by Marie Wathen
Be All
Marie Wathen
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my grandmother, Mildred DeStafino, for being the strong, independent role model that inspires and drives me daily. If not for you I would not be the woman I am today and I thank God for every moment I have with you.
Acknowledgments
This book would have never made it to publication without certain people reading it and giving me invaluable advice and encouragement. My gratitude to the following:
To my adoring husband, you are my life, my love, my best friend, my protector, my acceptor, my fun, my every day, my every night and my at last. There could not be a more perfect person for such an imperfect me. I love you, Forover.
To my daughters Kayla and Kaitie: Thank you for loving me even when I may not be your favorite person. I’m so very proud of the women you are becoming and the friendship we have. If my life has taught you anything I hope that you will keep in mind that the world is filled with millions of possibilities, never just settle for one good thing when freaking amazing is just around the corner. I love you more than words.
To Auderia (Love): Through the early mornings, late nights, highly caffeinated, and silliness you were there always supporting, cheerleading, helping, retyping and never letting me forget how cool this is. Thank you. I love it! (And to Devan Rhayne, for thinking I’m the coolest.)
To my girls for a thousand different reasons: Barbara, Loretta, Paula, Stephanie, Lisa, Karen, Debra, and Krystle
To my big, loud Italian family: for those special moments and stories that will live on in my heart always.
To my Kick Ass Bloggers & Betas: Angela Pratt (I Feel the Need, the Need to Read), Savannah Mae (Say What, Savannah Mae?), Breezy Kirkpatrick (Breezy BeautyandBooks) Natalie Catalano (Love Between the Sheets),Venture Cecena, and Author CJ Azevedo for taking a chance on a nobody, putting up with revisions, allowing me to harass you with tons of questions and giving me the guts to publish my book. God bless and thank you!
To my editor: Taylor Kent with Taylor K’s Editing. You are a rock star and we have a fabulous future together.
To Arijana Karcic with Cover It Designs: Thank you for a stunning book cover…and many more to come.
To the Indie Authors who inspire and support me: Lindy Zart for saying “Write it!”, Danielle Taylor for loving it, Merilyn Dignum my Aussie Birthday twin, and finally Rachel Higginson my idol and her love story in Star Crossed series that mused Breesan’s relationships and eventual destiny, I do this because you did it first. Thank you and good writings.
To the 1700 Facebook/Twitter fans: You liked, commented, shared, encouraged, bought and loved BE ALL prior to it going live, and I adore you for every second of it.
And especially to my God for this life, these and all the other unmentioned characters and storylines, real and fictional, that you created and brought into my life.
Chapter 1
Breesan
I’m broken, but who isn’t these days? At the age of five years old, all hope for a normal life disappeared. While most little girls were playing with dolls, having their moms braid their hair, and finding friendships that led to happiness – as well as heartache – my life began shredding apart.
Like ribbons in confetti, my heart is literally shreds floating in the air from death, loss, and cruelty. Born eighteen years ago on Willow, a small Alabama island in the Gulf of Mexico, my mother – Casandria Maxwell – died while giving me life. Five years later, my father, Captain Brendt Maxwell, was captured while on military deployment and remains missing; the government won’t confirm if he’s alive.
My secluded life here on Willow Island, with my stepmother Julia, is what drives me to move to the University of Miami at the end of summer. The farther away I can get from her, the better. We are not close; she tolerates me, and at times she's proven to be cruel, never physically, but rather emotionally, which is sometimes worse. The hardest part is that she absolutely does not love me. Most days I hate the life destiny dealt me.
Destiny…what a joke! Webster's definition of destiny, in essence, is a series of predestined trials, otherwise known as ‘shit happens’. It leaves you thinking, “Now what?” For me, fate is an isolated existence, some call it loneliness. At a young age, after getting kicked on my ass, I learned being alone is best. Life has done nothing but teach me that I'm undeserving of emotional connections.
