by Wendy Owens
The Stubborn Love Series
Books 1-5
Wendy Owens
Four Bean Soup Publishing
Contents
Series Note
Newsletter Signup
Stubborn Love
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
Acknowledgments
ONLY IN DREAMS
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
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
THE LUCKIEST
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
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Do Anything
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
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
It Matter to Me
Quote
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
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
A Contemporary YA Story
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Wendy Owens
Stubborn Love Series Books 1-5
Copyright © 2017 by Wendy Owens (individual copyrights for each book is based on year published)
Cover design of boxed set by https://www.pinkinkdesigns.com/
Editing services provided by Madison Seidler of MadisonSeidler.com and Amy Donnelly
Proofreading provided by Chelsea Kuhel of MadisonSeidler.com
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted, in any form without the prior written permission of the author of this set.
This series is a pure work of fiction. The names, characters, or any other content within is a product of the author’s imagination. The author acknowledges the use of actual bands and restaurants within this work of fiction. The owners of these various products in this novel have been used without permission and should not be viewed as any sort of sponsorship on their part.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Dedicated to the love of my life
Joshua
Series Note
The Stubborn Love Series consists of stories about the tough journey of the heart. They are companion novels and do not have to be read together to understand each story. All books focus on a different couple. Love isn’t always easy and often can be painful, but if we open our hearts the rewards can be endless.
*Did you realize all the Stubborn Love Series book titles are inspired by songs?
Stubborn Love
Only In Dreams
The Luckiest
Do Anything
It Matters To Me
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Stubborn Love
Prologue
I looked at him, sitting there, head drooped over in his hands, sobbing like a child, but I had no sympathy left in me to give. I had been going through this cycle with him for too long now. I knew all the tricks he would play all too well. First was anger; his temper would flare when I didn’t do what he wanted. He would use that fury to try and control me. In the beginning, I believed the awful things he said to me and accepted them as truth. Over time, though, I began to see Ashton for what he was—a bully.
He was used to me falling right in line. My rebellious streak as of late showed me new glimpses of just how terrible he could be. When his tactics seemed to no longer work on me I began to see his anger boil over. This darker side of him terrified me.
Over the years I had lost track of the outbursts, broken furniture, holes in walls and, even on the rare occasion, the bruises. I knew, overall, Ashton wasn’t a monster, which was perhaps why I stuck it out so long. He was a spoiled little boy who didn’t know how to handle his emotions when he didn’t get his way.
We met in high school, when a girl’s self esteem was typically on a roller coaster, based on what peers thought and said. Ashton was the gorgeous bad boy who I had no business being with. I was the quiet girl, always in the art wing, avoiding large groups of people. It wasn’t that I didn’t like people; I simply didn’t understand them—all of the cliques: jocks, preppies, skaters, cheerleaders, metal heads, even farm kids. I didn’t understand the point of segregating like that. Looking back, I supposed I was doing the same thing.
I was part of a much smaller group, though. It was just my best friend, Laney, and me. We had been friends since grade school. She was a bigger girl who constantly obsessed about her weight. I learned to ignore this annoying habit since she was the only real friend I had, that is, until Ashton.
I still remember the day he first spoke to me. He had on a pair of washed-out blue jeans and a plain white v-neck t-shirt. His long, sandy-colored hair hung in his face, with much more stubble than a boy his age should have had. He was the type of boy that would send fathers running for their shotguns; luckily for him, mine wasn’t around anymore. I was in the phase of life where thrift store cardigans and oversized denim overalls, matched with a pair of scuffed Doc Martens, somehow seemed fashion appropriate.
“Seven Nation Army” by The White Stripes played in my headphones that day as I felt a tug on one of my pigtails. Spinning on my heel, expecting to see Laney, I was shocked when instead I laid eyes on him. With a half-smile on his lips, he was clearly pleased by my reaction.
Tugging on one of the headphones, I raised an eyebrow in confusion, but said nothing. I couldn’t speak. There was no reason in the world I could imagine for this guy to be speaking to me. He was beautiful—a specimen for all teen girls to behold. His shoulder-length hair made me want to reach out and twist it around my finger while I gazed into his hazel eyes. He seemed to always be looking for the opportunity to take off his shirt around school, and a glimpse of what his muscular torso looked like flashed into my mind. I even shocked myself when, for a brief moment, I wondered what his full lips might taste like.
I knew him, or rather, of him. I knew in junior high he went through a skater phase. I knew he dated most of the girls in our class by the time he was in high school and was now moving on to college girls. I also knew there was no way he could possibly be tugging on my pigtail. I was nothing—invisible to most. The outside of my hands were always stained with smudges of graphite, my unkempt wiry hair often spattered with bits of paint. I wasn’t ugly. I was aware of that, even then, but I was certain I was nothing special. Nobody to be noticed.
“Clementine, right?”
I remember I cringed when he asked me my name. My mother was also an artist and a bit of a free spirit. She was the only one who called me by my given name. Though I hated it, I never fought her on it. I always worried my dad leaving us was too much on her, so I was careful to never upset her.
“I go by Emmie,” I answered. I never understood what drew his interest to me that day. I’d asked him before, and he claimed he always noticed me, but had only then worked up enough courage to ask me out. I knew him well enough to know that was a lie.
