for once, despite feeling like I’ve just shaken hands with Lucifer himself, I acknowledge the excitement that runs through me at the thought of letting go, and who having someone else take over my love life might bring.

  Thirty-Seven

  April 2013

  Rumour has it that we, as a collective, should never say never.

  They say (whoever they are), to place that kind of restriction upon our lives will only limit our experience and cloud our judgement in the future. Something we may never have thought about doing suddenly presents itself to tempt us, but we've already made the mistake of saying never, so we can’t let it happen, can we? Everyone is born with a certain level of naivety and the one thing most of us rarely take into account, when making huge life decisions, is that change is as inevitable as death.

  It’s what this journey does to us. It can be anything from a near death experience to simply opening your eyes for the first time and seeing the magic that floats around us. A butterfly might land upon your arm in the summer heat, and the significance of the fragile life you have upon your skin forces you to re-evaluate everything you already know you take for granted. It may be a bad relationship that toughens you up, or a colleague at work who takes you into their embrace and makes you feel special. It can be anything, anyone and at anytime, but eventually, we all change.

  It’s the evolution of our souls.

  In the two and a half years or more since Paris and I made that deal with one another, it’s fair to say that everything we once thought was us, has been flipped on its head, turned upside down and spun around at astronomic speeds. Little Miss Promiscuous is still living the life she was back then - working hard and partying even harder. A string of guys following your skirt only holds its appeal for so long, though, and now I see it in her more and more every single day. She craves who she can’t have rather than what falls into her lap. She craves what she once told me she wanted. She craves the fairy tale.

  Apparently, he comes in the form of the lead-singer of a local band and his name is Wayne. I don’t know much about the ins and outs of their flirtationship; all I know is that, despite their obvious connection to one another, he is taken by some other long-legged beauty and Paris is trying hard not to look as defeated as she feels.

  I could lecture her and tell her it’s wrong to want another woman’s man. I could go on and on about how destructive it might be to all parties involved if anything were to happen with them, but as it stands at the moment, in the April of 2013, I am in no position to talk or scold anybody for the way they live their lives.

  My love life matches hers completely - every single aspect of it, only worse.

  I didn’t expect it to happen. I never thought I would see him again or at least, I think I probably hoped I wouldn’t. It was a wild and crazy night out in Manchester, just eight weeks ago, and Paris and I were drunker than we'd been in months, if not years. I was in that floaty, happy state of intoxication. All my bones were limp, and my hair flowed around my face as I danced to the beat of whatever music was playing. I could feel every note as though it was in my blood. Every sweaty body that bumped into me, I recognised and acknowledged with a smile. There wasn’t an ounce of shit going on in my head and it felt so fucking good. That’s when his arms circled my waist from behind and his lips pressed into the back of my neck like he’d been living there my whole damn life. The soft touch of him against my skin set my senses alight, yet I didn’t think to look and see who it was or what danger I could have been in. It felt right, him being there, so ridiculously right.

  I pushed back into him while his hands slid around to the front of my hips and pressed down, holding me closer. The smell of his aftershave reminded me of a happier time and with every rock of his hips, my head rose higher and higher as I sucked in a breath, needing to taste it in my throat as well as feel him all around me.

  I hadn’t even opened my eyes when my mouth curled into a smile and his name fell from my lips.

  “Matt,” I whispered seductively. “I’ve missed you.”

  The words were spoken without any hint of regret. At the time, I believed them. I knew his hands better than anyone’s. I remembered the way his body curled around mine all those years ago, and at what point he finished and I began. In that moment, I was back in the tree house and everything was innocent.

  I’d led him o
ut of that club without asking a single question about who he was now or what his life was about. All I could focus on was a reunion of epic proportions, which is what we gave each other in abundance. In terms of sex, Matt was exactly what I needed at the time. But the morning after proved to be a whole different story, and in the clear light of day, when all the alcohol had seeped out of my system and the high of the moment had vanished, it was impossible to miss the wedding ring on his left hand. What was even more impossible to ignore was the tattoo of his daughter’s name across his chest. I will never forgive myself for missing that, of all things. The second my eyes focused on that one little name, everything I had ever worked to become fell apart and I realised I was no better than the woman who had stolen my father.

  Now it is eight weeks later, and what should have been an easy decision to make - to turn him away and refuse to ever see him again - proves harder than I could ever have thought. He’s become all I can think about - morning, noon, night, awake, asleep, all of it. Not because I love him and not even because I want to be with him…

  I want what he’s always been capable of giving me; the warmth, the security, the wild, crazy sex at night, and the tender kisses upon my skin during the days. I want his scent to float around me even when he isn’t here, just so I feel safe. I want his hands to be the ones to touch me because those hands have touched me a thousand times before and they’re familiar. I don’t have to start over with Matt. There are no back-stories to reveal, no hiding the truth of my parents in fear he might look at me differently than he already does. He knows me. I don’t have to make apologies. He knows who I am and what I came from. I can’t imagine anyone else ever being able to give me that.