Without exception, I have lost every person that has ever loved me. When others are involved, becoming a victim of destiny's twisted design, and following an unknown course determined by it, isn't an option. Not wanting outside elements controlling my heart and emotions, I chose to put my defenses up and fight – controlling destiny on my own terms.
In my mind, building an impenetrable wall to block out love, from friendships to men, will keep me safe. Blocking love is a fucking genius idea. I can only hope people don’t judge the way I deal with my life; truthfully, they haven’t a clue what it’s like. I need this wall’s protection like I need air to breathe. Hindering access to my heart is easy; I deny friendships and don’t date because I’m not looking for true love. I know it exists; I just don’t want it. Finding it, only to lose it, would kill me. Pathetic I know, but I have no choice. If only you could glimpse inside and see how broken my soul is after losing the most important people in my life, you would understand. The risk you take with your heart when you love someone is not worth the pain the empty void leaves behind when you lose them. Abandoned with the loss of my parents, along with deceit by so many others, are the elements that forged my broken heart, and now my lonely existence.
Therefore, fabricating this wall prevents attachment and offers a safe place for my heart. A long time ago, I promised someone very special that I would live for myself, and only for myself. For the past thirteen years, I can say I’ve done a good job keeping this promise.
With limited access to my solitary world, there is one person that won’t give me the damn seclusion I so desperately desire.
"Breesan!" Anna yells, frowning as she glances at the pile of clothes strewn around my bedroom. She stands in the middle of my room with one fist jammed on her hip and the other scrubbing across her forehead viscously.
“Can’t I just stay right here?” I say as I stretch across my bed lazily. I was completely ready to climb under the covers and sleep this freaking night away. Unfortunately, with her being here, sleep is most likely not going to happen. She’s determined to be the bane of my existence, forcing me to go on a dumbass blind date.
Huffing, she pierces me with deep annoyance. "Tristan will be here very soon. You’ve tried on eight different ball gowns and, of course, you’ve hated every darn one of them,” she scoffs in disbelief. The fact that her boyfriend, Tristan Walker, will be here any minute for our double date matters very little to me.
Unconcerned with his impending arrival, I prefer watching her get twisted with agitation on my procrastination. “Yeah, they make my ass look fat,” I joke. Ignoring my comment, she pulls another lame dress from my closet.
Quirking an eyebrow while placing the dress on the foot of the bed, she silently dares me to make another smartass comment. I smirk back teasingly. “It’s nearly seven o'clock. We are running out of time here, so please tell me that you’re not stalling just to get out of going tonight?" Glaring at me, her mouth is set with an unbecoming pout. Determined to stall, I remain stoic.
Deep frown lines pop up between her eyebrows, indicating that she’s got a clue and may have caught on to my tricks. “That is what you’re doing.” I watch as her rage toward me begins to rise for intentionally making us late. Hands clenching, she digs her fingernails deep into her palms.
Throwing both hands in the air, she storms away and into my bathroom. “I should have ex
pected this from you. Mygod you drive me insane. Literally, I’m going insane and it’s your fault,” she whines.
She is always so damn melodramatic. Today is no exception, she is unhappy with me for purposely delaying tonight’s plans. I mentally shrug because I can’t stress how much I would love to get out of this completely. “Is that so? Well, if you’re so crazy maybe we shouldn’t let you out in public.” Continuing to instigate her bad mood, I’m disappointed when she doesn’t snap back with a quick retort.
Truthfully, canceling dinner would be amazing. It’s not like her relationship with Tristan hinges on this one stupid blind date. She’s locked in for life with him, but if, by some strange turn of events, they broke up, she could easily find a replacement boyfriend.
Noticing how nice she looks tonight, I feel a momentary pinch of jealousy. Describing Anna Knight as gorgeous is a severe understatement. She is tall, at five feet ten inches, with the perfect not-too-curvy body, but enough curve to make the guys go bananas. She has eyes the shade of coffee and loose waves of dark blonde hair that falls at her waist; it’s styled perfectly for tonight’s dinner. Her flawless skin glows with a very expensive sunless tan shade of café au lait, making her a damn bombshell. She is a well-tailored woman; from her perfectly plucked eyebrows down to her buffed and painted toenails, she is an absolute goddess.
