Ash to Steele
Karen-Anne Stewart
Ash to Steele is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges that the trademarked status and the 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 owners. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.
Cover photo was purchased from fotolia.com. Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Fotolia are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only. Certain stock imagery © Fotolia.
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher herby disclaims any responsibility for them.
Due to strong language, mature scenes, and some violence, Ash to Steele is recommended for readers 18 and older.
Copyright © 2014 Karen-Anne Stewart
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1495464415
ISBN-13: 978-1495464416
DEDICATION
Ash to Steele is dedicated to my husband who has been with me every step of the way since I jumped headfirst into my dream and who was brave enough to answer ‘yes’ when asked if he could handle me. Here’s to many more dreams together! Can you handle that? I love you!
This novel is also dedicated to all the amazing readers out there who are making this dream possible!
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Prologue (Emma)
Chapter One
Insatiable Bastard
Chapter Two
Chapter Three (Breck)
Beautiful Liar
Chapter Four
Chapter Five (Emma)
Holier-Than-Thou
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven (Breck)
Impossible, Stubborn Brat!
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine (Emma)
Damned Either Way
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven (Breck)
Sweetest Hell
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen (Emma)
Poison
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen (Breck)
Pissed – In Both Ways
Chapter Sixteen (Emma)
Cruel Contradiction
Chapter Seventeen (Breck)
Beautifully Broken
Chapter Eighteen (Emma)
Undeniably Mine
Chapter Nineteen (Breck)
Handful
Epilogue
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To my husband, thank you for your continued support and patience while I had my laptop glued to my legs, music blaring in my ears, and my emotions on my sleeve. I love you!
To Darryl Collins, Jim Guilliams, Justin Arnold, and Todd Ervin, thank you for your expertise.
To the most amazing Beta readers, ever! Your feedback, encouragement, and time is most appreciated and loved! Thank you for all that you do, Diane Maxwell, Chantelle Cunningham, Jovon Tucker, Pam Riddle, Tara Ansari, Keri Wilson, Karen Galloway, Heather Lindall, Shannon Ropp, Jackie Parker, Honey Warren, Heather Pfingsten, Karla Crescioni, Valeria Gardin, and Tichelle Williams.
To Bret Stewart, thank you for your professional editing services with Ash to Steele.
To the Rain Makers, you girls rock! I appreciate each and every one of you, Jovon Tucker, Heather Pfingsten, Chantelle Cunningham, Karla Crescioni, Honey Warren, Danielle Cury, Jackie Parker, and Kim Rector.
To all of the authors who still amaze me with your support and encouragement, I have been truly blessed to have been given the chance to get to know you. Thank you!
To the bloggers and reviewers, your support has been beyond amazing, and I’m thrilled to have connected with each of you. Thank you!
A huge thank you to all the readers! Like I’ve said before, you guys ROCK! I look forward to hearing from you about Breck and Emma’s story.
Prologue
Emma
“I don’t understand why you have to leave?” The raw emotion in Dad’s voice cuts through me, feeding my already choking guilt.
Taking a deep breath, I blink the tears away, forcing myself to turn towards my father, “We’ve talked about this.”
He clears his throat, swallowing hard as he shifts my bag from one hand to the other. “It’s cold there in the winter.”
I suppress a chuckle at his practical tactic to get me to stay, “I know, Dad.”
One quick nod is his response. He’s usually my rock, has been since mom died when I was eleven. Dad has always been so strong, but now that strength has been broken...by me.
“You know you freeze in the winter.”
“I packed a heavy coat.”
“Justin loves you, Em. I’m not saying to marry the boy right away, just stay. Give him a chance. He’s got a good head on his shoulders and he has a great job; he’d provide you with a good life, honey.”
Dad’s words ring in my ears, doing nothing to ease my guilt. Letting out a soft sigh, I gaze out at the cornfield, watching the tops of the stalks blowing gently in the summer night breeze. I’m going to miss that. I’m going to miss Dad. God, I’m going to miss Dad.
“I know I would have a good life here, but I want more than you do.” Turning back around, I give him a pleading look, “I like Justin, but I’m not in love with him. I don’t want to settle. I want to fall head over heels in love.”
“That’s only an expression, Em. Just words.”
“I don’t believe that. Neither do you. I want what you and mom had.”
The sad look in his eyes renders my resolve not to cry pathetically useless. The back of my throat burns as tears escape, warming my cheeks and tickling my chin as they roll down my face.
“And you don’t think you can find that here?” His own tears well before he has time to blink them away, and my heart bleeds.
I look into his eyes, searching his, begging him to understand, “I can’t stay. I need more. I need passion!”
Dad shakes his head, giving me that smile he always gives me when he thinks that I’m clueless.
