Finding Reason (Breaking Free Series Book 3)

by Becca Taylor

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty- Five

  Chapter Twenty- Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Epilogue

  Playlist

  Acknowledgements

  Finding Memories (Breaking Free Series Book 4)

  Excerpt: If the Shoe Fits by Jody Lynn Daniels

  Copyright © 2016 Becca Taylor

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or electronically, without permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or businesses, companies, events, institutions or locales is completely coincidental. All songs, song titles and lyrics contained are the property of the songwriters and copyright holders. The author acknowledges trademark status and trademark owners of products referenced. The use of these trademarks is not authorized, and done without permission.

  This book is intended for audiences age 18 and over. Contains graphic language, strong sexual situations, violence and mature content. If any of these offend you, please do not read.

  All Rights Reserved

  Images by Kruse Images and Photography

  Cover Design by Cassy Roop of Pink Ink Designs

  Formatting by Cassy Roop of Pink Ink Designs

  Cover Model Matthew Hosea

  Images Copyright 2016

  Editing by Schmidt’s Author Services and Editing 4 Indies

  This book is dedicated to my Yang. It’s because of your

  support that I made it through these past few months.

  SWEAT POURS DOWN my face, neck, and back. My legs and arms work in unison, without me even having to think. I pound away, working out the frustration that is my life. The only thing that calms me down after a day like this is locking myself in my soundproof room, putting on my headphones, blasting some music, and drumming it out. With each beat, my lungs expand, taking in oxygen. Music helps me work through my decisions and emotions. Today, I really need to do just that.

  Once upon a fucking time, I was happy. I was with my high school sweetheart. The birds chirped fucking love songs, fucking rainbows filled the sky, and I was on top of the goddamn world. I was a year older than Amber was and did a lot of waiting. But for her, I was willing to wait. The day after she graduated from trade school, I was ready to propose. That was what we had decided; school came first. At some point, while I worked my ass off to save for her ring, Amber’s plans changed. She fell in love with another man. They were moving away together and getting married. She went on to say that it wasn’t my fault; it just happened, and I had to have known that it would eventually end. Almost all high school relationships fizzle over time.

  Well, you know what? I had no fucking clue that while she was almost three hundred miles away, she was partying it up and fucking some other guy who wasn’t me.

  While she was off living her new fairy-tale life, I was living in hell. After months of feeling sorry for myself, I woke up. I was done with being alone. While most guys liked to live the single life, I wanted the opposite.

  The day she left, I thought that would be the worst day of my life. I was wrong. My life turned into a nightmare—one big, long, fucking nightmare.

  “HUNTER, I’D LIKE you to meet someone,” my cousin, Melanie, says as she bounds toward me, pulling someone behind her.

  She is having a ‘welcome to my apartment’ party. When she called to tell me about it, I thought it was finally time to get out. But since I walked through the door, I've regretted coming. I thought it was going to be a small get-together, but I thought wrong.

  People are spread out all over the place. A group of guys gathers around the keg in the kitchen. They are handing out beer to the girls, hoping to get lucky. In one corner of the living room, a different group of giggling girls checks out the keg guys. Some dude just moved the coffee table out of the way to make room to dance. It’s already a small apartment, and my size isn’t helping. I’m a big guy and take up a lot of room. There isn’t elbow room to drink. Standing in the open isn’t an option. Out in the open, you are more likely to get bumped and end up spilling the beer it took me an hour to get. I take the safe route and find a stool in the corner. For the past hour or so, I’ve been sitting here watching everyone get sloppy drunk. For some reason, I make it my responsibility to keep an eye on the partiers, rather than mingle with the crowd.

  “Hey, Mel,” I greet my cousin.

  Melanie pulls her friend around from her back. “This is Gabby, my roommate.”

  The way Gabby is holding her cup like it is her lifeline tells me the girl is shy. She’s fidgeting with her hair while Mel makes small talk. Finally, she works up the courage to look up at me. Her eyes strike me first. They are dark. They almost look black.

  I extend my hand to her. “Nice to meet you, Gabby.”

  Tentatively, she reaches out her hand to meet mine. Her grip is light. “Nice to meet you too, Hunter.”

  A smile forms on her lips, and that’s when I see her beauty. It’s one of those crooked smiles, but it can paint a picture. My eyes scan the rest of her. She’s shorter than most of the girls here are. I bet if I were standing, the top of her head would barely come up to my chest, even with the heels she has on. She’s dressed much like the other people here. Jeans and a simple t-shirt. Her dark hair is short and streaked with highlights, in the way women have it too often. She has an average build: an hourglass figure, ample chest, and from the way her jeans fit, I think the back looks much like her front.

  Mel clears her throat. “Alrighty, then. I will just go mingle with our guests. You two get to know each other.”

