Manhattan

by Steiner, Kandi

  Copyright (C) 2019 Kandi Steiner

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without prior written consent of the author except where permitted by law.

  The characters and events depicted in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Kandi Steiner

  Edited by Elaine York/Allusion Graphics, LLC/ Publishing & Book Formatting, www.allusiongraphics.com

  Cover Photography by Perrywinkle Photography

  Cover Design by Kandi Steiner

  Formatting by Elaine York/Allusion Graphics, LLC/Publishing & Book Formatting, www.allusiongraphics.com

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Epilogue

  Coming Soon

  Want More?

  The Wrong Game - Prologue

  The Wrong Game - Chapter One

  More from Kandi Steiner

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Here’s to the raw pain of being the friend,

  the just friend,

  the one who’s everything, and yet somehow,

  not quite anything at all.

  And to those who hold onto the possibility that maybe,

  just maybe,

  there could be something more.

  This one’s for you.

  Kylie

  My high school graduation was a day of fireworks.

  Everything felt like a dream, the way it always does when you stare up into the night sky on the Fourth of July and watch those glowing sparks fill the air.

  I got dressed in my white, tea-length dress and put my burgundy gown on over it, finishing the look with the matching graduation cap, the tassel on the right, waiting to be flipped over once I walked across that stage.

  Boom.

  I stood in the living room of the tiny apartment I shared with my father, trying not to cry as his eyes filled with tears and he placed my honors cords around my shoulders, adjusting the golden fringes so they sat just right.

  Pop.

  I smiled with my chest swelling like a balloon as my father hugged me, held me in his arms, and whispered, “She’d be proud of you” in my ear.

  Fizz.

  Every moment, every second that filled every hour that filled that day was a series of bursts. Booms and pops and fizzes, bright lights and smoke, a dream that someone else was living and I was merely watching.

  The only moment of clarity came when I drove over to my best friend’s house for pictures before the ceremony.

  Michael Becker waited for me on the porch, something close to a smile on his lips when he saw me climb out of my truck, Dad pulling in right behind me. Our families hugged and exchanged choked-up “Can you believe it” as Mikey and I laughed and shook our heads.

  He teased me about the fact that I was wearing a dress.

  I teased him about the patchy scruff on his chin.

  But in that moment, when he took my hand and said, “Let’s go walk that stage,” I felt the fireworks more than ever.

  Boom.

  Pop.

  Fizz.

  My eyes found his when he walked across the stage in our high school gym, “Pomp and Circumstance” playing in the background just like we knew it always would. And when it was my turn, he cheered the loudest — which was saying something, considering how loudly my dad whooped and hollered.

  Then, to the tune of hundreds of families applauding and our fellow graduates cheering like we’d won the lottery, we tossed our caps into the air.

  My eyes were on Mikey.

  Boom.

  Pop.

  Fizz.

  Fireworks. Endless sparks and an undoubtable feeling that the best was yet to come, that we were on the precipice of something new, something unforgettable.

  A new adventure.

  And when we all gathered for dinner at Mikey’s after, the feeling of family surrounded me. My best friend was on my right, his family that had always been mine, too, sat all around us, and there was so much to celebrate.

  First, his mom delivered our cake, and made a cheers to her youngest son on his accomplishment.

  Then, Mikey’s older brother, Noah, announced his engagement to Ruby Grace Barnett.

  The smoke from that firework hadn’t even settled before Mikey cleared his throat, and announced that he had something to say, too. I thought maybe a toast, or a thank you, or perhaps a gift for his mother.

  But instead, he opened his mouth and dropped the biggest bomb of them all.

  “I’m moving to New York.”

  The chaos that ensued was lost on me, mostly because I was sitting next to him, shell shocked, wondering if I’d heard the words correctly. I was so sure I hadn’t.

  It couldn’t be my best friend who just said he was leaving our hometown, the one he grew up in, the one his father died in, the one he loved. It couldn’t be Michael Becker, the boy I’d shared everything with for years, saying he was spending one last summer in Stratford before he packed up and made his way to the big city.

  It couldn’t be Mikey, the boy I’d loved in secret for years, saying that my time to tell him that was running out.

  But it was.

  And I knew exactly why.

  Bailey Baker.

  The first girl Mikey dated. The first girl Mikey fell in love with. And the girl who left him completely behind in October, when she dropped out of school to chase her dreams in Nashville — without him, even though their plans were always to go together.

  It was her he wanted to flee from, her he was trying to escape. I knew maybe more than anyone at that table that his motivation to leave our town and live in the city that never sleeps was born and bred in that girl we all wished we could help him forget.

  And that’s when it hit me.

