Текст книги "Frozen"

Автор книги: L.A. Casey

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 1 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

 

      

Frozen

Title

Copyright

Dedication

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 Ninteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Acknowledments

About The Author

Other Titles

Copyright

Copyright 2014 L.A. Casey

All Rights Reserved.

ISBN: 978-0-9929849-4-6

Cover Design: Mayhem Cover Creations

Literary Editor: Gypsy Heart Editing

Book formatting: C.P. Smith

License Notes:

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it wasn't purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. All rights reserved.

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under S.I. No. 337/2011 – European Communities (Electronic Communications Networks and Services) (Universal Service and Users' Rights) Regulations 2011, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the author.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, establishments, organizations, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously to give a sense of authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Nanny,

Today is Frozen’s release day, but most importantly, it is also your ninetieth birthday. You have lived an amazing long life and you’re still here, but you’re fighting to stay with us. You’re an incredibly strong woman, and every single one of us in our crazy, big family love you to pieces, from your eleven babies straight down to your forty-four grandbabies and your eighty-seven great-grandbabies. We love you. I love you. And I’m going to stick to my guns in this crazy writing world and do what you taught me to do: I’m going to go for it.

This is for you, happy birthday! <3

"Neala? Are you home?"

No.

"Neala?"

Be gone.

"Neala Hayden Clarke, you had better not be ignoring me!"

Would I dare?

"Neala!"

Argh!

"I'm coming, Ma! Keep your bloody knickers on," I called out in a raspy tone then proceeded to cough so hard I thought one of my lungs almost came up my throat.

I rubbed my chest as I crawled from my warm haven then shivered as the cool morning air surrounded me. I grabbed my housecoat, put it and my slippers on, and then folded my arms across my chest as I scurried out of my bedroom and towards my front door. I peeked through the peephole of my door out of pure habit. I knew who it was and when I spotted the overly happy face of my mother, who was dressed from head to toe in bright red, I couldn't help but roll my eyes.

I reluctantly unlocked my door and opened it wide.

"Heya Ma," I yawned.

She smiled as she glided past me looking like a jolly bull's target.

"Heya honey, did I wake you?"

Was she really asking me that?

She just had to bang my door down to get me out of bed.

"Nah, Ma. I've been up for hours," I deadpanned.

My mother clicked her tongue at me and gently swatted at my head with her red-gloved hand. I lightly snickered and playfully ducked away from her. I turned and walked down my narrow hallway and into my box sized kitchen. I glanced over my shoulder at my mother's attire once more and sighed.

"What the hell are you wearing, Ma?" I asked soberly as she followed me into the kitchen.

With cold shaking hands, I lifted the kettle from its holder, filled it with water from the tap, then set it back down and flipped the switch on the base turning it on.

My mother dramatically gasped, "It's Christmas time!"

That, in her mind, justified the monstrosity of an outfit she was decked out in.

"It looks like Santa puked on you, Ma," I said then squealed when she not so gently whacked my behind with her hand.

"You watch your mouth, and stop picking on me you little shite. I'm your mother, I should be revered."

Yes, your Highness.

I smiled. "I'm only messing with you, Ma."

I wasn't messing – she looked ridiculous.

"Good, now make me a cuppa."

"Yes, ma'am."

I made us tea and headed into my living room where we sat on the couch facing my plasma screen TV. I smiled as my mother kicked off her shoes and tucked her legs under her bum. We both sat the same way, and that wasn't where the similarities ended between my mother and myself. She was seventeen years older than me and the woman was hot. Well she was when she didn't dress like someone from The Grinch.

She was forty-two years old and didn't look a day over thirty-five. She was mistaken for my older sister nine times out of ten, and we had a bond where we were not only mother and daughter, but she was also one of my best friends. We both had frosty green eyes, long brown hair, pale porcelain skin and freckles sprinkled across our noses'. My father jokingly called us twins from time to time.

"Tell me, how did your date on Friday night go with what's-his-name?"

I sighed. "His name is Dan Jenkins and it went... okay?"

I phrased it like a question and my mother snorted. "That bad, huh?"

Understatement.

I nodded. "It was awful. His idea of small talk was shocking. He asked me if I was planning on having children anytime soon because I was nearing thirty and me eggs wouldn't be as reliable after I crossed over to the dark side and turned thirty. The man is a weirdo."

My mother burst out laughing and I found it both amusing and annoying.

"You just turned twenty-five, you have years yet to think of kids."

"Exactly. That's what I said, but this lad was having none of it. I bailed on him. I told him I had to go to the bathroom, then I ran for the door the first chance I got. It sucks, he seemed so normal went I met him at the bookstore, but it turned out he is a nut job."

My mother was now snorting from laughing so hard.

