by Dee Lagasse
Without Warning
Dee Lagasse
Copyright (C) 2018 Danielle Lagasse
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without prior written consent of the author except where permitted by law.
The characters, places, brands and events depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Published by Danielle Lagasse
Edited by Melinda Utendorf of M.Ute Editing Services and Kelli Spear.
Cover Design by Kandi Steiner
Formatting by Alexandria Bishop of AB Formatting
Contents
Acknowledgments
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
About the Author
To The Minis.
Dillon, Kallie, and Hunter,
Remember that time I told you that you could do anything and be anything you want? Here’s momma backing up her statement. I love you the most.
Acknowledgments
I know that, typically, these go in the back of the book, but you wouldn’t be holding this book in your hands if it weren’t for my village. If it weren’t for the all the amazing people standing by my side, there’s no way I would have even started writing, never mind publishing Without Warning. They deserve to be in the front.
First and most importantly, even though they got the dedication… Dillon, Kallie, and Hunter. My reason for everything. Thank you for not only giving me the best title I could ever have, but for also making me the luckiest mom on this earth. I swear, I struck gold with the three of you. Never stop chasing your dreams. Ever. I believe in you, always. Love you the most!
Jeffrey. Thanks for holding down the fort while I ignored you for so, so, so many hours, staring at my laptop screen with headphones in. And, for not making fun of me too much when I sobbed like a baby after writing “The End.” And, also, for all the late night candy and caffeine runs when I needed an extra boost to finish “one more chapter.” But, most importantly, thank you for standing by my side and believing in me. For knowing when I needed a push, or someone to hold my hand. Thank you for never letting me give this up, even when I said I wanted to. You knew I could do it and your faith in me got me to “The End.” Oh, and sorry for drinking all your rum while writing Chapter Eighteen. Love you, Cracker Jack.
My big, crazy family – all twenty-seven sides of you. Before I was a Lagasse, I was a Beagley. And, being a part of our family made writing a big, loud, crazy, in your face family so easy. From the very beginning every one of you, on every side, have supported me and this crazy dream of mine. But, especially my dad John, my mom Debbi, my sister Vanessa, and my brothers, Joey and John Christopher. And, just because, Jeremy, Lily, Nico and Emily, too. Being your daughter, your sister, and your childrens’ aunt is my second favorite thing in this world, after being The Minis’ momma. (Even though my sister’s weird.)
P.S. If you’re related to me, feel free to skip over Chapter Eighteen. In fact, I highly encourage it.
Bobby Wheeler. You’re the Harry to my Hermione, B. Grateful doesn’t even begin to come close to how I feel about our friendship. Thank you for believing in me and for pushing me when I didn’t believe in myself. But most of all, thank you for putting up with me for more than half our lives, and for encouraging every crazy idea I’ve had since I was fourteen. It’s not the “Behind The Music” spot you wanted, but I hope this will do, Vanilla. (You know I had to throw that in somewhere!) You’re my fav.
Chelsea Davis, Aimee Lavoie, & Lindsey Batts. (Pay attention to a few of the names (both first and last) in the book, everyone else. It’s relevant, I swear.) There is a reason Hollis has three close girlfriends, and they meet every Tuesday for dinner. When I told each of you I was planning on writing, none of you even batted an eye…you just wanted to know what you could do to help. Your support and your love mean everything to me. There’s no one I would rather have horrific bachelorette party memories with than the three of you. LOVE YOU!
Kenny Wetherbee & Travis Soucy. There’s also a reason two of Hollis’ big brotherly figures are named Travis and Kenny. Life may have pulled us in separate directions and the story within this book may be fictional, but the two of you taught me everything I needed to know to write about (over)protective “big brothers.” I will never forget everything you both did for me growing up. There wasn’t anything one of you couldn’t fix, and I know if I called you today, right now, this very second, you would still do all you could to save the day. I will spend the rest of my life being thankful I have you.
Chantal Patino. For reading every single version of this story… and for being the friend that’s kept all my secrets since the eighth grade. We didn’t become the rock stars we wanted to be, but I’m so glad we still have each other.
Abbi Glines. You have been the most gracious, most helpful, most patient person during my writing process and while publishing. Thank you for believing in me, for answering all my questions along the way and for being such a bright light in my life.
Kandi Steiner. You were the first person in the book world to know that I was writing, and I will go as far as saying that your reaction is what pushed me to keep going. I will never not be thankful to have someone like you in my corner. Thank you for making Without Warning’s cover so pretty. I’ll always be here to tell you, “I told you so.”
