This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used factiously. Any resemblance to actual events or local or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published by Victoria Klahr Books
Virginia Beach, VA 23454
www.victoriaklahrwrites.blogspot.com
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any for whatsoever.
Copyright © 2016 Victoria Klahr
All rights reserved.
Cover by Asimun Concierge
Edited by Wendi Temporado, Ready, Set, Edit
That's a
Relief
Victoria Klahr
Table of Contents
Warning
Prologue
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Part II
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
Part III
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
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
For Echo— I've never understood true friendship until I met you
If the sun refused to shine, I will still be loving you. When mountains crumble to the sea, there will still be you and me. - Led Zeppelin
Warning
A kind warning to select readers: Some scenes in this book may be a trigger for victims and survivors of sexual violence.
Prologue
My hands shake as I flip through pictures one by one, each one worse than the last. My stomach twists and turns and churns as the horror of each image plows me in the stomach.
“No,” I cry, tracing the outline on each glossy page. “I’m so sorry.”
A thousand razors slice my insides with every breath I take. I can’t … I can’t take it. I run into the bathroom and fall over the toilet, emptying my already empty stomach. The sobs wrack my whole body while I lie on the cool tile of the floor unable to move. Unwilling to move.
What’s the point?
What’s left for me anyway?
I’ll never get them back.
I catch a glimpse of a picture that fell from my hand and turn away screaming. I wrap my arms around my stomach, the sickness and guilt and disparity vibrating through my veins. My breaths keep coming even when I don’t want them to, a sharp suck of air that taunts me—reminding me that I still have to live in this shitty reality.
An orange pill bottle stands out on the bathroom counter. They can help me forget. They can take me away. They can make it go away.
I want that.
I need that.
In a daze, I stand up and grab the bottle.
Oblivion. Peace. Nothingness.
An image pops into my head, and I put the pill bottle back down, run into my room and grab a pen and piece of paper. I rush back to the bathroom and lock the door, breathing hard. Checking to make sure the bottle is still there, I sit in front of the tub and write four words.
It’s not your fault.
With shaking hands, I clumsily pour the remaining white pills into my palm. Whether it’s brave or entirely stupid, I swallow down as many as I can before falling into the beautiful oblivion.
Pounding echoes in the back of mind. Screaming.
They fade away with the effects of the drugs.
I finally feel nothing.
Part I
“Let us step into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure.”
Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
Chapter 1
Josie
Three months earlier
“What’s it say?” I ask, plopping onto the bed and crossing my legs. The perfectly-made, lilac comforter crinkles under my weight, and the smell of the Febreze I sprayed earlier today wafts through my senses. I’ve always loved the smell of a freshly cleaned house, but maybe the scent is a little too strong today.
“Chill out, you just took it,” Brooke says with a roll of her eyes. She leans back on her elbows and shakes her shoulder-length blonde hair out of her face.
“I can’t chill out. My whole future is on that.”
“Your whole future is on a pee stick?” she asks arching a perfectly-plucked brow. “That’s kind of sad.”
I groan and try to take deep breath. My legs bounce in the same rhythm as my rapid heartbeat. Breathe in. Filling my lungs to max capacity, I hold my breath. My heart beat drums in my ears as strong as Seth’s bass on his drum kit, roaring and banging in a constant tick of the seconds that go by. When my lungs start to burn and the banging becomes too deafening, I let go. Breathe out. I purse my lips and let out a slow stream of air, closing my eyes as I try to release my anxiety. It doesn’t help.
I try again, and again, but my unease doesn’t dissolve and my pulse doesn’t return to normal. Frustrated by my failed attempt at calming my nerves, I reach into my side drawer and pull out a chocolate bar. My stomach flips once I open it, unsure if it thinks I should devour it in two seconds or throw up from the smell. My nose scrunches. To eat, or not to eat.
“Why do you have candy in your side table?” Brooke asks, interrupting my inner debate. She watches me curiously, and my gaze shifts back to my open drawer that contains an array of candy.
“Seth puts them there the day before my period every month,” I say, biting the smile starting on my lips.
“It’s kind of sickening how much he loves you,” Brooke says with an exasperated sigh. Alec screams from his playpen in my living room and she groans before getting off of the bed.
“Wait! What’s it say?” I ask, reaching for her hand before she goes to comfort the baby.
She pulls away and walks out the door with my future still in her grasp, throwing me a taunting grin over her shoulder. “Still have another minute before you can see,” she says in a singsong voice.
