by Leigh, T. K.
Commitment
Redemption Series # 1
T.K. Leigh
COMMITMENT
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes. If you are reading this book and you have not purchased it or won it in an author/publisher contest, this book has been pirated. Please delete and support the author by purchasing the ebook from one of its many distributors.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental or, if an actual place, are used fictitiously. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The use of these trademarks is not sponsored, associated, or endorsed by the trademark owner.
Published by Carpe Per Diem, Inc. / Tracy Kellam, 25852 McBean Parkway # 806, Santa Clarita, CA 91355
Edited by: Kim Young, Kim’s Editing Services
Cover Image Copyright Dmytro Buianskyi 2018
Used under license from Shutterstock.com
Copyright © 2018 T. K. Leigh / Tracy Kellam
All rights reserved.
Created with Vellum
Contents
PROMISE
A Note from the Author
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
COMMITMENT
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
Playlist
Writing Mr. Right
Acknowledgments
Books by T.K. Leigh
About the Author
To second chances…
PROMISE
A Redemption Series Prologue
Dear Reader,
Thank you for picking up a copy of Commitment! I can’t tell you how much your support means to me. Also included in this is an extended prologue / prequel titled Promise. It’s more of a mature YA / New Adult novella, whereas Commitment is an adult romance.
I never intended to write Promise. In fact, up until a month prior to the release of Commitment, not a single word had been written of this novella. As I was working on revisions and edits of Commitment, I couldn’t stop thinking about the backstory I painted for Drew and Brooklyn, and if there was a better way for me to relay that story to the readers. Thus, Promise was born. In the novella, you’ll meet Drew and Brooklyn, the main characters in my Redemption series, during a very poignant time in their lives. Drew is about to head off to college, and Brooklyn is about to enter her junior year of high school.
I understand the mature YA / New Adult genre may not be for everyone, but I truly believe it was necessary to take a step back and tell this story in greater detail than just a few brief flashbacks and/or dialogue between the characters. While Commitment takes place almost seventeen years after the events of this novella, I’m convinced this will help you understand why things are the way they are, why the characters act the way they do.
I’ve made it so it’s not absolutely necessary to read Promise, having included the general details in Commitment, but I urge you to take an hour or two and lose yourself in Drew and Brooklyn’s beginnings. Maybe it’ll bring back memories of your own first love.
Thank you!
“We were always meant to say goodbye…”
Chapter 1
Brooklyn
June 2001
The average person spends at least two weeks of their life kissing. When you consider you may live to be ninety, it doesn’t seem like that long a time. But if you take into account the average kiss lasts approximately seven seconds, two weeks equals over 170,000 kisses.
I’m almost sixteen and haven’t even been kissed once. At this rate, I doubt I’ll ever come close to hitting my kiss quota. It’s not that I haven’t had any offers. I have. But I want my first kiss to be special.
I once read the term “French kiss” came into popularity as a slur against the French culture, who seems to have an obsession with sex and promiscuity, at least according to the indecency experts of the early twentieth century. But the French refer to that deep, all-consuming type of kiss as a “tongue kiss” or, even better, “soul kiss” because, if done right, it should merge two souls together.
That’s what I want from my first kiss. To merge my soul with another, not waste it on someone who won’t appreciate it.
Even at my young age, I’ve spent an unhealthy amount of time imagining the day my soul will connect with another in such a beautiful way. I’ve forced my best friend, Molly, to watch a ridiculous number of romance movies. Whenever I’d witness that first kiss between the leading lady and man, I’d exhale dreamily.
Will my first kiss be like the one between Ingrid Bergman and Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca, deep and full of despair? Or will it be closer to the one between Clark Gable and Vivien Leigh in Gone with the Wind? All-consuming and needy, as if neither one could go another minute without that connection. I’m beginning to think I’ll never know.
“What about this style?” Molly asks, snapping me out of my daydream. I shift my eyes to where she reclines on her lounge chair in practically the same position as me. Back propped up at a slight angle. One leg bent at the knee, the other straight. Chin tilted to the sun in an attempt to prevent the occurrence of strange tan lines. The aroma of coconut-scented sunscreen and briny sea air filters into my senses. It’s the smell of summer.
I scan the page of the magazine Molly’s pointing to, seeing some famous actress whose layered haircut has become popular over the past few months. “It’s cute.”