Jerilyn Martinez, Julie Moss, Casey Decock, Sarah Simone, Cristina Bon, Vicci Kaighan, Mac Marshall, Nikki Gasca, Jessica Downs, Tammy Deviney-Roden, Suzy Danylko, Tricia Ciak, JoAnna Alsup, Jaime Moss, Tammy Gaudet, & Nicole Moore – BABES! You ladies were there every step of the way. Whether it was beta feedback, post sharing, late night hand holding as I was stressing pre-release…your love and support is what got Without Warning out into the world. Before there were any teasers, reveals, or even a synopsis, you ladies were there. That means more to me than you will ever know.
Stacey Allen. My seventh grade English teacher. If it wasn’t for you pulling me aside, and telling me that my words “mattered,” I don’t know if I would be here today. Thank you for believing in me all those years ago. Your teaching matters.
Melinda of M.Ute Editing. Thank you for polishing Without Warning and giving Hollis and Chase their finishing touches!
Alexandria Bishop of AB Formatting. Thank you for squeezing me in, and then letting me change my dates 92746482046 times, and for making the inside of Without Warning as pretty as the outside.
Kelli Spear. I told you this before, but I was terrified for you to read this. Your belief in me, and in Hollis and Chase means so much to me. Thank you for being the last eyes on their story and for your friendship-it is absolutely one of my most favorite things about being a part of the book world. Love you!
Autumn Gantz of Wordsmith Publicity. Our friendship is one of my f
avorite things to come from being a part of the book world. Thank you for doing all you did to get Without Warning out there, and for all your support “behind the scenes”, too.
All the ARC readers, the bloggers, the authors that let me pop in your groups, and especially my very own Capparelli & Co. group! I appreciate you more than words can ever say.
And to you. Yes, you. For taking a chance on me. By picking up this book, you are supporting someone’s dream. Thanks for helping me make this a reality.
I got a little close and that is all it took. I was captured. Because sometimes that is what happens when the heart recognizes home.
-J.M. Storm
Prologue
September 26, 2004
Sophomore Gym Class, Abbott Hills High School.
Karma is a tricky bitch.
The only logical explanation for me having physical education at seven o’ fucking clock in the morning is that I must have done something terrible in this life or one before it.
I mean, I suppose that I could just bring my running shoes and walk around the perimeter of the gymnasium to get class credit. You know, like all the other girls in the class do. And, when I say “all,” I actually mean every single one of them. Except me. Doing things just because everyone else is has never been my style though.
Which is why I am currently the only girl standing in this damp, freezing locker room fully dressed to actively participate in class. I’m the one with no make-up on, solid black track shorts, and a loose hot pink racerback tank-top over a visible black sports bra. Twenty-two other girls are scattered throughout the rows of narrow metal lockers, each of them with full make-up and their hair done.
As I pull together large chunks of my thick, dark brown hair into a ponytail, I’m approached by three girls on a mission. The moment reminds me of the cliché scene in every single movie with teens: when a group of girls, usually in a cafeteria or a hallway, think they run the school, and come strutting in with purpose. With every strand of their hair perfectly placed, their outfits calculated and chosen carefully, each of them looks like they’re prepared for an Abercrombie & Fitch photoshoot instead of gym class.
When they stop next to me, I make no effort to stifle my laughter or hide my dramatic eye roll. These girls made no effort to look like models the eighteen school days before today. But, that’s because none of those eighteen days were today. None of those eighteen days were the first home game for the school’s football team. Making today the first Rally Day of this school year.
Rally Day, an age-old tradition, somehow, has managed to stand the test of time. Today and every Friday we have a home game for the rest of the season, every member of the Varsity football team gets to pick one “rally girl” before the end of the school day. Every player on the team starts the day with clean practice jerseys over the dress shirts and ties they’re required to wear. By the time lunch rolls around, they must give their jersey to a girl of their choosing.
If you’re picked as a rally girl, you get the distinct honor of wearing a football player’s jersey like a trophy all day. You also sit closest to the field on the bleachers, getting the best view of the game. After the game, the player is supposed to take you out on a date. Well, it may have started out that way when the school debuted their first Rally Day in 1965, but thirty-eight years later, it’s used as a glorified hook-up tool.
The few guys on the team who have steady girlfriends always choose their girlfriends and the rest of the guys use it to their advantage, knowing most of the girls see it as a competition. Right now, there are only three sophomores on the Varsity football team. My twin brother Davis, my cousin Travis, and our next-door neighbor Kenny.
The craziness started as soon as Davis made the team last month. For about two weeks straight, there was a constant string of teenage girls coming to our front door with baked goods. Why cookies and brownies are the only thing that stuck from the beginning of Rally Day is beyond me, but I digress.
He tried to be nice about it at first. Accepting two trays of cupcakes, three dozen chocolate chip cookies, two batches of brownies and an apple crisp. But because no one was getting any hint of who he would choose, the doorbell kept ringing. That is, until about a week before school started and he started making it very clear to any girl standing on the front steps with a tray full of sugary goodness that he had every intention of asking Kinley Lavoie come game day.
