by Brooks, Abby
Praise for Abby Brooks
“A masterful blend of joy and angst.”
Praise for Abby Brooks
“As a voracious reader it is not unusual for me to read 5-7 books per week. What is unusual is for me to be thinking about the writing and characters long after I've finished the book. With just the perfect amount of angst and remarkable character development, Abby Brooks has crafted a masterpiece…”
Praise for BEYOND WORDS
"Once again Abby Brooks creates a world filled with beautifully written characters that you cannot help but fall in love with.”
Praise for BEYOND LOVE
"A lovely story of growing beyond your past, taking control of your life, and allowing yourself to be loved for the person you are."
Melanie Moreland—New York Times Bestselling Author, in praise of Wounded
“Abby Brooks writes books that draw readers right into the story. When you read about her characters, you want them to be your friends.”
Praise for Abby Brooks
Beyond Now
The Hutton Family Book 3
Abby Brooks
Contents
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
Epilogue
Wounded Sneak Peek
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Acknowledgments
Also by Abby Brooks
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Prologue
Caleb
“I’m going to marry you, Maisie Brown.”
The first time I said those words, Maisie and I were halfway through Kindergarten. The last time I said those words, I was ten years old, but that didn’t mean I stopped believing them. I just got tired of being laughed at for being so sure.
Maisie never laughed at me. Not for swearing I was going to marry her, and not for anything else, either. It was one of the reasons I loved her so much. She and I understood each other. Me with my skinny body—too tall and too thin from the start—and her with her out of style clothes and hand-me-down shoes. Her family never had money, which meant Maisie never fit in and the cruelty of children guaranteed she spent her life watching from the outside, wishing for a place to belong.
(She always had a place she belonged…
…with me. When I was finally old enough to tell her that, she leaned her head on my shoulder and quietly agreed.)
I didn’t know she was poor when I was six. All I saw was the shy smile. Those blonde pigtails streaming behind her on the playground. The way her eyes lit up when I made her laugh. I liked making her laugh. It would bubble up from inside and the look on her face was always surprised, as if she wasn’t used to being so free.
When I realized she didn’t always eat lunch, I started sneaking extra food from home. Mom discovered what I was doing, and after I explained, she started making me two lunches so Maisie never had to go hungry again. That was how I learned what true gratitude looked like. A softening of features. The gleam of unshed tears. A bit of shock and a dash joy.
When the other kids laughed at my stick-figure arms, Maisie took my hand and told me I was perfect just the way I was. And when one of our fathers said or did something awful in an alcohol induced rage, we whispered our stories to each other, heads close, hands held, hearts open.
When I was ten, I told my mother I was going to marry Maisie. Mom gave me a funny look and ruffled my hair. I never said it again after that. Though after we invited her to have dinner with us one evening, I think she saw what I did.
Maisie and I were made for each other.
Our hair was the same pale blonde. Our eyes were the same deep shade of blue. We were both tall and thin, though my issues were genetic and hers had to do with never having enough to eat. We laughed at the same jokes. We loved the same food. And we both swore we wanted to be pirates when we grew up.
The connection went deeper than that, though. It was something my still forming mind couldn’t wrap itself around at the time. Looking back, the signs were everywhere. But at ten, all I knew was that I didn’t feel like myself until Maisie and I were together. Mom let me invite her over after school, and made sure she knew to help herself to snacks. Dad gave me hell for having a girl as a best friend.
“That’s the last thing Caleb needs,” he often said, while swirling whisky in his glass. “Hanging out with girls is only going to make him weaker than he already is.”
Seventh grade was hard. Maisie’s worn clothing stood out even more as the other girls started to pay attention to what they wore. The teasing grew worse, especially when Aiden Stuart was around. My oldest brother Lucas said Aiden had a crush on Maisie, but I didn’t believe him. No one could be that mean to someone they liked.
I was tall, but Aiden was BIG. Just an inch shorter than me and already sporting the beginnings of a mustache, the kid outweighed me by a good ten pounds of solid spite. I walked into the lunchroom one day and found him towering over Maisie. He made fun of her hair and called her names and I didn’t stop to think.
Dropping my lunch to the ground, I raced across the linoleum, parting a sea of jeering kids as this brick wall of a boy sneered at my best friend. “Roses are red, violets are black…” he chanted.
Maisie tried to shove her way out of the corner, but the asshole had her trapped, with his pack of cackling cronies at his side. “Stop it, Aiden.”
“Maisie’s chest is as flat as her back!” Aiden shouted the last of the poem, throwing his head back and belting cruel laughter while his sidekicks crowed.
I grabbed his shoulder and spun him around, not even thinking about the world of hurt I was stepping into. All I knew was that Maisie was in trouble.
