Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Intro
1: Running Interference
2: Dauntingly Fooled
3: Silent Interrogation
4: Delighted Rejection
5: Firm Certainty
6: Bind Separation
7: Found Missing
8: Effected Cause
9: Daunting Calling
10: Fate’s Desire
11: Filled Vacancy
12: Seriously Funny
13: Delayed Obstruction
14: Upward Fall
15: Loud Whispers
16: Seen Invisible
17: Cool Passion
18: Friendly Takeover
19: Genuine Imitation
20: Open Secret
21: Definite Maybe
22: Even Odds
23: Intense Apathy
24: Loyal Opposition
25: Pretty Ugly
26: Transparent Night
27: Absent Presence
28: Cruel Kindness
29: Clearly Misunderstood
30: Comfortable Misery
31: Distant Hugs
32: Beggarly Riches
33: Cheerful Pessimist
34: Crash Landing
35: Pretty Ugly
36: Bitter Sweet
37: Sweet Sorrow
38: Openly Deceptive
39: Restricted Opening
40: Alone Together
41: Convenient Irritant
42: Conspicuous Absence
43: Eloquent Silence
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Excerpt
A Burdened Novel Series
About The Author
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 by Felisha Antonette All rights reserved.
Three Times Torn: A Burdened Novel Book 2
Visit my website www.felishaantonette.com
Cover Design by Pink Ink Design www.pinkinkdesigns.com
Second Edition Edits by Nikki Chambers
Second Edition Interior Graphics by FAP Designs
Second Edition Proofread by Inspiring Proofs
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise, without prior permission from the publisher, except as provided by the USA copyright law.
ISBN-13: 978-0-9971455-3-3
ISBN-13: 978-0-9971455-4-0 (PB)
(Available In Paperback)
The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following word marks mentioned in this work of fiction: Wow Wow Wubbzy, Bubble Guppies, Caillou, Family Guy, Nick Jr.
To Felisha Loving. Mom, I love you.
If she knew what the sound of her voice, the touch of her hand, the taste of her lips, or the sight of her beauty does to me, there would be no doubt in my love for her. There’d be no need to question her adequacy for me. It is not that I cannot live without the beat of her heart, but that beyond the beat of our heart there’s no reason to live. Beyond her, there’s no fight for our life. Addiction, obsession, admiration, and the passion I possess for this one girl are implausible. And the day it ends, the day it fades will be the day she steals her life from us.
-Nathan
THERE’S THIS MOMENT. . . THIS unusual moment when you’re falling, almost floating in the sky. But really, you’re plummeting; thrashing through the clouds at one hundred miles per hour, plunging for the ground. And then, you slam down, and that’s not it. The force of your fall as you’re hitting the cracked concrete brings you to bounce back up just before you fall again. . .
That’s where I am, right there in between the rise and the fall. And I’m stuck. I’ve felt the rush of the drop and the pain from the landing. Now, I’m ready to settle down even knowing it’ll hurt when I hit again.
I squeeze my eyes shut, counting down from ten. You can do this, Tracey, I try, try to encourage myself. Resist it, I think, hearing the strain in my thought. I grit down on my teeth only at five one-thousand. Ugh! I can’t. It doesn’t hurt; it just drives me freaking insane!
Nate, please. Please come up here.
Sparky, he carries with a grumble.
Nathan, I drone.
Sparks, baby. I literally. Lit-er-a-lly just left you like forty-five minutes ago.
I slump down in my chair, scraping my thumbnails over each other. A bubble builds in my chest as a masking irritation itches my flesh—every inch of me.
Nathan’s sigh in my head is as annoying as it is revitalizing because I know it means he’s giving in. I’ll come up there when you go on lunch. You’re killing me, Sparks.
This stupid bond is killing me, I rant. I know, Nate. Don’t say it. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I hate being crazy over you. He laughs. I get it all. The love, lust, the obsession. It’s making me lose my mind.
