Endure (Evolve #4)

by S. E. Hall

  ©2015 S.E. Hall

  Cover Model: Shelby Leah, my sweet girl

  Cover Design: Sommer Stein of Perfect Pear Creative

  Editor: Katherine Tate

  Formatter: Brenda Wright

  Thank you all!

  All rights reserved.

  This book may not be reproduced in any form, in whole or in part, without written permission from the author.

  This book is intended for mature audiences only.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  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

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  “You should name the last book, if you ever write it, Endure. And can we please get a Nanabug character in there somewhere?”

  Done and done, Mama. Done and done.

  XO,

  Stephie

  “I do,” the sweet promise fights its way past her trembling lips, barely kept tears swimming in her big brown eyes.

  “I do too,” he immediately parrots, an adoring grin, belonging only to her, on his face.

  And I might be the only one who caught it, but there was definitely a subtle drop in his shoulders, telling me he also just let out a silent sigh of relief.

  Maybe that’s the real reason they’d switched things up, the bride saying “I do” first—he was worried she’d change her mind at the last minute—and not the gentlemanly “ladies first” excuse we were given.

  I’d get a kick out of his discomfort…if I didn’t know exactly how he felt.

  “Son.” The preacher fails to hide his own amusement, much like the crowd, their subdued wave of laughter rolling over the ceremony. “It’s not your turn yet.”

  “With all due respect, sir, now works for me just fine. If she does, I do too, whatever it is. That simple. Gonna kiss her now.” He starts to make his move, leaning in to claim her tiny mouth, but he’s stopped short by the hand on his shoulder.

  “We’re not quite to that part either. There’s still the exchanging of rings and my pronouncement.” The man in the robe blushes as he tries to slow the eager groom down. All the while, every woman looking on is now audibly oohing and aahing.

  “Well hop to it, your holiness. I’m itching to kiss my wife!”

  His enthusiasm is as humorous as it is recognizable. There’s no feeling in the world comparable—the impatience to begin the rest of your life with that one person—the only woman in the world who turns you into a blundering fool, no matter who’s watching. The need to touch her so great, you’ll babble your way through an argument, with a man of God, no matter who’s listening.

  He loves her. Without reason or restriction.

  Unashamedly.

  And watching this poor, pitiful young man fumble his way through the rest of the necessities, a bittersweet calm falls over me.

  She and this marriage are both going to be just fine. No, better than fine… flourishing.

  She will now be his, and he hers… and so, another chapter begins.

  In Flight Entertainment

  “You think you can keep the women distracted long enough for me to beat that lil’ fucker’s ass and drag him out of here?”

  There’s not a whole lot I wouldn’t do for Sawyer Beckett. Except that. Not only won’t I help him with this half-cocked, completely unnecessary plan, but I couldn’t even if I wanted to. There isn’t a big enough diversion tactic to be concocted that will keep our women, or everyone in the vicinity for that matter, including the many security guards, from noticing him wailing on someone in the middle of an airport. And I’m pretty sure it’d change the pre-recorded “Code Orange” protocol announcement that repeats overhead to… an entirely different color.

  Beckett needs to practice what he preaches and “simmer down,” at least until we get through this destination wedding. He messes this up for her in any way, and I’ll kill him with my own two hands.

  “What exactly is your problem with Ryder?” I ask him.

  Sawyer snarls, rolling his neck and popping his knuckles. “Beady-eyed little bastard keeps looking at me all funny and shit.”

  No, he doesn’t. But, in the interest of limiting my time and energy to a language Sawyer actually speaks, I taper my reply to pack the hardest punch.

  “If you quit staring at him, then you won’t know what the hell he is, or isn’t, looking at. So, maybe stop obsessing over this new lil’ crush of yours and go find Emmett? I’m sure she could use your help with something.” I suggest and point in the direction the ladies wandered.

  “Crush.” He snorts. “Get fucked, Kendrick.”

  When all else fails, call Sawyer’s manhood into question—works every time.

  “And how the hell are you possibly the cool and collected one right now?” he asks.

  “I’m always the cool one.” I grin, with not so much as an eyelid twitch, refusing to acknowledge the trickle of sweat gliding its way down the back of my neck. “And I get fucked, often and very well. But thanks for your concern. Come on.” I stand. “I’ll go with you.”

  Thankfully, Sawyer finds Emmett right away, and I’m able to offload the man-child into her custody. Can’t feel too sorry for her, she signed up for that job willingly.

  As entertaining as it is to watch Emmett use her feminine ploys to placate him—the spell she somehow weaves over him still shocks me every time—my Laney’s not with her, so I leave them to continue the search for my own little vixen.

  Doesn’t take me long, I spot her perfect ass and golden hair flowing down her back in the next store I scan.

  She knows I’m there before I speak, her back straightening and a slight shift in her stance; the tangible current in the air I feel every time she nears a shared phenomenon. “Baby,” I approach her from behind and wrap my arms around her waist, sneaking my face through her mane to my spot—the crook of her neck. “Gonna be boarding time soon, you might wanna speed it up.”

  “It’s a long flight. I need, stuff,” she huffs. It’s not a long flight, under three hours in fact, but I don’t point it out.