My leg starts shaking again and I count the seconds that Brooke is gone. I nibble on the corner of the chocolate bar and am instantly revolted by the taste. So not what I’m craving.
With each shake of my leg, I find my mind going through a rapid succession of thoughts and questions. Is this what I want? What about Seth? Am I excited? Am I nervous? Will I be okay? Is it safe? How do I even know if this is the right time in our relationship for this? Will I get fat? Will Seth love me if I get fat? Will I be a good mom? Do I want to be a mom?
Am I still freaking sick from that bagel I ate this morning?
“Is that funny, mister?” I ask and leave a slew of kisses all over his face. He giggles and puts his small hand on my face to push me away.
“Do you even need to look?” Brooke asks, walking out toward the kitchen.
Following her, I sit on a barstool and rest my head in my arms on the cool, black-granite countertop while Brooke starts heating up some water in the tea pot.
“Yes, I need to know.”
Brooke sets the pregnancy test onto the counter and keeps her hand over it before she slides it to me. She sets Alec on the floor so he can crawl to his toys and leans in close.
“Are you going to be okay if it’s a no?” she asks. I see her concern in her crystal-blue eyes and my chest tightens as I ponder the answer.
Will I be okay? The thought would have terrified me a year ago, but after a year of working through my issues, the thought of having a baby no longer scares the shit out of me. In fact, it’s definitely something I want when I think about our future, even though Seth and I have never talked about it.
So, will I be okay if it’s negative?
I think I’ll be a little sad. How can I be sad about something I’m not even sure I have yet?
“Wow, from that facial expression, I can see your answer clearly. Go ahead and look,” Brooke says, uncovering the test. A picture on the countertop of Seth and me, his arms wrapped around me as we both stare at a newborn Alec in my arms catches my eye. Yes. I know what I want. I look down at the test, listening to my heart roar in my ears and feeling a tightness churn in my chest.
And there it is. My answer clearly written on the white and blue stick. The answer that will change my life forever. The change I didn’t realize I wanted so badly until right now.
“Congrats, Josie.” Brooke grins, handing me a cup of hot peppermint tea.
I’m pregnant.
Chapter 2
Seth
Every shot that rings out ricochets off the walls in the building, making the haunting clamor louder and more potent than it would be if it had been shot out in the open. Chambers click, bullets fly, and shells clack onto the floor, creating a symphony of noises that could provoke a racing heart or a sense of security. For me, it’s the latter. Every shot makes me more comfortable.
“Does Josie know you’re doing this?” Brandon asks as he leans against the wall in my booth, shaggy brown hair covering half his face.
“That’s a dumb question. Of course she doesn’t. She’d fucking kill me if she found out.”
I finish loading the last bullet into the magazine and click it into the Glock 22. Brandon puts on his noise cancelling headphones with a shrug. My body assumes the proper shooting stance, and I fire fifteen shots aimed at the target at the end of the range. Once the last shot fires, confidence surges in the pit of my stomach.
I place the gun down on the table and take off my headphones. Brandon steps up next to me and pushes the button to pull up the target.
“Damn. You’re getting good,” Brandon whistles when he looks at it. All fifteen shots are scattered across the chest of the person printed on the paper.
“It’s been a while, so I was rusty at first. You wanna try?”
He looks at the gun and cocks his head to the side, still unsure on how he feels about guns. Eventually, he shakes his head. “Not really my thing.”
“Don’t say anything to Brooke. She’ll go blab her big mouth to Josie,” I grumble, packing up the bullets and gun into my bag.
Brandon places his safety glasses and headphones in the bin at the front, giving me an appalled look. “Glad you think so highly of me. I can keep a secret from my wife, you know.”
“No, I don’t know, actually,” I say, looking at him pointedly. “Josie knew about her surprise birthday party because of you and your wife.” We walk back out into the shop and I wave to the owner. “Thanks, Mr. Seymour.”
“Glad to see you back, Seth. Tell your dad to stop by soon.”
“Will do,” I lie.
Mom would kill me if I convinced my dad to go back to the shooting range with all his heart problems. Ever since Josie and I moved out, I haven’t been able to help out as much on the farm, and I worry what kind of extra work Dad’s doing to compensate for me not being there anymore. He swears he’s not taking on more work than he should, but let’s face it, he would lie about working hard if it meant keeping Mom’s and my mind at ease.
