Текст книги "Levitate"
Автор книги: Kaylee Ryan
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Levitate
Copyright © 2015 Kaylee Ryan
All Rights Reserved.
This book may not be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of Kaylee Ryan, except for the use of brief quotations in articles and or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, locations, businesses and plot are products of the author’s imagination and meant to be used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events throughout the story are purely coincidental. The author acknowledges trademark owners and trademarked status of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication and use of these trademarks is not authorized, sponsored or associated by or with the trademark owners.
The following story contains sexual situations and strong language. It is intended for adult readers.
Cover Design: Sommer Stein Perfect Pear Creative Covers
Cover Photography: Perrywinkle Photography
Editing: Hot Tree Editing
Formatting: Angela McLaurin, Fictional Formats
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Acknowledgments
MY EYES ARE fixed on the red digits that light up my room from the bedside table. I watch as the numbers slowly climb and grow closer to the midnight hour. Tomorrow is a day I wish I could sleep through. I wish I could erase it from my mind. No, actually that’s not true. I wish she were still here. I wish I didn’t have to live through this day without her. In just twelve short minutes, it will officially be my mother’s birthday and she’s not here to celebrate it.
I fight off the memories of why that is. The pain slices through me. Hot tears race down my cheeks and I make absolutely no effort to wipe them away. There is no use. The next twenty-four hours is going to be a struggle. This will be the fourth birthday Dad and I have celebrated her life without her. They say it gets easier and the pain eases. They, whoever they are, are full of shit. The pain is there, front and center in my chest. I can feel it pound like thunder. This is the same pain I felt that night, the night we lost her. It does, however, get easier to hide. I have become a pro at hiding how her death and that night still affect me.
I hear my roommate and best friend, Nicole, pacing outside my bedroom door. She knows tomorrow is my mother’s birthday. Freshman year, I was a total basket case. I wasn’t ready to talk about that night, but I had to give her something. I told her about my mother dying, but I didn’t want to talk about the details. Nic is amazing and has never pushed me for specifics. She always just lets me know she’s there for me. There is no way I could have survived college without her. I know it bothers her that I haven’t opened up and given her the details. Honestly, it’s not that I don’t want her to know, but that I don’t want to think about it or talk about it more than I have to. I don’t want to explain the terror of that night, the terror that still haunts me. We’ve been inseparable for the past four years and I haven’t told her what happened. My chest aches with guilt that I’m keeping it from her. I just don’t talk about it to anyone, ever. Dad and I don’t even discuss it. We talk about her and how much we miss her, how much she would have enjoyed this or that. Never do we talk about that night. Neither one of us want to bring the pain that close to the surface. I know this day, her birthday, affects him just as much as it does me, but we still don’t discuss it.
Nic has an idea in her head; she knows that whatever happened to cause my mother’s death haunts me. I’m a twenty-two-year-old college senior and I don’t date. It’s hard for me to trust men and I can’t seem to find myself caring enough to put forth the effort. Tragedy does that to you. Makes you change the course of your life, your actions, and responses to normal every day activities.
Deep down, I realize my fear of dating and trust issues are irrational at best. I understand not all relationships turn out the way mine did. I also know that to me, it’s just not worth the risk. I get that my ex, Justin, is not to blame for what happened, but he was supposed to be there. I can’t help but think that if he would have been there, like he was supposed to, if I hadn’t been alone… I roll over onto my side and watch as the red numbers turn again.
Two more minutes.
I try to blink back the tears hot behind my eyes. As the second round falls, there’s a light knock on my door. She doesn’t wait for an invitation as she quietly pushes open the door. A gentle glow of light flows into the room. I bury my head in my body pillow, trying to burrow deeper. The bed dips behind me as Nicole climbs in and hugs me tightly.
“I’m here, Kens. You are not alone. I’m here.” Her soft voice filters through the room. Her words break me open even further and the warm flow of tears turns into a waterfall of emotion I usually keep locked away. This has been the norm for us. She is always there offering support. I often tell her she is getting the short end of the stick with this friendship. She just laughs and says friendships are not about quantity but quality. She assures me I give as much as I take. Although it may be true, I still feel bad for the drama I bring.