With full scholarship offers from every top Ivy League school, she is a bona fide genius. Her gifts are not limited to high intellect. She is also a skilled athlete and has an exceptional flair for fashion. Factually, she’s a fashion guru with dreams of working in a Paris fashion house upon graduating college. Lacking in the patience department doesn’t diminish the fact that she is the total package.
Thinking back, I remember a time when I actually allowed and wanted our friendship. She had practically been a sister to me. Born a year after me, Anna lives just down the road from my house. Like me, she is also an only child; however, very much unlike me, she’s always desired siblings. Before elementary school, we had spent nearly every day together, growing closer Before elementary school, we had spent nearly all our time together, growing closer each day. After my dad’s disappearance, my stepmother put a sudden stop to our friendship. Julia’s hurtful directive made it easier for me to begin working on constructing my wall. Anna was the first person I shut out, quickly followed by everyone else.
By my choice, I didn’t participate in any school activities or community functions. I ecstatically avoided every social situation, making an effective ghost at most times. However, my illusiveness painfully backfired on me in middle school. Ludicrous rumors about me, my family, and my secluded life generated quickly because of my preference for hiding. Julia briefly considered homeschooling me. It had infuriated her that I was drawing attention to myself, as if I had any control over what other people thought and said about me. She squashed the idea quickly, realizing that homeschooling would require her to spend more time with me, which honestly, neither one of us could stomach.
As we entered high school, Julia permitted Anna to hang around begrudgingly. Anna got comfortable, happily letting herself in my house whenever she wanted. I found her waiting patiently in my bedroom every day watching television, messing around in my closet, or listening to music. Oddly, it was as if she didn’t want to be at her own home, which made no sense. Unlike me, she had the perfect family life so her needing to hide at my house confused me.
Besides being a pain, by always being stuck up my ass, the only other problem I have with Anna is that I can’t always trust her to be truthful. She says and does things that she thinks I want to hear so I’ll be agreeable. Ugh, that shit really gets on my nerves. I ask her not to lie constantly, but she continues and, most of the time, I call her on it. After a lifetime of arguing with her about not lying and leaving me alone, I finally caved. Just because of one freaking moment of weakness, she believes that we’re best friends.
"Tristan is expecting you to go through with this date," she declares, emphasizing her point by pausing to flash an award winning, overdramatic, and uber serious expression.
“Could you be more specific as to why Morgan needs me as his date?” Narrowing my eyes, I warily await her explanation.
"Come on! Morgan doesn't really know anyone here, Breesan. He was born here but lived in England most of his life, except during the summers he visited Willow." Desperation saturates her voice. “And you –” Halting midsentence, she turns, staring at me pitifully.
“Please, just do this for me.” Petulantly, her whiny voice triggers an irritating sensation that runs down my spine. Stalking around my room, she chews on the skin beside her perfectly manicured thumbnail, a notorious telltale sign of hers that indicates she is frustrated or hurt. Suddenly, I feel a little bad about picking on her, just a little.
"If you go through with the date, you will be doing Tristan a huge favor, one that he will feel completely obligated to repay," she bargains dramatically.
Yes, he will
“He’s going to owe me big time. I’m not dating his cousin for nothing,” I snap defiantly.
Suddenly, she replaces her frustration with a fake, gorgeous smile. As soon as she changed her tactics, my shield went up.
"You know, Tristan says Morgan has never been on a date before.” Studying her face, I see her expression shift drastically; the soft skin under her eye begins twitching and that’s when I know she is lying. “Uh – can you imagine a hot, twenty – one year old, uh – sophisticated man who um – grew up in England that has never dated?” She stammers through this implausible explanation.
