by C. Hoover
Dear readers,
This book started out as a project I would work on during writing blocks. I never intended to release it, because it’s nothing like the other books I write. It’s morbid, it’s twisted and it was a fun escape when I’d find myself stuck on another book or plot twist. I released the first few chapters on a free website two years ago because I had mentioned writing it and a few readers requested to read what I had written. I then would occasionally add chapters to it on the free website.
What had started out as something I never intended for anyone to read, quickly grew into something I couldn’t wait to finish. I would write and update the chapters almost daily, so the story was written in real time, unlike the rest of my novels. The immediate release and feedback of each chapter became an addiction for myself and the readers who were fans of the story. So much so that even when I finished it and wrote “The End,” I just couldn’t stop writing. I wrote several epilogues and even broke rules and placed a prologue in the back end of the book. These chapters were written and posted just as they are placed in this book. I also decided to leave the chapter headings in the paperback as I had originally titled them. I’m doing this because I want readers who are experiencing this book for the first time to read it exactly how it was written and in the order it was written.
Because this book and the experience writing it are so different from my other works, I wanted a way to keep them separate for readers. I am releasing this book using my initials rather than my full first name so the readers who love my published works can easily differentiate between the books I create and deliver through my publisher and the books I create on the side for fun.
I originally wrote and released this book for free. I stated that it would only be on the free website and would not be available in print. However, I have had many requests for those who wish they could read the book on their Kindle or have the book in hand. The book has been available for almost a year now for free online, but not through the platform readers have most requested it to be on. Therefore, I have decided to make this book free through Kindle Unlimited, as well as in paperback, for a limited time only. Thank you all so much for your support while working on this. Please do know that this book is not in any way appropriate for children and young teens. This book deals with much darker subjects than my others and includes extreme adult content. Proceed with caution.
Sincerely,
Colleen Hoover
This book is dedicated to all the members of the Too Late Facebook group. Thank you for making this one of my most favorite writing experiences. Especially you, Ella Brusa.
Dedication
Chapter One
Chaper 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
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Epilogue
Luke
Asa
Sloan
Luke
Asa
Prologue
Epilogue to the Epilogue
Two Months Earlier
Present Day
Sloan
Asa
Sloan
Luke
Luke
Other Books
Warm fingers entwine with mine, pressing my hands deeper into the mattress. My eyelids are too heavy to open from the lack of sleep I’ve had this week. The lack of sleep I’ve had all month, really.
Hell, this whole damn year.
I moan and attempt to squeeze my legs together, but I can’t. There’s pressure everywhere. On my chest, against my cheek, between my legs. It takes me a few seconds to pull my mind out of its sleepy haze, but I’m awake enough to know what he’s doing.
“Asa,” I mumble, irritated. “Get off me.”
He thrusts his weight against me repetitively, groaning against my ear, his morning stubble cutting into my cheek. “I’m almost done, babe,” he breathes against my neck.
I attempt to pull my hands out from beneath his, but he squeezes them tighter, reminding me that I’m nothing more than a prisoner in my own bed, and he’s the warden of the bedroom. Asa has always had a way of making me feel like my body was at his disposal. He’s never mean or forceful about it; he’s just needy—and I find it really inconvenient.
Like right now.
At six o’clock in the damn morning.
I can guess the time by the sunlight peeking through the crack under the door, and the fact that Asa is just now coming to bed after last night’s party. I, however, have to be in class in less than two hours. This isn’t how I would have chosen to be torn from sleep after only three hours of it.
I wrap my legs around his waist and hope he thinks I’m into this. When I act half interested, he gets it over with more quickly.
He palms my right breast and I let out the expected moan, just as he begins to shudder. “Fuck,” he groans, burying his face in my hair, slowly rocking against me. After several seconds, he collapses on top of me and sighs heavily, then kisses my cheek and rolls onto his side of the bed. He stands up and removes the condom and tosses it into the trashcan, then grabs a bottle of water off the bedside table. He brings the bottle to his lips, raking his eyes over my exposed flesh. His lips pull into a lazy grin. “I love that I’m the only one who’s ever been inside that.”
He stands confidently naked by the bed, gulping the last of the water. It’s hard to accept compliments when they come from someone who refers to your body as “that.”
Despite his good looks, he has his faults. In fact, his looks may be the only thing about him I don’t find fault in. He’s cocky, quick-tempered, hard to handle sometimes. But he loves me. He loves the hell out of me. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love him in return. There are so many things I would change about him if I could, but right now he’s all I have, so I deal with it. He brought me in when I had nowhere else to go. No one else to turn to. For that reason alone, I put up with him. I have no other choice.
