by Taylor Dean
STONE
Silence
Sound of Silence Series
Book One
Spencer’s Story
taylor dean
Stone Silence
Copyright © 2017 by Taylor Dean
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
www.taylordeanbooks.com
Cover photograph by: Steve Allred
Cover models: Mackenzie Allred, Max Allred
Cover design by: Jules Isaacs
E-book formatting: Maureen Cutajar
Author photo: Jules Isaacs
Edited by: Jules Isaacs
Print ISBN: 978-1548350925
To my daughter, Sarah.
She knows why.
Acknowledgements
Special thanks to Scott Hendricks for allowing me to use the story of how his son came to have the nickname of Stony.
Thank you to my niece and nephew, Mackenzie Allred and Max Allred, for being my cover models.
Also, a huge thank you to my fabulous beta readers: Charissa, Mylissa, Robin, John, Jessica, Carolee, Jaclyn, and Monika. Thanks for helping me make my books shine.
Dear Reader,
The Sound of Silence Series is a three book series.
Book one: Stone Silence, Spencer’s Story
Book two: Jailbird, Mia’s Story
Book three: Hothouse Flower, Shay’s Story
Each book has a happy ending and there are no cliffhangers. They are not standalones and should be read in order.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter 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
Epilogue
Other Books by Taylor Dean
About the Author
CHAPTER
One
“I DON’T KNOW which way to go. The GPS is not helping. What am I supposed to do?” Finn pulls over and parks the car. “I don’t know what to do.”
We just skirted Abilene and we need to get on I-20. The road we were supposed to take, the one that would connect us to I-20 and take us west of Abilene, is closed due to repairs from the aftermath of flooding. Evidently even the GPS has no idea which way to go.
No surprise there. Finn is using an ancient GPS that he has balanced precariously on his dashboard. I wonder if it’s been updated recently or if he even knows he has to update it. Somehow I doubt it.
The rain has been something fierce this year. The month of May often brings thunderstorms to Texas. But this happens to be the year of “The Great Texas Floods.”
“Do you have a map?” I ask.
“No, Spencer, I don’t have a map. Why would I need a map when I have a GPS? Sheesh.” Finn hits the steering wheel with frustration.
I try not to repay his childish behavior with a childish eye roll of my own, but the temptation is strong. This entire trip has been an epic fail. We can sit here and stare at the looping overpass ahead of us or we can do something about it.
“What town are we going to next?” I ask calmly, even though this guy is irritating me. I’m not sure what I ever saw in him. I’ve heard people say if you want to really know someone, put them in an inconvenient situation and see how they react.
Finn is failing.
“I-20 will take us over to Sweetwater, then we’re supposed to take a smaller highway up to Snyder.”
“All right, so we want to get to Snyder.” Lubbock is our actual destination. Snyder is a couple hours south of it. I pull out my phone, click on the microphone and say, “Directions to Snyder, Texas.”
“I could’ve done that,” Finn huffs.
“But you didn’t.” Instead he acted as if we were lost with no chance of ever finding our way. “All right, it’s telling me to take I-277/83. It’s the interstate right in front of us.”
Literally. We are staring at the huge overpass with cars that know where they’re going whizzing past as if they’re mocking us.
I continue. “It’ll take us north to a teeny little highway that will take us over to Snyder.” I pause and let out my breath. “I’m not sure if we want to go that way. A small highway in the middle of nowhere could have major flooding issues.”
“All the roads to Snyder are small highways,” Finn points out.
I study the map and realize that other than I-20, he’s right. “But we drove the same route on the way here and know it’s not flooded.”
“Look, do you have a better idea? Tell me another solution and I’ll do it, but I’ll bet you have nothing.” He smirks before adding, “As usual.”
Oh, the sarcasm. The sooner this trip is over, the better. “Nope,” I say. I guide him to the interstate, following Google’s directions, because he can’t figure out where the on ramp is. He seems to follow my directions grudgingly.
“I feel a little uneasy about this route,” I tell Finn. Actually, I feel a little uneasy about this entire trip. I should’ve listened to my instincts. But I don’t date often. I’m only twenty-seven and hardly an old maid, but everyone is always encouraging me to date and I feel so much pressure to prove I’m trying.
So here I am.
I can’t wait to get home. Hopefully, I’ll never see him again in this lifetime.
“I don’t think we have much choice. If we run into flooding, we’ll turn around. Use a little common sense, Spencer.”
I give him my best disgusted sigh, the one all women know from birth. Finn is not even trying to be nice today. That’s okay. We’re over. He knows it and I know it. I’m sad that it hasn’t worked out. In the beginning, I really liked him. On the way to Austin, he was kind, polite, attentive, and I really thought I was going to enjoy the trip. I felt proud of myself for taking a chance and throwing caution to the wind. I felt I had made a good decision.