No, I don’t believe it, but I don’t care enough to ask why. I shake my head in utter disbelief as she stammers through more lies.
“Did I tell you I ran into him last week at Tristan’s grandparents’ house? Anyway, he is so pretty. Like GQ model pretty.” Unimpressed, because looks aren’t everything, I roll my eyes. “He has always been cute but oh my goodness honey. He has short, wavy, dark brown hair that sticks up in the front like all the hot guys are wearing. And I would honestly have to invent a word to describe the shade of his eyes. Green just doesn't do them justice. Um – what else?" She taps a finger to her chin while resting her elbow on her other arm, wrapping it loosely around her waist.
Frustrated, I need distance from her and this mind-boggling bullshit. I retreat silently into my closet and squat down on the floor, delighted with the severance. Unfortunately my solace doesn’t last because she follows, continuing to tick off her selling points of all things wonderful about my, apparently, perfect date.
"Oh, well I don't have to tell you that he's charming. After all, he is a Walker, and they are masters at being cute, lovable, and captivating. The best part –," she pauses, and I hear the hopefulness in her voice. My body tenses awaiting her next words. "The hottie is your date!!" she giggles, trying to lighten my mood. "Whoa Mama! Breesan Maxwell is going on a date with a true hottie!" she adds melodramatically.
Peeking out from my closet, I look at her in disbelief. Did she just say “Whoa Mama?” She looks up, wiggles her eyebrows and catches my puzzled look. Stifling a laugh, she covers her mouth with the back of her hand as I roll my eyes again, something I seem to do more of when she’s around. She clears her throat, attempting to regain her composure. I can’t help but chuckle at her silliness, but manage to hide it from her; I refuse to encourage her bullshit tactics.
She sighs, "Anyway since you are my bestie, who for some insane reason doesn't like dating and just barely tolerates all guys, I know you are the perfect choice as his date tonight," she says with finality. Why does she think I’m the perfect choice?
Downplaying her excitement and uncertain by what the hell she means by that statement, I offer a noncommittal shoulder shrug. I know this nonverbal form of communication pisses her off, and that’s exactly why I do it. I pat myself on the back internally while I watch as her level of frustration jumps to DEFCON 5.
"Why do you always do this?" she growls, her e
yes taking on an icy glare.
Good question.
Sadly, the answer lies locked down deep inside my broken soul, never to be revealed to anyone. She continues rambling at a sound level that only dogs can hear now, and I am no longer listening. Honestly, when she starts talking about boys all I hear is “yada, yada, yada, blah, blah, blah, this, that and the other.”
"Breesan!" she yells, gaining my attention.
Oh shit!
The tone causes my head to snap up; I find her standing at the entrance to my closet snapping her fingers intentionally, knowing how much I hate when someone snaps to get my attention. It’s rude and she’s doing it on purpose. I know its payback for antagonizing her, but what a bitch. Consumed with indignation, she crosses her arms, arches an eyebrow, and stares at me.
A strange thought passes through her mind, and I see the spark in her eyes fade. "Really Breesan, are you listening to anything I'm saying?" She releases a long, defeated huff. Loosening her fists, she drops them to her sides. Lowering her head, she drops her shoulders then walks away pitifully.
Sarcasm, being my usual tone when she sets me up, suddenly doesn’t seem appropriate. I resign with my bad attitude and choose to pacify her. “I've heard every word," I answer softly.
Turning slowly, she stares over her shoulder at me. “There's really no pressure on you. Tonight is simply about showing Morgan a fun time in Willow," she whispers, giving her voice a dejected tone. I freeze from her sincerity, feeling like such an ass. Now she’s finally being real; I wasn’t expecting this approach, but I was afraid it would happen eventually. And now I feel guilty.
I resume listening to her again. Now that she’s calm her voice drops several octaves, but it still echoes mild aggression. Watching her walk away, I realize that I don't deserve her attention and especially her friendship. She’s always too good to me and I’m such a shitty friend. Oh damn, why do I care?