Beyond Control

by Karice Bolton

  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

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Gabby's Goodies

  Awakening Excerpt (Watchers Trilogy)

  Lonely Souls Excerpt (Witch Avenue Series)

  The Camp Excerpt

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  For Anne and Julie

  And to my incredible husband and mom!

  The room was silent except for the low hum of my mom’s stereo. Music was important to her, and she wanted to ensure that “melodies carried her out of this world” when the time was right. For months I didn’t understand what she meant. But as I watched her lying on the bed, her frail body barely able to bring itself to breathe, I fully understood. Pillows propped her head up and colorful comforters surrounded her, but the tiny outline of my mom’s body was visible purely because it was so small in contrast to what encircled her. Her skin was a curious shade of orange from all the cancer drugs that had pumped through her. She used to joke about her spray tan “gone bad”, but she no longer could muster the strength. That mom was gone.

  The taupe walls and pine furniture in my mom’s bedroom were etched in my memory. No matter where I was, my mind would forever be able to recall the feel of the wood under my fingertips. I nervously ran my hands along the end tables, day after day, waiting for her to tell me everything was going to be okay. She never did. She wouldn’t ever lie to us.

  My mom refused to let us close her bedroom windows, no matter how cold the room got. After a few weeks, I understood why she wouldn’t allow us to shut the windows. The aroma of wood smoke as it drifted in covered up the medicinal smell that we’d come to ignore. My brother, Aaron, would bring us cup after cup of hot chocolate to keep us warm. That memory—that taste—would never go away either.

  My mom had been through so much, fought for so long, that those memories had replaced most of the others in my short twelve years. If I dug really hard, I could think about different times—happy times, when my mom was disease free. I remember trips to the local aquarium, parks, and arboretums. My brother and I wandered around and amused ourselves, while she took photographs to paint from. For some reason, those memories made me ache more than the recent ones. It reminded me of what I’d missed. What I would be missing.

  My eyes fell on the port in my mom’s chest, the tunnel under her skin that was used endlessly to deliver ineffective drugs when faced with such a disease. When she first got the port inserted, my knees used to threaten to buckle if I glimpsed a piece of it under her clothing. That didn’t happen any longer. In fact, now I was also able to help administer the drugs through the catheter that inserted into the port without the slightest thought.

  I glanced at my brother, Aaron, who was lighting my mom’s favorite seafoam candles, and wondered what we’d do once she was gone. Would we be able to survive? Would we still function like a family? Once my mom became ill, my father wasn’t around much. He buried himself in work and traveled the world rather than stay here with us, with his wife. I wanted to be mad at him, but part of me understood. It was hard being here everyday, watching someone I loved deteriorate, and there wasn’t anything I could do about it. I wasn’t angry with him, but maybe I should’ve been.

  Aaron turned around and flicked his wrist to extinguish the flame on the tip of the match, his eyes meeting mine. They were filled with the same sorrow I felt.

  “You okay?” he mouthed from across the room, pressing his hand against his chest.

  I looked at my mom, whose chest scarcely moved, and back at him before I felt the first of many tears glide down my cheeks.

  No. I wasn’t okay, but at least I had him to get me through what was about to come.

  “Knock. Knock,” Brandy hummed, tapping on the door lightly. “You ready?”

  “Not really,” I replied, pointing at the stack of papers piled on my desk. “But I guess that probably doesn’t matter.” I smiled and pushed myself away from the desk.

  “Not when it comes to your father.” She grinned. Brandy stepped into my office, and I gasped when I saw her. She was in the most gorgeous blue dress, and her dark brown hair was piled in loose curls on top of her head. With every movement, her dress shimmered and clung to all the right places, highlighting the beautiful caramel color of her skin.

  “Whoa,” I said, grinning, suddenly feeling completely underdressed for tonight’s function. I looked down at my silver blouse, black pencil skirt, and red stilettos. I was proud of myself for wearing what I thought was a day-to-evening outfit like I always saw in the style magazines… and then Brandy steps into my office, blowing my wishful thinking to smithereens. It must be wonderful to always be so stunning.

  “Your assistant cleans up nicely, huh?” she teased. Brandy was my best friend, who I’d met in college, and she knew me better than anyone.

  “Your father figured this would happen,” she laughed. “So he sent something over. A courier brought it about an hour ago. I didn’t even peek.”

  “You mean my stepmom knew this would happen,” I laughed.

  “Same difference.”

  I blew the stray hairs out of my face and couldn’t help but smile as I thought about my father. He always took such good care of me, especially since my mother’s death. Actually, that wasn’t completely true. His money always took very good care of me. I only saw him more now because I worked for one of his companies.

  “Okay, let’s see it,” I sighed.

  “Don’t even pretend you don’t want to play dress up.” She left my office and returned in a heartbeat with a garment bag and a Nordstrom sack dangling around the hanger.

  “I honestly didn’t know it was such a big deal,” I said, tucking my hair behind my ear.

  “That’s what black-tie means, dummy.” Brandy extended the garment bag toward me and gave an exasperated huff.

