Eastern Lights
Brittainy Cherry
Eastern Lights
By: Brittainy Cherry
Eastern Lights
Eastern Lights
Copyright © 2021 by Brittainy Cherry
All rights reserved.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook 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 person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Published: Brittainy C. Cherry 2021
BCherry Books, INC
[email protected]
Editing: Editing by C. Marie, Jenny Sims at Editing for Indies, My Brother’s Editor
Proofreading: Virginia Tesi Carey
Cover Design: Hang Le
Photographer: Michelle Lancaster
Cover Model: Heath Hutchins
Created with Vellum
To those who are alone:
May you find a love so strong within yourself that even when you’re alone, you are far from lonely.
Contents
Quote
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
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
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
Epilogue
Epilogue Two
The Compass Series
The Elements Series
Also by Brittainy C. Cherry
Acknowledgments
About the Author
A Note from the Author:
“The most terrible poverty is loneliness, and the feeling of being unloved.” -Mother Teresa
Prologue
Connor
Ten years ago
Seventeen years old
Every grand story began with a once upon a time. It didn’t even have to be a grand story. The mediocre ones began the same way, too. At least that was how mine began.
Once upon a time, a young boy was scared shitless about losing the person he cared about most.
I once had a teacher who taught me that there are two things in life a person can never prepare for, no matter how hard they try. Those two things are love and death.
I’d never been in a romantic type of love, but I knew the love between a kid and his parent. It was due to that love that I’d experienced the fear of death. It seemed as if for the past few years, I’d been swimming in a pool of sorrow that’d appeared out of nowhere. I wasn’t prepared for it at all. The past few years of my life, my search engine was filled with thoughts no kid should ever have to consider.
What happens if your only parent passes away?
What is the likelihood of a person surviving stage three cancer?
How much money do you need to make to pay for experimental treatment?
Why don’t all people get the same treatment for cancer?
Not to mention the number of jobs I tried to apply for to help my mom with the bills. I even started up a few of my own companies just to help make ends meet. Mom hated that I worked so much. I hated that she had cancer. We’d call that an even deal of hatred.
I put on a brave face for the rest of the world, being the charmer I’d always been. Everyone in my small town knew if they needed a decent laugh, a good friend, or a great worker, they could come to me. I took pride in being the hardworking class clown of sorts. Hell, I needed it, because if I wasn’t being goofy or a workaholic, I was overthinking. And if I overthought, I’d drown.
I never revealed my pain to anyone. I figured if they knew how bad I hurt, they’d worry about me. I didn’t need anyone worrying about me at all—especially my mother. She had enough on her plate as it was, and the last thing she needed was to be concerned about me being concerned about her. Still, that didn’t keep her from worrying about me. That’s what mothers do when it comes to their children, I supposed. They worry.
Our relationship was a forever loop of us checking in on one another. Mom was my partner in crime in that way—we worried about each other’s worries. Wash, rinse, repeat.
“You can come in with me,” Mom said as we waited in the lobby of the doctor’s office. “You’ve been with me through every step of this, both times, so I want you in the office with me, no matter what.”
I swallowed hard and nodded my head. Even if I didn’t want to go in, I’d never leave her alone.
I hated how the waiting area smelled, like mothballs and peppermint patty candies. Years back when Mom was first diagnosed with cancer, I’d stuff my pockets with those candies when I came with her to the doctor’s office. Now, just the smell of them made me want to heave.
We were waiting to see Dr. Bern to get the results of Mom’s last round of testing to see if the chemotherapy had worked, or if the cancer had spread throughout her body. Needless to say, my stress level was through the roof.
“Mrs. Roe? You can come back now,” a nurse said, smiling toward us. Even though my mom had divorced my lowlife father years before, she’d held on to his last name. I’d told her to change it, but she told me she had received the best thing from having that last name—me. Plus, she loved how we were still tied together with our last names matching.
Mom was a softy like that.
As we walked into the office, I hated how familiar everything felt to me. No one should ever have to become familiar with a doctor’s office. I hated how I’d sat in that waiting room when I was ten, eleven, and twelve. I hated how I was forced to do the same thing again when I was fifteen, sixteen, and seventeen.