We lay there with nothing but the sound of my sobs for company. She never eases her hold, and I thank God every day that she was assigned as my roommate. Nicole Martin has brought me back from the dark side more times than I can count. She is my family. I will forever be by her side for anything she needs. Maybe that’s why when she asks, “Do you want to talk about it?” just as she does every time, I find myself wanting to finally tell her everything about my past.
“It’s okay, Kens. I don’t expect it, but I’m here for you,” she whispers into the night. “It might help to talk about it.”
I can’t talk about the details. I won’t. I do feel like I need to tell her something; she deserves that. It’s been four years of her picking me up and dealing with my emotional mood swings. I take a deep breath and spit out the words that I have avoided saying since the day we met. How I have lasted this long, I’m really not sure.
“My…” My voice cracks, so I stop to regroup. Nic doesn’t say anything; she just lies next to me patiently waiting for what I’m about to say. “My mom was murdered. She was protecting me and he killed her.” I barely get it out before I’m bursting into sobs for the third time tonight. This is going to be the norm for me over the next twenty-four hours. After that, I will wear my perfectly practiced mask into place and take each day at a time.
I hear her deep intake of breath. “Life sucks ass,” she says. I can hear the emotion in her voice. My best friend is always surprising me. I expected her to go with the norm. “I’m sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine what you are going through.” I cannot tell you how many times my dad and I heard that after… that night. I get that people don’t know what to say in these situations, but my bestie summed it up. Life sucks ass. Neither one of us says anything else. She gets me and I love her for it.
I have no idea how much time passes before I hear her breathing even out. I’m envious of the slumber she has slipped into. I know I will do nothing but toss and turn, so I slip from the bed, trying like hell not to wake her. Grabbing my Kindle off the bedside table, I quietly slip from the room. The apartment is eerily silent and I need noise. The silence makes it possible for the memories to flood my mind, to consume me. Grabbing the remote from the coffee table, I burrow into the couch, pulling the chenille throw over me. There is nothing good to watch at this hour, but I don’t care. I just need the background noise, something to fill the quiet void. Skimming through my Kindle, I find my next book boyfriend. I decide on That Girl by HJ Bellus. Nic read it last week and insists I will fall in love with Lincoln. I have no doubt that she’s right. We have the same taste in books.
Settling in, I try to focus on the words, but no matter how hard I try, I just can’t stop my mind from racing, can’t stop the memories from that night. It’s not just the memories of what happened, it’s the worry that I carry with me every single day. I worry I will forget what her voice sounded like, the smell of her sweet perfume, and the way it felt to have her wrap her arms around me and tell me she loved me. I was always close with my mom. The day after prom my junior year, I admitted I had had sex for the first time. I was so afraid she was going to be disappointed in me. I should have known better. She asked me if I was safe and if it was consensual. Looking back now, I can see how she might think it might not have been. I was a sobbing mess when I told her. The fear of seeing the disappointment on her face had me an emotional mess. The guy, my first, his name was Greg and we were not even really dating. He asked me to prom; I accepted. He was one of the nicest guys you will ever meet and it was his first time as well. Neither one of us felt pressured; it was just something we wanted to do. Sort of a rip the Band-Aid off and get it over with kind of moment. One thing led to another, and well… you know. I don’t know why I even told her. Most teenagers go out of their way to hide that kind of information. She and I were sitting on the couch watching a movie and I just blurted it out. The following day, she called and made me a doctor’s appointment so I could start birth control. She talked to me about safe sex and how you should share the act with someone you love. That giving your body to another person was a gift, just like giving them your heart.
