A REASON TO STAY
BOOK ONE
MELISSA ELLEN
Copyright © 2017 by Melissa Ellen
Cover Copyright © 2017 by Melissa Ellen
Cover Background Copyright © 2017 by istockphoto/
g-stockstudio
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author's intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher. Thank you for your support of the author's rights.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Fourth Edition: October 2017
Printed in the United States of America
For all those who dare to dream.
It’s never too late to make it happen.
CONTENTS
About the Author
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
Epilogue
Thank You
Coming Soon
Acknowledgments
BLACKWOOD SERIES
A REASON TO STAY
THE ONLY ONE
A REASON TO LEAVE
FOREVER YOURS
Subscribe for updates or
Follow Melissa Ellen on Facebook for the latest information on New Releases!
Website and Newsletter:
www.melissaellenwrites.com
CHAPTER 1
The obnoxious ringing and pounding in my head wouldn’t stop. I had the after taste of cigarettes in my mouth, even though I didn’t smoke. At least, I didn’t remember smoking. The previous night’s events were a bit hazy - the typical aftermath of spending the night drinking into the early morning hours after a closing shift at Christopher’s.
Rolling over, I realized the ringing wasn’t in my head but on my night stand. “Ugh,” I groaned, placing a palm on my aching head.
Who would be calling me at this hour? All my friends were either in class or in the same state as me - hungover from binge drinking. It could only be one person. I lifted my head to look at the lit-up screen of my phone to see Mom’s name and smiling face.
“Hello,” I answered, my voice scratchy, my throat dry as the Sahara.
“Good morning, honey! Did I wake you?”
“Mmm-hmm, but it’s fine. I was about to get up anyways,” I lied.
“Oh good! I was hoping to catch you before you headed to class. I just want to make sure you’re still planning on coming home this weekend? Nana is in one of her moods. I could use a buffer.”
I could hear the desperation in her voice. I had considered canceling my trip to pick-up a shift this weekend. I could really use the money to help pay for some supplies I needed for my studio class, and weekends were the best shifts for making good tips.
“I’ll be there, Mom. Don’t worry. I’ll distract Nana.”
My mom had been busy trying to plan my sister’s wedding. A wedding that Nana felt was not traditional enough, offering her criticism constantly. She couldn’t believe my sister didn’t want to be married in a church, and how on earth my mother could allow it!
As the maid of honor and being hours away in college, I felt like I was falling short of my sisterly duties. If being a buffer between Nana and Mom is what would help, I would do it. After all, I was Nana’s favorite. Of course, she could never say that out right. It didn’t matter. Everyone in the family knew it. It was implied in the way her face would light up anytime I was around.
“Oh, I’m so glad! Not just for the buffer. You haven’t been home in a while, and I miss you. We have so much to get done this weekend to prepare for the wedding. It’ll be great having you here.”
My stomach started churning, signaling I only had a matter of seconds before last night’s munchie run started to resurface. “Of course, Mom. Sorry to cut you short. I should get ready for class, though. We can talk more this weekend.” Another lie. I didn’t have class on Thursdays, but she never could keep track of my schedule. Had I told my mom the real reason I needed to hang up, I would never get her off the phone. Instead, I would be lectured about the dangers of drinking.
“Oh, okay. I know you’re a busy girl. I love you. Call me when you’re on the road!”
“I will. Love you. Bye!”
I hung up, dropping the phone on the floor, making a mad rush for the toilet, falling to my knees just in time. Ugh. Why did I do this to myself? It seemed I would never learn to stop drinking before I reached the point that would make me sick the next day.
I flushed the toilet and began to strip off the smoke smelling clothes I was still wearing from last night. I needed a shower. I jumped in the warm spray, slowly melting the ache of the hangover away. It wasn’t long until I started to feel a little better and more human than zombie.
I was drying off when my phone started ringing again. I hurriedly wrapped the towel around my body, sprinting for my phone.
“Hey!” I answered just before it went to voicemail. “How are you feeling this morning?”
It was Stephen, one of the first friends I made in college my freshman year. We met working together at Christopher’s. He’s a server, like me, and his brother, Mike, was a line chef at the restaurant. Mike was working through culinary school, hoping to gain invaluable experience working with the head chef at Christopher’s. Stephen, on the other hand, had just been enjoying life the last few years. Where Stephen was loud and outgoing, Mike was his opposite.
“Like shit. Mike and I were thinking about hitting up Pepe’s. You in?” He always knew just what I needed after a night of drinking. Nothing cured a hangover like greasy Mexican food.
“Yes! Can you guys swing by to pick me up?”
“We’ll be there in twenty.”
“Sounds good. See you in a few.”
I hung up. Twenty minutes didn’t give me much time to dry my thick, brown hair and get dressed. I went to my dresser, pulling out an old college t-shirt that I bought the first week of my freshman semester. After three years, it was perfectly worn, giving it a vintage look and was unbelievably soft and comfy.
