by S. P. West
Love, Hate & Us
S.P. West
Copyright ©2017 S.P. West
All rights reserved.
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This book is a work of fiction.
The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any reference to a music, T.V. or celebrity name, is just that, a reference, they do not form part of the story.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademarked owners of various products referenced in this book, which have been used without permission. The use of these trademarks is not authorised, associated with or sponsored by the trademark owners.
No part of this book may be re-produced, scanned, photocopied or distributed (electronically or otherwise) in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for brief quotes that are used in articles and reviews.
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Editing by The Editing Maven.
Cover by Kirsty-Ann Still.
Formatted by Irish Ink.
In loving memory of three wonderful men.
My father, Jack.
The man who taught me it was okay to be different, to not follow the crowd.
I miss you every day.
Eric, my husband’s grandfather.
He wrote a rather racy little novel once and it’s from that novel that I took the McAllister surname.
Your legacy lives on.
And to Vip Mehta.
You are sorely missed, my friend.
Contents
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
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Also by S.P. West
Brooke
“You’re certain? Could you check again, please? Yeah…sure, I’ll hold.”
Three days. My fiancé, Brody, has been missing for three days.
I’ve checked every hospital within one hundred miles of our home, with family, friends, the sheriffs’ department, and the county morgue; but there has been nothing. Not a single sighting or word of him in three very long days. He isn’t answering his cell, responding to emails, or text messages. It’s like he’s dropped off the face of the earth. No one has any idea where he is. I can’t even get a hold of the assholes that he went out for a quiet drink with on Wednesday evening. They’ve suddenly become mute about where my fiancé of eight years has gotten to.
Brody isn’t an a-hole like them. The sweet, kind, loving man that I know would call me to tell me where he is, reassure me that he’s okay.
Is he still alive? Is he lying in a ditch injured somewhere?
These unanswered questions going around and around in my head keep me awake at night. I’ve hardly slept, I can’t eat—I’m so worried about him. I feel so damn useless.
Tightening my hold around the photo frame with the picture of us from our senior prom, I send up a silent prayer that he’s okay.
Brody, where the hell are you, baby?
“Ma’am…Mrs. McAllister? Can you hear me, ma’am?” The reedy female voice at the other end of the line brings me back from the darkness that seems to consume more of my thoughts with each passing day that Brody is missing. For a moment, I think that they are speaking to someone else until I remember that I told them I was his wife so that they’d at least talk to me.
“Yeah...um, sorry,” I answer distractedly. “Could…you…could you repeat that for me, please?”
“I said that there is no one here matching that description, ma’am. I’m happy to take a telephone number and if Mr. McAllister turns up, I’ll notify you straightaway.”
Tears begin to track down my cheeks as yet another slight glimmer of hope is snuffed out. I’d managed to fend them off while I focused on my fruitless task of finding Brody.
“Are you still there, ma’am?”
“Yeah, I’m here.” My voice is muffled as I wipe my tears and snot away with my sleeve, trying not to sob down the phone as I give her my cell phone number.
“I’ll call you if I hear anything, Mrs. McAllister. I hope you find him.”
“Thanks,” I whisper, before pressing the button to end the call. Yet another dead-end in my search for my missing lover.
I must have fallen asleep as I wake up to find myself curled up on our bed, hugging the photo frame with one arm, and a wedge of damp tissues in my other hand, the empty box next to my head. I don’t remember how I got here. The last thing I remember was throwing my cell across the living room as I screamed and screamed, trying desperately to rid myself of some of the pain and frustration that I feel inside. Luckily for me, Mrs. Anderson, the little old lady to the left of us, is deaf and Lola, our neighbor to the right, works nights at the local strip joint.
The bright red light of my clock lets me know that it’s three o’clock in the morning. Carefully setting the picture of Brody and me on my bedside table, I drag myself out of bed and head to the living room to find my damn cell. The longer that I stay awake, the more time I can spend trying to find Brody. It takes me around ten minutes to find my cell, somehow it’s still in one piece. A quick glance at the screen tells me that no one has called. There are three text messages though. The first is from Lola, letting me know that she put the word out about Brody being missing and that she’ll let me know if she hears anything. The second is from Brody’s jerk of a brother, Caden, asking me if his older brother has turned up yet. The third is from my beautiful little sister, Hope—the reason why Caden will forever be known as a jerk to me.
I fire off a quick thanks to Lola, send Caden a curt no, and send Hope a slightly longer detailed message. Immediately my screen lights up with a new text message. Unfortunately, it’s from Caden.
Can I call you?