  I peered nervously through the glass wall that looked over the sea of cubicles. This wasn’t something I wanted the rest of the employees to see. I’d already caught the animosity in the air about the fact that I worked here and didn’t have to start at the bottom. Brandy saw my apprehension and quickly closed the door and shut the automatic blinds.

  “It’s not like I got an invitation. I’m his daughter. I just show up,” I replied, unzipping the garment bag to reveal a beautiful flowing chiffon dress. The fabric was soft lavender with tiny pearls stitched at the waistband, and beautiful lace appliques spreading from the hem up the skirt of the dress.

  “I wanna see,” Brandy whined.

  “It’s amazing and so… me,” I replied, grabbing the hanger from Brandy so she could take a look.

  I loved Brandy’s dress on her, but it was so not me. Why? Because it was really tiny! One false move and nothing’s left to the imagination, but that was exactly how she liked it. I, on the other hand, built a world that kept ‘em guessing. That was my m
otto.

  “Suddenly I’m no longer the belle of the ball,” she laughed. “Holy. Shit. Is this Valentino?”

  I shrugged and felt the familiar heat run up my face. My fingers instinctively ran up the scar along my breastbone as I eyed the neckline. There was no hiding it in this dress.

  “Nobody will care what’s being auctioned off tonight. They’ll all want you,” she gushed, noticing where my hand stalled. I could always count on her to make me feel better.

  “Oh, please. This covers me all the way up. You’ll definitely be the one who everyone’s looking at,” I assured her.

  “Doubtful,” she whispered, running her fingertips along the dress. “Let’s get you in this. We’re running late.”

  I laid the garment bag across my desk, careful not to knock any of the papers onto the floor, and worked the dress cautiously out of the bag. Brandy unhooked the shoe bag and opened the box up.

  “Of course, Jimmy Choo,” she said, dangling the lace pumps from her fingertips.

  I glanced at the shoes, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit just how pretty they were. But it was uncomfortable. I’d made it all through college without anyone really knowing about my family’s wealth.

  “You like them? You can have them after tonight,” I replied.

  Brandy looked over at me and smiled, shaking her head. “Nope. They’re yours and I’m not going to accept them. Never have taken your icky hand-me-downs and never will.” She laughed and began unhooking the straps on the Choos.

  I kicked off my heels, stripped out of my blouse and wriggled out of my skirt. So much for my bra in this dress. I unclasped it quickly and tossed it on the floor.

  “Classy,” Brandy said, picking everything up for me. “Oh, I almost missed this,” she said, looking into the Nordstrom bag, pulling out a large jewelry box. “Want me to open it?”

  I nodded as I slipped the dress over my head and felt the soft fabric cascade over my skin.

  “Whoa,” she uttered, opening the box. “This is beautiful.”

  She turned the box toward me, and the knot in my stomach—that I didn’t even realize was there—immediately diminished. So much for being cool and confident when it came to strapless dresses. As I looked in the box, a collared, sterling silver necklace with a large stone pendant was perfectly situated in tissue paper. This would cover up most of my scar…

  “Nice,” I replied, smiling.

  I positioned the front slit over my leg as Brandy zipped me up and centered the necklace around my neck, locking the clasp in place.

  “You look stunning,” she said, stepping back.

  The feeling of security the pendant provided as it dangled in the perfect place, gave me an extra dose of courage for the night. Something very few even knew I needed. I’d done a great job over the years explaining to everyone how well adjusted I’d become. Apparently, I hadn’t fooled my stepmom or Brandy for that matter.

  “Hair okay?” I asked. I had placed it in a loose French knot this morning, and last I looked, it was still holding on.

  “Yep. Let’s get going.” She grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the door. I grabbed my purse out of the chair and followed her to the elevators.

  “There should be plenty of cabs at this time,” I said, as we wound along the far wall of cubicles and waited for the elevator.

  “Umm.” Brandy stepped into the elevator, refusing to look at me.

  “Oh, no. Please tell me we aren’t going in the limo.”

  “Your father sent it over. He texted me,” she replied, trying to hide her smile.

  “That thing is such a spectacle, especially in Seattle. I always feel like I should see my high school date inside as it pulls up. Besides, Seattle thrives on bicycles as the main mode of transportation,” I protested.

  “Sorry,” she squealed. “But it sounds like the beast is going to be picking us up. And besides, can you really see yourself peddling on a bicycle in that outfit? Get real.”

  I rolled my eyes and smiled as we stepped into the lobby. Sure enough the black stretch sedan was waiting for us beyond the doors.

  “Let’s just hope we’ve got some hotties waiting for us at the ball,” Brandy said, winking. “Firemen, maybe, or how about some lawyers?”

  “Yeah. Because that’s what always happens for us,” I retorted.

  “Maybe we’ve struck out lately, but I know there’s hope out there for you and me. I mean if we can move past the whole blind date fiasco, it would be better for us all. You don’t have to keep reminding me. It was bad for us both.”

  “Yeah. But you weren’t the one who wound up with Squiggy for an entire night. I was!” I shuddered at the memory.