"It's not funny, what if I bump into him? He lives in the city centre but has family here in the village. I would freeze up because I'd have no clue what to say to him. I didn’t say goodbye or give him a reason as to why I was leaving. I just ran out on him."

My mother wiped under eyes and smiled. "You could tell him you got a sudden bad case of the runs?"

"Ma!"

I shook my head while she cracked up laughing at her sick suggestion.

"I'm sorry," she chuckled. "I couldn't help meself."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Where is me da? How come he didn't come around to see me?"

My mother grunted. "He has his friends around for the match, it's early kick-off."

That didn't surprise me in the slightest. My father has been a hard-core football fan for as long as I could remember, he lived and breathed football like it was essential to his continued existence. Weekends, and even some weekdays, were a time that my father cherished. It meant football time, and everyone in our household had to respect that or God only knows what would happen.

Men and their sports.

"Must be an important match for it to be on a Wednesday," I commented.

My mothered uncaringly shrugged her shoulders. "He said something about it being the last game the club was playing before taking a break for the Christmas holidays or something like that. I wasn’t really listening to him."

She never did, she hated football.

I smiled. "In that case do you wanna go do breakfast instead of lunch? I have to go to Smyths in the afternoon before they close for the holidays."

Smyths was a huge toy shop for children.

My mother frowned. "What did you forget to buy?"

I gasped with feigned shock, "Why would you think I forgot to buy-"

"Neala."

I groaned at my mother's motherly tell-me-now tone.

"A doll for Charli." I mumbled and avoided eye contact.

Charli was my niece. She was five years old, and was both evil and adorable, but she was also cute enough to make you forget how evil she really was. She told me a few weeks ago that she wanted a doll from me for Christmas, and I told her I'd make it happen. That was before I realised how hard it was going to be to the find the particular doll she wanted.

My mother widened her eyes. "Christmas is in six days!"

Don't remind me.

I winced. "I know, but in me defence, I ordered the doll she wanted online, but bad weather halted the order till January so I just cancelled it and got me money back. I tried other sites, but everywhere is either sold out or couldn't make any deliveries until after Christmas and into New Years."

My mother lifted her hand to her face and pinched the bridge of her nose. I'd bet my life that she wished she had something stronger than a cup of tea to drink right now.

"Nothing is ever an easy ride with you," she muttered and took a gulp of her tea.

I snorted because it was true.

"Are you saying I'm difficult?" I grinned.

My mother cackled, "Honey, you've been difficult since the day you were born. It's a trait you share with Darcy."

The smile that was on my face vanished and my grip on my mug tightened at the mention of his name. My mother knew good and well that any mention of him was not well received around me.

"Don't mention his name in this apartment."

My mother dramatically sighed, "For goodness sakes, Neala, you're twenty-five not five. Both you and Darcy need to get over this childish... thing you both have towards one another.

'Thing' translated into hate.

I growled in annoyance, "I hate him, and he hates me. Period. End of story."

My mother's shoulders slumped as she sighed. "But he is such a nice young man, Neala, couldn't you just-"

"Mother! We have had this conversation a billion times before. I am never having any sort of romantic relationship with Darcy Hart, and that is it."

I had to put my mug on the coffee table across from me because I suddenly felt like hurling it against the wall. I sat back and folded my arms across my chest in anger. This sudden feeling of rage was exactly what Darcy, or any mention of him, did to me. It severely pissed me off and always in record time.

My mother watched me with a raised eyebrow and smiled at me like she knew something I didn't.

"Hmmm."

She sounded thoughtful about something.

I blinked. "Hmmm? What does that mean?"

My mother uncaringly shrugged her shoulders. "Nothing dear. I'm going to top up me cuppa."

I watched her get up and leave the room through narrowed eyes.

"'Nothing' me bleeding arse," I grunted.

She was up to something, I knew her well enough to know 'hmmm' meant she was considering something, and that worried me. I reached out and lifted my mug to my mouth and took a large gulp of my tea to calm my spiked nerves.

Darcy Hart.

I hissed at my thoughts.

I hated thinking about Darcy, talking about Darcy, looking at Darcy, and hearing about Darcy.

I simply hated Darcy.

They say hate is a strong word and an even stronger emotion, I agree with that because the passion in which I hated Darcy filled me completely. It wasn't one-sided – that man hated me just as much as I hated him, and that's how it was between us. It's how it's pretty much always been between us. We hated each other, and that was it.

The feud between us started twenty years ago, we were both five years old, and out in Darcy's back-garden with our friends. One of Darcy's then friends, Alan Pine, put his arm around my shoulder and jokingly called me his girlfriend. I giggled because I thought it was the funniest thing in the world, but Darcy didn't find it funny at all.

The lad just got mad.