Rolling my eyes, I manage to cause him at least a miniscule smile.
“Hon, what do you know about passion?”
“Nothing, Dad, that’s the whole point,” I whisper.
Pulling me into his strong arms, I sink into his embrace, into his shelter, inhaling his unique scent of hay, leather, and Old Spice. Another lump forms in my throat when I think of how much I’m going to miss that, too.
“My daughter wants passion,” he chuckles. “Heaven help me, what would the congregation say?”
Loving my father immensely right know, I laugh, realizing that he just granted me his blessing, “I didn’t say that kind of passion, Dad.”
“Alright, Em, you go out into the world looking for what you think you need. I pray you find what you’re looking for, honey.” Sorrow dims his eyes, weakening my resolve.
“I will,” I tell him more forcefully than intended.
Unbearable silence fills the air. Dad cocks his head, giving me a chuck under my chin, “You are just like your mother, so stubborn, so independent.”
The words are meant as encouragement, his way of telling me it’s okay; he understands. I never k
new guilt could cause physical pain until this moment.
Hoisting my duffle bag over his shoulder, he starts towards his old sedan, which is now mine, and slowly tosses the bag inside. His shoulders rise with deep breaths as he holds onto the doorframe. “I want you to know that, sometimes, what you think you want ends up biting you in the butt, Em. People have left since the beginning of time, spending their whole life moving from place to place looking for something they could’ve found in their own backyard. You always have a home here, you know that, right?”
“Yeah, Dad, I know,” I assure him, pushing back the tears and trying to suck it up as I throw my purse in the front seat before turning back to my father. “Like you always told me, I have to find out for myself. I love you, Dad.”
“You’re not supposed to use my own words against me.” He gives me a soft smile, the light in his eyes dimming further.
I watch as he stands there, looking at me, his headstrong twenty-two year old daughter getting ready to move to Boston, which might as well be across the world according to Dad, and the ache in my heart is profound. When his hazel eyes mist, I can’t take it any longer and I throw myself into his arms, giving him one last long hug before wiping my own eyes and slipping into my beat-up maroon sedan and drive away.
The katydids sing loudly as dust rises on the way down the long dirt road, serenading my good-bye and sending a shot of nostalgia punching me hard in the gut. Memories cling to me as I pass the pond I learned to swim in when I was five years old, the old willow tree my mother took me for picnics, and the large barn where Nick pushed me against the wall in the back when I was nine and gave me my first kiss; that memory makes me smile through my tears.
The summer breeze blows through the rolled down windows, causing my long chestnut hair to billow freely in the wind, and some of the guilt and sadness eases, replaced with a tingling anticipation. A part of me still wants to slam on the brakes and run back home, but most of me wants to leave, needs to leave, this small town that slowly suffocated me through high school. The thought of staying, always wondering ‘what if’ nearly chokes the life out of me, so I push harder on the gas pedal, sending more dust flying through the air as the tires roll over the gravel and dirt until I’m on the two lane, on my way to a life that doesn’t know me as simply Emma Michelle Jones, John Jones’ daughter, Justin’s girlfriend. No, I won’t be that girl, not anymore. I get to be whoever I want; now, I just have to figure out exactly who that is.
Don’t look back, Emma, don’t you dare look back, I demand, refusing to even glance in the rearview mirror. This town gave me a good life. I was protected, sheltered, loved. That security is just as deceptive as it is comforting. If I allowed myself, I would follow the path most do and never move further than fifty miles from where I was raised; that’s the thing about small towns, we take care of our own, and we do a good job at it; there’s no need to leave. I guess I’m different. I don’t have that peace letting me know I’m where I’m supposed to be.
Despite my best attempt not to, I glance towards my old high school where I spent all four years being Justin’s girl, his shadow. All of the girls were jealous; they wanted to be me while I wanted to be anywhere else. I was hated, adored, revered, and secretly torn down, being the girlfriend of the star quarterback who was the hottest boy in school. I wasn’t the most popular, but I wasn’t the least popular either; I was just there. I was the shy girl. The invisible girl. That changed when I started dating Justin.
Images of Justin attack me and I desperately try to push them away. I know he doesn’t deserve my leaving this way, deserting him when he always treated me like I was the most special person in the world. I don’t know of any other guy who would stay with a girl through high school, then college, when she didn’t have sex with him. That painful guilt slams into me again as I think of how he would ask but never pressure me, and how he would just pull me into his strong, reassuring arms when I would slowly shake my head and tell him I was sorry. His words sting as they race through my mind…It’s alright, Em, you’re worth waiting for. He waited all those years for nothing.
The tears pour as I’m assaulted by the look in his eyes last night. He was so broken, so blindsided, when I told him I was leaving. Anger surges through the guilt. How could he not know? How could he not realize what I was feeling if he really knew me that well? I told him so many times that I needed to experience more, but he talked me out of going away to college, and I let him.
