Dedication
As always . . . John and Evan. My strength. My joy. My bat-shit craziness. It’s all because of you. XOXO
Table of Contents
Prologue
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
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Sneak Peek of Kismet
Playlist
Acknowledgements
About the Author/Other Works
Thirteen Years Old
The window’s cool against my forehead as I rest against the glass, meeting the stare of my best friend; she’s disappearing from view as my mom drives our car from the only neighborhood I’ve ever known.
Not for vacation.
Not for a weekend at my dad’s.
For good.
I refuse to blink; I don’t want the tears to escape. My mom feels bad enough, and I refuse to add to her burden. Fingerprints smudge the window where I’ve tried to hold the connection as long as possible. As Olivia breaks down in her parents’ arms, I face forward and resolve myself to my new life.
“Saylor, I’m sorry baby. I tried everything I could.”
“I know, Mom.” And I do know.
I heard the countless phone calls from debt collectors.
I watched everything valuable be sold off.
I heard all the sobs she tried to hide.
I accepted our fate.
The ‘For Sale’ sign was hammered into the lawn, boxes assembled and packed, erasing the last thirteen years of my life. This was the home I grew up in. This is the street I learned to ride a bike, dribble a basketball, climb a tree . . . the same street I watched the U-Haul cart away my dad’s stuff when he abandoned us.
Two years ago it all changed. Today it all ended.
I accepted the divorce. I was tired of the arguing, the shouts, the tension.
I wasn’t prepared for the knock on the door six months ago. Drunk. Dead. Gone.
He wasn’t a bad man; he just wasn’t a good one, either. During my early childhood he was, but as the years went by, the pressures grew, the bills piled . . . he crumbled.
I did my time with him every other weekend, which consisted of eating cardboard microwave meals while he drank, partied, entertained . . . never sparing a glance at his daughter. But he was here, at least. Alive.
Now he’s gone. Without his measly child support, the debt he carried . . . it all passed to my mom. Somehow they had never finalized their divorce. So we’re leaving New Mexico and moving in with my grandparents in Florida.
I look at my mom, the lines more prominently marring her face, the worry eating her from the inside. Grabbing her hand, “I know,” I reiterate. I watch her face relax, her head bob, and although no smile lights her face, I hope in the years to come the joy will return . . . to both of us.
Eighteen Years Old
Glancing at the sheet of paper in front of me and checking the address of the house . . . I stare. This can’t be where I’m living the next year. I know I have roommates, but I don’t think my part of the rent will cover this place. The yard is enormous; the house sits off the road with a huge cement pad to park. I maneuver my car next to a black BMW and silver Lexus, feeling overwhelmed. My Honda SUV is in good condition, but it’s six years old. That was one concession I wouldn’t allow my step-dad. He’s footing the bill for college, at least the portion my scholarship doesn’t cover, but I refused a new car.
I refuse to be indebted to anyone. I watched my mom work herself to near death for eighteen months working three jobs and doing whatever else she could in her spare time for money. She refused financial help from my grandparents, with the exception of living rent-free. Jack had been pursuing her for a year, and she wouldn’t commit with my dad’s debt hanging over her. He’d plead with her to let him take care of it; she refused, making me even more proud of her. She’d lived dependent on one man already but wouldn’t repeat the same mistakes. The second the last check was sent off to cover my dad’s indulgences, Jack dropped to bended knee begging my mom to marry him. She did.
Now I’m here.
The day I received the acceptance letter, I balled it up and threw it in the trash. No matter how far we’d come, how wealthy Jack was, there was no way I could cover out of state tuition and expenses. It would put my mom back in debt, and I had no way to come up with the money upfront. It was a pipe dream. She found the letter and confronted me over dinner.
“Saylor Lynn, why’d you throw it away?”
“We can’t afford it, Mom.” Her disposition changes from frustration and happiness to worry. Her smile droops into a frown, her eyes devoid of the pride they had shown a minute ago.
