by A. Marie
CHANGING LANES
A Creekwood Novel
A. MARIE
Copyright © 2020 A. Marie
Published by Booktickets by AM
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written consent of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. No copyright infringement intended. No claims have been made over songs and/or lyrics written. All credit goes to original owner.
Editing: Sarah Plocher, All Encompassing Books
Proofreading: Julie Deaton, JD Proofs
Cover Design: Murphy Rae
Cover Photography: RplusMphoto.com
Cover Model: Quinn Biddle
Formatting: Champagne Book Design
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright
Playlist
Dedication
Epigraph
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
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
PLAYLIST
Music plays a big role in my writing. You can find the full playlist on Spotify.
Can You Hold Me—NF, Britt Nicole
Summer Days—Martin Garrix, Macklemore, Fall Out Boy
CPR—Summer Walker
Home—Machine Gun Kelly, X Ambassadors, Bebe Rexha
Woman—Kesha, The Dap-Kings Horns
Man or a Monster—Sam Tinnesz, Zayde Wølf
Unholy—Miley Cyrus
S.L.U.T.—Bea Miller
Play Nice—Jules LeBlanc
Girls Need Love—Summer Walker
Sick and Tired—iann dior, Machine Gun Kelly, Travis Barker
Wake Up—NF
Cruel—Glowie
Savior—Beth Crowley
Even If It Hurts—Clover the Girl
Hate Myself—NF
Under Water—NC Grey
Ocean Eyes—Billie Eilish, blackbear
Doomed—Rhys
Expectations—Lauren Jauregui
All I Think About Is You—Ansel Elgort
Home Alone—Ansel Elgort
Nightlight—ILLENIUM, Annika Wells
Tomboy—Destiny Rogers
Hooked—Why Don’t We
Ride—Lolo Zouaï
Main Attraction—Jeremy Renner
Tired Of You—Foo Fighters
Lonely—Noah Cyrus
Woman Like Me—Little Mix, Nicki Minaj
Trampoline—SHAED, ZAYN
Wrecking Ball—Jasmine Thompson
Pony—Julian Perretta, Lil Baby
Goodbyes—Post Malone, Young Thug
Surrender—Natalie Taylor
For the ones who bleed punchlines
and smile the bandages to cover them.
Changing Lanes: when staying in your preferred lane is no longer possible, forcing you to choose a new course of action with a different vantage point and room to advance.
PROLOGUE
Beckett
10 years old
“Mom!” I yell, bursting through our front door then freeze, listening.
My mom’s always here when I get home from school. Lately though, she’s been in her room, talking quietly on the phone, and when I try to get close enough to hear, she’s usually laughing. And not the way she laughs with me and Dad either. It’s deeper. Like she means it.
Like it’s a secret.
“Mom? Where are you?”
Usually when she hears my voice, or the house creak under my big feet, she rushes to hang up, kinda like when I’m doing something bad and don’t want my parents to see. But, why would she hide something from me? Why can’t I know who she’s talking to? I asked Dad once if it was him but he didn’t answer me. He just got really quiet like he was trying to figure out a hard math problem or something. I understand though, I don’t like math either.
I slow my steps, trying not to be too noisy, but her bedroom door is wide open and she’s not on the bed this time. I check the bathroom too, just to be sure, but she’s not there.
That’s weird.
Walking back through the kitchen, I see a piece of paper on the counter and frown, looking around. My mom’s never left me home alone before. She wouldn’t do that.
I grab it, thinking it’s just a note to say she’s out back maybe. The weather is starting to cool off finally and she hates the hot summers here. My school even made us stay inside for recess all last week because it was over a hundred degrees every day.
As soon as I get to the bottom of the paper I can barely see anymore. There’s too much water in my eyes. Reading it again, my stomach starts to hurt until I’m gripping it, wishing the pain would go away.
The letter drops from my hand and I let go of my stomach to wipe at my wet face. The tears keep falling even though I don’t want them to. Boys at my school, boys I don’t even like playing with, say it’s weak to cry. That you’re a baby if you do. But I can’t help it, it hurts. Everywhere.
Whenever I get hurt, my mom is always here for me though. I’m so tall, it makes me clumsy, clumsier than most of the kids I know, so I get hurt a lot. Whether I need ice packs, bandages, medicine, or even just kisses, my mom’s always here. This won’t be any different. If I’m hurt bad enough, she’ll have to help me.
So, even though I don’t want to think about what I just read, I focus on it, repeating her words in my head, until my stomach aches so bad I throw up. I puke until the vomit turns pink with blood. I’m not scared of the color though. I’m sure this will do the trick. This will get her back. She would never ignore me when I’m sick, especially not for someone that’s not even her family.