He brings his hand up and wipes his mouth, then tosses the empty bottle into the trashcan. He runs his hand through his thick brown hair and winks at me, then drops back onto the bed and leans in, kissing me softly on the lips. “Goodnight, babe,” he says as he rolls onto his back.
“You mean good morning,” I say as I reluctantly pull myself out of bed. My t-shirt is bunched around my waist, so I pull it down and grab some pants and a different shirt. I walk across the hallway to the shower, relieved that one of our countless roommates isn’t occupying the only upstairs bathroom.
&n
bsp; I check the time on my phone and cringe when I realize I won’t even have enough time to stop for coffee. It’s the first class of the semester and I already plan to use it to catch up on sleep. This isn’t looking good.
There’s no way I can keep this up. Asa never goes to class on a regular basis, yet he always passes with near-perfect grades. I’m struggling to keep my head above water, and I didn’t miss a single day last semester. Well, in physical form. Unfortunately, we live with so many other people, there’s never a quiet moment in the house. I catch myself falling asleep in class more often than not; it’s the only time I get peace and quiet. The parties seem to go on all hours of the day and night, regardless of who has class the next day. Weekends have no separation from weekdays in our house, and rent has no bearing over who lives here.
I don’t even know who lives here half the time. Asa owns the house, but he loves being around people, so he likes the revolving-door free-for-all. If I had the means, I’d have my own place in a heartbeat. But I don’t. That just means one more year of pure hell before I graduate.
One more year before I’m free.
I pull my shirt over my head and drop it to the floor, then pull the shower curtain back. As soon as I reach down for the nozzle, I scream at the top of my lungs. Passed out in the tub, fully clothed, is our newest full-time roommate, Dalton.
He jerks awake and smashes his forehead into the faucet above it, letting out a yell. I reach down and grab my shirt just as the door bursts open and Asa rushes in.
“Sloan, are you okay?” he says frantically, spinning me around to check me for injuries. I nod feverishly and point to Dalton in the tub.
Dalton groans. “I’m not okay.” He palms his freshly injured forehead and attempts to crawl out of the tub.
Asa looks at me, down at my naked body being covered by the shirt in my hands, then looks back at Dalton. I’m afraid he’s about to get the wrong idea, so I start to explain, but he cuts me off with a loud, unexpected burst of laughter.
“Did you do that to him?” He’s pointing at Dalton’s head.
I shake my head. “He hit his head on the faucet when I screamed.”
Asa laughs even harder and reaches a hand down to Dalton, then pulls him the rest of the way out of the tub. “Come on, man, you need a beer. Cure for hangovers.” He pushes Dalton out of the bathroom and follows behind him, closing the door when he leaves.
I stand frozen, still clutching my shirt to my chest. The sad part is, this is the third time this has happened. A different idiot every time, passed out in the tub. I make a mental note to check the tub from now on before undressing.
I pull the schedule out of my pocket and unfold it to look for the room number. “This is such crap,” I say into the phone. “I graduated college three years ago. I didn’t sign up for this shit so I could do homework.”
Dalton laughs loudly, forcing me to pull the phone several inches away from my ear. “Boo fucking hoo,” he says. “I had to sleep in a damn bathtub last night. Suck it up, man. Acting the part is part of the job.”
“Easy for you to say. You were signed up for one class a week. I have three. Why’d Young only give you one?”
“Maybe I give better head,” Dalton says.
I look down at my schedule and up at the number on the door in front of me, finding a match.
“I gotta go. La clase de Español.”
“Carter, wait.” His tone is more serious. Dalton clears his throat and prepares for his “partner pep talk.” I’ve been suffering through them on a daily basis since we started working together. “Try to make it fun, man. We’re so close to getting everything we need... You’ll be here two months, tops. Find a hot piece of ass to sit by; it’ll make the days go by faster.”
I look through the window of the classroom door. It’s practically at full capacity with only three empty seats. My gaze immediately falls on a girl in the back of the room next to one of the empty chairs. Her dark hair is spilled over her face while she rests her head on her arms. She’s asleep. I can sit by the sleepers; it’s the incessant talkers I can’t tolerate. “Look at that. Already found me a hot piece of ass to sit by. I’ll check in with you after lunch.” I end the call and swing open the classroom door as I turn off the volume on my phone. I hoist the strap of my backpack onto my shoulder as I make my way up the steps to the back of the room. I squeeze past her to the empty seat, tossing my backpack on the floor and my phone onto the table. The sound my phone makes when it meets the solid wood jolts the girl from her sleep. She immediately sits up, wide-eyed. She looks around the room, frantic and confused, then down at the notebook on her desk. I pull the chair out and sit down next to her. She glares at my phone lying on the table in front of us, and then looks at me.