The twenty-one mile commute to Furman every day further suffocated me. I loved the university, and I felt alive while I was there; I could taste the freedom. But that sweet taste was stripped away every day as I climbed back into my car and headed back towards home. I know I should be grateful for what I have, for all Dad has done for me, and I am, but I need more…so much more. I guess that’s selfish, but should it be? That’s the question that has plagued me since making the decision to finally break the shackles and run like hell. Selfish or not, it’s what I have to do. I dry my tears, throw my hair into a ponytail, and laugh as I crank up the radio when I hear Tim and Taylor crooning “Highway Don’t Care.” Fitting. Refusing to take the song as any kind of divine sign, I speed down the highway to finally find who I know I’m supposed to be.
Chapter One
Insatiable Bastard
Three months later.
Fast, pulsating, endorphin inducing music blares, even through the closed door, as I round the corner. The line of people is longer than I imagined; it wraps completely around the opposite side of the building. I hesitate. Nerves, excitement, and a twinge of desperation seep through my body. Shivering, I blame it on the crisp November night air instead of the fact that this is my first night out to a bar since leaving Pickens…leaving Justin.
“The line’s over there. Go or get out of the way.” The voice of a stunning blonde with perfectly straight hair and flashy manicured nails snaps me back to the moment.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
Giving a smug smirk, the look in her eyes tells me she couldn’t care less if I’m sorry or not; she just wants to get her coveted spot in line before the bar reaches its capacity and the unlucky ones are sent home after hours of fruitless waiting.
“Go ahead,” I offer, stepping out of the way, wondering if I will be mobbed by an angry crowd when I walk straight to the front of the line. The girl gives me a haughty glance filled with distaste as she walks by me, being sure to rudely brush against my arm on the way.
Taking a deep breath, I steady my nerves and make my way to the large bouncer whose eyes roam over me, filled with anything but distaste. Self-consciously, I tug on my dress, well, Jess’ dress, and berate myself for letting her talk me into wearing the sapphire blue one-shouldered mini contraption. The clingy material that I bravely thought I could pull off after Jess’ pushy encouragement now squeezes me too tightly and I pull at the hem, thankful for the sweater I threw on in a moment of self-insecurity.
The bouncer glances at the crowd then back at me, “Are you trying to get your fine ass kicked into a bloody mess?”
His British accent is sophisticated, matching his sleek clothing, but there’s an air of danger, and something I can’t place, lurking in his dark eyes. His black hair is cut short on the sides, but longer on top, and slicked back into a cultivated style that suits his large, muscular frame. I feel like a kindergartener standing in front of the principal after cutting in the lunch room line, except I can smell the threat of blood in the air with this crowd instead of the threat of silly names being thrown by five-year-olds. Shifting nervously from one foot to the other, I wish I didn’t have on these ridiculous knee high four-inch heeled boots that Jess threatened to maim me if I didn’t wear.
The man stares at me with humor as my words tumble out, “I’m Emma, Jess’ friend. She told me to just come straight to you, but I can go to the back of the line if I need to. I mean, I don’t want to be unfair or -”
“You’re Emma? Jess told me to let you in.” He gives me a
quick wink, mercifully saving me from my rambling. “You better get inside before you hear all the ugly words that are getting ready to be thrown my way.”
I give him an apologetic smile, and he lets out a hearty laugh. “Jess told me you aren’t from around here. Go on inside, sweetheart; the bar is in the back.”
“Thank you.”
My words seem to elicit another laugh from him as he steps to the side and nods his head for me to enter before grabbing my arm as I start to pass. “If anyone gives you a hard time just mention my name and they’ll leave you alone. I’m Gavin, and nobody wants to fuck with me.” Amusement lights his dark brown eyes as he winks at me again, “At least not in a fight.”
From the looks of him, and the power in his grip while he’s effortlessly holding me in place, I imagine he’s right. “Thanks, Gavin. I’ll remember that.”
Gavin pushes open the heavy metal door and I step inside, immediately regretting my decision as the door slams closed. Flashing strobe lights blind me. The noise is deafening as my eyes finally adjust to the dim lighting mixed with colorful flashes streaking vivaciously through the large room. It’s impossible to walk through the bar without touching someone with every step. Parts of people’s bodies touch various parts of mine, making me feel uneasy, as I try to maneuver through the rowdy crowd. I’m about to give up and leave when I see Jess standing at the end of a hallway yelling at someone inside a room I can’t see. Quickly, I push through the crowd, giving up saying ‘excuse me’ after about the tenth time; it doesn’t do a bit of good anyway. I can’t help but laugh when I’m almost to Jess and hear her severely scolding the unseen person.
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