He threw the world's biggest tantrum and punched Alan in the nose and made it bleed. The poor kid ran home crying which he had every right to do – he did just get punched in the face after all. After the vicious assault on his supposed friend, Darcy turned his rage spotlight in my direction. The eejit shoved me in the shoulder and told me to go home because we weren't friends anymore. That was how it all started – he went crazy and kicked me out of his house for something I giggled at!

He has been a dick from a young age as you can tell.

When Darcy told me to go home that day he also mentioned he never wanted to see me again, and as much as I hated to admit it, it broke my heart. We were best friends since we could walk then in the blink of an eye we weren't. I was a very emotional child, so I fought Darcy's anger and rejection with my own. I didn't cry in front of him, and I never would. Instead, I became an evil menace when in his company and that turned out to be very often.

You see, Darcy and I were best friends by default. Our mother's were best friends, our older brother's were best friends, our dad's were best friends, even our grandparent's, God rest them, were best friends. There was no escaping Darcy or his family after our falling out, so we both learned to tolerate one another as best as we could... Which was usually by fighting or pranking one another.

Our hate for one another grew as we got older while our tolerance for one another's company lessened. Our families didn't seem to understand our mutual loathing, because they always tried to force us together so we could learn to 'get on'. They still did. Never mind that we were now both twenty-five, and any chance of mending our joke of a friendship was long gone.

Our mothers, God help them, had this silly fantasy that we would get together, fall madly in love, and give them grand-babies, but I could tell you that was never happening. There wasn't a snowball's chance in hell. You had a better chance of fusing oil and water together to form a single liquid than you did of Darcy and I being civil to each other. That was how deeply we hated one another.

We were a lost cause and as far as I was concerned that wasn't a bad thing.

"What's that look for?"

I blinked my eyes, and shook my head clear of my thoughts then I looked to my mother who retook her seat next to me on the couch. I wasn't telling her I was thinking about Darcy and our past because she would take it as a stupid sign that it meant he was my future or some bullshit like that.

I cleared my throat. "Nothing, this is just how I look when I zone out. It's me duh face."

My mother grinned and quietly sipped on her tea, and it grated on my nerves. I hated when she looked smug after pissing me off about Darcy – she knew what she did bringing him up and it bothered me deeply.

I needed to change the topic of discussion away from Darcy and to something mundane. Anything else would help, just as long as it wasn’t about him.

I blew a breath out through my nostrils and asked, "So, breakfast?"

My mother smiled to herself as she stood up and winked. "Yep, let's go get some breaky. You can tell me how you plan on getting me grandchild that doll for Christmas along the way. I can tell it's going to be interesting.”

I snorted. "Doubtful. "

"I wouldn’t speak too soon on that, lovely." My mother winked. "When you’re involved, things are always interesting."

After my mother and I went to a cafe in the village and had breakfast she dropped me off at Smyths on her way home. I got there forty minutes before closing time for the holidays. I knew I had a limited amount of time left in my mission, so I had to get to it.

My mother wished me good luck in finding a doll for Charli, and I told her that I didn't need luck. It turned out I needed more than luck – I needed a bloody leprechaun with his pot of gold to appear and accompany me into the shop because I was royally screwed.

"This can't be happening," I whispered in dismay as I scanned the doll aisle in the shop for the tenth time in twenty minutes looking for a Fire Princess doll from a popular children's film called Blaze. The film was huge, it had been months since the film came out, and all the kids were still bloody crazy about it. That was exactly why I needed this doll. I told my niece Charli that I would get this doll for her for Christmas and I already told my brother Sean, Charli's father, that I had the damn thing so I could not go home empty-handed. If I did go home empty-handed it meant I would have nothing to give her on Christmas morning. I swallowed down bile as images of my crying niece, and her disappointed Father flooded my mind.

I had to get this doll, my title as the world's coolest Auntie depended on it.

I shook my head and the unwelcomed images away.

"Why do they only have the Princess's stupid sidekick?" I muttered aloud as I pushed aside box after box of the poor boy – who was really a Prince – from the film.

I needed the red-headed Princess, not this lad.

"Excuse me." I waved to a young lad who was stacking boxes down the far end of the aisle.

He straightened up as I approached him. I smiled as he cleared his throat and said, "Can I help you with something, miss?"

I nodded my head. "Yeah, you can actually. I need the redheaded Fire Princess doll from that children's film Blaze. You know the one were the princess can make fire-"

"Sorry mate, you couldn't tell me where the dolls from that popular Fire Princess film are, could you? I need the red-haired Fire Princess one."

My mouth lost all of hint of a smile, and my stomach churned with the sight of him. My wide green eyes narrowed and my hands balled into fists. This was cruel, as if having to put up with a conversation about him earlier wasn't torture enough, now God was going to make me face him as well? All in the same day? Not cool. Not cool at all.

I narrowed my eyes to slits because he was mere feet away from me.

Darcy Hart.

My archenemy.

"Excuse me, are you blind? I'm standing right here, and I was talking to this fella before you were," I growled.

