by Anna Brooks
STEADY
ANNA BROOKS
Copyright © 2017 Anna Brooks
Published by Anna Brooks
Cover design by MG Book Covers & Design
Editing by Editing4Indies
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Formatting by Champagne Formats
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form without written permission except for the use of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Other Books by Anna Brooks
Dedication
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
Epilogue
Fixing Fate
Previews
Acknowledgments
About the Author
OTHER BOOKS
It’s Kind Of Personal Series
Make Me Forget
Show Me How
Prove Me Right
Tell Me When
Remember Me Now
Give Me This
Pleasant Valley Series
Fixing Fate
Love, Me
Steady
Standalones
Not Your Hero
Easy Sacrifice
Bulletproof Butterfly
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Dedication
To my boys
If there’s anything I want you to learn from me, it’s that you are capable of doing anything you want. You can be anybody you want to be. And you can make your dreams come true, no matter how big they are.
Chapter 1
Erik
I sit on the end of the bed in my best friend’s spare room with my head hung and wait until I hear his garage door close. It pains me to open my eyes, but I have to in order to stand. My head is killing me. My body is sore. My mind is a mess. But one thing is clear—I need to leave.
Not sure how much longer I can continue doing this back and forth to myself. Pretty sure a disconnect exists between reality and the pathetic truth. And after every binge, I can’t decide if I’m grateful or if I resent the reprieve.
I fit all my stuff into one duffle bag, and then easily finish off the vodka sitting on the dresser before I head outside, only to remember my car isn’t here. Racking my brain, I push the clouds away and battle my way through the mud to figure out where I left it last night.
The hotel.
That’s right. It’s only a mile or so down the road, so I’ll walk it. I don’t deserve to go back to my nice house and lay my head on a comfy pillow. I deny myself little pleasures like that when I do this shit to myself. Drunk me isn’t the real me, so I avoid anything that reminds me of who I really am or where I come from.
I’m so hungover right now. My breathing is unnaturally heavy, and sweat drips along my back as I drag my feet down the street. Each step I take jars my head and the dull pulse in my skull intensifies to a throbbing jackhammer.
When I get to the parking lot, I dig through my bag to find the keys then pop the trunk. Rooting through the boxes there, I pull out a few new sets of clothes and switch them with the dirty ones in my bag. Then I grab the box of liquor bottles, the glass clanking together as I walk, and head inside to check in.
“Hey,” I grunt at the chick behind the desk.
She whips her head up from her phone and clears her throat. “Sorry. I, uh…” With a small smile, she tries again. “Can I help you?”
“Need a room.”
“Okay. One king bed or two queens?”
“I don’t care. Just a room.”
She licks her lips, and even though I can tell she’s young—probably in her early twenties—I can’t help but think she might make a good distraction. She’s not that young. Older than Sophia ever lived. Because of you. My mind begins to punish me, and the need for a greater distraction sits on my shoulder and taps at the side of my head.
“How long will you be staying with us?”
“Don’t know.” I just need to get to a place where I can drown my sorrows in the dark. I’ve been staying with my buddy Smith and his girl, Mellie, for a little while. Originally, I was just going to crash for a couple of days, which is my usual MO—suffocate in self-pity then go back to work and fake it—but when shit went down, I stayed longer. Things have settled now, so it’s time for me to go.
“Okay.” She types on the keyboard and looks up at me nervously. Her large green eyes and red hair suddenly shine when the light from the sun hits her, and she shifts on her feet as she licks her damn lips again. “How many keys will you need?”
“Just one. But if you wanna come put that mouth to use, you’re welcome to take one for yourself and visit me later.”
Two kinds of women exist in this world. No, that’s a lie. There are three. The first are the good ones. The sweet ones, the ones who deserve a decent guy who’ll treat ’em like gold. I had one of those once. I know I’ll never get another, not that I deserve one, but girls like my Sophia are once in a lifetime, and hers was cut too short.
Since there is no substitute for her, I settle for one of the other two kinds. The ones who either jump on the invitation with no regrets, or, like the chick in front of me, they pretend to be offended or insulted but end up taking it anyway. They need to feel like they’re in charge and have the upper hand. I don’t give a shit which one I end up with just as long as the night ends with my dick in something warm and wet. These occasions are reserved for when I can’t solely reach the level of oblivion that it takes with the alcohol I pour down my throat in order to forget it all.
“Excuse me?” She puts a hand to her chest and gapes at me.
