by Emma Louise
FORCE
A Driven World Novel
EMMA LOUISE
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
EPILOGUE ONE
EPILOGUE TWO
AUTHOR’S NOTE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Other books by Emma Louise
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead are entirely coincidental.
© 2020 KB WORLDS. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people.
Published by KB Worlds LLC.
Cover Design by:Emma Louise
Cover Image by:DepositPhoto
Editing by: Silla Webb | Masque of the Red Pen
Formatting by: Silla Webb | Masque of the Red Pen
Published in the United States of America
Dear Reader,
Welcome to the Driven World!
I’m so excited you’ve picked up this book! Force is a book based on the world I created in my New York Times bestselling Driven Series. While I may be finished writing this series (for now), various authors have signed on to keep them going. They will be bringing you all-new stories in the world you know while allowing you to revisit the characters you love.
This book is entirely the work of the author who wrote it. While I allowed them to use the world I created and may have assisted in some of the plotting, I took no part in the writing or editing of the story. All praise can be directed their way.
I truly hope you enjoy Force. If you’re interested in finding more authors who have written in the KB Worlds, you can visit www.kbworlds.com.
Thank you for supporting the writers in this project and me.
Happy Reading,
K. Bromberg
But I love your feet
only because they walked upon the earth
and upon the wind and
upon the waters, until
they found me
-Pablo Neruda
“I’m going to marry you one day, Tucker Neal.”
To his credit, Tuck didn’t flinch at my whispered declaration. Not like I would think most eighteen-year-olds would have.
He stayed reclined on the soft, thick quilt I’d stolen from my mom’s linen closet, me tucked tightly against his side just like he always did. With his ball cap pulled down low over his face to keep the late evening sun from his eyes, I hoped Tucker felt content, like I did right now.
Anyone else might have thought he was asleep, but I knew he wasn’t.
I knew how he looked in sleep.
I knew the way his chest rose and fell.
I knew the cadence of his breath when he was awake, when he slept, and pretty much every second in between.
“Do me a favor, doll,” he finally drawled after pushing the black baseball hat off his face a little. “If anyone ever asks, let's pretend I got your daddy’s permission first, yeah?”
PROLOGUE
TUCKER
THEN
“You can’t seriously be considering this, Tuck.” Gripping onto my arm tightly, Brooke tries to drag me away from the open car door. Turning back to face her, I have to fight the frustration that burns inside me. Her pretty face is pinched as she glares up at me. Her head barely passes my shoulder, but she doesn’t let her small stature stop her from trying to intimidate me. “You can’t get in that car. This is a stupid idea.” She forces the words out through her gritted teeth.
“Baby...” I sigh, fighting to keep the tone of my voice even. “It’s all good.” Peeling her fingers away from my arm, I grip onto her waist, pulling her in as close as I can. “I got this.” I stoop down, making sure she can see I’m serious. “I know what I’m doing.” It’s a shitty move on my part, but I aim a kiss at her lips, knowing she’ll melt for me just like she always does. Maybe then she’ll stop this incessant nagging.
“This isn’t the same as being at the track, Tucker. You could get in a wreck; you could lose control. You could get—”
“Keep your voice down, Brooke. Your parents are home,” I grind out. “Would it kill you to have a little faith in me, huh?” There was no stopping the brittle way the words came out.
“I do have faith in you, but Jesus, Tucker! You’re asking me to stand back and watch you do something that’s not only stupid and dangerous, but also highly illegal.”
I knew telling her about tonight was a mistake, but we’ve never kept a secret between us. Not in all the years we’ve been friends, and especially not since that friendship changed to us being a couple at the end of our junior year.
Dropping my arms from around her, I take a step back. There’s no point in talking about this anymore; she doesn’t get it. She doesn’t get me anymore. This whole conversation is a waste of time. She won't listen to anything I have to say, not tonight anyway. Turning around, I’m a few steps from the car when her voice hits me like a sledgehammer to my back.
“I swear to you, Tucker Neal. If you leave here right now and go to that race, I won't be here waiting for you. Not again.”
The crack in her voice is almost enough to stop me. Almost. My steps falter, but only long enough for me to say one last thing.
“Go inside, Brooke. We’ll talk about this tomorrow. After you’ve calmed down some.”
I don't stop this time. I don't look back as I get in my car and speed out of the driveway. Maybe if I would have looked back, just once, I wouldn’t have made the biggest mistake of my life by leaving her there.
CHAPTER ONE
BROOKE
NOW
“You said you would call when you got there.”