  The fuse I’d thought was endless shortened in a breath, the bright flash of a mortar blinding me with one searing truth.

  This was it. My last chance to tell my best friend that I wanted more, that I always had, that he couldn’t leave me — not when I’d just gotten him back.

  So, right then and there, as his brothers drilled him with questions and his mother sobbed as he flew out the front door, telling all of them that his mind was made up, I made a plan.

  One summer.

  One list of adventures to remind him that our small town has more to offer than memories of the girl who left him behind.

  One last chance to tell him I’m in love with him.

  And in that moment, I was just dumb enough to think that maybe he could love me, too.

  Boom.

  Pop.

  Fizz.

  Michael

  I woke up the day after my high school graduation feeling completely underwhelmed.

  This day I had looked forward to for so long had come and gone like any other Saturday, and though I was skeptical that I’d feel any different, part of me hoped I would. Part of me wished to feel something — anything — other than the hollow emptiness I’d been drowning in since October.

  But, h
ere I was, eighteen years old and no longer bound to the fluorescent lights and locker-lined halls of Stratford High, and all I could think as I stared up at the popcorn ceiling in my bedroom was how absolutely disappointing it all was.

  I sighed, kicking off my navy blue, flannel comforter and padding barefoot down the hall to the bathroom I’d once shared with my three older brothers. Now, it was all mine, save for the few times a year that one or two of them stayed the night.

  I was on autopilot, going through the same routine I had every morning, feeling the same numbness that I’d lived in since the light of my life walked away from me like I was nothing to her. That rainy day in October had splintered my life into two: Before Bailey Left and After Bailey Left.

  B.B.L. was the best part of my life. It was filled with music, and laughter, and romance. I was needed and wanted, I had a purpose, I had someone to take care of, someone to take care of me. I had a partner, a plan, a life just waiting for us to live it — together.

  A.B.L. had, so far, been the most miserable part of my life — and that was saying something, considering my father passed away when I was a kid. But I’d been young then, and I’d continued on, finding solace in my family and childhood best friend. As crazy as it sounded, even that loss didn’t compare to the all-encompassing one I felt when Bailey broke up with me, telling me she was going to Nashville to pursue her music dreams without me, instead of with me, like we’d always planned.

  It was supposed to be me and her — always.

  It was supposed to be high school graduation, then us moving to Nashville together.

  It was supposed to be her working with her label, playing at the bars on the Nashville strip, traveling the country to visit radio stations and play sold-out shows at local country bars before she hit it big and burned up the Country Top 100 charts.

  And it was supposed to be me, right there beside her, supporting her and building that life we always envisioned we’d have together.

  Instead, she’d dropped me like I was a weight holding her back instead of a hand pushing her up and forward and on. She asked for time, for space, for the chance to focus on her music — as if I’d ever asked her to give any of that up for me.

  Bailey was my high school sweetheart, but I’d never classified her as that. I’d always seen her as my everything. She wasn’t just high school. She was college, and first job, and marriage, and first house, and four kids of our own. The simple fact that we started dating my sophomore year didn’t make me see her as a stage in my life — one that existed only in high school. No, that fact didn’t mean anything to me, really, because I always felt like we’d have found each other one way or another, at some other point in our life, had we not grown up in the same town.

  But obviously, my romantic view of what we had was warped — because I didn’t ever think she’d leave me, and here we were.

  When she left, I realized that she didn’t just take part of me with her — she took all of me. I didn’t have an identity outside of who I was when I was with her, and once she was gone, it was as if I’d disappeared into thin air. I was still here, breathing, existing, but past that?

  Nothing.

  Seven months after our breakup, and I still ran through all those thoughts every single morning as I brushed my teeth, combed my mess of hair, shaped up what little stubble I could grow on my face and neck, and said a silent prayer before facing whatever I had ahead of me that day.

  But, in one way, today was different.

  I might have still been miserable, and lonely, and lost. I might have still felt like the same kid I was the day before I graduated now that I was here on the other side. But, the Michael Becker before high school graduation was just another country boy living in Stratford, Tennessee.

  The Michael Becker today was on his way to The Big Apple.

  A flitter of something close to excitement whirled through me at the thought as I made my way down the hall and into the kitchen. I’d been sitting on the decision for months now, knowing I didn’t have anything here in Stratford for me anymore, and knowing that in every book and movie and song, New York City was where you went to find yourself.

  Still, it didn’t go over well with my family — not my three older brothers, who were adamant about all of us staying here in this town together and keeping our late father’s legacy alive. And not my mother, who would have an empty nest, once I left this house she and my father had bought together just after their marriage.

  The house we’d made a home.

  The house we’d stayed in after my father died.

  The house each brother left, one by one, until it was just me and Mom and the memories within these old walls.