The memories and the worry take over again as more tears start to fall. My Kindle long since abandoned. The low filtering of light coming from the morning sun alerts me that it’s time to get my ass in gear. I always meet Dad for breakfast, even though neither one of us have much of an appetite, but that is how we always start this day together. After that night, neither one of us wanted to stay in that house in the same town. Dad rented us an apartment and put the house on the market. He started applying for jobs, and that’s what brought us to our new life. I enrolled in college close to home. I couldn’t muster the courage to go far away. Too much had changed too fast. I needed to know he was close if I needed him. Neither one of us looked back. We left the past and the haunting memories behind us and did the best we could to start a new life. Just the two of us.
I am an only child; my parents struggled with conceiving for several years and two miscarriages before I came along. My mom always used to tell me that she was blessed with a healthy baby girl and that was enough for her. I know she would have loved to have more children, but it just wasn’t in the cards for them. It’s a shame really; a girl couldn’t ask for better parents.
Tears once again begin welling up. I climb off the couch and head for the shower. My only hope is to occupy my mind with mundane tasks to get through the day.
THE ANNOYING BEEP of my alarm blares from the nightstand. I didn’t get in until after three this morning and I have to be back in for a delivery by ten. Dad did this for years, ran the bar on only a few hours of sleep at a time. It pisses me off that I never noticed. I never realized what he did to keep the family business alive. The woman I refuse to refer to as my mother, never had to work a day in her life. He busted his ass to provide for us, to make sure we never went without. It’s been two years, and every time I think about her and what she did, I see red. Looking back, she was always self-absorbed and seemed to be constantly nagging. I, however, was a teenager and she pretty much left me alone. Dad seemed to always be the one she felt needed improvement. It had been that way my entire life, so I never thought much of it. It wasn’t until I learned all of her secrets, until she killed the soul of my father, that I realized she was the devil incarnate.
Kids aren’t supposed to hate their parents. I can tell you that I do. The woman is heartless. Always looking out for number one, manipulating to get what she wants, how she wants it. My dad gave her the world. Would have tried to give her the moon, if she had asked. I’m fucking surprised she didn’t.
When Dad died, Mom was already moved on to her newest conquest. She came home for the funeral and to say she was livid when she found out that everything was willed to me is an understatement. The house, the bar, everything. He left her nothing. I was expecting nothing, not because he didn’t love me, he did. He was the best dad a guy could ask for. No, I didn’t expect it, because he was never able to tell her no. Even though they had been divorced for almost three years, I just assumed it would all go to her.
She whined and tried to make me feel guilty that she had nothing to remember him by. I made sure I reminded her that she had his heart, always did. Her new flavor didn’t like that comment too well. Truth hurts, and it got them both out of my hair. It’s been two years, and I have not seen her since. She calls on occasion and I avoid her calls. Like I said, not a normal relationship, but she is not a mother. Egg donor, that’s how I should refer to her.
I took over the house that I grew up in. I was working construction at the time and quit to run the bar. Cooper’s is now a third generation establishment. My grandfather opened it back in the day and Dad took over when he was about my age. I never really gave much thought to taking over the family business. College wasn’t my scene, so after graduation, I went straight into construction. I enjoyed the work and liked being able to see the end product. When Dad’s attorney told me that he left everything to me, I knew I had to keep the Cooper name alive. I called and gave my boss notice and started on the unknown adventure of bar ownership.
My best friend, Brighton, worked at the same construction company. When I told him my plans to run Cooper’s and asked him to hop on the crazy train, he didn’t hesitate. We’ve had each other’s backs since kindergarten. That’s what family is all about. Too bad the egg donor didn’t get the memo.
Not only did Brighton jump in and help me run the day-to-day operations, he became my new roommate. The house is way too big for just me, and we easily split the expenses. Brighton and I are just two bachelors living the dream.
I force my tired ass out of bed and into the shower; the warm spray helps wash away the grogginess. I throw on a pair of worn jeans and a black fitted t-shirt and call it good. I find Brighton in the kitchen, head over a huge bowl of cereal, serving spoon in one hand and his phone in the other.
He stops chewing long enough for a simple “Morning,” and resumes the consumption of what looks like an entire box of Fruity Pebbles. Bastard, those are my favorite.
I settle for Pop-Tarts. “I have a delivery at ten. What are you getting into today?”