I threw on a pair of jeans that were lying in a laundry basket of clean, unfolded clothes. I darted back into the bathroom, rushing to brush my teeth and put on some deodorant. I did a rough blow dry of my hair, mainly at the roots, before pulling it up into a messy bun. There wasn’t enough time to do my full-fledged make-up, not that I ever really wore much, so I applied some mascara, a little blush and some Vaseline on my lips to give them some shine and moistness. A little trick I learned from Nana.
I was just headed down the hall of my apartment to see if my roommate, Lizzie, wanted to join when I heard Stephen and Mike honking the horn outside. I popped my head in her room only to find an untouched bed, once again. I grabbed my phone and purse, locked up the apartment and rushed down the complex stairs where Stephen was already standing outside the truck, holding his door open.
“Hey, Sunshine! You’re looking hot this morning
,” he teased.
I gave him a small punch in the side as he flinched, trying to avoid it. “Shut-up! We can’t all crawl out of bed looking as handsome as you. And I hardly call noon, morning.”
As much as I meant my comment as an insult, there was truth to it. Stephen was hot and he knew it. He had a way of charming any woman that crossed his path with his tall, muscular body, blonde hair, hazel eyes and wicked smile. Had we not became instant friends, I would have been among those women.
I crawled into the truck, taking my place in the middle of the bench seat between the two brothers. “Hey, Mike! Thanks for picking me up.”
“Hey, Ava. It’s not a problem. You know I prefer you sitting next to me than it just being me and that jackass,” Mike nodded his head towards Stephen as he crawled back in the truck and closed the door. Mike was as good-looking as his older brother with the same hair and eyes but the similarities ended there. While Stephen had muscles that were sculpted in a weight room, Mike’s masculine body looked more like one that was built from manual labor. And their personalities couldn’t be more opposite.
As we drove towards Pepe’s, Stephen reached over to turn up the music. With the radio wailing and the cool breeze coming through the rolled down windows of the truck, I started to instantly feel better. The fresh, cool air hitting my face was helping to ease my headache. As we pulled into Pepe’s packed parking lot, my phone vibrated with a text from Lizzie.
L: Lunch?
A: Meet us at Pepe’s.
Pepe’s was a small hole in the wall Mexican food restaurant that was a local favorite, especially among the college students. The owner had moved up to Wellesley from Texas after falling in love with the area and realizing the need for a Tex-Mex style restaurant. I was forever grateful that he made that move. It was always packed, but the service was efficient, so it was never a long wait for a table.
A few moments later, after being seated, Lizzie came through the door looking as glamorous as ever. I never quite understood how she could always look so put together, even after a night out. She had a pep in her step which implied she got lucky last night. Something I’d already inferred from her empty bed this morning.
Compared to Lizzie, I was a prude. She could have casual sex with no attachments. And with her long, strawberry-blonde hair, grey eyes and a classically sexy look, she had no shortage of offers. She was smart, vibrant and witty. Honestly, if we hadn’t met in grade school, I’m not sure she’d even have me as her best friend. We were completely different but inseparable.
As she sauntered through the restaurant, a table of guys’ heads turned, watching her as she passed. She seemed oblivious to it, though I knew she wasn’t. She was well aware of the effect she had on men, and she reveled in it.
“Hey, guys! Thanks for letting me crash your lunch.”
She pulled out the chair next to Mike, smiling at him as she took a seat. I noticed Mike stiffen a little, oddly uncomfortable by her close proximity. I turned my attention to Lizzie, “What did you do last night?”
“Went out in the Alley with some of the girls from my psychology class. Met tall, dark and handsome and woke up in his bed this morning,” she grinned mischievously.
Lizzie and I both attended Wellesley College. She was a psychology major, and I was in the architecture program. I rolled my eyes at her response while noticing Mike still being peculiarly quiet and tense. I wasn’t sure what was going on there. Before I had time to contemplate it, I was distracted with the approach of our server. We placed our orders and then went on chatting about the previous night’s events, laughing at ridiculous things that occurred and gossiping about who left the party with whom from our work.
We wrapped up our lunch and headed out the door to free up our table. I decided to catch a ride home with Lizzie, since I had some studying to do for a test on Monday. We said our goodbyes and drove our separate ways with the promise to catch up later that day.
The hours passed quickly while I was hyper focused on studying for my test. I was trying to cram everything into my memory, knowing I wouldn’t have much time to study over the weekend. I didn’t even realize it was dark outside until my phone started vibrating, breaking my focus. I picked it up, reading a text from Stephen.
S: Headed to D’s party, want a ride?