I read her name tag. “Listen, Shelly. I’ve had a shit morning. I plan on having a shit afternoon and then a shit evening. I’m thinkin’ I’ll be good by myself. But if you’d like to come join me, that’d be fantastic. If not, send a friend. I don’t really care either way. But don’t pretend you’re not staring at me like you don’t want me to bend you over this desk and fuck you until you scream so loud they can hear it on the roof.” I hitch my bag up on my shoulder and fight off how sick I feel with how easily those lines roll off my tongue. “Key please.”
She slaps a key into my outstretched hand. “Room three twelve.”
Without another word, I grab the rest of my shit and stalk to the elevator. As I’m waiting for it to open, I see her slide a key into her pocket through the reflective glass. The sight should make me happy, but it doesn’t
. Not much makes me happy anymore, really. Not even easy pussy. It’s been months, because the thought of another forgetful fuck, another emotionless encounter, makes my stomach lurch. The rotten alcohol swirling in it doesn’t help either.
On the way to my room, I reach into the box and pull out another bottle of Absolut; that’ll make it feel better. Or it won’t. I don’t even care anymore. Before I left Smith’s house this morning, Mellie came to check in on me, and she caught me while I was thinking. While I was debating what the fuck I’m going to do with my life. Horrible shit went down with her and in order to help her, I immediately transformed into the man I really am. I just wish I could be him all the time.
It was easy to give her the blanket statement that I’m an alcoholic to get her off my back. Smith and Mellie don’t know a lot of things about me, so I keep up with that façade. Smith thinks when I disappear I’m off on a bender, and while sometimes that’s true, most often it’s not.
I do try to fight it. I tried to fight it yesterday. Even though I know I’m stronger, it’s just damn easier to be weak sometimes. And right now, I’m not only weak; I’m a coward. I’ve gone to a couple of AA meetings in the past, but I’ve never been particularly good in a group setting, so I ended up bowing out. Plus, I just didn’t relate with any of the people there. I’m not dependent on alcohol; I just like that it makes me forget, or at least it used to.
By the time I step foot inside the place where I’ll be spending the next couple of days or so, I’ve already drunk about a quarter of the vodka straight. Don’t even need a chaser anymore. Sure, my body has a physiological effect from it, but mentally, I might as well be drinking water. The memories, her voice—they swim through the alcohol and end up pulling me further under. Just enough to make me gasp for breath and burn my lungs—never enough to drown me fully.
I toss my shit on the ground then plop on the bed. With a sigh, I close my eyes, knowing that all I’ll see is her. I always see her. Sophia. The only damn person in the world who actually loved me after knowing the entire truth. The one who trusted me to take care of her. The girl who I wish would have taken me with her. The woman I destroyed.
But before I ruined her, I loved her. I will always fuckin’ love her. She was the light that shined through my dark. From the very first moment I saw her when I was fourteen, I knew there was something about her.
“What are you doing here?” Two sets of identical eyes stare at me as I slowly walk toward the picnic table. One boy, one girl. They look about my age.
Needing to get away, I wandered around the neighborhood but didn’t expect to find a park hidden in the wooded area. I wanted be alone because I’m really not in the mood to deal with people right now. I just got back from one of the stupid therapy sessions my grandma makes me go to.
I don’t need to listen to some shrink tell me that it wasn’t my fault when I know it was. He wasn’t there. He didn’t see it. He didn’t hear everything. It was my fault. I fucked up.
“I live with my grandparents down the street. Moved in a couple of months ago.”
“So?” the boy questions.
“Don’t be a jerk, Smith.” The girl elbows him and stands up. “I’m Sophia.”
“Erik.”
“Where did you move from?”
“California.”
“Why did you come here?” Smith asks.
There’s no point in lying. It’s not like the entire world doesn’t know. I open my mouth to tell them, but then Sophia smiles at me. She’s really pretty… sweet, gentle. And I suddenly don’t want her to know the truth. I don’t want her to know how dumb I am.
“My parents died.” There. Not a lie but not entirely the truth, either. The town of Pleasant Valley where my grandparents live is where my dad grew up, so a lot of people heard the news even though we didn’t live here when it happened.
“I’m sorry,” she says, walking to me.
“Sorry, man,” Smith says.
When she gets closer, I step back, but she doesn’t stop until she’s directly in front of me. I take in a whiff of her perfume and decide she smells like cherries. When she wraps her arms around me, I freeze. Nobody has touched me since it happened. I don’t expect it to comfort me so much. I kind of want to hug her back, but I keep my hands at my sides.
She finally pulls back and smiles. Damn. Close up, she’s even prettier; her eyes are a light brown, but her hair is several shades darker. She’s got a few freckles on the bridge of her nose, which is nothing compared to how many I have. But her smile. Wow.