  “Right. Because my date, Father Time, was a far better choice,” she shot back.

  “We’re screwed, aren’t we?” I laughed.

  “I don’t know. I mean it might not be that bad being roomies forever,” she said, pretending to use a cane.

  “Watching marathons of the Golden Girls is far different than living it.” I narrowed my eyes at her. “Even if we find a couple of someones worth talking to, I want to make sure to get home early tonight. I’ve got a lot on my plate tomorrow,” I said, watching Brandy’s expression fall.

  “You certainly are a fuddy-dud for only being twenty-two.”

  “Almost twenty-three,” I corrected. “And I don’t want to let my dad down. He didn’t have to give me this position.”

  She smiled and pulled me through the revolving, glass doors to reveal a beautiful Seattle night. The cerulean sky held very few clouds, and the warm breeze was a nice change from the air-conditioned office building. The city was lively with taxis honking, commuters running to catch buses and trains, and tourists wandering with maps in hand. Bernie, our driver, greeted us. He’d worked for my dad for as long as I could remember. He was like another father to me, and he could actually pass as my dad’s brother. They looked pretty similar with strong jawlines and soft brown eyes. The only difference was that my father’s dark hair was graying slightly. I reached around Bernie’s neck and gave him a big hug, the pumps making me as tall as him. I released my arms, and he beamed.

  “Well, don’t you two look beautiful,” Bernie said, opening the back door for us. He was dressed in his usual dark suit and tie. My father told him years ago that he could wear whatever he wanted, but Bernie refused to ever veer away from the suits. I don’t think I’d ever seen the man in jeans.

  “Thanks, Bernie,” I chimed, crawling inside the limo as gracefully as possible and plunking in the far seat. Brandy climbed in after me, situating herself in the seat next to me as Bernie closed the door. He made it around to the driver’s door and slid in the sedan, popping the privacy glass up.

  Brandy reached for the bottle of champagne and gave me a huge smile.

  “You know, Gabby, this is way better than a taxi,” she laughed, as she popped the cork. “No matter how you cut it.”

  “It’s better with my best friend in here, no doubt,” I said laughing, while I steadied my glass for her to pour in some of the pink bubbly.

  “Agreed.” She poured some of the pink liquid into her glass and took a taste.

  I sat back and drank a few sips of the champagne, hoping it would relax me before we got there. My stepmom and dad were throwing a fundraiser at one of the local wineries in Woodinville. I think it was at Chateau Marx last I heard, but I tended to dismiss these things as quickly as I heard about them because it felt like these events were endless, always some cause to sponsor or some reason to celebrate.

  “Since you got the invitation, do you know what this one’s for?” I asked, raising a brow.

  “I think it was to help with medical bills for that little boy who was struck in the hit-and-run accident. I think that’s where I recognized his name from, anyway.”

  “Shit. Now I feel like a complete d-bag,” I muttered.

  The car continued to lurch and crawl as Bernie made his way through the downtown traffic, and my stomach wasn’t fee
ling so great with the bubbles sloshing with each pause.

  “You’re looking a little green,” Brandy noticed. “Want me to finish that for you?” She wiggled her brows and pointed with her free hand.

  “Actually. Yeah.” I smiled and handed her my flute and leaned my head back to focus on breathing, staring at the nip and tuck upholstery of the ceiling.

  “So this is the real reason you don’t like the limo,” Brandy chuckled. “Now it makes sense. Does anyone know?”

  “I told them I outgrew it. I was tired of getting teased endlessly,” I whispered, steadying my breathing as the sloshing continued. “Besides, it only happens in traffic.”

  Brandy continued to laugh all the way to the onramp of the highway, and I immediately perked up as the car began to steady its speed.

  “Traffic doesn’t look too bad,” she said, sipping from one glass and holding the other.

  “Things are looking up,” I said, watching the downtown corridor flash by on our way to the floating bridge. The silvery, pink, and blue skyscrapers gave way to brick homes and condominiums lining the highway.

  The traffic on the highway was nonexistent, which made the commute a breeze. I grabbed my empty flute back from Brandy and filled it halfway up as the nausea subsided. Our car glided onto the ramp of the 520-floating bridge, and I took a triumphant gulp of the fizzy stuff as we made our way across the water. I prevailed.

  “This place is always so beautiful in the summer,” Brandy replied, looking out the window.

  She was right. The calmness on the one side of the bridge allowed for the sun to dance off the glistening water, whereas the other side of the bridge presented the choppy whitecaps, which bounced off the worn cement of the bridge. I always wondered why there was such a difference between the two sides. There was always the calm side and always the choppy side, kind of like my life.

  The car began to slow again and my stomach tightened. Just as I was about to take another sip of champagne, my entire body lunged sideways onto Brandy’s lap as our limo hit whatever was in front of us. I braced myself for a vehicle to crash into us from behind, but thankfully it was only the one hit as the sound of brakes and tires squealing behind us stopped. Bernie immediately rolled down the partition and looked panic stricken, checking us for injuries.