  Like the good boy my mom raised me to be, I stand from my chair and offer it to Gabby. Instead of sitting, she suggests we go outside. I place my hand on her upper back, letting her know I’m in. She sits on one of the two plastic chairs on the deck. Both look old, and I doubt either will hold my weight. I skip it, opting to sit on the cooler instead.

  We each take a sip of our drinks and laugh simultaneously. It breaks the ice. Back and forth, we go through all the basic get-to-know-you questions. Her answers are funny; she sounds smart and sweet. Before I know it, we end up talking the night away. The party breaks up without us even noticing. Following behind Gabby, I head back inside to assess the damage. At least, that’s what I tell myself, but it’s more because I’m not ready to go home just yet. Cups litter the floor. Food
and crumbs cover the table. A few people are passed out on the sofa and chairs. As far as I can tell, nothing is broken. There were no fights.

  Mel greets us as we come through the door. “There you are. You missed most of the fun. So how did it go?” Mel likes to be in your business. She likes drama and gossip, but she’s family. I’m stuck with her.

  “Shut up, Mel. We were just talking outside. I’ll see you around, Hunter.” Gabby handles her roommate and then gives me the brushoff. I’m not having it yet.

  “I’ll stick around and help you guys clean up before heading out.” There is no way I would leave them to clean up on their own. I handle the trash while the girls handle the food. After that, I have no other reason to stay. I grab the trash to drop it off as I leave. Gabby comes along, and I take that as a good sign.

  “Thanks for staying to help us. You didn’t have to do that,” Gabby says, looking much like she did when Mel introduced her to me. Tentative.

  “It’s not a big deal.”

  “Good night, Hunter.”

  She turns to head back toward the apartment, and I make a decision.

  “Gabby.” She looks back when I call her name, and that smile is back. For the first time in six months, I feel again. Is it powerful? No. But at least, it’s something. A beginning.

  “Yeah?”

  “You want to get together sometime?”

  She comes back toward me. “I’d love to. Give me your phone.” She takes the phone from my hand and starts typing away. She pulls out her phone that is now ringing and shows it to me. “Now, we have each other’s numbers. Don’t forget to call.”

  I nod my head as she slides my phone in my front pocket. She kisses my cheek and walks away. That feeling gets a little stronger.

  IF I HAD TO define the first year of my relationship with Gabby, it was good. We had the typical period of time when you can’t take your hands off each other. When you think it’s cute that she sends you these little messages throughout the day but don’t let your boys know. She was good-looking, sweet, and had a good time when we went out on dates. Gabby was making me feel better every day; for the first time in a long time, I was thinking of my future.

  However, after we decided to take things to the next level and move in together, it was like she had a personality transplant. The nice girl left and in came her evil twin. Nothing I did was right. Gabby never wanted to be around my friends, only hers. Our house was never nice enough. When we went out, she never liked the places we went. Worst of all, Gabby hated my job. She would ask, “Hunter, why do you hang around with those losers? What kind of job is driving around in a bus that serves food to people?”

  At a young age, I was diagnosed with attention deficit disorder. My father didn’t have the patience to handle me. He just thought I was an out-of-control punk and would slap me around when he thought I was misbehaving. And by slap, I mean beat the shit out of me. My mom left him for that reason when I was ten years old.

  My mom, on the other hand, had the patience of a saint. She would redirect my energy, knowing instinctively that if she kept my hands busy, I wouldn’t act out. She enrolled me in sports, thinking that maybe I needed the outlet. On Christmas morning, I can remember coming out of my bedroom and seeing my first drum kit under the tree. If I was having a tough day, she would call me into the kitchen. She would talk to me while giving me simple tasks. Chop these, stir that, or sauté this. It was our time together, just the two of us, cooking our meals. Turns out, I was a pretty damn good at it too.

  When Gabby says ‘serves food’ with a disgusted look, it’s directed at me. Two of my best friends, Bentley and Caleb, ran a food truck, and they hired me as their lead cook. Business kept growing, and now they run a deli, Butter My Bread. When it opened, I stayed on as their cook. Working in a deli is no better than the food truck to Gabby.

  What she doesn’t know is that the deli is not my primary source of income. People are eating up real estate right now. My buddy, Jeremy, opened his construction business at the perfect time. The market was down, people sold or unfortunately lost their homes, and J&H construction began. I might be a silent partner, but the H stands for something. I have always been involved in some way, shape, or form, but it’s always been mainly in the building. Slowly, I’ve become more active in the business aspect of our company.

  Thankfully, my jobs aren’t included in my nightmarish life. It’s women. Specifically, one woman. When we go out, Gabby is rude to every girl. I’ve never given her any reason to be jealous, but she is. She is always accusing me of checking out this ‘skank’ or that ‘slut.’ I just stopped going out with Gabby, or I don’t bring her along when I go out. She checks up on me all the time, texting or calling me nonstop twenty-four-fucking-seven. It wasn’t as cute when her questions changed from ‘Whatcha doing?’ to ‘Who are you with?’