That was the moment—the turning point—I began to change. The more time I spent with him, the more he planted ideas in my head. My hair would look better this way instead, or why didn’t I ever wear clothes to show off my curves. I was a teenage girl; what was I to do?
Laney was the first to say something to me about the difference, but it had just made me angry. I finally had this amazingly hot guy showing interest in me, and she had to come along and try to ruin it. Ashton explained she was just jealous. Eventually, Laney reached a point where she felt forced to do something. She came to me like a good friend, pointed out that since Ashton came along I didn’t care about anything, not even my art. She gave me a choice: it was she or Ashton. I missed her, but I was sure I would always have Ashton.
Fast forward and there I was. The idea of always having Ashton made my skin crawl. I tried to free myself from him a few times, but he was like a bog that pulled you back in, suffocating you. When I was eighteen I told Ashton I was leaving. I was certain I wasn’t meant to stay in a small town, and I wanted him to come with me to art school in New York.
He had no intention, however, of ever leaving our sleepy-eyed town. He was the only child of one of the richest couples in the county, so as long he stayed, he would never have to grow up or ever be responsible. Small town rich was quite different than what most people thought of when it came to being wealthy. For us, though, and our small piece of the world, it was rich just the same.
I mustered up as much courage as I could gather and left for New York alone. I managed to stay away five whole days. When the reality sank in that I was alone in a huge city, with no friends, no job, no family, and no plan—except that I wanted to be an artist—I panicked. Ashton was waiting for me when I got off the bus. It was raining. He told me he forgave me.
I enrolled in the local college, and we were married the following spring. His mother told me that she had never seen her son so happy. I decided a small town life with him was better than any other kind of life without him. I was so naive.
The first year was actually pretty good. I went to school while Ashton helped out at his family insurance business a couple days a week. His dad decided that was enough work to justify a full-time salary. The phrase “boys will be boys,” became a common theme around the Stirling estate. Ashton was happy with the arrangement so I didn’t say anything; after all, when Ashton was happy, everyone was happy. Then everything fell apart.
The economy shifted, everyone tightened their belts, and within six months, Ashton’s parents went from the wealthiest in town to nearly broke. Ashton told me not to worry; he would find a new job. He worked at a pizza place for a half day, but it was beneath him. Then there was the video rental store; he made it one full day there. He couldn’t hold a job because he was never designed to follow someone’s orders. I told him I would take a leave from college until he could find a job that made him happy. I never went back.
“I swear, Em, if you leave me I’ll kill myself,” Ashton said looking up at me, his hair sticking to his damp cheeks.
“Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be,” I replied, confident his threats were empty, a desperate and sad attempt to manipulate me.
“I’m not kidding, I’ll do it! I can’t live without you,” Ashton pleaded.
I balled my fingers tightly into small fists, the anger welling up intensely inside me. I wasn’t mad at him, though, somewhere
in the back of my mind I told myself, it seemed like he meant it this time. I gritted my teeth, focusing on every time he lost a job, every violent fit of rage, every time he would stagger home drunk at four in the morning and pass out on the lawn. Every time he was sorry, he would never do it again, he couldn’t lose me. You can do this.
“Ashton, do what you have to do, and I’ll do what I have to. Goodbye.” I turned to walk away. I knew if I stood there looking at his pathetic but handsome face any longer I wouldn’t be able to resist him. I would fall back into his arms and tell him how much I loved him. I would try to fix him again.
Ashton couldn’t love anyone more than he loved himself, and I needed to get away while there was still enough of me left to salvage.
I opened the door and took that first liberating step onto the tiny landing of our suburban ranch home. Pulling the door closed behind me, it felt like I was closing the door on my past, on my history of dysfunction and cycle of abuse. There was no doubt in my mind that I loved Ashton—he had been my world for all of my short adult life. That was the problem: he was everything. When he said I looked fat or ugly, I felt it; I would begin to see that staring back at me in the mirror. When he told me I was lucky he actually stuck around, I convinced myself I was.
When his temper became violent I even had excuses for that. Ashton would never hit me. He takes it out on the stuff around him because he loves me so much. Then when it escalated and the temper turned on me I somehow managed to justify that, as well. He didn’t mean it… I know better than to get in his way when he’s like that.
I can’t pinpoint the moment it started to change. I suppose a person can only be beaten down for so long before they begin to yearn for their spirit to be set free. I tried telling Ashton that I needed more. I didn’t want to work in a bank. I wanted to be an artist. I wanted to follow my dreams, and I wanted more than anything for him to treat me like he loved me.
Don’t get me wrong; sometimes he could be a real sweetheart, saying all the perfect things. He was always quick to spend the money I earned on flowers for me. Especially when he wanted something, he could really lay on the charm. The mean streak didn’t come out until he didn’t get his way.
Taking several steps out into the yard, I kicked off my flip-flops, allowing my toes to sink into the lush green grass, curling them tightly and then flexing them outward. A deep breath filled my lungs before I exhaled. This was it: this was what freedom felt like. I’ll admit, I was scared as hell, and I didn’t know what being alone looked like, but I was ready for the experience.