by Sara Mack
The Guardian
Trilogy
The Complete Collection
Guardian ~ Allegiant ~ Reborn
By SARA MACK
Guardian
By SARA MACK
Guardian (Book 1 in The Guardian Trilogy)
Copyright © 2013 Sara Mack
All Rights Reserved
First Kindle Edition: 2013
Cover art by S. Mack & S.M. Koz
Edited by Abbie Gale Lemmon - [email protected]
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products listed in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Dedicated to
Koz, Aubs, Bree, and Abbie Gale
Thank you for living in my fictional world
Table of 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
Prologue
I sit and stare. My gaze is concentrated on a plant, an orchid. One single, curved stem holds six fuchsia flowers, each with a white center. The plant is beautiful. I allow a small part of my mind to wonder who might have sent it, while the rest of my consciousness blocks the reason why.
Faces blur in and out of my vision, and I hear muffled voices. They remind me of the old Peanuts cartoons that come on around the holidays, where the adult voices sound garbled. I know the blurry, muffle-voiced people mean well; they remind me of the “Great Pumpkin” episode in which all Charlie Brown gets trick-or-treating is rocks. Rocks. My chest feels full of them. It’s hard to breathe.
My grandma takes a seat next to me. I can tell it’s her because she takes my hand in hers and her skin feels like sandpaper. Grandma Ethel’s skin has always felt this way. I can sense her getting settled in her chair when something hits my foot. Instinctively, I reach down to pick up the purse she has dropped. My concentration on the plant is broken, and I remember why I am here.
A scream rips through my throat.
Chapter 1
I lift my face toward the sun, its brightness illuminating the darkness behind my eyelids. I have escaped my house and walked to a nearby park with the excuse of needing to get out and enjoy the warmth while it lasts. Michigan weather is never predictable, so this excuse is accepted. My hope is that the sun will burn me and redden my skin to replace the sorrow in my heart with physical pain. A pain that can be relieved and cured. Something that I know has an end, something I can see healing.
“There you are.”
Squinting, I see the outline of a person walking toward me. As it gets closer, my eyes focus on my best friend, Shel.
“Your mom told me I’d find you here.” She produces two bottles of water and offers me one. “Thirsty?”
I shake my head.
She sits down next to me and opens her bottle. “It’s warm for this time of year.”
We sit in silence for countless minutes staring at the park. A family of three plays in the sand by the water, taking advantage of the spontaneous warm weather. A few people hang out on a shaded picnic table; a jogger runs along the sidewalk. I play with the grass underneath my fingers as Shel follows my lead and watches what is going on around us. I’ve known Shel forever, since elementary school, and even she can’t bring up what’s happened. I suppose for fear of my reaction. But that’s okay. I’d rather sit here in silence indefinitely than discuss it.
“So,” she pushes her sunglasses up into her hair. “When are you going back to school?”
“I’m not,” I turn to look at her. “I’ll be finishing from home.”
Her brown eyes widen. “Oh. Online?”
I nod. “You heading back this weekend?”
“Saturday.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t been much company.”
“No worries,” she says and lounges back on her elbows. “I’ll be coming home for the summer; I need a break.”
During our senior year, Shel was selected to attend the University of Michigan on an accelerated scholarship which meant she started her college classes during our last semester of high school. She’s been attending college longer than anyone I know. It doesn’t help that she wants to be an M.D.; she’ll never be done with school.
“I talked to Matt yesterday,” she says. “He told me to tell you he’s thinking about you. He tried to catch up with you the other day, but…you know…”
I pull my knees to my chest and rest my chin on them. “Tell him I said hi.”
She nods. “You know you do have to eat, right?”
Obviously my mother has mentioned my lack of appetite. “I know.”
“I was told your dinner would be ready in an hour.”
We sit in silence and watch the sun fade. The small family packs their blanket and leaves, the friends say goodbye and leave the picnic table. The jogger has long since run off.
“Em?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you going to be okay?” Shel asks quietly.
I can’t answer her.
Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I check the alarm clock. 10:42 a.m. Yawning, I stretch and then change position, snuggling into my old bed and familiar smelling sheets. I don’t think my mom has used a different detergent since I was born. The smell is comforting.
“Knock, knock,” my dad says as he cracks open my bedroom door.
I pick up my head. “Hey dad.”
“Mornin’,” he says as he opens the door wide. “Just checking to see if you’re awake. Hungry?”
I’m not, but I don’t want to admit it. For the first time since I’ve been home I notice a significant amount of gray now peppers my father’s brown hair. Positive I am the cause I answer, “Sure,” even though hunger is a need I haven’t felt in a long time.