“You off tonight?” His mouth is still full and the visual is almost enough to make me lose my appetite, almost.
I hope so. “Yeah, as long as everyone shows up for their shift. I’m ready for a night off.”
Brighton picks up his bowl, or should I say trough, and slurps the remaining milk. “It feels like we have been going non-stop for the past couple of months. The renovations are complete, and the staff is hired and trained. Now it’s time to kick back and supervise.”
“I’m in. What were you thinking?” I ask, because I know he has something brewing in that brain of his. Brighton always has a plan.
He wipes his chin with the back of his hand and grins. “I was actually thinking of calling Nicole and seeing if she wanted to meet up somewhere. Maybe Studio 57.”
“Nicole? Is she the one you met at Jacob’s bonfire?” I watch as his grin grows wider and he nods. “You’ve been talking to her?” I question because he has not mentioned anything. We’ve been busy as hell since that night with the renovations to the bar and hiring new staff. How in the hell did he find the time?
“Not really, just a phone call or text here or there. We’ve met at the coffee shop a couple of times. She’s been busy with school; this is her last year. We both said we would like to hang out; it’s just been hard to find the time. Since we’re free tonight, I figured I would call her. I know her roommate is also unattached.” He raises his eyebrows and winks.
A night out sounds awesome, and Studio 57 is always a good time. “You needing a wingman, Bright?” I decide to fuck with him. He seems really into this girl.
This causes him to throw his head back and laugh. “No. Nicole and I have talked enough the past three months, I feel like I know her. However, I’m sure she will want to bring her roommate along. She’s mentioned before that the girl doesn’t get out enough. I want to be able to whisk her off to the dance floor without her feeling guilty. It would help if I also had a friend there to help her not feel left out.”
“I’m in. As long as I’m not the one who has to issue last call, kick out the drunks, clean up, and cash out.” Before I even finish, he has his phone to his ear. I assume calling Nicole to set things up for tonight. It’s been way too long since I’ve been out, and just as long since I have had the sweet release that only a beautiful woman can provide. Studio 57 is just what I need.
I wave as I grab my keys and wallet off the counter. The delivery isn’t going to sign itself in.
BREAKFAST IS DELICIOUS. Neither one of us eat much, but what we do eat, we both comment on how good it is. I was dreading this because of the day, but I have to admit I miss spending time with my dad. He’s the foreman for a road construction crew. His shift is never the same, changing due to the traffic patterns of whatever area they are working in. His job also causes him to travel long distances. More often than not, he will stay out of town until the job is complete. Lucky for him, the company covers all costs. In other words, my dad is one of the guys behind the orange barrels on the highway. After we finish eating, Dad insists on taking me to the mall. I tell him it’s not necessary. I know he lives on one income and I have my part-time job as a tutor to cover what my scholarship doesn’t. Thankfully, it’s enough to allow me and Nicole to share an apartment off campus. Dorm life is not where it’s at. Of course, he blows off my concern and says it’s his God-given right to spoil his little girl.
I learned a while ago that when shopping with my father, you can’t show interest in anything. If he thinks you want it, he buys it. He was the same way with my mother. They both worked hard every day for what they had. Growing up, I knew we were not rich, but we never wanted for anything. I can remember one year I wanted a pair of boots that were expensive. I didn’t ask for them because spending that much on boots is ridiculous. Several of my friends had them, but I just didn’t have it in my heart to ask my parents to spend that kind of money. That year at Christmas, much to my surprise, my boots were under the tree. I was stunned and insisted they were too expensive. Of course, when they said it was nonsense, I tackle-hugged both of them. I can remember Dad plopping down on the couch and pulling Mom into his arms. He dropped a kiss on the top of her head and they shared a smile. Mom then said, “Kensi, life is short. You have to live each day to the fullest. You can’t take money with you when you’re gone. You work hard for what you have and enjoy every second of it.” The memory has emotion clogging my throat. I swallow it down. Dad and I are having such a great day; I don’t want to ruin it with tears. Those will come later.