Closing my eyes, I count to ten to calm myself down before responding to the dickwad. Having a conversation with the boy who broke my sister’s heart is the last thing I need right now. I used to love Caden McAllister—loved him like a little brother since the day his family moved in next door to mine. Watched him grow up from an annoying little brat who adored my sister, to a boy who would walk over hot coals for her, to a guy who found fame and dumped her so that he could sleep around without a guilty conscience. The day he stopped being Caden McAllister and became Cade McCall was the day that little bastard became public enemy number one in my eyes.
Both sets of parents had hoped that us Elderhouse girls would marry the McAllister boys. I know that Brody’s parents, Dair and Judy, are still optimistic that Hope and Caden will reunite.
I’m not.
Hope and Caden’s car crash of a relationship is the least of my worries right now, the need to find his older brother is my priority. I don’t send the bitter message that I plan out in my head—one that involves a long diatribe about how he can go fuck himself, and to go back to that D-list actress he’s been hooking up with. Instead I keep it short and sweet.
Yeah, sure.
No matter what I feel for him, he must be worried about Brody, too.
No sooner have I hit send my cell starts to ring.
“Hey,”
Caden says as soon as I answer.
“Have you heard from him?” I skip any pleasantries. I don’t want to talk to him any longer than I have too.
“What, no hello?” Even though his brother is missing, possibly dead, Caden sounds surprisingly unfazed.
“No, Caden, no hello.”
“Ooh my full name, must be in your bad book.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“Easy, tiger, I just wanted to say hi.”
“I’m not in the mood to play nice with you, Caden. I’m going out of my mind with worry about Brody. So if you just called for idle chitchat, then I’m hanging up right now because I have nothing else to say to you.” Caden lets out a long, weary sigh that only adds fuel to my now white-hot anger. “Goodbye, Caden.” My finger hovers over the end call button, ready to hang up.
“Wait, wait, wait…please.”
“What?”
“I’ve heard from Brody.”
“YOU WHAT?” I practically shout down the phone at him. My heart seems to be beating out of my chest, elated that Brody has contacted someone. “When?”
“Ow, my ear.” Caden chuckles.
“Sorry, it’s just that…” I start to sob. “I’ve been so worried.”
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he soothes. “It’s okay. Look, I’ll tell you what I know. He sent me a text.”
“You didn’t speak with him?”
“No, he just sent me a text yesterday.”
“Yesterday!” I interrupt him with an ear-splitting screech. “You heard from him yesterday and you only tell me now, asshole?”
Caden lets out another long sigh. “He asked me not to tell you, but I didn’t think it was fair. I know you must be worried about him.”
“Wait. He what?”
“He said not to tell you that he’d contacted me.” Caden sounds apologetic as he answers.
For a moment, I’m too stunned to answer, confused over why Brody would do that. He must know how worried I am. He must.
“You still there?”
“Why...Why would he do that?” I stutter.
“I don’t know, Brooke.” He pauses, and I can imagine Caden running his hands through his dark hair right now, like he does when he’s about to deliver bad news. Like he did when he broke Hope’s heart. “I’m sorry.”
“What did the message say, Caden?”
“Not a lot.”
“Well.” My teeth are gritted with frustration as I speak. “Could you please tell me the not a lot he said?”
“He just said that he’s okay, and to tell Mom and Dad that he’s fine, and that I’m not to tell you.”
“I’ll assume that that was the edited version, so now tell me everything that he said.” My anger starts to peak again. I know that the little rat is holding out on me, protecting his older brother as usual. I’ve known him since he was born. “You owe me, Caden. Just remember all the times I’ve kept your dirty little secrets. I’ve not breathed a word to anyone about what you’ve done. Just remember money talks and my tongue may suddenly become loose.”
“That’s a low blow.”
“Then spill.”
“How’s Hope?” he asks softly, changing the subject. If I could reach down the line and strangle the little bastard I would.
“Don’t you dare, Caden McAllister! Don’t you dare ask me about Hope, because you do not deserve to know a single thing about her life. As far as you’re concerned, you’re dead to her. Ask me again and I swear to God all the gossip columns will know what you did to her, you little shit. Every. Single. One.”
The silence that greets my little rant is deafening. I consider hanging up on him; I doubt that he would care.
“Hope still hates me, huh?” My heart twinges in sympathy at the note of sadness in Caden’s voice. “I don’t blame her. I hate me, too.”
I don’t answer. I can’t. What would I say? It’s his own fault, he brought it on himself, and he’s done nothing to make it right. I hate him, too. I don’t want to be talking to him—the asshole who hurt my sister.
I just want to know that Brody is safe.
“Caden, just tell me what Brody said. Please.”