I snorted sarcastically to myself. No, thank you. Deanna was my least favorite person at work. We were always cordial but definitely not someone I would call a friend. She was one of those girls that just rubbed me the wrong way. She had a thing for Stephen and always came off catty towards me. I don’t know if it was because she felt threatened by me, or if she was just what some would call a “mean girl.” Either way, I preferred to avoid her when possible.
A: No. Staying in tonight.
He immediately responded with a phone call. I cringed as I answered, knowing he would likely make me feel guilty about not going. I could barely say hello before he interrupted me.
“Seriously?!? We won’t be able to hang out all weekend! You have to come. Get dressed. We’ll swing by,” he commanded.
I always had a hard time saying no to Stephen. This time, though, I was standing my ground. “I know. I’m sorry. I need to study some more and then pack before I leave town tomorrow. I’ll make it up to you,” I tried softening the blow.
“You better. Drinks and darts on Monday?” he conceded.
“Yeah, I’ll need it after this exam and a weekend at home,” I laughed.
“Ok, it’s a date. Talk to you later.”
“Have fun. And keep your distance from Deanna!”
“No promises, pumpkin. If you aren’t here to keep me in check, I can’t be held responsible,” he teased.
Rolling my eyes, even though he couldn’t see, I told him goodbye before hanging up. I studied for a couple more hours before starting to pack for the weekend trip home.
When it was just after midnight, Lizzie walked in, leaning against the door frame of my room, her posture deflated. Surprised to see her, I stated the obvious, “You’re home early tonight.” She normally got home well after the bars shut down or not at all.
“Yeah, I just wasn’t feeling it tonight and wanted to be home,” she shrugged before walking deeper into my room.
“I know what you mean. I couldn’t bring myself to get out at all tonight. At least, you attempted.”
I was pulling clothes out of my closet to pack as Lizzie took a seat on my bed, appearing lost in her own thoughts.
“Did Mike seem off to you at lunch?”
“A little,” I replied, looking over my shoulder at her, not sure where this was going. “I think he was just really hungover, though.”
“I guess so,” she sounded unconvinced. “…Anyways, would you and your family mind if I tagged along this weekend? I could use some time away and don’t really feel like going home to my family where I’ll be lectured all weekend.”
“Of course, I don’t mind. And you know my family won’t either. I have the lunch shift tomorrow. I should be off work by two, since I’m first cut. I’ll swing by and pick you up afterwards. Just be packed and ready to go.”
“Works for me,” she gave me a ghost of a smile as she stood from my bed. “I’m calling it a night. See you in the morning.”
“Goodnight.” I watched her as she left. I wasn’t sure what the deal was with her and Mike today, but whatever it was, it was definitely bothering her. I would have time to pick her brain on the drive home tomorrow. For now, I was exhausted and needed a good night’s sleep. I wrapped up packing before crawling into bed myself.
My Friday lunch shift flew by. It seemed like I had barely arrived when Hank, the floor manager, came by to let me know I was cut and could leave once my last two tables closed out. I was currently cashing out one, and the other I just needed to drop the check at the table. I looked at the clock on my phone. It was half past one already.
I sighed, hoping they didn’t camp out for too long. My last table was two women, sipping on their third
round of mimosas, obviously here for their weekly brunch to catch up on all the gossip in their exclusive social circle.
Christopher’s was a ritzy restaurant that appealed to the upper class of the community, not only because of its high prices that most of the college students couldn’t afford, but because the food was unrivaled. The owner and head Chef, Christopher, was a world class chef, who was highly sought after for private events among the rich and famous.
He was born and raised in the Boston area and had always loved the quaintness of Wellesley, so the decision to open up his namesake restaurant here was natural.
When I first applied for the job at Christopher’s, I was drawn to the restaurant by the charm of the building it resided in. It was in a historic, art deco building cladded in red brick. The exterior entrance and windows were trimmed with thick, white moldings. The whole place was enchanting.
Inside, the warmth and glow of a fireplace instantly made you feel at home. It set the casual but elegant ambiance of the dining room. The interior kept as much of the historic elements of the building as the exterior. The dark wood floors throughout contrasted well with the light gray walls and the white woodwork and trim throughout. The vintage chandeliers that hung through the restaurant helped warm up the cool palette.
I wasn’t aware of the scale of the restaurant itself until my first day of training, when Christopher prepared samples of the menu items for each trainee to taste. During my interview, he seemed so casual and laid back. It was when you saw and tasted his plated food, you realized how refined his tastes were. He was an artist.
I was lost in my memories, when I noticed the two women glaring at me, bringing me back to the present. Apparently, I was the one delaying them now. I approached their table, apologizing for the delay. I quickly ran their credit card and returned it to them, hoping their impatience didn’t affect my tip. Since they were previously annoyed with my lack of promptness, I figured they would immediately sign the credit card slip and leave. Instead, they sat there for another thirty minutes, gossiping. Unbelievable.
A Reason to Stay Page 1