  Instead, I chuckle as I survey her mountainous pile at the register—magazines, candy, salty snacks, juice, pop, gum, two neck pillows and a romance novel. “I can see that. I think you’ve got it covered.”

  “Don’t start with me, Caveman.” She jabs her elbow backward, her signature move that I’m always ready for and easily dodge. “I’m nervous.”

  “Relax, everything’s gonna be fine.” I kiss her neck. “Let me pay for your haul, then it should be about time to head out.”

  She scoffs, dismissing my assurance. “Where are my parents? Please tell me you didn’t just leave them roaming around the airport alone?”

  Jeff and Trish are on our commercial flight today because Jeff Walker “doesn’t need the fancy-schmancy charity” of a private plane. His words, not mine. And Laney and I are here because she insisted on flying with her parents.

  We’d already be there if the man wasn’t as stubborn as his daughter.

  But I’ve learned to pick my battles, and this was not one I had a snowball’s chance in hell of winning—thus, I’m keeping my cool, secretly pr
aying we manage to arrive in Jamaica before Laney completely loses it… or Sawyer terrorizes the entire airport.

  Good times.

  “Hey.” I lock both hands on her hips and spin her to face me. “First of all, your parents aren’t senile. Nor, to my knowledge, are they gypsies. So I’m not real concerned about them wandering off into the unchartered regions… of the airport. And your mom’s pill kicked in, so she’s napping, in the chair right next to your dad. They’re both fine. Now chill out and kiss me. Better make it good too.”

  “And why is that?” She cocks her head to the side, with her snarky question.

  “To convince me you’re sorry for being such a snippy wench today.” I wink.

  Her eyes narrow to slits as she tries to squirm from my hold. “Kiss this,” she snaps, but I simply laugh and seize her, my, mouth, because her little snits do nothing but turn me on more. I twirl the Disney “D” necklace that she never takes off between my fingers as I tongue-whip her into calming down, and when she’s lax in my arms and the checkout girl clears her throat, I pull back.

  No longer challenging, her eyes are now lazy-lidded, more hazel than brown, (the green in them always pops out when she gets turned on) and her breathing’s slowed. Mission accomplished, I pat her butt and pivot her in the direction of her parents, gently suggesting she go check on them for herself while I pay.

  “’K,” she mutters. “Love you, and I’m sorry. I’m just—”

  “Nervous, I know baby. But I got it, we got it, okay?”

  She nods and finally gives me a real smile, sauntering away.

  Yes, I turn and watch the sway of her ass as she does so. Never gets old.

  You know how it’s really loud on a plane, that constant, distorted hum overhead while in flight? So that even when the person in say, 2A is talking to their neighbor in 2B, they have to raise their voice some or lean in to be heard?

  Imagine then, if you will, the volume at which Sawyer Beckett would need to bellow from the last row of first class to ask me, the actual occupant of 2A, something.

  “This is all your fault, Kendrick! Even this punk kid I’m gonna kill agrees with me! Don’t ya Ryder? And don’t think I didn’t catch that his name sounds like RIDE HER!” Sawyer screams as though we’re the only ones on the plane. I don’t have to turn around to know Emmett’s crimson face is ducked in mortification and everyone seated around him is currently wondering, terrified of the answer, if security checked him thoroughly enough for stashed weapons… since he’s clearly displaying some insane tendencies.

  And I’m unsure exactly what’s “my fault”—not that I’m gonna yell back and ask. Laney sticks out her hand to stop the stewardess, who unfortunately for her unknowing self, chooses now to walk by. “Are you people still possibly serving the very large, lunatic back there alcohol?” Laney asks her pointedly.

  The attendant offers a sheepish smile and shrugs. “No ma’am. The lady with him already slipped me a note forbidding it. But I believe he may be coercing the frightened young man seated in front of him to order and then stealing the drinks from him.”

  “Okaaay,” Laney drawls out. “Just a thought.” She holds up a finger, then uses it to tap her chin in the most condescendingly “I have a polite suggestion” manner possible. “How ’bout we also stop serving him too? Sound like a plan?”

  If you really tried, you just might be able to catch a drip of the sarcasm in her question.

  “And the blond man across from him, also in on the conspiracy?” The stewardess asks, biting back a smile, and referring to Zach… who must just be enjoying the show, because there’s no way Sawyer’s bullying him into surrendering over his drinks unwillingly.

  “Oh, for the love of—” Laney throws off her seatbelt and stands, nearly knocking the woman in uniform over as she starts to stomp down the center aisle.

  “Ma’am, the fasten seatbelt light is on!” The now alarmed attendant calls after her.

  Laney stops dead in her tracks, pivots and glares at the poor woman. “Seems we’re all making bad decisions today. I’ll take my chances.” And she’s off again.

  I let her go because A. I agree, they’re out of control back there in what they’re quickly turning into the hoodlum section and Emmett just doesn’t possess that certain something it takes to settle them down when they’re really on a roll, and B. they’re a helluva lot more scared of Laney than they are of me.