Aiden glared, fire in his eyes. “String Bean here thinks he can touch me.” He turned to his friends, the picture of pure evil. “Did you see that?”
I drew myself up to my full height and squared my shoulders, hoping to look bigger than I really was. “Leave Maisie alone.”
Aiden curled his lip. “Nah.” He turned his back, as if to dismiss me, but I wasn’t in the mood to be dismissed.
I grabbed his shoulder again. I still didn’t have a plan. Distract him long enough for a teacher to show up? Punch him in the gut? Grab Maisie’s hand and drag her to safety? Anything and everything was on the table.
Aiden whirled and used the momentum to throw a wild punch my way. It landed squarely on my face, knocking my head back and sending fireworks of pain rocketing through my mouth. Growing up in a household of boys, I’d been pummeled more than once or twice, but I’d never taken a hit like this—one where love didn’t pull the punch at the last second.
Stars shot through my vision.
The metallic tang of blood hit my tongue.
And I surprised myself by throwing a punch of my own. My fist connected with
Aiden’s temple. Hard. He dropped down on the cafeteria floor, a dazed look glazing his eyes.
The laughter stopped. Someone murmured “oh, shit” while someone else screamed “Caleb punched Aiden!” The cry went off across the lunchroom, spreading like wildfire and sounding like victory, but the next thing I knew, a firm hand grabbed my arm and marched me straight down to the office.
The rest of the day happened in a blur of conversations with the principal, my mother’s shocked arrival after my subsequent suspension, and my father’s clear and evident disdain as they argued over what to do. Mom fought for private school. Or homeschool. And panic rose up inside me at the thought of what would happen to Maisie if either of those things came to pass.
As my lip swelled and I sat with my three brothers at our family table, Dad scoffed. “For God’s sake, Rebecca. Stop coddling the kid. The boy has to learn how to grow thicker skin.”
I watched his whisky slosh against the glass and nodded my agreement—maybe the last time I ever agreed with my father. “I don’t want to go to a different school.” My words were slurred around my thick lip and Mom busied herself refreshing my ice pack.
My sister Harlow chose that time to skip into the kitchen, cradling a basket of mewing kittens.
“Look what I found!” She glanced up, the joy melting off her face when she discovered she was downrange of an already agitated Dad.
He threw back the rest of his whisky and thumped the empty glass on the table. “No kittens,” he barked, and Harlow jumped, clutching the basket tighter to her chest.
Blinking back tears, she turned to our mom. “But…”
“No kittens! We’re running a goddamn hotel, not a daycare.” Dad let out a long growl and then stalked from the room, leaving Mom to deal with Harlow’s tears.
The day after my suspension ended, Maisie didn’t show up at school. She wasn’t there the day after, either. I tried calling, but her phone had been disconnected. Dread placed cold hands on my shoulders and I spent the day bothering my brothers by worrying about all the potential problems she might have run into. Wyatt talked Lucas into driving me to her house and what I found there hurt more than my split lip.
Her house had always been a little scary. Small and rundown, with drooping gutters and broken blinds hanging haphazardly from the windows, it looked like the exact opposite of my childhood home. That day, the blinds were gone and a pile of furniture sat at the end of the gravel drive. Mr. Brown’s rusted-out truck hunkered under a load of mattresses and bed frames, and Maisie sat on the front step with her head in her hands.
I was out of the car before it stopped moving, feet flying across the overgrown grass. “Maisie!”
She lifted her head and a jolt of fear stopped me in my tracks. Her eyes were red and swollen as tears streamed down her cheeks. Never, in all the years I had known her, had I seen her look so sad, and that was saying a lot.
“Caleb!” She lurched off the steps and into my arms, sobbing into my shoulder, as I awkwardly ran a hand along her back. She cried and she cried while she explained that they were moving. That her dad found a job in the coalmines in Kentucky and was sure things would be better there. “But it won’t be better,” she finished. “He’ll just keep drinking until he loses that job, too. And there isn’t a you in Kentucky.”
The thought of life without Maisie was so foreign, I couldn’t process it. From the time I was six years old, I had imagined her at my side until I was old and bent and gray.
“I didn’t think I was going to see you before we left.” She sniffed as she rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. “They turned off the phone before I could say goodbye.” Her parents hated coming to my house. I was never sure why, but Lucas thought it had something to do with money.
I was too young to know what to say as my best friend wiped tears off her face and was hurting too much to do more than stand there in shock as her parents came out of the house and locked the door for the last time. Mrs. Brown hugged me, thanking me for all the times I stood up for Maisie over the years. Mr. Brown smelled like he’d been drinking and relief weakened my knees when his wife sat down behind the wheel.