I called ages thirteen and fourteen the wonder years, when my happy was really happy and my sad hardly visited me at night. All I wanted for my future, for Mom’s future, was more wonder years.
I hated the nerves that built up within me from the memories that led us to that office. I hated everything about that building, from the crappy chairs to the harsh lighting. The carpet had stains
that had probably been put there in the nineties, and there was a good chance Dr. Bern was over two hundred years old. Dude didn’t look a day over one hundred, though. I had to give him props for that.
Mom never complained about it, though. She never complained about anything really. She was just thankful she had a doctor who looked out for her, even when the insurance companies didn’t. I wondered what it was like for rich people. Did their hospital waiting rooms have cappuccino machines? Were there mini fridges with chilled drinks? Did they get asked for their insurance card before they received treatment?
Did the receptionist look them up and down when they learned they were on government assistance?
Did the cancer leave their bodies faster than it left the bodies of the poor?
How different would Mom’s life have been if we came from money?
We sat down.
I felt nauseous.
“Think positive thoughts,” Mom said, squeezing my kneecap, as if she knew I was slipping into my place of doubt and anger. I didn’t know how she did that. I didn’t know how she knew when my mind was floating away from me, but she always had known. A mother’s gift, I guessed.
“I’m good. Are you good?” I asked.
“I’m good.”
The thing about my mother—even if she wasn’t good, she’d lie and say she was, because she didn’t want to put any stress on me. I never understood that. There that woman was, going through her second round of cancer, and she was still more worried about my well-being than her own.
I supposed moms are kind of like that—superwomen even when they are the ones in need of being saved.
The clock ticked abusively loudly as we waited for Dr. Bern to join us in his office. My fingernails couldn’t have been any shorter with the way I was chewing at them, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t focus on a damn thing until I knew the results of Mom’s labs.
“Are you getting excited for your birthday carnival?” Mom asked, nudging me in the arm. She was talking about my eighteenth birthday festival that was going to be over the top and ridiculous, but truthfully? No, I wasn’t excited. I wouldn’t be until those results came back, until I knew she was going to be okay.
Anyway, I lied. I pushed out a smile, because I knew she needed it. “Yup, so excited. It’s going to be amazing. Everyone in town is coming. I even think I convinced Jax to stop by.”
Jax was my boss, and I was his pain in the ass, also known as his bestie. Most people in town didn’t understand the grumpy dude, but I did. He’d been dealt a shitty hand in life, but he had a better heart.
The thing about Jax was he didn’t exactly know we were besties, because he was a bit slow on the arrival of truths, but he’d come around to the idea. I was like a fantastic fungus—I grew on people.
“Of course he’ll come. He loves you,” Mom agreed, because even through Jax’s annoyed expression around me, she saw how much he liked me.
That, or we were both insanely in denial.
Dr. Bern came into the room, and I tried my best to assess his thoughts based on how he moved. Was he coming to deliver bad news or good? Was there a heaviness that sat on his chest or not? Was he going to be the devil or an angel that afternoon?
I couldn’t read him.
My stomach was twisted up, and all I wanted was to know what was written on the papers he held gripped in his hands.
“Hello there. Sorry for the delay.” Dr. Bern’s brows were knitted closely together, and his forever grim expression weighed heavily on his features. His shoulders were always hunched, and I knew exactly what that meant.
He had bad news.
The cancer wasn’t gone.
Had it remained the same? Had it spread to different locations in Mom’s body? Was she dying? How long did she have to live? How many more days would I be able to spend with her? Would she see me graduate college would she see me find success would she—
I glanced over at Mom, and tears were rolling down her cheeks. I blinked a few times, uncertain of why she was crying already, why she was falling apart. I looked at Dr. Bern, realizing I’d zoned out for a bit, contemplating the amount of time I had left in the world with my mother, my person, my best friend.