Word spread like wildfire and everyone’s attention shifted to Travis and Kenny. The stories they’ve come back with are insane. Girls have offered baked goods, homework help, and the desperate ones offered blowjobs. It’s not just sophomores either, even Seniors have been making their way to the sophomore wing to try to get their attention.
“Stop looking at us with those judgey eyes, Hollis.” Kinley sticks her tongue out at me as she puts her backpack into the gym locker she shares with her step-sister Cole.
“I don’t know what you’re so worried about,” the third girl, my cousin Ellis, laughs in Kinley’s direction. “Everyone knows Davis is going to ask you.”
“Yeah, well, he hasn’t yet. And, I don’t know why you two don’t just tell Travis and Kenny you want to be their rally girls,” Kinley shoots back defensively before loudly adding, “I mean, it would make more sense for Kenny to pick Ellis and Travis to pick Cole than any of the other bitches trying to get their jerseys for the day.”
“Hey Hol, did you hear the fellas talking on the way in?” Cole questions, ignoring Kinley’s comment, as she closes the blue locker next to the one I share with Ellis. “Something about a boy that used to live here, moved away and now he's back? He used to play football with the boys. Do you know who he is? Is it anyone we know?”
“Nope. New dude is news to me,” I tell her as I tie the laces of my green and white Nikes. “I'm surprised I didn't get the speech, though.”
Once my gym bag is secure in the locker, I close the door and the other three take my movement as their hint to make their way out of this dreary, dark room. When we get to the heavy metal door separating the locker room from the gymnasium just a foot away, Cole pushes it open.
When the four of us are once again standing next to each other, she shakes her head and says, “You mean the ‘Hollis, play nice, not everyone understands you’re an ice princess with no soul' speech?”
“No soul?” repeats a redhead with a face full of freckles, from the bottom row of wooden bleachers that we have made our way over to. “Must be talking about Hollis.”
“Good morning to you too, Kenny,” I say, playfully pushing the boy that has been my next-door neighbor and my brother’s best friend since we were five. “And, by the way, I have a soul. I'm just not sure if it's connected to my body or if the devil has it. But, it's around…somewhere.”
“Well, Satan, your shoe’s untied,” Ellis points out, nodding down in the direction of the loose laces of my Nikes.
Bending over, I grab one of the laces and make the loop to start the process of tying my shoe. It’s a task that’s so simple I don’t need to think about to complete it. But, before I take the second lace into my hand, I involuntarily freeze in place, not knowing what to do next. It’s as if I’ve completely forgotten the last decade of tying my shoes.
My shoes and the wooden planks making up the gymnasium floor below might be what my eyes focus on, but I can feel it. Someone is watching me. It’s not just the everyday, someone’s looking at you as they pass by kind of feeling. This is terrifying. I feel naked. Exposed. Transparent. I know my soul is in place, right inside of me because, whoever is at the other end of this stare down can see right through me to the very core of my being.
Not knowing what to expect, I exhale and slowly psych myself up, giving in to the universal pull drawing me to the person on the other end of this stare down. Following the connection like a magnetic force, my eyes lock with a smirking teenage boy.
There’s nothing out of the ordinary about him. Other than his perfect face and his apparent ability to
look directly into my soul, he’s just a boy in a plain white t-shirt and black basketball shorts standing in between my brother and my cousin Travis.
Breaking our connection, he turns to Davis and nods his head, agreeing to something my brother said. He must be the new, but not actually new kid that I’m supposed to be nice to. After a few minutes of back and forth, Davis begins to walk toward where I am standing with our little group of friends.
Continuing their conversation, New Dude walks alongside him, like he, my cousin, and my brother are old friends. Who the hell is this boy? If Travis and Davis both know him, why don’t I have a clue who he is? And why the hell is he affecting me the way he is?
The intensity of the moment causes me to forget I have an untied shoe. Standing up quickly from the edge of the bleacher, panic and premature embarrassment surge through me when I’m certain my face is about to abruptly meet the floor.
New Dude must be Superman or The Flash because before I hit the ground, there are arms around me, saving my face and my dignity. Wincing, I brace myself for the humiliating first conversation that’s about to happen. Instead of saying anything snarky, like most of the boys I spend any of my time with would, New Dude slowly begins to stand us both back up. His hands are still on my arms, steadying me, as if he knows my legs could buckle out from beneath me at any second.
“Oh my God,” the words begin to flow out of me. Without control or restraint, I continue to ramble like a lunatic, “I am so sorry. Are you okay? Wait. Of course you're okay. Look at you. I mean, that's not what I meant. Just that I’m the one that fell, and you saved me. Not that I needed someone to save me but -”