“You’ll never let me live that down, will you?” Brandon muses, hopping into the front seat of my blue Toyota Tundra.
“Nope.” I start the truck and head toward my photography warehouse to pick up a memory card that I left behind. Work has been steadily busy lately, so I’ve been needing to bring my work home with me on the weekends.
“Why are you into this all of a sudden?”
The answer is harder to get out than I thought it would be. This is Brandon, my best friend, but also someone who may not understand my reasons for brushing up on my shooting skills. I swallow the anger and keep my eyes straight ahead.
“It’s not all of a sudden,” I say eventually. “I used to come all the time with my dad.”
Josie has always hated guns. She hates the idea of someone being allowed to carry them, which I can because I have a permit. She also hates the violence they can bring, which I understand, but I also understand how it could be useful. Which is why I renewed my permit.
“Is it because my dad was released from prison?” Brandon asks, looking out the window. I whip my head in his direction and try again to figure out how to approach this subject with him.
“You know?” I shake my head. “Of course you know. He’s your dad.” There’s bitterness in my tone that wasn’t there earlier, and I feel bad that I’m directing it at Brandon when it’s not his fault.
He shoots me a sympathetic look. “Yeah. The bitch step-mom called last week and told us the news. You can tell me, you know. If that’s why.”
Brandon has never liked talking about his dad, but when he does, it’s always with a disgusted and angry edge in his voice. Despite this, I still feel a little guilty that I want to kill my best friend’s dad.
“I just want to make sure Josie is safe,” I explain. “Self-defense classes can only go so far, and let’s face it, Josie makes some stupid-ass decisions when she’s caught up in the moment.”
I worry so much that she’ll forget to bring her purse containing Taser and pepper spray or she’ll get so overwhelmed with fear that she’ll forget how to punch and kick her way out of a hold. I can’t risk it. It terrifies me—I’m talking sheet-clenching nightmares that wake me up with a racing heart, needing to reach out and frantically search for her in our bed.
“How’s Josie handling it?”
My jaw clenches and I keep my eyes trained on the road. My Josie, finally happy and gaining confidence—I just can’t bring myself to tell her. To explain that I was stupid enough not to switch her mail over to the new house so we could have been informed in time to stop him from getting out of prison. When Tony called me last week with the news, I knew everything in our life was about to change.
***
“Is Josie with you?” Tony asked when I answered the phone. I looked over to my right and smiled. Josie had her feet on the dashboard, singing at the top of her lungs to a crappy popular song on the radio. No matter how many times I tell her she sucks, she still sings loud and proud around me.
“Yeah … What’s up?” I answered, returning my attention back to the road. We were on our way to my parents’ house for dinner and a night at the lake, but Tony had declined the offer to join us.
“You can’t let Josie know something is wrong. I need you to come here as soon as you get a chance.”
I tensed, a burning sensation tightening inside my chest. Something was wrong.
“Okay.”
I hung up without waiting for another word. I swallowed hard and took a deep breath, reaching across the console to take Josie’s hand in mine. I rubbed my thumb against her soft skin as I waited for her to finish her song.
“I’m surprised a record label hasn’t picked you up yet, Pussycat.”
She grinned, oblivious to my unease, flicked her hair over her shoulder, and fluttered her eyelashes dramatically. “Little did you know, I have been picked up. I’m running off in a week to become a star.”
“You would run off without me?”
“Already promised Brody I’d run off with him,” she quipped.
I laughed loudly and squeezed her hand. “You and Brody are getting on my last nerve with that shit.”
She laughed and started singing again.
“So, I need to run back to the warehouse and grab a lens for the camera. I wanted to take some pictures tonight at the lake, but I need a special lens to get a good picture in the dark. I’ll drop you off at Mom and Dad’s and then I’ll be right back.”
The lie made me feel dirty—especially when we promised not to keep things from each other anymore.
“That’s fine. I think your mom wanted to teach me how to make fish the way she does, anyway. She said something about how no daughter-in-law of hers will marry her son without knowing how to fry fish.” She rolled her eyes, and I laughed.
“Well, I did warn you before you agreed to marry me.”
“That your mom is crazy?” she asked, shooting me a smile that both warmed my insides and made me feel guilty.
“That you better know how to cook trout.” I winked at her and she laughed.
I dropped her off and drove to Tony’s house with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was going to change everything.
That's a Relief (Promises, Promises Book 3) Page 1