“I need you,” I repeat it out loud, just in case she walks in.
“Come back, Mom.” Over and over, until my lips grow numb and chapped, I beg her to come home. “Please.”
I try to keep my eyes open—I really don’t want to miss her—but the hard floor under my head is now warm from my body being on it for so long, and they stay closed longer every time I blink. With the stinky puke by my head starting to dry, I can almost pretend like it’s not there. Like none of this is real.
Isn’t she going to come home? To take care of me?
With my eyes fully shut, my mouth still mumbles out any promises I can. I promise to try harder at school even though I don’t fit in there. They just laugh at me for being so big and awkward. Like I can’t do anything right. I promise to clean my room more since she’s always complaining about how messy I am. I promise l’ll try not to grow as much
so she doesn’t have to keep buying me new clothes all the time. I promise to find something to keep me busy instead of bothering her at home every day. I’ll do anything to see her again.
Just as my body starts to go all fuzzy, a door slamming shut startles me and I crack my puffy eyes open to see someone walking closer. Footsteps pound across the floor, then she’s dropping beside me.
She’s here.
I smile, flinching when my dry lips crack. I knew she’d come back for me.
Except when I lift my head, it’s not my mom’s worried eyes that are almost identical in color to mine I find. It’s my dad’s bloodshot ones.
No.
CHAPTER 1
Beckett
My face mashed to my pillow, I crack an eye, finding a hot pink bra next to me.
Thank fuck nobody’s actually in it.
I shoot my head off the bed, glancing around my room, making sure there aren’t any stowaways. Coming up empty—like usual—I close my eyes again and drop back down, hoping to get some more sleep.
Flipped onto my back, I throw an arm over my face, blocking out the faint morning sunlight streaming through my blinds.
Last night was epic. Our last hurrah with our boy Coty before the new roommate moves into his old room.
Before she comes in and ruins everything.
I still don’t understand why Marc agreed to let that chick live with us. Having Angela, our first roommate’s girlfriend, living in the apartment directly across the hall was close enough. Coty usually kept her pretty busy though, like rabbit-type busy, that I never had to worry. Well, except for that one time.
Luckily, Angie didn’t make a big deal of it but I’ll never forget the look on her face—confusion followed by understanding. At least it didn’t hold any pity. Having her own demons, she knows it’s useless feeling sorry for shit that’s out of our hands. Shit our parents did to us.
She’d need to be there to have done something to you.
My eyes pop open and I run my hand down my stomach, releasing a puff of breath before climbing out of bed.
Not today, Satan.
Today’s already its own kind of hell without bringing thoughts of her into the mix. I’ll save that for a special kind of day—like the week after never.
After slipping on my favorite pair of shorts, I scoop up the abandoned bra and head out to the kitchen, pulling the busty garment through my fingers. Whoever had to do last night’s walk of shame without her girls properly supported must’ve made for one hell of a scene. I think she was blonde. Maybe. I don’t know.
A pink bra though, that must’ve been what caught my eye in the first place. Unfortunately, it ended there too, judging from the item still being in my hands with absolutely no memory whatsoever of the girl who wore it. I can’t help but snort at the irony.
“Is this normal?”
I jerk at the feminine voice slicing through the still apartment, my gaze colliding with hers. Our new roommate. Paige.
Marc, my other roommate and best friend—before this whole lapse in judgment—speaks up from the breakfast bar, saying, “He usually only wears neutrals. He must be trying out a new look though.”
I pin him with a scowl. What?
When his eyes narrow on my hands, my grip tightens on the bra.
“This color’s all wrong on me,” I half-joke. I wear pink. Not in bra form, obviously, but pink is badass and I have several shirts to prove it.
If this girl sticks around long enough, she’ll see them.
She’ll see everything.
A smirk pulled tight at my lips, I lift the stupid thing and say, “maybe it’ll look better on you,” then toss the bra across the room to her. She makes no move to catch it and the pink monstrosity ends up hitting her chest before falling to the floor with a thump.
Okay then.
Without so much as blinking, she cocks an eyebrow, sending a warm shot of something straight to my groin.
Ignoring her and the unwelcome heat below my waist, I yank the fridge open and, seeing we’re out of the coffee concentrate Angela keeps us stocked with, I grab the juice. With my back still to the room, I adjust myself through my mesh shorts before turning around and unscrewing the cap in silence. I tip the bottle to my lips, taking big gulps, never breaking eye contact with her.
Marc mutters “dick” under his breath but I ignore him, too. I never wanted her as a roommate. He made that dumbass decision alone. He can welcome her alone, too.