Talk to me later, okay? I’ve gotta get some work done since I’m cutting the day short.
Me too. I grump, looking over my trigonometry notes, comparing them to what’s on the whiteboard. They don’t match. I might’ve dazed out at some point and scribbled what I’d thought I’d heard.
Nathan’s full of it. I’m sure he’s sitting a few blocks from the school, working from his phone. The office is about two hours from his house and with all the craziness that’s been going on, he’s not been far. And I doubt he’s far today. Even though Nathan’s reassured me Roehl won’t try anything, I also doubt he believes that.
The first couple of months back at school were challenging. I expected to be controlling of the bond by now, but not even. Four months later, it’s just as difficult and getting worse instead of better. It’s often beyond my control. Sometimes, Nathan understands. Others, I’m sure I get on his nerves. It’s just that, enough of him is never enough. The bond and I have a love-hate relationship. His mom tells me it’s supposed to get easier, but by my being human, it plays a huge role in my acceptance. Apparently, though bonding can happen with humans, it’s not necessarily supposed to. And since this is the first time it’s happened in their family, we’re playing this by ear. I try to convince myself I’m strong enough to take it, but this wouldn’t be the first time I’ve lied to me.
“Excuse the interruption, Mr. Stephens. I need Tracey Warren to come to the office,” Principal Hollander announces from the room’s intercom.
Oh, crap. . . A nervous panic spikes a double beat to my heart. I look over my shoulder at Scott, sat five seats behind me. He nods once and then turns to Glen. They’ve been doing well. So well, when we started back, the first thing Scott did was have all his classes changed to Glen’s. I rarely see one without the other.
“She will be there shortly,” Mr. Stephens informs. “Tracey,” he calls, throwing his hand toward the door; not caring one way or another.
I ask Scott, What do you think?
I’m not sure, but I’ll go with you, he thinks to me. Turning to Glen, he whispers to her that we’re leaving.
I thought bionic hearing would be kind of cool. I’d eavesdrop on people, and I’d be able to hear creepers sneak up on me. But I was wrong. It’s annoying. And until I learn how to control it, I battle with volume issues.
Scott soothes Glen’s raising objections with restful platitudes and a kiss to her cheek. He’s gotten much better at including her in the much that goes on. She’s yet to accept our family, but I think sh
e’ll come around soon. We hope she’ll come around soon. Accepting our family fills a void that takes a toll on all of us. Before, I wondered why everyone was so gung-ho about my willingness or non-willingness to embed myself in the Newcomb family. I feel it, the missing puzzle piece, that’s Glen, causing a space of separation between our family’s bond. It’s only noticeable after the couple has become bound, but it is evident and an annoying pang in the side. When we’re all together and she’s around, there’s a pull toward her that makes me want to say anything I can to convince her to accept us. But that’s against the ‘free will’ rule.
“Tracey, get going,” Mr. Stephens hurries me. His button down shirt stretches over his low sitting belly as he turns from the board to look at me. Salt and pepper eyebrows lift high over his round frame spectacles, questioning my departing stall. “Now, please?” His unkempt beard bounces as he speaks, distracting me from what Scott’s saying.
“I’m going. I’m going.” I slide out from my desk, snagging my bag from the floor.
Scott’s not far behind me, and Glen’s hot on his heels.
“Excuse me. I believe the office only called for Tracey. Where are you two going?” Mr. Stephens asks, raising his pale hand, palm facing us.
Scott and I exchange neutral glances before continuing forward.
“Mr. Fallon?” Mr. Stephens blocks our path, holding his bushy arms out at his sides in the way a crossing guard would stop traffic for kiddos.
Scott thrusts his fingers through his shoulder-length, honey-colored locks. Grumbles and swoons from our classmates follow this action, and I shake my head at Glen to not spaz out. She should be used to it and expectant of the girls to want him even more now that he’s with her. “Mr. Stephens,” Scott starts, “there’s no way Tracey’s leaving this room without me. So, she can sit back down, or we will leave.” Scott gives a blank stare into Mr. Stephens’ eyes. The emerald in Scott’s irises slowly churns clockwise, and Mr. Stephens matches Scott’s vacant expression.