Her fingers link through mine, and she tugs me down the dirt path until we’re next to her brother. He looks at our hands and glares at me. I pull mine out of hers and take a step away. He might be the same size as I am, but I’ve taken out guys bigger than him with one hand. The last thing I need is to get into it with an overprotective brother right now. Taking out my frustration on him might be fun, though.
“Now that you’re here, you can hang out with us. Not a lot of kids our age live in this neighborhood, so we’re glad to have someone else. Aren’t we, Smith?” She kicks at his shoe.
“Yeah.” He turns his back to me and puts his headphones on. “We couldn’t be happier.”
I let the memories take over because there’s no point resisting them. I’ve given up trying to combat them because when I try to push them further away, they always come back that much stronger. Our first kiss, our first time making love, the first time I snuck into her room and slept in her bed with her. Those make me smile. They remind me of what I had and are the only things that make any sense.
But then the shadows come. They start to slowly slide their way over the good… the light. The first time becomes the last. The pleasure becomes pain. The memories become nightmares. Our final conversation and how I yelled at her. How she cried. And even though I knew I shouldn’t have, I let her walk away from me. Her face flashes like bolts of lightning; fast and bright. Then the thunder hits; loud and destructive.
When they collide, I can’t take it anymore. I stand and throw the bottle across the room, the remaining contents splashing onto the carpet, turning the light colors darker. Everything is darker now. Nothing is working. Nothing fixes this. Nothing will fucking fix me.
I flick the latch on the door to prevent anyone from being able to enter and then go to the bathroom where I turn the shower on. I move the dial to as cold as it can go then strip my clothes off and get in. The pellets hit me, and it might as well be razor blades, but I take it. I endure it. I feel it. My lips start quivering, and my knees begin to wobble. My arms try to cross, and I wish the instinct to protect myself would go away. I force my arms to stay at my side, to let the sting hit me right in the chest. Right where it hurts the most.
As my legs begin to give out, I slide down until I’m on the shower floor. My body shakes so hard that my head continuously bangs against the porcelain. When black begins to blur my vision, I reach over to shut the water off even though my arm protests. The skin feels like it’s tearing there, but I know it’s not. My skin will be fine, and my body will recover, but my heart is already ripped so far down the middle that it’s beyond repair. No amount of sewing can put it back together.
My fingers slip on the handle a couple of times before I finally shut off the brutal stream for good. I then curl into the fetal position like the goddamned baby I am. My eyes are heavy, and the tremors subside too quickly. The sound of the door handle turning but then the resistance from the chain lock filter through the bathroom. Mumbled voices—two of them, she brought a friend—follow immediately after, then the door slams shut.
Maybe tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow I’ll feel like it, but right now the only thing I want is to close my eyes and fall the hell asleep for more than an hour. It’s been seven fucking years since I’ve slept more than an hour at a time. I’m so fucking tired.
Chapter 2
Polly
Every time the mail comes, I cringe because I’m waiting for the delivery of the evict
ion notice. I’ve gotten three notices; the last one was a warning that if payment arrangements weren’t made, the bank was taking over the house.
I don’t have enough money to pay the mortgage; hell, I barely have enough for gas and groceries. The cable is off, and I pay the absolute minimum to keep the electricity and water on. I’ve been saving as much as I can from my measly paychecks and tips from the diner. I’m up to almost a thousand dollars in six months, though. Hopefully that will be enough for me to find a cheap enough place to rent. I really don’t want to live in my car again, and I refuse to be on the streets. I promised myself I’d never end up there, and I’ve managed to keep that promise in the twenty-eight years I’ve been alive.
Carefully, I slide my finger under the seal and slide the paper out of the envelope. I can see the red stamp through the folds before I even open it. Thirty days. The paper feels heavy in my hands, but I unfold it and glance through the legal jargon. It really doesn’t pertain to me, though, since the house isn’t in my name.
“Okay. You’re ready for this, Polly.” I give myself a pep talk and then stick the notice on the fridge with a magnet. One month. I have one month to find a place to live. I’ll start looking after work today; it shouldn’t be too hard to find a one bedroom. “You can do this. You’ve managed before; you can manage now.”
Since I’m ready to start my shift, I take off and drive the ten minutes to The Lunchbox where I’m a waitress. It’s a little mom-and-pop restaurant that’s exactly what the name says: a place that serves lunch. The food is top-notch, and I think it’s so popular because of the limited menu and hours. They’re only open from eleven to three, so I don’t have to be there until about ten thirty. The hours were perfect when I was catering to the man who paid the mortgage, but now that he’s in jail, I wish I had an opportunity to work more. Since there isn’t, I know I’m going to have to get another job. I’ve just been putting it off.