Letting the heavy bag that’s biting into my shoulder slide to the floor, I dig around in my pocket for the key to the front door of my new apartment. “Mom...” I sigh, fighting not to drop the phone from its wedge against my shoulder. “I just got here. I haven’t even gotten inside the apartment yet.”
“I hate that you’re doing this alone. We should be there with you.” Here she goes again. I can almost hear the tears in her voice. I love my family, but they seem to think I'm incapable of doing anything by myself. I’m twenty-eight-years-old, and this is the first time I’ll be living alone. I have to bite back my frustration. I know she doesn’t mean to make me feel like I can’t do this by myself, like she doesn’t have any faith in me.
“I've not lived at home for years now, Mom; you should be used to it. You guys are coming to visit soon, right?” I sigh, hoping that reminding her that she’ll see me soon will be enough to
get her off the line.
“A month is too long.” She sighs right back. “And you might have moved out of my house a long time ago, but you didn’t do it alone. You and Bailey haven’t been apart more than a few nights since you were born. And it’s so far away. Are you really going to be okay?” she asks, but I know she’s just using my sister as an excuse. It’s my parents who are struggling with me moving to the other side of the country. “California isn’t just a car ride away, Brooke.”
Although, she is right. My twin sister, Bailey, and I have always done everything together. We look the same, but we’re complete opposites in so many ways, but that’s never stopped us from being the best of friends all of our lives.
“I’m fine, Mom. I promise. I’ll get in touch with Chase soon,” I tell her, knowing that having a cousin so close by will take a little of her worries away. I’m pretty sure having family nearby is the only reason she didn’t chain herself to my car to stop me from leaving. “I have to go. They’re delivering my stuff any second, and I haven’t even looked around the place yet.”
“Okay, sweetie. Call me back when you’re settled in. Love you.”
“Love you too, Mom. Tell Dad and the boys the same.” My brothers have both moved out of our parents’ house too, but I know Mom calls them as often as she can.
“Love you too, kid!” I hear my dad yell from somewhere behind my mom. I should have known he wouldn’t be far away from her; he never is. We have a special relationship, and I know it’s killing him not to be here with me.
My mom married Duke when Bailey and I were six-years-old. Our biological dad was still in the picture back then, and we used to see him regularly, but over the years he struggled to put us first. His job and the multitude of marriages he had were more important to him. As time passed, we saw him less and less.
We still have a relationship with him, but it’s sometimes strained and awkward. It was Duke who was there for us when it mattered. He’s the father we needed growing up. My sister and I asked him to adopt us legally when we were nineteen. Have you ever seen a former badass Army Ranger cry? Neither had I until that day.
Thinking of my family causes a pang of homesickness to hit square in my chest. I miss everyone, but I’m not strong enough to go back to Savannah, not when the memories alone bring me so much pain. It’s better for me to stay away.
I don’t have time to wallow because the small amount of furniture I ordered starts to arrive.
The rest of my night is filled with unpacking suitcases and setting up my tiny studio apartment. I drag out the collection of art supplies, ignoring the chaos of things still to be unpacked. I set up a blank canvas, and for the next few hours, I forget everything but the gray swirls my brush creates.
I paint for hours, only stopping to order myself some food from a nearby pizza place. By the time I fall in to bed much later, tiredness quickly wins out, and I’m asleep before I can even think about just how scared I am to be starting this new life all by myself.
CHAPTER TWO
BROOKE
“Tell me, how are you really settling in? And don’t give me the same lines you gave Mom last week,” Bailey says from the screen of my laptop. Today is the first chance we’ve had to catch up more than the odd text here and there. Between my move and her shifts at the hospital, we never seem to be available at the same time. She always dreamed of working on a labor and delivery ward, but for now she’s working the ER, and her shifts are crazy long.
“It’s not a line, Bay. I really am doing okay. I love it here,” I tell her honestly. I hadn’t thought much of the place I was moving to, my focus firmly on the job I was moving for. I initially chose my apartment because of how close it is to work, but I lucked out and picked a suburb with plenty of things to do. I can’t wait for my sister to visit because she’s going to love the shops here even more than I do. “I still can’t believe you moved to the other side of the country. On your own.” Bailey laughs. I don’t take offense to her words. She’s not the only one who finds it amusing. She’s the outgoing, adventurous one; not me. I think everyone is still in shock that she’s settled down at home in Savannah while I’m here in California.
“I miss you, sissy,” I tell her when she finally stops giggling.
“Miss you too, sis.” Her smile is resigned. “I really think you’ve made the right choice.”
“Me too.”
“Although, I’d give my left boob to be sitting at that little café on Avenue de Suffren, watching all those hot French guys walk by.” She sighs dreamily, causing me to giggle at the expression on her face.
