by Ashley Jade
Fold - Book One of the Complicated Parts Series
Ashley Jade
Contents
Dear Reader
Warning
Fold
Three years earlier…
I
II
III
Three months later…
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
XI
XII
XIII
XIV
XV
XVI
XVII
Three years later...
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Afterword
Acknowledgments
Gamblers Anonymous
About the Author
Also by Ashley Jade
To those who are forced to live in silence.
To all the Prestons in the world who deserve second chances.
To all the Kits in this world who deserve love and acceptance.
And to all those who knocked this story before it was published, because it broke all the rules in romance.
This one’s for you.
First published in USA, May 2018
Copyright © Ashley Jade
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be circulated in writing of any publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictional manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased, or events is purely coincidence.
Fold - Book One of the Complicated Parts Series
Photographer: Michelle Lancaster
Cover Design: Lori Jackson at Lori Jackson Design
Editor: Ellie McLove
Dear Reader
Dear Reader,
This is a three-book series previously titled: Complicated Parts, Book 1, 2, and 3.
Have no fear, Preston and Kit are still very much, “complicated.” I just wanted to make the titles more appealing and not have any confusion with the Complicated Hearts duet.
I hope you love Preston and Kit just as much as I do. I call these my “soul characters” for a reason and I’m so excited for you to meet them.
Hang in there, I promise they’re worth it.
XOXO
Ashley Jade
Warning
Complicated- adjective:
Consisting of many interconnecting parts or elements.
Difficult to analyze, understand, or explain.
Part -plural noun: parts:
A piece or segment of something such as an object, activity, or period of time, which combined with other pieces makes up the whole.
Otherwise known as Preston Holden and Kit Bishop.
Please be warned that their story is one of a kind and unlike any other out there. It may contain elements that make you uncomfortable.
If you've already read the Complicated Hearts duet (Breslin, Asher, and Landon's story—you'll be very familiar with the first book of the duet, and the characters Preston and Kit.)
If you haven't, it's okay. You can read this duet without having to have read the Complicated Hearts duet. This is Preston and Kit's book and it's their story.
That said: Both Preston and Kit are flawed and unconventional characters.
In order to understand them, you'll need to leave your expectations and everything you thought you knew about romance books behind before you turn that first page.
Their story isn't a traditional love story by any means...but it IS a love story.
Fold
Book One of the Complicated Parts Series
“EVERYTHING'S A GAMBLE, LOVE MOST OF ALL.” ―TESS GERRITSEN
Three years earlier…
“Human beings are flawed and complicated and messy." — Brit Marling
If they were giving out trophies for the worst forty-eight hours, I'm positive I would win first place right about now.
Gripping the steering wheel, I mentally go down the checklist.
Caught my girlfriend cheating on me—check.
With. A. Chick—okay, maybe that one's not so bad. Hell, it's kind of hot.
Except for the fact that my cheating girlfriend is apparently engaged to said chick—check.
My cheating, lesbian girlfriend then decides to drop an atomic bomb and informs me she's pregnant—check.
My cheating, lesbian, pregnant girlfriend then tells me it's mine—check.
I quickly come to the horrific realization that my cheating, lesbian, pregnant girlfriend is right, because she's...wait for it...cheating on me with a chick. And last time I checked, chicks don't make sperm—fucking checkity, check, check.
And if all that shit isn't bad enough—there's also the fun fact that my older brother had to come to my rescue earlier today and drag me out of a casino—only for me to be right back at it again tonight.
That is until I was on a winning streak of epic proportions and the casino sent one of their goons over to investigate. And by investigate—I mean take me out back and go through my pockets to see if I was cheating.
In the end, the goon didn't find anything to incriminate me. He did, however, find my real I.D.
I was promptly kicked the fuck out without so much as a 'have a nice night' or my substantial winnings.
Blowing out a breath, I turn the radio down and look out the window.
Yup, I'm officially lost somewhere in West Bumblefuck. Awesome.
To add insult to all the injuries of the last two days, the casino I spent my night at was in an area I'm not even remotely familiar with, and thanks to all the hours spent gambling, my cell phone died.
It wouldn't have been a problem, but my cheating, lesbian, pregnant girlfriend borrowed my car charger last week and never fucking gave it back.
I remember the exact day, too...because it was the same day the GPS in my car broke.