Yeah, I was a seventeen-year-old kid and my best friend was my mother. I’d have bet a lot of other jerks would feel the same way had they almost lost their mothers twice to painful cancer battles.
Pain.
My chest.
It felt as if a semi-truck was pressing down on me, blocking my airwaves from allowing air to flow through my lungs. I couldn’t breathe. Mom was crying.
I couldn’t breathe, and Mom was crying.
I wanted to cry, too.
I felt the tears sitting at the backs of my eyes as I swallowed hard and tried to be the strong one. I had to be the strong one; that’s what being the man of the house means—it means being solid even when you feel as if your heart is being liquified into a puddle of pain.
“Did you hear that, Connor?” Mom said, her shaky hands in a prayer position.
I looked up to meet her eyes, and for a second, I thought I saw a flash of hope. Her lips were curved up as the tears kept falling. My stare shot to Dr. Bern, and I sat back in my chair the minute I locked my eyes with his.
He had the same splashes of hope in his stare as Mom had—and he was smiling. I hadn’t even known Dr. Bern knew how to curve his mouth in that direction. Everything I’d received from him in the past had been doom and gloom, and now, he was freaking smiling.
“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” I muttered, feeling too cautious to dive into the land of hope before I heard the words leave the doctor’s mouth.
He removed his glasses before leaning forward on his desk, giving me that smile I hadn’t known existed, and said, “We got it all, Connor. Your mother is in remission.”
I collapsed back into my chair, feeling every good emotion crash into my chest all at once. An overwhelming experience of bliss overtook every single part of me.
The cancer was gone, Mom was okay, and after the worst years of my life, I was finally able to breathe again.
“Mom?”
“Yes, Connor?”
“I’m taking you to fucking Disney World.”
“Language, Connor.”
“Sorry, Mom.”
1
Aaliyah
Present day
“All right, that’s a wrap on the depressed, emo girl vibes. Aaliyah. Look at you. You look awful from head to toe. You’ve been eating like shit to the point that even your ankles are getting fat,” Sofia said, shaking her head in complete disgust. Nothing like a roommate telling you how shitty you looked to make you feel better about yourself.
I grumbled in response.
She rolled her eyes. “See? This is what happens when you lay around for weeks, crying over a dude that cheated on you. You’re literally mourning a cheater. That’s embarrassing. Now, get your ass up. It’s Halloween. We’re getting drunk.”
That was the conversation that got me off the couch and into a Little Red Riding Hood costume. Sofia and I weren’t really even friends. We’d been living together for a few months, and we were complete opposites. She was a party girl, while I’d rather be home reading comic books. Over the past few weeks, I hadn’t been able to read as clearly, though, due to the tears wetting the pages.
Sofia pitied me. I knew, because she said the words, “Damn. I really pity your sad ass.” She was very straightforward that way.
That night she dragged me out for a girls’ night before she ditched me within ten minutes of finding some guy to make out with in a bathroom stall.
I shouldn’t have expected anything else from her. She was pretty much a stranger to me, and still my closest friend.
Talk about a sad life story, Aaliyah.
After uncomfortably standing around, feeling oddly alone in a very crowded room, I’d stepped outside of Oscar’s Bar for some fresh air. I tried to call Sofia, who hadn’t been answering her phone
for the past twenty or so minutes. The infamous Sofia disappearing act. I probably wouldn’t see her for a few days, but she’d randomly reappear at the apartment with a pack of cigarettes, a stockpile of crazy stories, and a request for twenty bucks to buy lottery tickets.
The October breeze brushed against my skin as I witnessed Thor deck Captain America square in his chiseled jaw. If that wasn’t some kind of civil war, I didn’t know what was.
I watched the whole situation unfold before my eyes. I always felt awkward going outside alone for air because I had nothing to keep me distracted. I never stood on the streets of New York with my cell phone in my face when I was alone because I didn’t like the idea of some random psychopath coming up and killing me.
That was where my mind always went, at least. If I were on my phone at night, I’d be murdered—end of story. I knew I suffered from an overactive imagination, but I couldn’t help it. Probably too many episodes of Criminal Minds to blame for that.
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