After dragging me in and out of every store, asking if anything catches my eye, I ended up with a new pair of jeans, a sweater, and a scarf. It’s early October and the weather is starting to get cold. We stop on the food court on our way out and grab a slice of pizza. We were in the mall for over five hours. I know what you’re thinking—a man in the mall for five hours? Yes, my father is relentless when he wants to be. He hates to shop, but he loves me and loves to spoil me. My mom used to say that was one of the things she loved about him best. She used to say that behind all the brawn is a heart of gold; he loves with everything in him. She always told me that if I ever found a man like that, I needed to hold on tight with both hands and never let him go.
I see that in my dad. My issue is letting myself get close to anyone else to find out what his heart is made of.
After inhaling our food court pizza, we head to our final destination of the day. My mom loved horses. As soon as we moved here, Dad and I found a riding stable that let you rent a horse for the day. It was something we thought we could do and it would seem like she was with us. We were both reaching for anything that would make us feel closer to her. We stumbled upon a beautiful lake along the trails. The view is serene and I immediately knew Mom would have loved it. Dad agreed and we come back as often as we can. It’s odd to think that coming to a place she has never been makes us feel closer to her, but for me at that time in our lives it worked. I still feel close to her when we are here. I like to think she is watching over us, and she really is.
“I called ahead and reserved Savannah and Charlotte for us today,” my dad says as we pull into the long lane that will lead us to the stables.
I’m excited to see the two horses that we have grown attached to. I’m ready to feel like she’s with us. “Awesome. I can’t wait to see them.” And feel close to her. I don’t say that aloud though. Today has gone really well. Both of us have held in the emotions, grounding each other from the pain. My dad is really the only one who has ever been able to do that.
The owner, Ray, as he insists we call him, greets Dad with a man hug and me with a kiss on the cheek. “I got the girls all saddled up and ready for you.”
“Great, thanks,” I say over my shoulder. I’m headed toward the barn. I love horses, love being outdoors really.
A few minutes later, Dad joins me and places the lilies in the saddlebag on his horse. He will be riding Savannah. She is huge; Ray referred to her as being sixteen hands or something of that nature. That’s horse speak for tall. Dad is over six foot, so they work well together. Savannah is a beautiful horse; she is white with red spots. I believe Ray said she is a paint… again more horse speak that I don’t understand but can repeat and sound as though I do. It does kind of look like she has blotches of red paint all over, so I can see the logic in the name.
My horse is Charlotte. Ray says she and Savannah are sisters. Where Savannah is red, Charlotte is black. Charlotte is also smaller, coming in at fourteen hands. She’s sweet and gentle and I love her. Dad and I fell in love with both of them on day one, and he has called to make sure they are reserved any time we visit.
The trails are beautiful and peaceful. The stables are not very busy today, because it’s October and starting to get colder. There are over five hundred acres of trails that we can ride. I think over the years, Dad and I have traveled them all at least once. We always travel to our lake and toss some lilies in for Mom. Her name was Lillian and lilies were her favorite flower. Dad always called her Lilly, and when I was born, he decided he was going to call me Kensi even though everyone else shortened my name to Kens. Mom was the only other person who called me Kensi. A few have tried, but I am always quick to shut them down; that was something the three of us shared. Dad doesn’t call me that as much as he used to.
“How’s school, baby girl?” His question brings me back to the present.
“Good. Classes are good this semester. My advisor informed me that I need to be looking for a local business that I can volunteer with next semester. Apparently, the professor for my advanced business practices class requires all students to volunteer at a local business to get some hands on workforce experience. She likes to keep it local as a way to give back to the community. There are a lot of small businesses around and the extra free help is a perk for them.”
“I think that’s a great idea. Do you have any ideas yet?” he asks.
“No, not yet. I still have a lot of time. I’m sure I’ll figure something out. I think Nicole is just going to work at her sister’s salon.”
“How is Nicole?”
That’s Dad. He’s always taking interest in my life, even my friends. He knows how much Nic has helped me over the last four years. He was worried when he moved me into the dorms. We were both going to be on our own. It was scary for both of us.