His slate blue eyes light up. “What’ll it be?”
“Cereal is fine.”
“You sure? I can make pancakes.”
Pancakes are somewhat of my dad’s specialty. This is how I know he’s hurting for me but can’t express it. Dad’s pancakes usually only get made for special occasions, like birthdays. “I guess so, if you want to.”
A smile
breaks across his face. “Coming right up.”
As he closes the door, I sit up slowly and catch a look at myself in the dresser mirror. I can see why everyone is concerned; I look like shit. No amount of makeup is going to cover my eye bags. The puffy, dark shadows look painted on my light skin. Peeling myself out of bed, I brush my teeth, attempt to tame my hair into a messy ponytail, and then head downstairs to the familiar smell of pancakes. Unfortunately, the buttery aroma does nothing for my appetite.
“There she is,” my dad smiles at me, spatula in hand. “Just in time.”
I take a seat at the kitchen island as he slides an “E” shaped pancake onto a waiting plate. “For you, madam.”
I give him a small smile. “Where’s the syrup?”
“In the fridge.”
I stand and walk over to the refrigerator, reaching for the handle. Something catches my eye and I freeze. I can see the corner of a picture peeking out from behind a calendar. I slowly lift the paper, preparing myself to be confronted with a stinging memory. Instead I see Michael and Kate, my older brother and his girlfriend, staring back at me, smiling with their new puppy, Jake.
I open the fridge, grab the syrup, and go back to my “E.”
“Good morning,” I hear my mom come through the door after her morning run. She smiles at me as she takes off her shoes. “How’d you sleep?”
“Okay.”
“Good,” she says. She walks over and plants a kiss on the top of my head. “I’m happy you’re eating something.”
I nod and take a bite. I don’t have the heart to tell her it’s more for my dad’s benefit than mine.
“Michael will be over in about a half an hour so we can head out,” she tells my dad. Turning to me she adds, “Are you sure you don’t want to come?”
I nod. My parents and brother are heading to my dorm room at Western Michigan to gather my things, since I won’t be returning to the campus until next fall. “I think it’ll be better if I stay here.”
My mom’s face crinkles and her caramel-colored eyes soften into her worried/I’m so sorry/I don’t know what to do look that I’ve seen a million times over the last week and a half. I can’t bear to tell her that I’m afraid I will start screaming again if I see all of my memories from the past three years in one place, let alone try to pack them away in a box.
“Well, what will you do all day?” she asks worriedly.
I want to tell her that I won’t off myself, but instead I say, “I’ll be catching up on some reading. Once I get my laptop back I can start submitting my late assignments.”
This appears to ease her worry. “All right. You have our numbers if you need us. And Mrs. Miller is next door too.”
I nod.
She releases her auburn hair from her low pony, and it falls to her shoulders, thick and mop-like. “I’m going to shower. Dale, did you put gas in the truck?”
“Yes, ma’am.” My dad salutes her with the spatula.
I look down at my plate. I’ve only managed to eat my “E” into an “L.” I poke at my alphabetical pancake, not wanting the rest of it.
“Here’s a stack for Michael,” my dad says, setting a plate of pancakes down by me. My brother is always hungry. “Coffee’s kicking in,” he winks as he heads to the bathroom.
Now my appetite is really gone. I sit and poke at my breakfast for a few more minutes before deciding that now is the time to throw it away without anyone seeing me. I head over to the wastebasket and toss it in. Even better, I return to the island with the empty plate in an effort to reassure my parents that I’ve eaten and I’m feeling less depressed.
I hear the back door creak open and slam shut. A moment later a taller version of my father appears in the kitchen. “Hey Ems.” My brother walks over and gives me a lopsided one-armed hug. “Feeling okay today?”
I nod and lean in to his awkward hug. That’s the extent of his inquiry. What else can he say? What do you say to someone who, just days ago, you had to pull off a casket screaming? He releases me and digs into the stack of pancakes, instinctively knowing they are for him.
“Hey Mike,” my dad says as he reenters the kitchen. My brother waves his fork at him, mouth full. Dad eyes my empty plate. “Want another? I’ll make you another.” His hands are busy whisking before I can tell him no.
Soon they are all ready to head out the door to bring my college life back to me in boxes. I follow my mother and brother to the door, so I can watch them leave. My dad turns off the stove and pauses to place more breakfast on my plate. He gives me a quick hug as he passes me.
I make my way back to my seat at the island and look down. A pancake in the shape of the letter “J” awaits me. I suck in my breath and turn quickly to look at my father with wide eyes before he steps out the door. Our gaze locks.
“I miss him too,” he says quietly, closing the door behind him.
