by Shelly Crane
Wide Open
Wide Open
Midpoint
EPILOGUE
WIDE OPEN SHELLY CRANE
Copyright 2013 Shelly Crane
All rights reserved
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Author and publisher does not have control and does not assume responsibility for third party websites and their content.
Cover design by Okay Creations
Cover model : Kerrigan Arnold
Photography by : K Keeton Designs
Printed in the USA
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Available in paperback, Kindle and eBook formats through Amazon, CreateSpace, Barnes & Noble, Apple, and Kobo.
More information can be found at the author's website:
http://shellycrane.blogspot.com
ISBN-13: 978-1494765590
ISBN-10: 1494765594
— What others have to say about Shelly's books —
"What ISN'T there to love about Wide Awake? You'll find yourself being Emma's biggest cheerleader as she struggles to remember who she was, feeling like a proud sister as she learns who she is now, and wishing you were her as both you and Emma swoon HARD over Mason! Shelly Crane always provides a captivating story, and this time was no different. You'll find yourself running into walls because you won't want to put it down!"
—Molly McAdams, NYT bestselling author of Taking Chances
"An addicting series!...This series just keeps getting better!"
—Abbi Glines, NYT bestselling author of Fallen Too Far & Existence
"Sweet love story that will make you sigh..."
—Nicole Williams, NYT bestselling author of Crash & Eternal Eden
"It’s the kind of love that we begin dreaming about as little girls and never stop enjoying long after we’ve found our own knight in shining armor."
—M. Leighton, NYT bestselling author of Down To You & Madly
"Caleb is the sweet, sexy, smart guy every girl dreams about--me included!"
—Nichole Chase, NYT bestselling author of Suddenly Royal
"Shelly Crane steps outside of her box with Smash Into You and gives us refreshing, swoon worthy, new characters along with heart-stopping action and breathtaking love. One of her best yet."
—Lila Felix, author of the Love & Skate Series & Anguish
Milo
My mouth tasted like vomit. That wasn't unusual. The arm creeping over my middle wasn't unusual either, nor the way I felt completely repulsed and sick. I worked so hard drinking, doing any drug I could get my hands on, sleeping with any girl who looked in my direction and didn't slap me for my foul mouth as I told her all the things I wanted to do to her. Slurred, really.
I knew it wouldn't be long until Mason was there to pick me up. The small get-togethers he wouldn't get wind of, but the big ones, he always came and tried to save me. It had been about a month since I'd seen him. He just didn't get it. I didn't want to be saved.
At least, not at first.
I hated him. I hated him with every fiber of my being for what he did to Mom. I couldn't stand to look at him let alone live with the bastard. So I started going out all the time just to get away from him, only seeing Mom during the day when I skipped school and Mason was at work.
But she never remembered me the right way, so it was pointless to keep seeing her. I tortured myself by staying there, and I wouldn't feel guilty for leaving. I spent so much time gone that it felt like I didn't live there anyway, so I stopped going home.
Mason texted me so much that I eventually tossed my cell out the window of my friend's car one night. They laughed and laughed, whooping and telling me how free I was. We smoked enough dope to chill for the next day and a half. I never went back to school after that. I never went back home either. Why would I? No one understood me; no one really cared about me. They all just wanted me to "make something of myself".
How can you do that when you don't even know the parts that make you up? The parts that make you you? The parts that piece together and make you feel whole? I hadn't felt whole in a really long time. I felt older than I was. I may be a seventeen year old, but inside I felt like I was fifty.
The girl next to me groaned and dug her nails into my side a little. "What time is it?" her raspy voice breathed against my shoulder.
I leaned over the side of the bed and lifted my phone from my pants pocket. My new cell was dead. "Don't know. Does it matter?"
"I have to work tomorrow." She yawned and stretched.
I started to get up, but she grabbed my arm. I winced at the burn on the inside of my elbow. I looked down at it, seeing the bruising from the needles under her fingertips.
"I'm outta here." I shook off her hand.
"Wait. Why so eager to get away?" She rolled over on her stomach, her naked behind peeking out from the sheet, her feet swinging back and forth in the air. "You weren't so eager to leave earlier."
I scoffed. "Passing out and wanting to stay are not the same thing."
"Sometimes they are. Sometimes it just doesn't matter." She watched as I zipped my jeans, commando. "I'll cook you breakfast," she bribed.
I paused. I couldn't even remember the last time I'd eaten. I was so thin that I had to belt my pants to keep them up. I always crashed wherever I was or with a friend, ate whatever came my way, but sometimes it didn't come very often. For all intents and purposes, I was homeless, but had yet to sleep outside.
At her mention of food, my stomach decided to throw a fit. "What do you want for it?"
"Got any blow?"
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the little baggie. "Some."