“She’s good, keeps me on my toes.” I don’t say anything else. I know he can read through the lines. We let the silence fall between us, and before I know it, we are stopped in front of the lake. We tie the horses off to the hitching post and Dad pulls the lilies out of his saddlebag. He hands me half of the bouquet, keeping the remainder for himself.
I follow him to the edge of the bank and we both take a seat. I toss one of my lilies into the water and watch as it slowly drifts away.
“Kensi…” His voice is gruff. “I’m worried about you.”
I turn to face him and I can see the lines of worry across his forehead. “I’m good, Dad. Promise,” I try to reassure him. I’ve actually done really well today and I’m mentally giving myself a high five for keeping it together.
“I’m worried that what happened is keeping you from living life. I know you don’t really date and I understand your hesitance to let someone in. I want to see you fall in love. I want to walk you down the aisle and someday hold my grandbabies in my arms. That is what we both wanted for you; I still do,” he says this as he throws his first lily into the lake. It’s almost as if he’s speaking for her.
These are the same kinds of conversations Mom and I used to have all the time. She was always the one to touch on these types of subjects with me. Dad let us do our thing… this is a first for us. It’s not as awkward as I always imagined it would be.
I lean my head against his shoulder and let his words sink in. “I used to want that. I just don’t think it’s in the cards for me. Maybe one day. I’m not opposed to it completely, but it’s going to take someone who is willing to put in the time and effort to prove he’s worth it. For now, I’m good with one man in my life. Besides, if and when that happens, he will have some pretty big shoes to fill.” I feel his shoulders lift with the chuckle that escapes his lips.
Dad wraps his arms around me and holds me tight. “I love you, baby girl. I just want to see you live a full, happy life. It’s up to you what will make that happen, just know that sometimes the risks are worth the reward.”
We continue to sit by the lake and slowly toss our lilies into the water. Dad tells me the story of how he and mom met, and then tosses in a lily. I tell him how I miss the talks she and I used to have and toss in a lily. Within a few hours, we have managed to talk about her, about the good times and some of the bad. The pain is there, but there is just something about this place that helps ease the sting.
I hear the low grumble of his belly and a giggle escapes my lips. “Oh, you think that’s funny, do you?” he says as he climbs to his feet. The next thing I know, he’s lifting me off the ground and throwing me over his shoulder. We reach the horses and he gently sets me on my feet. “It’s not nice to laugh at a man when he’s hungry.” He winks at me.
Back at the stables I smile and shake my head today turned out better than I had expected. We unsaddle the horses and brush them down. This is not something that is required, but I love it. Ray says he doesn’t mind having someone spoil the “crew” as he calls them. We finish up, and with one final hug, Dad and I climb into our vehicles and go our separate ways. Somehow, throughout the day, the pain in my chest shifted. It’s still there, but the dread I was feeling is gone. Maybe I was wrong, maybe talking about her, about what happened, is therapeutic. Maybe it does get easier after all.
Walking into the apartment, I find Nicole stretched out on the couch. Her eyes take me in. I know she’s prepared to see me in full breakdown mode, but I’m not, much to her surprise and mine.
“Hey, how was your day?” I can hear the hesitation in her voice. I chew on my bottom lip to keep from laughing at her. She’s wigged out because I’m not a blubbering mess. It feels good and it’s taking all the effort I can muster not to bust out laughing at the situation.
“It was good, actually. We went to breakfast then the mall.” I hold up my bags to show her my new purchases. “Then we went to the stables and road down to the lake.” She knows about the stables and the lake. I’ve told her how I feel closer to my mother there. I don’t keep everything from her, just that night. Everything else, I’m an open book.
“You seem… I don’t know, lighter somehow,” she comments as she continues to watch me.
“Yeah, I’m not sure what happened really. Dad and I talked a lot. We talked about Mom, the good times and the… bad. He even broached the ‘I want to see you married with kids’ subject. He worries, but I assured him he has nothing to worry about.”