Her hair is a wild mess and there’s a shiny trail of drool running from the corner of her lip, down her chin. She’s glaring at me like I’ve interrupted the only minute of sleep she’s ever had.
“Late night?” I ask. I bend over and open my backpack, pulling out the Spanish textbook I could more than likely recite from memory.
“Is class over?” she asks, her eyes narrowed at the book I’m placing on the desk in front of me.
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“On how long you’ve been passed out,” I say. “I’m not sure which class you’re here for, but this is the ten o’clock Spanish class.”
She throws her elbows onto the desk in front of her and groans, running her hands over her face. “I’ve been asleep for five minutes? That’s it?” She leans back into her seat and slouches down, resting her head on the back of her chair. “Wake me up when it’s over, okay?”
She’s looking at me, waiting on me to agree. I tap my finger to my chin. “You’ve got a little something right here.”
She wipes at her mouth and pulls her hand back to inspect it. I expect her to be embarrassed by the fact that she’s got drool running down her face, but instead, she rolls her eyes and tucks the sleeve of her shirt under her thumb. She wipes the puddle of drool off the table with her sleeve, and then slouches back down in her seat, closing her eyes.
I’ve been through college before. I know how it is with the late nights, the partying, the studying, and never having time for it all. But this girl seems stressed to the max. I’m curious if it’s due to maybe having a night shift or way too much partying.
I reach down into my backpack and pull the energy drink out that I picked up on the way here this morning. I’m thinking she needs it more than I do.
“Here.” I set it on the desk in front of her. “Drink this.”
She slowly pries her eyes open as if her eyelids weigh a thousand pounds each. She looks down at the drink, then quickly grabs it and pops the top. She gulps the contents frantically, like it’s the first thing she’s had to drink in days.
“You’re welcome.” I laugh.
She finishes the drink and sets it back on the table, wiping her mouth with the same sleeve she wiped away the drool with earlier. I’m not gonna lie; her unkempt, sloppily sexy demeanor is a major turn-on, in a weird way.
“Thanks,” she says, wiping the hair out of her eyes. She looks at me and smiles, then stretches her arms out behind her and yawns. The door to the classroom opens and everyone shifts in their seats, indicating the entrance of the instructor—but I can’t take my eyes off of her long enough to even validate his presence.
She combs through the strands of her hair with her fingers. It’s still slightly damp and I can smell the floral scent of her shampoo when she flips her hair back over her shoulders. It’s long and dark and thick, just like the lashes that line her eyes. She glances toward the front of the room and opens her notebook, so I mirror her movements and do the same.
The professor greets us in Spanish, and we return his salutations in collective, broken responses. He begins giving instructions on an assignment when my phone lights up on the table between us. I look down at the incoming text message from Dalton.
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br /> Does this hot piece of ass you’re sitting next to have a name?
I immediately flip the phone over, hoping she didn’t read it. She brings her hand to her mouth to cover her laugh.
Crap. She read it.
“Hot piece of ass, huh?” she says.
“I’m sorry. My friend... He thinks he’s funny. Also likes to make my life hell.”
She arches an eyebrow and turns toward me. “So you don’t think I’m a hot piece of ass?”
With her facing me head-on, it’s the first chance I’ve actually had to get a good look at her. Let’s just say I’m officially in love with this class now. I shrug my shoulders. “With all due respect, you’ve been sitting down since I met you. I haven’t even seen your ass.”
She laughs again. “Sloan,” she says, extending her hand. I take her hand in mine. There’s a small crescent-shaped scar on her thumb. I run my thumb across it and twist her hand back and forth, inspecting the scar.
“Sloan,” I repeat, letting her name roll off the tip of my tongue.
“This is usually the point during introductions that one would reply with their own name,” she says.
I glance back up at her and she pulls her hand away, looking at me inquisitively.
“Carter,” I reply, keeping in character with who I’m supposed to be. It’s been hard enough referring to Ryan as Dalton for the past six weeks, but I’ve gotten used to it. Calling myself Carter is another story. I’ve more than once slipped up and almost used my real name.
“Mucho gusto,” she says in an almost perfect accent, turning her attention toward the front of the room.
No, the pleasure is mine. Believe me.
The professor instructs the class to turn to the closest partner and state three facts about the other person in Spanish. This is my fourth year of Spanish, so I decide to let Sloan go first so I don’t intimidate her. We turn toward each other and I nod my head at her. “Las señoras primera,” I say.
“No, we’ll take turns,” she says. “You first. Go ahead, tell me a fact about myself.”
“Okay,” I say, laughing at how she just took control. “Usted es mandona.”