"Split it with me," she said, biting her lip and sitting to let the sheet fall away. I stared at her chest since she was offering the view. She slithered up to me, unzipping my pants as she pressed her lips to my ear and said, "Come back to bed for a while. We'll hit the blow, and after, I'll make you some eggs."
"Why do you want me to stay?" I asked, not really caring, but wondering why she was offering me more sex and breakfast.
"Because," she pushed my pants down my hips, "my parents will be gone 'til tomorrow morning, and there's nothing better than sex after a hit."
I watched as she took the baggie from me with her fake nails. She leaned forward and kissed my cheek before dipping her pinkie nail in and sniffing the little she took up her nose. She put her finger back in the bag and I took it, rubbing what was left of the powder on my gums.
Normally, I would have bolted, but I didn't have anywhere else to go. The promise of food was almost as satisfying as the sex I was about to have.
She set up the lines and after we did them, one after the other, she pushed me down on the bed and straddled me. I rolled with the drugged ecstasy that crawled slowly through my veins as she groaned and moaned on top of me.
And that was how Mason found me.
The door opened and my head fuzzed over as I turned to look at him. His eyes locked on mine before he turned away, but not before I saw the disgust on his face. I gripped the girl's hips to make her stop, s
ince someone coming into the room wasn't a clear enough cue for her. I pushed her onto the bed and sat up, scooting to the edge.
I stared at his back in the doorframe. "Leave. I don't need you here."
"You do, Milo," he said before turning. He looked and saw all there was left of me. I suddenly felt like I was wide open for him to see it all, for him to see all the rot and gore inside me. He shook his head, his eyes searching my face. "God, help me. You do need me."
I scowled. "No, I—"
"Milo…when's the last time you ate something?" He rubbed his hair. I noticed how good he looked. He looked like he'd gained some weight, the good kind. His arms and torso were bigger, new tattoos peeking out from his shirtsleeves. I realized it had been weeks since I'd seen him.
I stood and yanked on my jeans, spitting my words, hating how good he looked, knowing he was happy with that girl I'd seen before. "None of your fu—"
"Milo!" he scolded, just as a hand crawled around his arm. The girl—his girl—looked around him, the sympathy pouring off her in droves as she looked at me. He touched her arm, his fingers caressing, smoothing. He looked back at me. "Don't use that filthy mouth with Emma here."
She gulped as she looked at me. Her eyes lingered on my stomach before she looked up at my face. She smiled, just barely. "I've got some hot coffee in the car if you like mocha," she offered.
He looked at her again as she came to his side. They barely fit in the doorframe together. He circled her waist with his arm, looking strung out and guilty. It angered me that he felt like he deserved her or anything else that would make him happy. "Trying to lure me out with hot coffee," I mused angrily. "Wow, Mason. Getting the girl to do your dirty work for you."
"Milo," he snapped.
"It's my coffee," she smoothed over, "but you're welcome to it. I haven't drank any yet."
She rubbed his chest and he sighed. He looked at me again, renewed determination in his eyes. "Let us take you to get some food at least. Anything you want."
"No." I searched for my shirt and tugged it on roughly. I realized it was inside-out too late, but left it. I didn't care.
"Come on, Milo. You can still hate me, but do it while you're eating something." I gave him a droll look. "Milo…you look like hell, bro."
"Aw, thanks," I sneered.
"I'm serious," he said quietly. "Please, Milo."
He begged me. He had never begged before, just ordered me around, dragging me back to the house to my room, and then I'd sneak out before he woke up. He'd never tried to feed me before.
"Come with us, Milo," his girl asked. "There's an omelet place five minutes from here that's pretty amazing."
I gritted my teeth. I didn't want his charity. As if she read my mind his girl said, "I'm buying."
She smiled and tilted her head. I sighed, sticking my dirty-socked feet inside my boots without tying them. "Whatever. I eat, then I'm out." I looked over at them and glared. "Don't try to stop me from leaving."
"We won't," she insisted. She rubbed Mason's arm and looked up at him sadly. She looked as if she were about to cry. I had no idea why. It couldn't be for me. I didn't even know this chick.
I led the way from the room. The girl I'd left on the bed yelled something at us. I could tell she was mad, not understanding what was going on, but I kept walking. I was pissed, really, because she had gotten my last hit and I hadn't gotten off before Mason interrupted us.
Mason's car wasn't parked on the street. I looked for it, but Blondie passed me and went to a big truck in the driveway. He got a new truck? How the heck did he have money for that?
I didn't say a word as I climbed into the backseat. She handed me the coffee, and I snatched it from her hands, tossing the lid off, and gulping it down. It burned my tongue and lips, but my fogged brain was past the point of caring or stopping. As I finished it, I watched as she scooted all the way over to press against his side. They whispered things back and forth that I couldn't hear. The drive was short. Blondie had been right about that. We piled into a booth in the back, them on one side and me on the other, and I didn't even pick up the menu.