“Saylor, if you want to go, I’ll find a way.” Jack reaches over and covers her hand.
“Nina . . .” As he gazes at my mom, his eyes show the depth of his love for her. He’s a lovesick fool. “We’ll handle it.”
“It’s too late.” I need to stop this train wreck. We’ve worked too hard to throw it away for an out of state school. If they don’t work out, she’ll have this financial burden . . . once again. “I missed the deadline for dorm rooms, so I don’t have anywhere to live.”
“Saylor, there are plenty of college kids who rent places. I’m sure we can find roommates or whatever you need. I have the money; it’s yours as well as your mom’s. We’re a family.” That’s the thing about Jack . . . you can’t help but love him. He doesn’t have a malicious bone in his body, yet he isn’t a doormat, either. He loves my mom, and by default . . . me. I just cringe at the word ‘family.’ It doesn’t mean the same thing to me.
“Then it’s settled.” My mom kisses him sweetly, her cheery personality back.
“Thank you, Jack.” I swallow the bile and plaster on a smile. I’m not ungrateful; I know how lucky we got. I just don’t ever want to owe anyone anything . . . it destroys everything.
The house found by my mom, roommates screened by Jack, bags packed by myself. I take another look at the information my mom gave me three days ago as I started this road trip. Emberlee Winchester and Avery Michaels are the names she wrote down; apparently I am sharing this house with them. I look at the luxury cars again and decide to take the plunge, meet the people I’m living with.
I relax my stance as I head up the walkway. I can’t be classified as a people person. Since I left my life in New Mexico, I haven’t forged deep relationships. I was a loner by nature, even though I longed to fit in. I’m a regular oxymoron. Olivia was the one person who understood me, but moving so far and restrictions the first years with computer time . . . it wasn’t conducive to our friendship. Like most, we drifted, and now we have the relationship where we click ‘like’ on the occasional Facebook post.
I knock, and as I wait for it to be answered, I chastise myself. I live here; my rent has been paid, so why am I knocking like a guest? The door flies open, and I’m staring at a supermodel. Long hair, chestnut in color, flows over her shoulders and down her back. It has the ‘I just came from the beach’ waves I’d kill for, and against her translu
cent skin and green eyes, I’m envious. Shit! I’m sharing a house with this creature . . . I hope she has a serious boyfriend because I can imagine the frat guys she will attract. I don’t want a revolving door here. I’m here for an education. Her smile is forced, and her eyes are narrowed. “I’m Saylor Lewis. Your roommate.” I sound like a damn salesperson.
“Emberlee,” she says, her voice devoid of welcoming cheer. She turns, calling out down the hall, “Avery, the new chick is here.” I blow out a breath; this should be fun. My foot crosses the threshold as another beauty queen comes into view.
“Hi. You’re Saylor?” Her black hair is full of curls and pulled into a loose ponytail. Her face is flawless, and her dark brown eyes seem to dance with lightness. Emberlee with her superstar looks but not the height to pull off the runway—both of us could be considered short. Avery is average height but so fucking gorgeous.
“Yes.” I try to shake her hand, and her laughter trills as she pulls me into a hug.
“Honey, we’re Midwesterners, no hand shaking here. Maybe some ass grabbing and definitely lots of hugging.” I’m not from a touchy-feely family; hugs and gestures of emotion are reserved for achievements and condolences, not for greetings.
“Okay.” I pull out of her arms, and she is still smiling at me.
“Ignore Lee Lee. She can be a bit snooty.” My eyebrows furrow, and she’s lost me in this conversation. “Emberlee. I call her Lee Lee. Everyone does. Her bark is worse than her bite. I’ll show you your room, and then we can chat.”
“I have to unpack my car.” I grabbed my purse and overnight case before coming in, but the rest of my crap is still waiting to be unloaded.
“No you don’t. The boys will be back from the store in a few. They can grab it.”