Chapter 2
Tears stream down my face too fast for me to keep up with wiping them away. I just let them fall and drip off my chin into the sink as I attempt to wash the dishes from breakfast; the “J” discarded in the trash with the leftover pancake batter and coffee grounds.
Back in my room I let the sobs loose into my pillow. Sleep takes me even though I’ve already slept away half the morning. Memories that I try to suppress while I’m awake keep making appearances in my dreams. This afternoon is no exception. My subconscious takes me back in time.
I’m looking in the mirror and I have to admit for a change, I like what I see. The iridescent emerald fabric, which weaves through my black dress, complements my eyes; usually, they are such a freaky shade of green people think I wear contacts. Tonight, my eyes don’t look out of place against my wavy up-do, formal attire, and made-up face. I actually went to the salon and had red highlights put in my brown hair to bring out the light auburn that was already there. It was a very girly act for me; normally, I just stick to the wake up, throw on some jeans, apply a little lip gloss, and go routine. My reflection turns in the mirror as I study myself. I’m impressed that my dress makes me look like I actually have a waist and a chest, a far cry from my everyday tomboyish appearance.
James and I are going to the junior prom. He couldn’t find a date, which I think was a lie, and suggested that we go together because we’re best friends and we shouldn’t miss out on a fun night. At first I rejected the idea because it would be too weird. James and I have been friends since elementary school; he, Shel, Matt and I have been inseparable since the fifth grade. But he wouldn’t let the idea go and I conceded, just as I’m sure he knew I would. Shel was beyond ecstatic when I told her. She’s been trying to convince me that he’s been interested in me for awhile, but I keep telling her she’s crazy. He’s James. I’m me. We’re friends. We hang out. He’s never said anything or acted any differently around me. In the weeks leading up to the dance, I reminded her at every opportunity that this wasn’t a real date.
I hear a car pull into the driveway and the door slam. My stomach leaps into my throat unexpectedly, my nerves taking me by surprise. To calm myself, I rationalize that it’s just another night out with James. Just like the countless other times we’ve been to the movies together or done homework or met up after his hockey games…
Sounds like dating to me, my subconscious chimes. Crap.
“Hey,” I hear my mom at my bedroom door. “James is here.”
“O-okay,” I say nervously. “I’ll be right down.” Checking the mirror one last time, I suddenly feel small despite my 5’6 inch height made two inches taller with heels. The full skirt of my dress falls just above my knees making my skinny legs look like twigs. I’m feeling a lot of pressure surrounding this night. Will my flimsy legs support me? I play with a few loose strands of hair at my temple and reassure myself that I can do this. Everything will be back to normal tomorrow.
I head for the stairs and when I make it to the landing before the second set of steps, I peek around the corner. Everyone is in the living room, including my brother.
The boys are in a discussion, probably sports related. My mom is playing with the camera. I’m feeling self-conscious. I take a deep breath before heading down and catch a good look at my “date.”
Okay, wow.
Is it the tux? A realization hits me of how good-looking he is. It’s the same James. Sandy brown hair, blue eyes, athletic build. But he looks different somehow. Have his eyes always been that vivid shade of cerulean blue? Has his hair always fallen over his forehead that way? Have his shoulders broadened in the last 24 hours?
My mom catches me peeking at the scene below. “There she is!” she announces with excitement. “Come on down; I need pictures!”
In slow, careful steps, I make it to the bottom of the stairs. My dad comes over to me and smiles, holding me at arm’s length. “You look beautiful,” he says.
I make a face. “You’re just happy I’m not in jeans.”
“Go stand by the fireplace with James,” my mom tells me.
My date and I meet in front of her designated picture spot, and our eyes lock for the first time. “Hi,” he says with a shy smile.
I find myself distracted by the perfect curve of his lips, and all I can manage is a quiet “Hi” in return. Flashes ensue, lighting up the living room and pulling my attention away from his mouth. Is it getting hot in here or is it just me?
“’Kay, James put the corsage on Em,” my mom directs.
James fumbles to open the plastic box that contains the flowers, and it slips from his fingers. I lunge forward to catch it, and we laugh at the awkwardness of the moment. I relax a bit as I hand the box back to him. This type of interaction between us is what I’m used to.
Once James pops the box top he sets it aside and slides the corsage over my hand. The flowers are striking. “What are these?” I ask, lifting my wrist to smell them. Three fuchsia blossoms with white centers are complemented by a black ribbon. They look exotic, almost tropical.
“Um, I don’t know.” He leans in to me and whispers, “My mother picked them out.” He looks embarrassed, and I suppress a laugh.