  Tonight, I have agreed to go to her friend’s party. Gabby and I haven’t gone to a party together in a while, and she begged me to go. I thought it would be good if we got out. I’ve been working a lot with getting the deli open and running. Maybe if we spent some quality time together, I could remember why we moved in together in the first place. She comes out of the room all dressed up, and I think tonight, we may have a good time.

  “You look good,” I tell her, as I pull her close.

  She pushes away from me, laughing. “Come on. We’ll be late.”

  “We have plenty of time.” I try to give her a kiss, but once again, she moves out of my reach.

  “It took me an hour to get ready. I don’t want to get all messed up again.”

  I grab the keys to my truck from the bowl by the door. She calls it a key bowl. Every time I toss my keys on the coffee table, she glares and points at the bowl. I hate the thing, but I use it to make her happy.

  We make the short fifteen-minute drive to the party. As soon as Gabby spots Mel, she takes off toward her. I walk up behind her and place my hands on her hips. “You want a drink?”

  “Can you get us both one of those drinks from the cooler outside? They have the good ones out there,” Mel says.

  I do my boyfriend duties and grab a few drinks. I can tell I’m in for a long night. I find the cooler, grab two beers for myself, a few fruity drinks I know the girls will like, and then head back to them.

  They each grab a bottle from me, but extend them back toward me, silently asking me if I can twist the cap off. When I do so, it earns me a little kiss from Gabby. I call that a win. Another girl comes over, joining the three of us. No one bothers to introduce me. I know it’s better not to ask who she is because it will start a fight as to why I want to know.

  Gabby turns to me. “Bethany wants to show us something. We’ll be right back. Some guys are watching a game in the other room if you want to go hang out. I’ll come and find you in a bit.”

  She points at a television in the corner of the house, away from where most of the partying is going on. Only a few men are standing there, but it sounds better than standing around with my thumb up my ass, fetching drinks for the ladies.

  When I take a seat on the couch, I glance around. It looks like the boyfriend waiting room. Each of them has a beer and are guarding a purse. I laugh as I put Gabby’s bag next to me. We all give each other a sympathetic nod. After a quick name exchange, I turn my attention to the baseball game. At least, we all seem to be for the same team. Each time the Sunrays hit a home run, we clink beer bottles in congratulations. After an hour passes, I start to wonder where Gabby ran off to. I scan the room to see if she is anywhere close. I spot her as she is storming toward me.

  “Are you checking out that blonde?” Gabby screams.

  I look around the room, confused. “I have no idea who you are talking about. What blonde?” The whole night, my eyes have been glued to the game.

  “The slut wearing the short skirt. I don’t even know who she came with. Melanie doesn’t even know who she is either.” My eyes find the blonde Gabby is talking about just as she throws her drink in m
y face.

  “What the fuck, Gabby?” Everyone in the room stares at us; at least, the girls do. The guys turn away.

  “I knew you were checking her out. I hate you, Hunter.” Gabby runs into my cousin’s arms, crying.

  This woman seems to have caught the ‘live for drama’ bug my cousin, Melanie, has; something I do my damnedest to avoid. Rather than continuing the show for everyone, I decide it’s time for me to leave. My cousin can drive her home.

  Heading back to the apartment, I’m pissed. Beyond pissed. The sticky sweet drink is all over my skin, and I need to get it off. What adds to my anger is that the one thing that calms me down, I can’t do. My drums are too big and loud for this place. After a hot shower, I open the fridge, grab another beer, and down it in one gulp. One beer isn’t enough, so I don’t even bother closing the door. I get a second beer out, doing the same as the first. By the third one, I start to relax. The couch is calling me, and I want to watch the highlights of the game I missed. At some point, I must have passed out.

  The front door squeaks open, waking me. Gabby comes in looking like a completely different person. Her hair is a mess. Her mascara is running down her face, causing black streaks down her cheeks. She’s holding her shoes in her hand.

  “I made a mistake. I’m sorry, Hunter.”

  “Damn right, you made a mistake. I wasn’t looking at anyone, and you fucking throw your drink on me. I never gave you a reason to not trust me.”

  With crossed arms and a wide stance, I let her know that this time I will not stand down. She can cry all she wants. This shit ends tonight, or it’s over. Her attitude, her behavior toward me, and the way she treats my friends.

  “That’s not what I mean. I did something terrible.”

  Thinking she was in an accident or something happened at the party, for a second, I get concerned. Then she finishes.

  “I …” She stammers. “I kissed someone.”

  I’m sure fire and smoke come out of my mouth. My chest is heaving, and I’m about to go off on her. Instead, I don’t say anything. I turn, head to the back room, and grab all my shit. Two suitcases of clothes are all that are mine in this apartment.