  I lay my head back against the headrest and close my eyes, recalling the last time Laney truly schooled Sawyer Beckett. Sure, they swap verbal jabs as though it’s Olympic sport each and every time they converse, but sometimes, it’s especially entertaining. It’s been awhile since such epic an incident as what’s about to happen has, but the memory of one of my very favorite episodes is as vivid as the day it occurred.

  “Hand Presley to me right now, Sawyer. You’re gonna shake her brain loose! She’s a baby, not a Magic Eight Ball!”

  “I know how to soothe my own daughter, woman!”

  “Obviously! She’s crying harder now than when we walked in! If you flipped her over, a little triangle would pop up on her butt that says ‘doesn’t look good, try again later.’ Dane, tell him Presley needs her Aunt Gidget!”

  “Daney, please locate your ballsack, if it’s even still there, and remind your boss lady here that I don’t take well to her critiquing my parenting!”

  “That’s it, I’m calling Emmett!” Laney didn’t even get her phone out of her pocket before Sawyer was complying.

  “Do. Not. Call. Emmy.” Sawyer handed over Presley, Laney’s favorite lil’ person in the whole world, then, and the baby was fast asleep on her shoulder within seconds.

  “See,” Laney whispered roughly. “You’d be a lot better off if you’d start listening right when I start speaking, Saw. I’m Presley’s favorite, everyone knows that. But make sure to tell Whitley about this, just in case she’s forgotten.”

  “Fuck, you’re—”

  “Sawyer!” Laney scorned in a muted hiss, covering Presley’s ear with one hand. “You spell out F-U-C-K or say nothing at all! I’ll not have my niece growing up with a trash mouth like yours! Now quit talking or you’ll wake her up. Not to mention ruin her chances of getting into any pre-school not run by sailors!”

  “How about ‘F bomb’?’” he suggested, his expression that of sincere belief he’d just hatched and proposed a brilliant alternative.

  “Bombs? You want to mention bombs to the baby? Great idea, and then let’s make sure we cover guns, gangs and the Illuminati!” Laney rolled her eyes and shook her head in exasperated disbelief. “Please tell me you’re not in charge of bedtime stories. Dane, I’m serious, do something.”

  I did nothing; but stand back and watch, trying not to laugh so loud as to wake up Presley.

  God, I love my Laney.

  The very woman returns to her seat beside me just as the memory fades, dropping down with an annoyed huff.

  “You get ’em lined out, boss?” I ask, chuckle tamed.

  “Yeah, I cut them off. I don’t know what’s gotten into them today. Like they should be the ones who’re antsy.”

  “They’re not antsy, they’re headed to paradise, a vacation for all of them. Just getting started early.” I explain.

  “Well, with any luck, they’ll pass out from their early start as soon as we land.”

  “Baby,” I now laugh freely. “There’s nothing strong enough on this plane to put them on their asses. Takes more than a few hours and all the alcohol on board to lay out men of their size.”

  “Shoulda slipped ’em a Mickey,” she grumbles, crossing her arms.

  “You don’t even know what that means, gangsta. Why don’t you read that book you bought? You set them straight, so they won’t get any worse.”

  “Okay.” She sighs, her shoulders relaxing marginally. “How much longer till we’re there?”

  “Don’t ask, just read your book.”

  Crew Control

  This is not our fir
st trip, or wedding, as a group, so why certain people are acting like it’s the first time we’ve let them out of their cages, I’m not quite sure. A blind man could see I’m already on edge… they know better than to test me.

  But this is my Crew. A crazy, crude conglomeration of people that are more than just my friends; they’re my family—we’re a family. The ones who can make each other laugh or cry the hardest, the people who you never have to question whether or not you can count on them.

  Over the years, we’ve lost, and gained, some members. Some by choice, others by fate. Life has tried several times to splinter our foundation, topple our fortress—and failed. Our faith; in God, ourselves, and each other has been tested beyond measure, multiple times... but in the end, the crew saves the ship—Every. Single. Time. And we make it through the storm.

  Our vessel may have cracks and dings, tatters in its sail, and sometimes takes on water… but it still cuts through the waves with authority.

  Unsinkable.

  The overwhelming amount of loyalty and camaraderie that, occasionally, comes along with bouts of mayhem and disorderly conduct, is more than worth it. Reminding myself of this is the only thing stopping me short of slapping some sense into the yahoos back there—needing my foot up their asses as badly as I need a Xanax.

  “Slugger,” my dad—who still calls me Slugger, and I still love it—leans forward to speak to me from across the aisle, no more fooled into thinking I’m actually reading this damn book as he is that I’m over here silently contemplating Astrophysics. “You talk to Brynn about what I said?”

  Make that two Xanax, STAT.

  “No, Dad.” I turn my head away from him to roll my eyes, just in time to catch Dane make a half-ass attempt to cover his smirk.

  Only my father would somehow mistake now as a good time to discuss, and by discuss I mean his giving a full-on critique, of one of my pitchers.

  There’s not a thing wrong with any of my pitchers, least of all Brynn. She’s an amazing athlete, with a natural, God-given talent that’s truly an honor to watch, and my father knows it. He’s just… well, he’s just how he is about softball. Never gonna change. Works for me—wouldn’t have him any other way.