She finally cuts the connection but keeps her bright green eyes on me as they trail the rest of my body. I slow my swallows, taking her in as well. Skin-tight, black jeans cling to seriously long legs tucked into heavy combat-looking boots, a black V-neck tee with a white wing design on both sides hang loosely off a toned body—it must be tight to handle a motorcycle of her own—and dark, wavy hair with plum coloring frames a strikingly beautiful face. One that lures you in only to spit you back out begging for more. Her entire persona screams biker.
And fuck me.
Why does she have to live just past my bedroom door? Why couldn’t we have had some fun together for one night before I forgot all about her like pink bra girl?
“Beige was it?” I poke.
Her eyes thin, coming back up to touch on my juice-coated lips before darting over to Marc, and I miss them immediately. I don’t care if she’s picking me apart like a lion consuming its last meal, I want her focused on me and only me. I don’t know why, but I do.
“Cute. Beige and boring, that’s me,” she responds easily.
When she drags her gaze back to mine, there’s a defiance in it that gets my blood pumping.
“And you’re Beck, right? Is that short for something?”
“There’s nothing short about me.” Duh.
When the resulting silence stretches a beat too long, Marc supplies, “Beckett,” for her.
I stand mesmerized as long, yet somehow still delicate, hands run down her shirt, smoothing the material.
“You remind me of a dog I had once.”
“Was his name Beckett too?”
Meeting my stare head-on, she says, “No, he was just an asshole.”
Cue a jaw drop accompanied by a cartoon-sized tongue rolling across the floor, ending at Paige’s boot-covered feet. Honestly, I don’t know if I should be offended or impressed. One thing’s for sure though, what our new roommate lacks in a dick more than makes up for with a huge set of balls.
She nudges the forgotten bra at her feet. “Look, I’m sure it’s hard-”
Not yet, but it’s definitely getting there the more attitude she fires off.
“-having me here as your roommate when you’d prefer another guy but it really shouldn’t be an issue. I work graveyard, so you shouldn’t even notice me.”
Too late, girl. Too fucking late.
“Thanks for giving me the opportunity.”
Her eyes stay locked on my boy’s as I narrow mine. “Why do you want to live with us anyway? The apartment across the hall should be available in the next couple weeks-”
“I couldn’t wait that long,” she says, cutting me off and pinning me with a no-bullshit look.
What’s her deal? It doesn’t make any sense why she’d rush to move in with the two of us when she could hold off and live by herself. Hell, Angie did it right up until Coty stole her away to the brand new house he had built for them.
She raises her chin and I grip the empty bottle in my hold.
“I’ve got plenty of experience living with the opposite sex, this is nothing new. I just need to save money and this was the soonest I could get in somewhere that didn’t break the bank.”
Although her emerald eyes didn’t so much as flinch, the rest of her body stiffened at the end, giving her away.
Once upon a time another girl said something very similar but she was running. Always running.
Paige is hiding something.
Where I was mildly curious before, I’m all out suspicious now. And what the fuck does that
mean she has plenty of experience living with men? Is she a bed hopper or some shit, always bouncing between different dudes’ beds?
I shoot Marc a what the hell? gesture and he just shrugs. Of fucking course he shrugs. This guy, the one who’s suspicious of a container of sour cream, chooses now to ignore the warning bells hanging over the girl’s head as they blast at near-deafening levels. Unbelievable.
Unless.
Unless he’s into her.
They have been sharing cryptic looks this entire time as if I’m not standing here, too. And he was quick to pick her instead of taking the time to interview other applicants first.
I eye him a little longer.
He hasn’t laid a claim to Paige but that’s not surprising. Dude’s private as hell. He’s like a damn onion with all his hidden layers.
Well, whatever’s happening between these two will come to light at some point. Even if I’m the one lifting the goddamn cover, it’ll come out. Creekwood isn’t that big and secrets don’t stay hidden for long around here. Our old neighbor girl found that out the hard way.
Dropping the juice bottle in recycling, I turn for the bathroom, pausing when she speaks again.
“It’s Paige, by the way. But you knew that.”
When I spin around, she’s already gone, out the front door.
Marc’s on me the next second. “Dude, what the fuck was that? She lives here now. Could you at least make an effort at being civil when she’s around?”
“Oh, that’s rich. You want me to get her a fruit basket while I’m at it, Mr. Welcoming Committee?”
He waves me off, moving to trail after her.
“I didn’t even agree to her moving in, bro. I still think we should cancel the check and get someone else.”
He stops short. “She didn’t write a fucking check. What year do you think it is? She gave me cash.”
“Then give it back.” Neither of us are hurting for money and she can use it on another unit. Preferably away from Creekwood.
“She has a clean record, paid in full for the first month already, and rides. What more are you looking for? A dick? Too bad. Angela was basically living here for the past year and last I checked they both have the same parts.”