I freeze. “Boys? I thought it was us three.” I’m going to kill my mom. I wasn’t much of a dater in high school, but she was always pushing me. This is too far.
“Mason and Caden live next door. Deacon the other side them.”
“Ummm. O—kay.”
“Come on. We gave you the master because Lee Lee and I are used to sharing stuff. We’ll take the two single rooms so we don’t bombard you with our bathroom mess.” I nod because I have nothing to say. I’m suffering information overload. “Emberlee, get in here and be pleasant.” She looks at me and winks, “That is something she rarely is.”
I’m excited to have my own space, and I try not to seem overeager. I don’t want her to think I don’t want to socialize with them. The room is huge; and I’m thrilled the furniture my stepdad paid for was delivered and set-up. Just have to make up the bed with linens I brought and unpack. “Thank you.” I try and hide my discomfort with a smile.
Emberlee saunters in, still aloof, and I don’t think I’ll be using her nickname anytime soon if her vibe is any indication. She flips Avery off as she sits across the room from us in my desk chair. Avery rolls her eyes and gives her back the same gesture. Are they friends? “So tell us about you, Saylor.” This seems to perk Emberlee up, and she gives me her undivided attention.
“Like what?” I don’t know if I’m interviewing for a position or if they are trying to get to know me.
“Where are you from? What is your major? Why Kansas?”
“New Mexico and Florida. Marketing Degree. I was accepted.”
“Wow, you’re a tough nut to crack. Do you have any friends?” Avery is being funny, but it still hurts.
“Not really.” Honesty is the best policy.
“What? I was teasing.”
“I didn’t socialize a lot in school. We moved to Florida five years ago; everyone had a group, and I was the new girl.” I shrug like it doesn’t bother me—because it didn’t until I had to admit what a loser I am.
“Oh, you’ll socialize. We’ll make sure of it.” Emberlee rolls her eyes.
I stand from the bed. “I’m going to get my stuff.”
“Stop! I told you it would be handled.”
Emberlee shocks me, “Yep. Let those assholes do something.”
“Our hometown is Eastborough, about twenty minutes from here. The guys I mentioned—we grew up together. It used to be a crew of six, now it’s just us five…” The front door hits the drywall, and shouts are heard.
“Lee Lee! Avery!” They both roll their eyes but move from the room. I stand to follow them and watch as Emberlee runs to a real life Adonis and wraps her legs around his waist. Avery does the same to David Beckham’s doppelganger . . . clean-shaven.
“We’ve been gone an hour. What are y’all gonna do when we have classes all day?” Holy shit! There’s a third one. He’s better than the two getting mauled by my roommates. His hair is cut short, military style. I can barely make out the color, but it looks caramel, something I want to unwrap and take a bite of.
“Hush, you just wish your hands were full of this luscious ass,” the one I referred to as Adonis says. He puts Emberlee down, and Avery is plucked from the other guy’s arms and Lee Lee takes her spot. It’s like Russian roulette with hot guys. What did I get myself into?
“Hey, I’m Deacon. You must be the roommate.” His eyes are the lightest shade of grey and blue mix and I’m lost. I swallow and nod, which earns me a smile. A dimple-showing-perfect-teeth-panty-melting-smile. “You have a name?”
Avery comes to my rescue after extracting herself from built arms. “This is Saylor. Saylor Lewis, this is Deacon Douglas.”
“Hi.” My vocabulary has abandoned me in this moment.
“Hey.” His chuckle is my favorite melody. “This is Mason Adler,” AKA Adonis, “and Caden Monroe,” AKA David Jr.
“Where’s Julie?” Emberlee wraps her arms around Deacon’s waist.
“I’m helping these assholes unload stuff then picking her up.”
“No partying for you this weekend?” He shakes his head no. “I’ll stop by and see her.”
I stand there staring at him for a few moments then remember I have a car full of things, and I’m out of my element here. As I walk by, I feel his eyes follow me. Stupidly, I turn back, and Emberlee’s narrowed eyes are sending me a silent message. I get it loud and clear . . . back off.