  The wood floor of the kitchen creaked under my foot as I dipped inside the fridge, pulling out the jug of milk and drinking straight from it. Mom was on the porch just like she was every Sunday morning, rocking in her favorite chair and drinking her coffee with her eyes washing over the front yard.

  I took a moment to watch her from inside, noting the gray of her hair that had appeared in the last couple of years, the laugh lines that were more pronounced on her cheeks. Her eyes were the same goldish-green as mine, and even from this angle, I could see the sun reflecting in those forest-like pools.

  Every time I saw her out there, I had a flashback of the same vision, but with my father there beside her — one hand holding the newspaper, the other on her knee, both of them rocking side by side.

  I shook the thought away, pushing through the screen door with a little more hesitance than I was used to. Mom’s eyes were still a bit swollen from all the crying she did last night — and those tears were my fault. I’d told her and the rest of my family at my graduation dinner that I was leaving for New York at the end of the summer.

  To say they hadn’t taken it well would be a gross understatement.

  “Mornin’, Mama,” I said, leaning a hip against the porch railing.

  She blinked, as if she hadn’t even noticed that I’d joined her, and then she gave me the best smile she could manage — one tinged with sadness and worry. “Ah, good morning, my high school graduate. Feeling like an adult yet?”

  I attempted a smirk but wasn’t sure if my mouth actually moved from its perpetual state of flatness. “Totally. Going to invest in some stocks today and go to bed at eight-thirty. Growing some facial hair, too,” I said, rubbing my chin where the most impressive amount of scruff I’d had so far in my life was coming in. “See?”

  Mom chuckled, cupping her mug of coffee and rocking gently. “I’m so proud of you, Michael Andrew.” She paused, brows folding. “But, I’m so worried about you, too.”

  “Mom…” I warned, letting my eyes roll up to the porch awning. “Please, I don’t want to rehash what we already talked to death last night.”

  When I looked back at my mother, her bottom lip was trembling slightly, and as much as I didn’t want to cause her any pain, I also didn’t want to argue with her over why me moving to New York was my decision and no one else’s.

  I pushed away from the railing, opening my arms wide. “Come here.”

  Mom sniffed, setting her coffee cup down and standing to give me a hug. I wrapped my arms completely around her, and she sighed, resting her head on my chest.

  “I just… I don’t know what I’m going to do without you here.”

  “I’ll visit,” I promised. “And you can visit me, too. See the big city, the lights, Times Square. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

  “Sounds scary,” she murmured against my shirt.

  I kissed her hair, resting my chin on the crown of her head. “It’s all going to be alright, Mama. I promise. Just trust me, okay? Trust that you and Dad raised me well, and that I wouldn’t make any decisions without thinking them through from every angle first.”

  She nodded, wiping a tear away when she pulled back from my grasp. She forced a shaky smile again, her eyes still glossy. “You too adult to join your mother at church?”

  I shook my head
. “Never. Leave here in twenty?”

  “And not a minute later.”

  I still felt the weight of my mother’s grief on my shoulders as I went back to my room to change, pulling on a simple button-up and khakis before grabbing the Bible that used to be my father’s out of my bedside table drawer. I tucked it under my arm, grabbing my phone off the charger just as the screen lit up with a new text message.

  Ky: Hey, can we meet up after church? It’s important.

  I smiled at the text from my best friend — mostly because it was just like her to be dramatic before nine AM.

  Me: If this is because you forgot to sleep with your retainer in again, I’ll only say it one more time — your teeth will not go back to being crooked over one night.

  Ky: Ha, ha. First of all, it’s possible for teeth to move substantially within a forty-eight-hour period. Secondly, stop being a jerk and meet me at Blondie’s after church.

  Ky: I’ll even buy you a pistachio brittle cone.

  Me: Twist my arm, why don’t ya? I’ll be there.

  Kylie and I had been thick as thieves since we were kids — well, aside from the two years I’d dated Bailey. She hadn’t exactly been okay with me having a female best friend — even when I assured her that I didn’t even see Kylie as a girl — so, we’d taken a step back, going from hanging out nearly every day to just texting now and then and seeing each other at school.

  But when Bailey left, and I had no one, Kylie was right there for me. And it was like no time had passed at all.

  If I was being honest, I wasn’t sure I’d still be alive if it weren’t for that girl.

  Ky: For the record, that’s still a disgusting ice cream flavor, and you’re still weird for liking it.

  Me: If I wasn’t weird, you wouldn’t be my friend.

  Ky: Touché. See you soon.

  I checked my appearance in the mirror one last time, smoothing a hand over my shaggy, walnut hair, and then I drove Mama to church just like I did every Sunday morning.