It pissed me off just smelling the food. My stomach growled so loud and hard that it hurt. I was cold and rubbed my neck. When the waitress came, I ordered a root beer and a western omelet with cheese and hashbrowns. Mason ordered the same and the girl got waffles.
Before an awkward silence could settle in, she started talking.
"I'm Emma, by the way." She smiled. I stared at their intertwined hands on the tabletop. Mason had never had a girlfriend before, really. He wasn't the touchy-feely type either. I was oddly fascinated at the way his thumb ran over her knuckles, over and over.
"Hi, Emma," I spouted sarcastically and let my gaze settle on her face.
She was one of those girls who was gorgeous by design and didn't even have to try. Her eyes, her nose, her cheeks. They all seemed to fit so perfectly. Her lips—they were Mason's favorite thing, other than her legs, which I knew were his absolute favorite. He'd always been a legs man. And she had some nice twigs on her, from what I'd seen. I settled my eyes lower on the barely-there sliver of cleavage that peeked from her top.
It was the first time I'd seen a girl blush in what felt like years. The girls I kept company with didn't blush. They were beyond that point, beyond the level that allowed them to feel embarrassed about sexual things. They'd done it all.
This girl… I shook my head and smirked at Mason. "Not sampled the goods yet, brother? She's mighty skittish."
"Shut your face, Milo," he stood and growled.
I was actually taken aback a little. This was as worked up as I'd ever seen him. And over a girl of all things? Holy crap. He was in love with this chick. I felt my hatred soften a little before snapping it back in place. I rubbed my neck again on that itchy, cold spot.
"Whoa, Nelly," I joked. "Calm the eff down. It was just an observation."
I laughed. It sounded strange even to my ears. It sounded like a sick person's laugh. I glanced at Emma and felt a little bad at the embarrassed way she tucked her hair behind her ears. I squinted. Was there a story there I didn't know?
"I'm Milo," I mocked. "Nice to meet you, princess."
"We've met before, and you know it," she countered easily.
"Yeah," I muttered and rubbed my cold neck. "I remember. You held my hair back as I puked." I laughed condescendingly.
"Basically." She smiled, not falling for my ploys to piss her off. "You're welcome, by the way."
I didn't respond to the beauty queen. I just pointlessly stirred my root beer. She was beautiful to the point of distraction—sweet and annoying all wrapped up in one—and I could tell she had my brother wrapped around her finger, whether she knew it or not.
And it pissed me off. Mason shouldn't be so freaking happy.
And he was, I could tell. He watched her when she wasn't looking. His entire presence shifted when she did. Thankfully, the waitress brought our food, and just as I was taking a bite, I saw the ring on Emma's finger.
"You're getting married?" I heard my gravelly voice ask.
Emma pulled her hands into her lap, as if unsure if I was supposed to know that. Mason lifted his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close, kissing her temple. It shocked the hell out of me how much I wanted to be happy for him.
"Yeah," he said low. "I asked Emma to marry me."
I didn’t ask when or how. I didn’t care.
"And she said yes," he continued harder.
"That's great," I spouted sarcastically with a mouthful of food.
"And Mom's doing fine, too, by the way."
"I didn't ask," I growled and took another bite. I could see I was going to have to get out of here so the food-shoveling kicked up a notch.
"She has a nurse who comes and helps take care of her. I work with her every day on her exercises, but she still can't walk. She and Emma get along great, too. Emma was one of my patients and lost her memory as well."
I jerked my gaze up
to the beauty queen. She was watching me with parted lips, her eyes practically begging me to give in to Mason and stop the feud. I wondered if she knew what Mason had done, how Mason had—
Mason leaned forward and glared as he barked, "Don't look at her like that. And yes, I told her all about me. How I'm the devil who destroyed your life and Mamma's. How I killed my best friend." She gripped his arm, tugging on it and pleading with him to stop. "She knows it all."
They stared at each other, and I believed him that they had talked about it. It looked like they had talked about it plenty, in fact, but I could also tell she kissed his boo-boos and made him think that it was all okay.
But it wasn't.
I chugged my root beer and grabbed both pieces of toast, wrapped them in a napkin and stuck them in my pocket, scooting down the bench seat. "I'm out of here."
"Will you just eat, Milo," Mason said in exasperation. "I'm not going to make you come home. Just eat."
"You couldn't make me," I spat. I stood and leaned right in his face with my palms on the table. "Always trying to run my life. Good ol' Mason." I saw him flinch slightly at that. He stood, too, licking his lips angrily in an attempt to calm himself. "I hate you so much. You killed our mother."
"Our mother is alive," he replied loudly.
People in the restaurant were now privy to our conversation, but I went even louder. "What she is isn't alive! When she doesn't even remember me?"
"She remembers you," he countered.
"Not in the right way."
"She remembers you in the most important way. In the only way that truly matters."
"What could be worse than her not remembering me as I am?"