“You know how you used to say you were gonna marry me?” Maisie asked, blinking back tears. “Part of me always believed you. Guess the joke’s on me.”
I shrugged as she climbed into the truck, sandwiching herself between her parents. “Don’t be too sure about that.” I made a face that I hoped looked brave, keeping it plastered in place while they backed out of the driveway.
Maisie and I stayed in contact for a little while, until one day, out of the blue, their phone was disconnected again. I tried every day for a week. Then waited a week and tried a final time. The number was never reinstated.
And just like that, my Maisie was gone.
One
Maisie
At six-thirty pm on a Friday, my plan to escape the office without running into my boss was seriously failing. Every time I thought I was ready to pack up and sneak out, the phone would ring. Or an email would ping. Or someone had a question that just couldn’t wait because I was leaving for a much needed vacation tomorrow. Fate had to be sitting somewhere above me, giggling as she flung obstacles my way.
Oooh, look! Maisie’s halfway to the door! Quick! Phone call from an irate client! Hmmm…that wasn’t enough to get her down. Boom! Coworker with a useless story! HAHAHAHA!
Finally, when all calls, emails and questions had sufficient answers, I dropped my phone into my purse and plotted my exit strategy. Part of me wondered why leaving work after a ten-hour day felt like a criminal offense, but I didn’t have time to listen. If I was going to make a break for it, the time had arrived for the dash to the door. Alas, Brighton Bennett, my best friend at Paradigm Shift Talent Agency and the only other agent with a track record as strong as mine, strolled into my office, looking not worried at all over another lecture from Jacob Lombardi. ‘Wedding or not, the two of you leaving the great state of California at the same time is a significant pain in my ass. Blah, blah, blah…’
Paying no attention as I deflated, Brighton leaned in to study the only thing from my past that still had a place in my new life—a framed picture of me with my childhood friend, Caleb Hutton. His twig-shaped arm thrown around my shoulder, our grins wide, the shot cropped in close so the shack of a house my parents called home wasn’t visible behind us. We were blonde haired and freckled, our smudged faces betraying nothing but the happiness we felt when we were together.
After my parents yanked me out of Florida and dropped me into Kentucky, things went from bad to worse. Dad imploded, taking Mom right along with him. Without Caleb looking out for me, I had to pick up the slack myself, or end up following in their footsteps.
Every time something went wrong, every decision life presented me, I asked myself what he would do, and then did exactly that. I modeled myself after him, donning his inner strength like a shield and pulling myself out of that little coalmine town and the dreary future that came hand in hand with the last name of Brown. In a way, I had him to thank for my shiny new life. If it wasn’t for all the years he spent fighting for me, I wouldn’t have learned to fight for myself, and I certainly never would have learned to fight for other people.
When we were kids, Caleb used to promise he would marry me, and honestly, I always believed him. While fate had different plans for us, (Oooh, look! She met the love of her life in Kindergarten! Quick! Move her to a different state! MUAHAHAHA!) in a way, his prophecy came true—just not in the literal sense. His influence was visible in all aspects of my life and my heart would always belong to him. No matter what else fate had in store for me—and if my thwarted office escapes were an indicator, fate had plenty in store for me—I would never stop loving him.
Our picture sat in its place of honor on my bookshelf. As the only piece of personal memorabilia I had on display, it stuck out in my polished and professional office, something Brighton made sure to remind me every time she saw it.
“You were such a dirty little thing.” She plucked the frame from the shelf and studied it as if she had never seen it before.
Resigning myself to an inevitable run in with Lombardi, I perched on the edge of my desk and fought the urge to check the time. “Isn’t that what childhood is supposed to be about?”
Brighton laughed, an easy, breezy sound that was meant to both put me at ease and make me wonder what she knew that I didn’t. “Not mine.” Her smile would send a triathlete into diabetic shock. “I was all about dresses, bows, and pink, pink, pink when I was that age.” Her eyes flicked over Caleb’s wide smile. “And boys, too, but my taste always skewed a little more…masculine.”
A surge of loyalty tightened my jaw and I opened my mouth to let out a snappy response in defense of the boy in the picture. But, battling Brighton wasn’t going to get me out of the office any sooner, so I smoothed my hair back into its no-nonsense (but still highly fashionable!) bun and crossed my legs, bouncing one killer Louboutin-clad foot.
Brighton’s fiancé wasn’t exactly what I would call masculine, but considering his hipster vibe, he managed to drip power, pride, and money like he had sprung a leak. Anyone who managed to pull that off got major points in my book. What Sawyer didn’t have in the old school, alpha male department, he made up for with pretentiousness and passion, which made him a perfect match for Brighton. Personally, I preferred my men a little more rough and tumble. Tousled hair. Bulging muscles. A protective streak wide enough to overpower my independence.