Darcy leaned to the left and looked around the lad to see who was speaking to him, and when his eyes landed on mine, they instantly narrowed.

"Neala Clarke," Darcy spat.

I inwardly rolled my eyes – he always spat out my name like it left a bad taste in his mouth.

I evilly smirked at him. "The one and only."

Darcy gave me a bored once over before he dismissed me with a glare and turned his attention back to the male worker. "As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, do you know where the dolls from the Fire Princess film are? I need the red-haired doll."

Was he serious?

"You can wait your turn for help, Darcy. I was here first!"

Darcy clicked his tongue at me. "Boo hoo, little miss perfect doesn't like waiting, what a surprise."

Excuse me?

"Hold on just a minute you rude shite, what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

The lad between Darcy and myself stepped back from standing between us. Now we had perfect views of one another. I kept the look of sincere disgust on my face as I stared at him, but my stomach fluttered even though I willed it to stop. I hated how good looking the bastard was – he always had a handsome face, but unlike our school days he wasn't a skinny boy anymore. He was filled out and all man, and from what I heard around the village, he was also now quite the slut... or ladies man, whatever.

Back in our school days, Darcy was the nerdy, lanky, pretty boy. He had a baby face that was accompanied by a killer smile, but that was all he had going for him because Darcy had always been a prick, at least to me anyway. He has been a pain in my arse the last twenty years, and I honestly could never see a day where that would ever change.

I blinked my eyes when Darcy's voice knocked me out of my trance, and got my attention.

"It means you have a stick up your arse about waiting a few minutes for something."

Oh, hell no.

"That's not bloody true and you know it, Darcy!" I snapped then flung my long brown hair over my shoulder and said, "And for your information, I don't have anything up me arse."

Darcy smiled, but it was an evil smile at best. I imagined Satan had a similar, if not identical, smile to Darcy's.

"You are aware that you're inviting me to insinuate something else is up your arse, aren't you?"

I growled. "You know I'm not inviting you to say anything like that, you dirty bastard. Me arse is not the topic of discussion here."

"Awe, why not? You know I love to talk about your perfectly crafted arse, Neala."

I hated him.

"You disgust me."

Darcy winked. "Likewise, sweetheart."

A shiver ran up my spine causing prickling tingles to spread throughout my body. I forced myself to believe it was because I was disgusted by his choice of words, not because I liked it.

I gave Darcy a dirty look then turned my attention from him to the young worker, only to find him nowhere in sight. I looked up and down the aisle, but he was gone. He vanished into thin air.

I angrily snapped my head in Darcy's direction and hissed, "Look what you did!"

I turned and stomped down the aisle trying to put as much distance as possible between Darcy and myself. Darcy apparently didn't feel the same way because he quickly caught up with me until we were walking side by side.

"How is this my fault?" Darcy asked me, angrily.

"Are you thick?” I hissed. “You scared him off with all your vulgar talk about-"

"Your arse? Yeah, you have a point. Your arse would scare any red-blooded male away. The lad was apparently no exception."

Dickhead.

"Listen to me, you twat, I'll have you know no male has ever referred to me arse as scary."

Darcy gleefully laughed. "Maybe not to your face."

I was going to kill him.

"I swear to God I will-"

"You'll what?" Darcy asked as he jumped in front of me halting my movements.

"Kill you!" I growled and shoved at his chest with my hands, which he found hilarious.

"Your hands are so tiny," he cooed in a voice one would use when speaking to an infant.

I wanted to punch him in his smug face.

"They are not!" I hissed.

Okay, my hands were a bit on the small side, but I wouldn't have Darcy Hart saying they were small. It was beyond childish, I knew that, but I just didn't care. He wasn't allowed to say my hands were small, and that was that.

Darcy chortled. "You'd disagree with me no matter what I say."

"No, I wouldn't."

Darcy laughed at my proving him right while I seethed in anger.

"You hate me, don't you, sweetheart?"

"You bet your arse I do," I snarled.

Darcy joyfully inhaled and exhaled. "Good, I'm doing something right."

With that said he turned away and pranced, yes pranced, down the aisle.

"Bloody gobshite," I muttered.

I was about to turn and exit the shop to get away from the black hole of evil that was Darcy Hart when I noticed the outline of the lad worker from before walking towards Darcy with a box in his hand and a smile on his face. It got my undivided attention. Darcy's frame straightened up as he extended his arms towards the lad as he prepared to take the box from his hands.

I squinted my eyes to get a better look at the box, and when the red blazing hair of the doll I wanted came into focus, I broke out into a sudden sprint. I pushed my legs to move as fast as they could and like a machine I zoomed down the aisle. Seconds later I collided with Darcy's back and took him to the ground just before he could take the box from the worker's hands.

That was my goddamn doll, and I was not letting Darcy Hart take it away from me.