Nodding, Mr. Stephens sternly replies, “I understand, Scott.”
“Thank you.” Scott nods as our hypnotized teacher moves from our path. Leave it to Scott; no one will have a well-functioning brain.
I push the door closed being the last of us to walk into the hallway. “What do you think it is, Scott?”
“Not sure.” We listen to the silent halls. “Something feels off, Tracey. Call Nathan and let him know what’s up. Tell him to get a feel through you. I’m sure he’s nearby.”
Nathan and I have grown closer being bound. I’m human, one hundred percent. But I’m different; everything about me is different. I see through new eyes, hear with new ears, my skin feels odd under my touch, and I know this, specifically, is because of the bond, because when I get my Nathan fix it goes back to normal. But everything else about me takes some getting used to. I’ve got a pet snake made of fire that lives in my hand. I’m not sure how it works, but it lives in there and the more I understand and control it, the larger it grows. It protects Nathan and me at all costs. When I’m not shooting it out, my hand blasts supernova fire orbs. I’ve finally mastered how to knock people off their feet, and that’s the only thing I have full control over—my hand.
Nathan helps with things like managing the way other’s presence affect me and something we both never thought I’d get in a million years. . . I can turn people into ash how he can. It only works when my eyes are cloaked, and we’ve not yet figured out how to make it happen on demand, but I can do it. He told me I should always keep it as my last resort. We never want to let anyone know I can do this because it’ll make us easier to defeat, Nathan often reminds me.
Nate, I’ve been called to the office. Scott says something feels wrong. Where are you?
This is a hoax, he jokingly argues.
It is not, I sing, laughing.
I’m kidding. I’m here.
Un-huh, you sure got here fast. I see you just came not knowing what was going on. If my heart double beats, he’s there, though he acts as if I’m bothering him.
Better I come than to wait, and I wait then something happens. And you’re never a bother, just clingy as shit.
You’re an asshole. Where are you? I feel him before I see him. His presence is commanding, blanketing my entire body, easing the pinch in my neck and the uneasiness of the day. Never mind, I say, rolling my shoulders.
Behind me, he and our cousin, Olar, are striding down the hall in my direction. Olar’s come to stay for a while, something to do with the three men Nathan and Scott had battled a while back. He was connected to whatever debt they had to pay, and now, someone’s looking for him.
My insides are having a party with zipping birds and fluttering butterflies as I watch Nathan approach. I hope my outsides don’t give me away. “Hi,” I chirp.
“Your outsides are a dead giveaway.” Nathan meets me, pushing his hands around my waist. “Hi, Sparks. Your smile is huge.” He kisses me, and I feel through it that our hour apart affected him too. Our deep, feel him down to my core, kissing my soul caresses is saved for when we’re behind closed doors. But that’s what I want right now. For him to wrap those giant hands around my hips, lift me up, and I squeeze his waist between my legs, and we go at it against one of these lockers.
Nathan laughs, breaking away from me. “Oh my God, Sparks. Where do you get this shit?”
I bashfully scratch my forehead. “One day, I’ll be able to keep my thoughts to myself.”
Laughing, Nathan grabs my hands, pulling them around his neck. “I’d do that,” he drawls, responding to my earlier thought. “And make you feel it very, very deep.” His bottom lip draws between his teeth before he concludes, “But you’d be the color of an apple before I could pin you to the locker.”
“Would you two cut that flirty crap so we can figure out what’s going on?” Scott, the interrupter, interrupts.
“He’s right,” Nathan says, breaking out of the smallest ounce of intimacy we’ve seen in months. We’ve not had a moment alone since the night we were in his room after things went raw with Taylor. The lack of intimacy in our relationship drives me crazy. It’s the bond, I know. But sometimes I need a longer hug, more kiss in my kiss, and a night or two spent with us eye gazing and talking about nothing, like before. I’d be fine if this overbearing craving for him weren’t so bad. But it is. And there’s proof.