Something I'm currently regretting not getting fixed because it's close to two a.m. and I have no idea where the hell I'm going in this godforsaken rundown town that seems to go on forever.
I'd hand in my man card and stop at a gas station to ask for directions at this point, but the only one I passed was about three miles back and it was closed. Other than that, I haven't seen any sign of civilization.
Not until I pull up to a bridge and honk my horn at the car blocking me from crossing.
Who the fuck parks their car in the middle of a single lane bridge? A BMW no less.
I honk my horn three more times, and when the car still doesn't move and I realize there's no one sitting in it, I throw open my door and get out.
With a frustrated sigh, I start walking and take a look around. It's dark out, but the full moon illuminates what looks like a large river below me. And aside from the sound of water rippling off the rocks, it's eerily quiet.
Intuition strikes me and the hairs on my neck prickle—maybe I've stumbled upon a dump spot for the mafia or some shit.
Crossing over to one side of the bridge, I rest my elbows on the poor excuse of a steel barrier and peer down. Yup, this place would be perfect for dumping bodies. It's so far off
the beaten path no one would ever find the victim.
Deciding I want no part in being at the wrong place at the wrong time, because God knows I already have my hands full with my ties to the mob, I start walking back to my car. I mutter a curse when I press the wrong button on my key fob and my horn goes off.
“All right, you impatient jerk. I'm moving it,” a raspy female voice shouts.
Curiosity has me spinning around and I'm greeted by a petite and slender blonde. Or rather, partial blonde because the tips of her hair are a very noticeable bright pink. My eyes quickly scan over a few visible tattoos before they settle on the angry scowl plastered across her mascara-streaked face.
And that's when I realize who she is.
Makeup smeared eyes combined with pink hair is what I remember most about the chick I caught my girlfriend cheating on me with.
Okay, maybe not the only thing. The sight of her swapping spit with my girlfriend in the middle of a college cafeteria is firmly reserved in my brain's database.
Fuck, out of all the people in the world who could be standing on this bridge with me it has to be her.
The look she shoots me tells me she's thinking the same exact thing. “What the hell are you doing here?” Her hazel eyes turn hard. “Did Becca tell you about this place?”
I shake my head. “No.”
She puts her hands on her hips. “Then what the shit are you doing on my bridge, douchebag?”
“Christ, what is this, Three Billy Goats Gruff?”
She blinks. “What?”
“Three Billy Goats Gruff,” I repeat with more emphasis. “You know, the story about the troll on a bridge that won't let the goats pass.”
“Did you just call me a troll?”
More like inferred it.
It's on the tip of my tongue to comment on her pink hair, but I think better of it. My issues with her aside, she's the only one around who can give me directions out of here.
We stare at one another for a beat and her angry scowl deepens...and then her lower lip trembles.
I have no idea what to say to this girl, but it's clear she's extremely distraught. I'm about to tell her she's not a troll, but that's when it dawns on me.
She's alone. In the middle of the night. Standing on a bridge.
A mere two days after finding out the girl she thought was her fiancée...cheated on her.
Every cell in my body is telling me this situation isn't my problem and to get the hell out of here. I don't do well with emotional basket cases and I don't owe the girl standing in front of me crying a damn thing.
But the fact of the matter is...someone was hurt in this ordeal. And Lord knows it wasn't Becca and it sure as shit wasn't me.
It's the angry girl with the sad eyes glaring at me like she wants to toss me right off this bridge.
“I'll move my car,” she says sharply.
Before I can stop myself, I utter, “Look, I know I'm the last person in the world you want to—”
“Got that right.” The small hand holding her keys forms a fist. “I hate you.”
“You don't even know me,” I tell her. “Not that you wouldn't hate me if you did. I'm not exactly saint material.” I lean against the hood of my car. “For what it's worth, I had no idea she was with you. I know that won't change your perception of me, but you're obviously upset. Maybe talking to me for a little while will help.” I raise my hands. “Or make it worse. I make no guarantees, but it's worth a shot. After, we can go back to being mortal enemies and pretend tonight never happened.”
She worries her plump lower lip between her teeth, studying me.
I take the opportunity to do the same to her. I notice a small piercing in her nostril and another one on the right side of her upper lip.
My teeth clash as I continue my appraisal. I know I shouldn't make any judgments, but if this girl doesn't like dick, too—the male population took a serious hit.
Mascara streaks or not, she's gorgeous. A straight up twenty on a ten scale—and I'm not even into the whole tattooed and pierced look.