She raises her eyebrows and huffs in annoyance. “Cute? Just cute? That’s all? I’m sixteen. I’m far too old for anything cute.”
“Okay then.” I lower my book. My father insists I work my way through the recommended reading list my honors English teacher provided. I’ll soon be starting my junior year of high school. These are important years, especially where college admission offices are concerned. My dad doesn’t have a lot of money, so he’s depending on me getting some scholarships to help ease the financial burden of sending me to college. “What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know,” she exhales. “Beautiful. Stunning. Sexy.” She waggles her eyebrows. “I want to be sexy. Don’t you?”
I shrug, looking away. Brightly colored beach towels cover the sand like a Tetris game gone wrong. Off to the
right, several guys I recognize from school play volleyball, many of them shirtless, their tanned skin glistening with sweat from the humid temperatures. I try not to stare, but I can’t help it, especially at one guy in particular.
“I never really thought about it,” I lie.
“Oh, come on, Brook. You can’t tell me you haven’t swayed those hips of yours a little more whenever you passed a cute boy at school or the mall.”
I retrieve my book and flip it back open. My eyes remain glued to the words on the page, but I don’t comprehend any of them. It could be written in a foreign language for all I know. There is a boy at school I sway my hips for, who I smile shyly at whenever I see him, who makes my entire body warm whenever he steals a glance at me. I can’t tell Molly, though. She’d never understand. After all, that boy is her older brother.
“I guess I never really thought of anyone in our class that way.” I continue to avoid her eyes.
Up until a year or so ago, I was taller than most boys in our class. There was nothing attractive about having to bend my five-foot, nine-inch frame over just to dance with them during one of the school functions my father begrudgingly allowed me to attend. Over the past year, something happened. Boobs. My formerly straight and statuesque frame is no longer shaped like a stick, but now resembles an hour-glass. Along with the boobs came a lot more attention I still don’t know how to handle.
“Well, I have.” Her voice is very matter-of-fact.
“Who?”
“Brody Carmichael.”
I lift my sunglasses off my eyes, narrowing my gaze at her. “He’s about to be a senior and is replacing your brother as captain of the hockey team.”
“So?” she says dismissively.
I shake my head, praying I’m not around when Drew learns of this little development. “Your funeral,” I quip. “Or maybe Brody’s.”
She grins. “Most definitely Brody’s.”
We both laugh. For the past ten years, Molly and I have been practically inseparable. After we met during our first day of kindergarten, we immediately formed a bond. I still remember that day with alarming clarity. I had watched as all my classmates gave their mother a hug and kiss goodbye in front of the school. I’d kissed mine goodbye forever the previous year after a drunk driver killed her.
Growing up without a mother affects you in ways you never think it will, especially as a girl. There’s no one to teach you how to apply makeup. No one to talk to you after you get your period. No one to tell you about their first boyfriend. Molly and I found a camaraderie in each other, considering her mother left them and never looked back. We figured out things together. And I knew we’d confront the rest of the problems life threw at us the same way.
“Are you hungry?” she asks suddenly, her voice chipper. “I’m hungry. Aren’t you hungry?” She grins deviously and jumps up from her lounge chair, her blonde curls springing with the motion. After adjusting her bikini, she assesses her appearance. I can’t help but envy her. She’s petite and skinny with not many curves. On the other hand, I’m tall with an ample chest and even more ample hips. I’m still not used to this new body I find myself in, but Molly’s encouragement helps. Whenever she notices me trying to hide underneath my clothes, she tells me how amazing I look, how she’d kill to have curves like mine. She makes me feel good about myself, a difficult feat for a teenager.
I follow her line of sight across the street toward Kelly’s, one of our favorite spots, shaking my head when I see Brody, along with several other guys from our school, approach the food stand. That’s what summers are like in the greater Boston area. When you’re not working, you’re hanging out at the beach. Most days, it’s like I’m not even out of school, considering how often I see my classmates congregate here.
“I’ll let you work your charms on your own.” I return my attention forward. “These books won’t read themselves.”
It doesn’t matter that I can’t see her. I feel her roll her eyes at me. “You’re always so serious. When are you going to learn to have a little fun?”
“This is fun for me.”
“Suit yourself. Want anything?”
“I’m good. I’m still full from the muffins you stole from the café.” Her father owns and runs a café in the North End of Boston. It’s been in her family for generations. They have the best coffee in the city and the best pastries in the world, although I’ve never left the New England area.