I was so very wrong. I suppose that side of Finn was simply a façade. He was presenting his best behavior because he wanted something from me. His true self is the complete opposite of the soft spoken man I met a month ago.
Why is it so hard to find someone to love and love me in return? I take a deep cleansing breath and focus my thoughts on the matter at hand.
Taking the smaller highway is a little risky, but he’s right. We may as well give it a try. Our options are limited. For the next few miles, I endure a tense silence. That’s okay. I don’t want to talk to him as much as he doesn’t want to talk to me. The feeling is entirely mutual.
Suddenly, we pass an on ramp to I-20.
“Wait,” I turn in my seat, “Did you see that? It was an on ramp to I-20. Turn around. I-20 will take us over to Sweetwater.”
“I saw it. Why didn’t your Google directions take us that way?”
“I don’t know. Why
didn’t your old GPS take us that way?”
“I don’t know. When we didn’t go the way it wanted us to it got confused, I guess. It’s having trouble recalculating.”
After driving in the Austin traffic with him all weekend, I’d say his GPS gets confused an awful lot. Evidently user error has nothing to do with it. “Aren’t you going to turn around and take I-20?”
“Does it look like I’m turning around? We’re already headed this way, so we may as well go this way. It’s probably faster and that’s why Google told us to take this route.”
“Finn, with all the flooding, the major interstate will be much safer.”
“Hate to tell you this, sweetheart, but water doesn’t know if it’s flooding an interstate or a small highway.”
He is such a jerk. I’m not going to dignify that snarky comment with a well-deserved comeback. “Regardless, the major interstate is a main thoroughfare. It’s a priority when it comes to making sure the roads are clear. With all the flooding, the smaller highways in the middle of nowhere are often ignored.”
“I’m curious about this route now. I go to Austin at least four times a year. It might be a quicker way to go.”
“I-20 is the sure thing,” I argue. I’m starting to feel a little fed up. Actually, fed up accurately describes twenty-four hours ago. Now I’m just plain miffed.
“I’m not always about the sure thing. I took you with me to Austin, after all.”
My face turns hot from anger. When Finn invited me to go to Austin with him for a concert by some unknown indie band, I hemmed and hawed and finally agreed.
Huge mistake.
I know I need to put myself out there and date. But it’s miles out of my comfort zone. My dad says when I finally find someone I’m crazy about and that I truly want to date, he’ll probably end up being my husband and I’ll be done with the dating scene. I’m happy with that idea. I just don’t have squishy-squashy feelings toward men. I mean, the desire is there, but my mind isn’t. I’m attracted to men, I just can’t find one I want to be close to. I want physical affection, but I find that most men leave me cold. Mom says I just haven’t met the right person yet, that when I do, those feelings will be there—and they’ll surprise the heck out of me. I’m still waiting for that heck of a surprise to hit me. I wish it would hurry up. Mom also tells me not to worry, that one day I will find my great big beautiful love.
Mom and I used to watch Pretty Little Liars together. It was our special girl time and Dad never joined us, nor do I think he wanted to. I admit, one of the reasons I loved the show was because they had a female character named Spencer. It’s so rare. In one episode, Spencer tells her ex that she hopes he finds his great big beautiful love. My mother hasn’t stopped using the term ever since. Truth be told, I can’t get it out of my mind either.
I want that. I want it so much. Unfortunately, it has proven to be rather elusive.
I took a chance with Finn, hoping we’d hit it off and that I’d find my great big beautiful love.
Not going to happen.
As it turns out, the indie band was amazing. I wish I could say the same about Finn.
He’d promised a little sightseeing in Austin as well and it sounded like a fun trip. We’ve been group dating off and on for the last month. Nothing serious. I liked him and wanted to get to know him better. He didn’t immediately leave me feeling icy and that was encouraging.
When I told him yes, I informed him that I wanted separate hotel rooms. I wanted it to be clear from the get-go that this was not that kind of trip. No miscommunication. “Of course,” he’d said. “I know our relationship is not there yet.”
He lied.
He came to my hotel room each night of our two night trip and asked if he could stay. When I politely turned him down, he got nasty.
“I didn’t know you were a cold fish,” he’d said the first night.
Call me naïve, but I didn’t expect him to be so rude. And it hurt. My biggest fear is that I am a cold fish. When Finn touches me, I feel nothing. Nada. I mean, I don’t feel revulsion, I just feel blank and empty. Like an inanimate vehicle with no gas in the tank.
“Finn,” I’d told him. “I was very upfront about the sleeping arrangements. I’ve never led you on.”
“I thought you were just trying to be all proper and stuff. Girls like to pretend they’re good, when really they’re not.”
Translation: I thought NO really meant YES.
So classic, but so un-classy. I’m done with him. I seriously considered taking the bus home, but I’m saving every penny right now and decided to endure his company for one more day.
One really long day.