When I see nothing but that mixture of despair and rage still swirling in those hazel orbs as she finishes sizing me up and down, instead of a flicker of attraction or appreciation, I realize my earlier suspicion is right because she's clearly immune to my appearance.
Not that I'm expecting a heartbroken girl to fall at my feet, but as far as looks go—I'm on the extremely fortunate side.
Turns out Holden genes are good for something.
After what feels like hours, she finally speaks. “Is it true?”
When I give her a look she says, “The baby. Is she pregnant?”
Dread fills my stomach as three positive pregnancy tests flash before my eyes. “Looks that way. She has a doctor's appointment in a few days to confirm.”
She nods slowly as if taking in my sentence bit by bit because she can't bear the entire structure of it.
“Are you happy?” she asks, and I'd be lying if I said her question didn't throw me.
When I don't answer, she walks over to her car and sits down on the hood Indian style, awaiting my response.
The irony that our vehicles look like they're facing off isn't lost on me.
Figuring I don't have much to lose in this weird conversation, I hit her with the truth. “Not particularly. No.”
Then again, that's never what our relationship was about.
My mind flits back to a few months ago when I made a bet—actually a string of them—with the Dragonis—who happen to be Becca's family—and ended up losing a shit-ton of money.
My older brother Asher has no idea, and considering it's something I'll take to my grave; he'll never know. But I lost a major bet with the Dragonis on purpose.
Vincent Dragoni is the brother of Dominic Dragoni—who happens to be the head of the mob. But Vincent's also the assistant football coach at Woodside University and is a well-known underground bookie.
Confused yet? Well, hang on—things are going to get a lot more complicated.
My brother Asher—thanks to a nutcase, his bitch of a high school girlfriend Breslin, and her no-good father—was set up with a sex tape featuring another guy blowing him.
He was headed for the NFL, but after that tape went viral, he was promptly kicked out of Duke's Heart University for bullshit reasons and lost his scholarship. And my father being the asshole he is, one who's all about public image—disowned him and cut him off financially.
Asher's dreams were tarnished, all because some trailer park junkie and some mentally unhinged psycho teammate of his wanted to make a quick buck by setting him up.
Well that, and Duke, along with society; couldn't handle the thought of one of the greatest up-and-coming quarterbacks of all time being gay.
My brother might be out of the closet as bisexual now, but back when that video was taken, he was still dating his high school girlfriend Breslin and presumed to be straight as an arrow. But everything changed one night when his teammate turned stalker, Kyle Sinclair, blackmailed him with a video of a blowjob he gave him while he was sleeping.
In exchange for Kyle not releasing the video, Asher had to do all sorts of things for him, like securing Kyle a spot on Duke's football team. Although now we know that was all just a ruse to be closer to Asher because he was obsessed with him.
The last three years have been hell for my brother and he thinks it was all Kyle's doing. However, I found out a few months ago that Breslin and her dad were the co-conspirators behind the whole operation when I ran into her father at a bar and he spilled the beans about releasing the video; otherwise, I never would have believed it.
The one positive thing about the video getting out was that it provided Asher freedom from Kyle and freedom to be himself. Things are finally looking up for my brother again—thanks in part to me.
After I made an agreement with Vincent Dragoni that Asher would take the Wolverines to the championship—something the football team at Woodside hasn't seen since the se
venties—in exchange for forgiving my massive gambling debt, Asher's playing football again.
It's just a matter of time before he wins the championship and the NFL realizes that into dudes or not, he's a damn good athlete and deserves to be out on that field.
People might not agree with what I did if they ever found out, but I have no regrets. I'm glad Asher now has the chance to prove he can make it on his own merits.
Annoyance crawls along my skin as my thoughts come back to my cheating girlfriend.
Bottom line, I started dating Becca Dragoni, who was sent to spy on me as a lackey for her family, because it was beneficial for me to do so. It was a benefit that became a convenience over the last few months though, because we were a good fit together.
She didn't bitch about my gambling because she grew up around it, and she never asked me where I went or why I came home late. Not to mention, she was nice to look at and the sex between us was decent.
As a thank you for her contributions to the relationship, I never strayed or treated her bad. And as long as I gave her some cash and took her out to a few fancy places...she was content.
In fact, things were going so well; I ended up renting an apartment for us.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not in love with her or anything, but who needs love when we have a mutual understanding?