Bailey and I spent two years studying in Europe. We’d both become obsessed with the place after listening to Aunt Bree tell us stories from the time she spent traveling there before she married Uncle TJ. After a few years living and studying in London, we spent a year in Paris before returning home. A few weeks back in Savannah was enough for me, and I started applying for jobs as far away as I could. I hit the job jackpot fairly quickly and landed the job of my dreams here in California.
“Mmm, if I close my eyes and concentrate really hard, I can almost taste the fresh croissants.” I moan, making Bailey smile.
“Screw the pastries. Give me the hot guys,” she scoffs before her alarm sounds in the background. “Sorry, sissy. I have to go. I just wanted to wish you good luck on your first day. You're going to rock that job, and those kids are going to be obsessed with you!” Blowing me a kiss, she disconnects the call before I even have time to say goodbye.
A short while later, I have my Starbucks in hand, and I'm driving to my very first day at work, hoping like hell the caffeine kicks in fast.
Growing up, I used my love of art, painting, and drawing as a way to get out of the thing I struggled to verbalize. I was always the quiet one, and when I was stressed out or unsure of how to talk about my feelings, being able to get it out on paper was a lifeline. I always wanted to be able to give that to others too.
I had no luck finding any jobs on the East coast, but one of the companies I approached told me about an opening they had in California. I interviewed for a position with a company called Corporate Cares via Skype, and before I knew it I was packing up my SUV and driving across the country.
Every mile that passed made it a little easier to breathe. The weight of being back in Savannah, even for those few short weeks, melted away as I passed through state after state on my journey. I never experienced a sense of freedom like it before.
I’ll probably regret it when I arrive at work looking a mess, but I can’t resist opening my windows and letting the cool air whip through my hair. Turning the music up louder, slipping my aviators in place, I relish in that newfound freedom. I realize that I’m comfortable in my own skin. Out here, I’m just Bailey Nash, art therapist. I’m not someone’s daughter, sister, or cousin. Or ex-girlfriend. The thought pops into my mind out of nowhere, reminding me of something I’ve worked hard to forget.
Not something.
Someone.
Tucker Neal.
The reason I’ve spent years running away.
It might take me a while to get used to being on my own, but I know deep down this move was the best decision I could have made.
***
The weeks slip by at an alarmingly fast rate. I suppose it’s partly because of how well I’ve settled here. I’m in love with my job. The counselors who run the project I’m working on are amazing, but many of the children I work with have heartbreaking stories. It’s indescribable how satisfying it is to know that I can help them work through their issues in a way that isn’t the typical therapist/patient relationship. We do it in a way that can sometimes even be fun, which is something these kids haven’t always had a lot of in their lives. There are still plenty of hard days, but getting to see the smiles on their faces and knowing I’ve helped put it there makes it all worthwhile.
The setup here is unlike anything I’ve experienced in my career so far. Corporate Cares have set up a group h
ome for boys who are no longer able to live at home for whatever reason. Some are orphaned and hoping to be adopted; for others it’s more a like long-term foster care. The group I'm working with today are always a lot of fun to work with. The group of boys range in age from six to thirteen. They don’t always have a lot of things to laugh at in their lives, so it feels good to be able to give them this.
“This looks like an ass!” Calvin, one of the older boys, laughs, pointing at the canvas he’s currently working on. His outburst has all the others breaking out in laughter too.
“We don’t use language like that in here,” I tell him, fighting back my own laughter. “And it does not look anything like someone’s backside,” I say, scrutinizing what is supposed to be a self-portrait.
Making my way around the studio, I stop at each workspace, talking through the things each boy has painted. I usually work one-on-one with patients, but because these boys all live together, they get a mix of solo and group activities. These sessions are not just therapy; they are also a way for all of them to bond together. Living with ten other kids and a team of live-in counselors can take a lot of adjusting, especially when they often come from severely dysfunctional families. Being introduced to any kind of normality can take a long time to accept.
“Time’s almost up, guys. I want you to take your canvas over to the drying racks, then start getting cleaned up,” I announce, getting a chorus of groans of complaint in return. I can't help but feel a small stab of pride that they don’t want to leave. I love that they feel comfortable here with me.
“Miss Brooke.” A small voice sounds from behind me as I wash paint from my hands. Turning around I see one of the younger kids, Jared, standing a few feet away. He’s only recently turned six and is so small for his age, you’d think he isn’t much past four-years-old. “I painted you this.” He shuffles his feet from side to side and dips his head when he speaks, making it almost impossible to hear him sometimes. Dropping down to a knee in front of him, I take the small piece of paper he holds in my direction. He's painted me a picture of a flower.