“Okay, but only because I owe you.” He pauses. “And for the record, I think he’s being stupid and needs to talk to you.”
“Just. Tell. Me.”
“He said…uhhh…I’m going to put you on speaker, okay?” I can hear someone say hey in the background, followed by what sounds like a door being closed. “You still there?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you sure you want to hear this?” he asks, his voice laced with concern.
“Just spit it out, Caden.”
“Okay.” He lets out a long breath. “‘Hi Bro. I’m okay. Just need to think about shit with me and B. Not sure it’s working anymore, just don’t know how to tell her. I’ve taken a few days off work and headed to the cabin. Taking time to clear my head. Going to head home as soon as I decide what to do. Tell Mom and Dad that I’m okay. I know that she’ll be worrying, but please don’t tell Brooke that I’ve messaged you. Can’t deal with the crap that she’ll lay on me right now. If she asks, just tell her I’m okay. Brody.’”
They say that your world can come crashing down in the blink of an eye, mine just imploded.
“Brooke. You still there?”
I can’t breathe.
“Brooke, you okay?”
“Oh.” My chest feels tight; my throat is closing up. “Can’t…Can’t breathe.” I gasp as the world spins around me. I honestly think I’m about to die.
“Take deep breaths, B. In through your nose, out through your mouth.” Caden’s deep voice is strangely soothing as he encourages me to breathe with him. In and out. In and out. He keeps talking to me in that steady, slow, rhythmic way, and eventually my heart stops beating so hard and fast and my breathing returns to normal. “You okay?” he asks again gently.
“No.” I feel woozy, like I’ve drunk three bottles of wine, woozy. “What’s happening to me?”
“Sounds like a panic attack.”
A panic attack? I thought I was dying.
“I get them sometimes before I go on stage, especially after…” Caden hesitates, unwilling to continue. I hate the silence that follows. I hate the way I’m feeling right now. I’m scared and lost and I don’t understand what’s going on. The only person that can give me any answers doesn’t want to talk to me.
“Caden?”
“Yeah?”
“Did he say anything else?”
“No. I’m sorry, Brooke.”
“Not your fault.”
I hear a female voice call Caden’s name. He sounds annoyed as he answers. “Brooke, I’ve gotta go. If you need anything…just call. Text. Email. Hell, send a bat signal.”
“Thank you.” My voice is a mere whisper.
“See you, Brooke.”
“Cade? Can you pass on a message to Brody?”
“Sure.”
“Ask him why,” I say, ending the call.
Brody
Dear Brooke,
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry that I have to hurt you like this. You don’t deserve it.
Please don’t think that this is about you. It’s a problem that I need to deal with.
What I guess I’m trying to say is that.
I think that it’s best that we
I’ll always love you but I can’t be with you anymore.
I’m sorry.
Brody.
Snatching up the letter that has taken me the best part of a day to write, I toss it into the dancing flames of the fire in the grate. The paper disappears within moments and with it the words that I’ve struggled to write.
A ding on my cell tells me that I’ve gotten yet another message, a brief glance tells me that it’s from Brooke.
Please tell me that you’re safe.
I sling my cell onto the couch beside me, placing a pillow over it for good measure.
Three days. That’s
how long I’ve been hiding away, avoiding Brooke.
She must be going out of her mind with worry by now. Knowing her, she’s contacted half the country to find out where I am right now. Which is why I sent a quick text to Cade to let him know that I’m safe, in case she contacted him or my parents. I didn’t want to worry them unnecessarily, which is kind of ironic really.
Admittedly, it’s also one of my more selfish dick moves and Brooke doesn’t deserve it, but I’m all out of ideas of what to do.
How exactly do you explain to your fiancée that you don’t want to be with her anymore?
The way I saw it, I had two options. One was to man up and tell her the truth, the second was to run away and hide like a coward. I chose the second one.
I’m not proud of myself and I’m sure that karma will kick me in the ass at some point, but it’s not like I suddenly woke up one day and thought I’m not sure that I love her anymore…actually, that is what happened.
The whole situation is pretty shitty. Am I doing the right thing? I don’t know. Will I regret this? Probably, but I’ve started down this path, no turning back now. Brooke’s a pretty forgiving person, but this time I think I might have gone too far, even for her. So, this…whatever it is, has to be dealt with. If you can call sitting in the dark, festering in my own filth, dealing with it.
There’s a constant war raging between my heart and my head. My head tells me that what we had is gone, my heart can’t begin to imagine what it’ll be like not to have Brooke in my life anymore.
Everything I’ve ever done has been with Brooke. Okay, there was that time I dated that other girl in high school, but that was nothing compared to what Brooke and I have. Had. What we had.