Molly moans, rubbing her flat stomach. “God, what I wouldn’t give for another muffin right now.”
“You’re a fiend.”
“But you still love me.”
“You bet I do. Now go before your…food walks away.”
She shifts her eyes across the street and chews on her lower lip, her cheeks blushing. “Be back in a few, Brook!” she calls out as she runs up the sand. I watch her climb over the short ledge, then hurry across the street, still barefoot.
Once I see that she’s made it to Kelly’s in one piece, I return my attention to my book, immersing myself in the author’s world. To be honest, it’s a world I hope I never have to live in. Now that I’m older and am in more advanced English classes, it seems the reading material has become more mature, as well. I can’t help but feel bad for Hester Prynne and the secret she keeps at the expense of her happiness. I hope I never put myself in a situation where I have to keep my love a secret.
Sweat beads on my forehead as I continue to bask in the sun, losing track of time, which is often the case when I read. So many people I know hate reading. This is probably why Molly and I get along so well. We can hold entire conversations using book quotes and no one would be the wiser.
It’s not until my hair starts to stick to my neck that I put the book down for a moment to tie my long, dark locks into a ponytail. The instant I do, I spy a familiar silhouette heading my way, eyes trained on me, a cockiness about him.
I quickly retrieve my book, burying my nose in it once more in the hopes he doesn’t recognize me. I didn’t have this problem last year. Next to Molly, with her charismatic personality and infectious enthusiasm, I was practically invisible. Now, thanks to the cleavage that no swimsuit can properly hide, everyone’s suddenly noticing me. All the more reason I should keep my cover-up on, just like I tell my dad I do to stop him from worrying. I don’t want to consider what would happen if he drove by and saw me in this bikini he doesn’t even know I own.
“Brooklyn Tanner,” a coy voice croons.
I take a breath, swallowing down my irritation at the interruption, and float my eyes to the source, who’s now commandeered Molly’s chair. “Damian.”
“Looking good.” He winks, but it does nothing for me. Damian Murphy is one of the most popular guys in class. He always has an entourage with him, mostly made up of the popular girls, who fawn over him every time he scores a basket during games or makes a tasteless joke, most with some sort of sexual connotation. He can have anyone he wants, but over the past few months, he seems to have made it his mission to get me to go out with him. “Where’s your hip attachment?”
“You mean my friend?”
“Yeah. It’s rare to see one without the other.”
I flip the page of my book, brushing off his comment. “Not that rare. She has her own life. I have mine. We just enjoy spending time with each other.”
“So much so that you can’t seem to find the time to go out with me?” He cocks a brow, then leans closer. “I normally don’t ask a girl out more than once.” He pauses, considering his words for a moment, furrowing his brow in obvious confusion. “I usually don’t have to. I’ve never had anyone turn down a date with me.”
I grit a smile. “Well, there’s a first time for everything, Damian.”
“Ouch,” he teases. “Beautiful and witty. That’s one killer combination.”
“I’ll be sure to add that to my college applications then.” I return my eyes to the pages, hoping he’ll get the hint and leave. Unfortunately, just like every other time he’s asked
me out, he doesn’t.
He’s an attractive guy — sandy blond hair, crystal blue eyes, dazzling smile — but even killer looks can’t diminish his pompous attitude. A year ago, he thought my name was Brenda. Now that I have boobs, he seems to have mustered the brainpower to learn my real name.
Too little, too late. No thank you, Damian.
“Like I’ve told you repeatedly, my father doesn’t want me to date until I’m sixteen.”
“And when will that be?”
“September first, but even then, I’m not sure I want to date.” I attempt to give him the cold shoulder, but I can’t ignore the heat of his body inching even closer to mine.
“Oh, Brooklyn, Brooklyn, Brooklyn…” His voice is irritatingly sly. “What can I do to convince you to say yes?”
When his hand lands on my thigh, my body immediately grows rigid. I inhale a sharp breath. His fingers sweep up and down my leg as I blink repeatedly, my heart pounding in my chest. Didn’t Damian pay attention during our health class when Mr. Ottermeyer went over the importance of verbal consent? Probably not. He was too busy flirting with anything with a pulse.
“Damian,” I warn through tight lips, gripping my book, my knuckles becoming white with the force. “Please take your hand off my leg.”