A month ago, I caught Nathan’s kitchen on fire, which was also new and when I adopted these nicknames Sparks and Sparky Nathan’s bestowed on me. We were at his house, and he had me up on the island in the kitchen. I had him as close as flesh would allow and it still wasn’t close enough. We were inappropriately making out in a rated R kind of way. Little Nathan and Roseland had walked in, letting their joking remarks of our actions fly as Little Nathan yanked Nathan away from me. I reached out for him and erupted in flames. It was bad. And will never happen again. It was scary as hell. The fire was spurting everywhere from me; my hands, arms, sides, legs! I consumed it, settling the blaze, and Nathan had to paint the walls and replace most of the furniture and appliances.
He won’t admit it, but Nathan’s there too. He has a lot going on, and I witnessed one of his episodes I was warned about. Six days ago, actually. He and Olar got into it heavy. It was for no reason, honestly, but I couldn’t convince them of that. Nathan was getting out of his car and slammed the door. The entire door went through the car. Through it! Even angrier at that point, he slammed his fist on the roof and crushed it. He was out of control and went as far as kicking the driver’s rearview mirror off the car and ripping off the driver’s side backseat door. There was no calming him down and his car’s still at the shop. He’s not spazzed out since then, but we’re all on alert.
Nathan and I walk into the office, leaving the others to wait in the hall. “I’m here,” I tell the clerk.
“What took you so long?” Mrs. Carline nags. She’s a mean old lady we all try our best to avoid. I’m quite sure that in another life, she was a
witch of the worst kind. The kind who lured young children into the woods and ate them, which is why her newer life’s profession is working at a school. “We called you almost an hour ago, girl. And who is this? You cannot be in here young man. You will need to wait outside until she’s finished,” she fires off, waggling her pointed finger with a candy-red painted nail in Nathan’s face.
Nathan flashes his award-winning smirk. The one that dents a dimple in his cheek and darkens his eyes to a cocky attraction. “Mrs. Carline,” he drawls. “I’m not waiting outside. I’m going where she goes. If you need Tracey to go in there.” He points to the closed door leading to the principal’s office. “I’m going with her. Okay?” His entrancing voice has even me agreeing with him.
“Yes. . .” Mrs. Carline replies with a smile, taking the seat behind the desk. She hacks away at the keyboard of her computer as her glossed over eyes stay fixed on Nathan.
I drag my gaze away from her, turning to the principal’s all-wood door. The decals that spell out his name have yet to be fixed from when Sam, Andrew, and Matt pranked him on Monday. It still reads Hippi Handler, Roncall. It lost its funny yesterday. Grabbing the golden knob in my hand, I breathe before pushing it open.
And behind door number one. . .
Good ole Dad. I eye him, sitting across from Principal Hollander with his legs crossed and hands resting atop his knee. They stand. “Hey, Ladybug. Hello, Nathan. Haven’t seen you in a while,” Dad greets in a chipper tone but looks at Nathan with uncertain eyes.
“Hello, Mr. Warren.”
“What are you doing here, Dad? I thought you wouldn’t be back until next week.” My gaze flicks from him to my principal as I try to get a feel for the situation. Getting nothing from their relaxed shoulders and easy glances that shift between Nathan and I. “What’s going on?”
“Some things have come up. We need to move sooner than we’d originally planned. I came to discuss your options since you graduate in a little over two weeks.”
Dad’s become a non-Nathan fan. He’s adamant about Nathan not being right for me and vice versa. I’ve heard countless times, moving is the better option for you, that it’s better I have different experiences and not get hung up on the first real thing that caught my eye, or my heart. He’s been back and forth every other week since they promoted him. But, last month, when he came back, he was different. Something’s been off about Dad that I can’t place, especially when it comes down to Nathan.
Three Times Torn Page 1