There’s nothing like a seven hour road trip to find out if you like someone or not. Turns out, I can’t stand him. To be fair—even though he doesn’t deserve fair—he can’t stand me either. We’re on common ground when it comes to our break-up. For a non-dater like me, perhaps a road trip was taking on a little more than I could handle. Actually I think it’s the equivalent of giving a huge juicy burger to a three month old baby.
I definitely took on too much, too soon. I’m questioning my decision making skills. What was I thinking?
“Are you seriously not going to turn around and take I-20?” I ask.
“Quit backseat driving. No, I’m not turning around. We decided to take the new route and that’s what we’re going to do.”
I am the proud owner of a backseat driver’s license. I admit to it readily. “First of all, we didn’t decide anything, you did. And just for the record, I don’t think this is the right time to explore new routes. I think you should turn around right now and take I-20.”
“You’re not the one driving, sweetheart, I am.”
Sweetheart sounds like such an insult when it’s said scathingly. I’m about to tell him don’t call me sweetheart, but he continues before I have a chance.
“I get to decide which way I go. I don’t need your input. I know how to drive, thank you very much.”
“Fine,” I say as distinctly as I can muster. Now would be a good time to remind him that he did ask for my help just a little bit ago and he’d just acted like a pathetic lost little puppy, but I keep my mouth shut. I tuck my phone into my purse and stow it away in the backseat. I fold my arms across my chest and lean back, letting the headrest cradle me. I don’t plan on speaking to him again. He’s not worth my time. I just want to go home.
“Sit back, relax, and keep that pretty little mouth shut,” Finn says as he changes lanes.
I bite my tongue and press my lips together. Now is not the time to give him an earful. But a huge earful of unpleasantness is in his near future.
Exactly how many frogs do I have to kiss before finding my prince? Not that I’ve kissed many men, or frogs for that matter—but the few kisses I have endured reminded me of kissing a frog.
Ew. The thought depresses me. It always has. My dating life has been virtually non-existent. Men just don’t ask me out. I don’t know why. I try to be friendly, to smile, to engage in conversation. I’ve never learned the art of flirting, I guess. My friends tell me I exude the go away vibe. I don’t mean to. My mom tells me I’m beautiful, that any young man would be lucky to have me. But she’s my mom. She has to say that. And so far, no young man wants me. Sure, I’ve been on a handful of first dates, but they never amount to second dates. Finn was the exception. But on the list of epic fails for my life, he holds the number one spot.
Of course, I don’t really want to date either. I just want to magically find the love of my life and call it good. Finn has been my first voyage into the dating world in quite a while and it’s been hugely disappointing. I think I might be single for life. Maybe I’m just not cut out to be two made into one.
The problem is I do want to be physically affectionate. I do want to be married. I do want to have a family.
Hence, my dilemma.
If I want to find the love of my life, dating is a necessary evil.
Finn i
nterrupts my wandering thoughts. “It’s ninety-eight degrees outside. A lot of the flooding has receded in the past few days. I don’t think we need to worry about the roads.”
True. It is unusually hot out for late May. Summer has begun. But more rain is in the forecast this afternoon, so I’m sure not going to put my umbrella away yet.
“You know, Spencer, I gotta say I’m really disappointed with this trip. You’ve really let me down.”
I hold my breath to keep myself from mumbling “ditto.” This is not news to me. Once I’m safely home, I plan to tell him off royally. It was a mistake to go on this trip with Finn and a huge error in judgment on my part.
“After everything I did for you, I can’t believe you’d treat me like this,” he continues.
I wonder what tactic he’ll use next to guilt trip me into doing what he wants. Does he really think I can’t see right through him?
“Is this how you treat all of your friends? Like dirt?” He glances in my direction and a scowl accompanies his scathing remark.
The silent treatment has never been so hard to maintain. He’s my ticket out of here and I really don’t want to anger him further.
As we approach our turn onto the lone Highway 180, we drive through a small portion of a town named Anson. Straight ahead I can see a gorgeous old courthouse, the type that screams small town charm. I long to remain right here. It may be small, but at least it’s filled with people. Finn and his combustible temperament are making me nervous. As we turn onto Highway 180, I feel as though I’m leaving civilization. For some reason, I feel like I’ll never return to real life again. It’s a strange premonition and I wish I could shake the feeling. We pass a gas station, a restaurant, and a few houses, then the landscape gives way and becomes desolate. I can see nothing in the distance except a large expanse of rather barren land. An occasional tree—that looks more like a shrub—dots the land. Other than that, it looks as though we’re entering no man’s land. I swallow a trickle of unease. No, I take that back. The trickle has turned into a downpour. I remember my phone showing that the halfway point boasts a very small town named Roby and I wonder if I should give in and catch the bus while there. The thing is, I somehow doubt they have a bus station. It’s just a teeny dot on a map and I had to enlarge my view just to know it was even there.