With everyone helping, it takes no time to unload, and when they head to the other side of the house, I shut and lock my door so I can unpack and get some time alone. Deacon. I don’t know what I was thinking ogling him. I’m here for a degree so I can get a job to support myself. Relationships and crushes aren’t on the agenda.
Julie. That name reminds me it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Lucky girl and from the gist of it, he doesn’t share his time when she’s around. Nobody invited him to the party they were throwing; they didn’t invite me either, but it is at the house I am living in, so I guess that’s an open invitation. One I’m not taking.
Unpacking box after box, I’m lost in my own world until I hear music thumping so loud the walls shake and then a knock at my door. “Saylor, it’s Avery, open up.”
I turn the lock, and she barrels in. “Oh, you can’t wear that to your first college party.” Her eyes scan over the baggy jeans and t-shirt I changed into.
“I’m not going. I want to finish unpacking, climb into that decadent bathtub, and relax.” I nod my head towards the bathroom. The gray garden tub is beckoning to me and that beats a raging party in my living room. Sorry, I’m lame.
“Is it because of Emberlee? I know she can be a bitch, but she’s a softie. Her armor is as soft as Charmin when you get to know her.”
I shake my head. “I know she isn’t thrilled with me; I haven’t figured out why, but that’s not the reason. I’ve been traveling for days and really just want to unwind tonight.”
“It’ll be loud,” she cringes as she warns me.
“I know. Good thing I like my music loud and have headphones. I’ll be fine.” I smile to reassure her.
“If you’re sure.” Her feet shuffle in excitement and nervousness. Avery seems like the go with flow type, the one friend everyone needs.
&
nbsp; “Yep. Is anyone here yet?”
“Nope. Not for another hour. You need something?”
“I’m gonna run to the store real quick and get some Coke.”
“There’s some in the fridge. You don’t need to go.”
“It’s not mine.”
“Wow. I see I’ll need to school you on the rules of living with us. We don’t have yours and ours unless our name is on it. You’ll see copious amounts of chocolate around the fifth of every month . . . beware that’s mine.” Her voice is filled with laughter.
“I don’t feel right drinking your Coke. I’ll go get some real quick.”
“The hell you will.” She turns and storms off in a huff. I’m stunned for a few minutes because this relaxed, easy-going girl just got a burr up her butt over soda. Spotting my flip-flops, I push my feet into them and search for my keys and purse. Those two things are never together. My purse is visible under the mounds of collapsed boxes, and my keys magically appear on my bed. Looking around to make sure I haven’t left anything out of place, I notice how empty my walls and shelves are. Making a mental note to find a store after I get my books, I decide I need to get some color in here.
“Here.” Avery’s voice startles me. I twist to face her, and she’s holding a gigantic cup, thrusting it towards me. “Coke. With crushed ice. Anything else you want, help yourself.”
“Wow, Avery. Thank you. I don’t know what to say.”
“You just did. Drink it. Relax tonight. Tomorrow we’ll get to know each other, and things will be fine.”
I nod. I’m a misfit in this group. Lonely Girl has interrupted Party of Five. Her eyes soften. “Just drink it.” Her body is through my door before I can form a syllable, so I shut and lock the door, lean against the wall, and take a gulp from my cup, sighing in absolute heaven. I’m not a coffee girl, give me Coke, preferably the real thing, and I’m golden.
Hurrying through the last of collapsing boxes and hanging clothes, I run a hot bath and submerge my body. Clicking my playlist to shuffle, I put the ear buds in and lose myself in Dan+Shay. I try to ignore the loud crashes, girly squeals, guys hollering . . . but I can’t. I dry off, get dressed, and collapse in bed with my journal. My safe place to say what I need to without anyone hearing me, consoling me, judging me.
Playing Fate (Endgame Series Book 1) Page 1